The sun is back in position. Before long, I can soar with the wind.
I swipe my hair from my eyes and spot Sara. Her hair, tied back in a ponytail, flicks from side to side. She waves and flies toward me, a wide grin on her face. My skin burns with anger, but I don’t have the strength to zombie her.
“You did it!” she says.
“No thanks to you.” I force the words out.
Her cheeks flush a deep red. “You are the only one who can learn to trust your wings.”
“But you could have told me what to expect.”
“It’s different for everyone. Some Guided bond with their wings right away. For others, it takes time.”
The anger drains out of me. What happened was my fault. My wings got out of control because I chose them and not the other way around. Still, that doesn’t excuse Sara’s unwillingness to help me.
“Let’s practice some more with the wind and then we’ll go for dinner,” Sara says. “First thing tomorrow, we leave on a treasure hunt.”
“What’s the treasure?”
“Guides have no idea where a treasure hunt will lead their Guided,” Sara says. “This is your hunt, not mine. You’ll have three clues and three days in which to solve them.”
Despite everything, I’m excited . . . until I remember how awful I am with puzzles. If the clues are like riddles, chances are I won’t be able to solve them. I open my mouth to explain how bad I am with problem solving. Then change my mind. I have wings. I’ll explore Chimeroan if the clues are too hard. Without my guide. She’s not much help anyway.
I spend the next hour or so learning how to maneuver with the wind. By the time we land back on the roof, I’m exhausted. My wings, too, though I’m not sure how I know this. True, they’re hanging on me heavily, but it’s more than that. Maybe they’re tired because I am, the same way my arms and legs are tired.
The other wings form a circle by the edge of the roof, and I wonder where they were when I was floundering out of control. The red pair is in the center. I get this strange impression the wings are consoling it and I’m unprepared for the stab of guilt that sneaks into my heart. I turn, unable to watch.
Sara picks up a white plastic bag from beneath a stone. “So, the blue wings chose you after all.”
“Yeah.”
Sara can never find out I chose them.
“May I touch them?”
“Um . . . sure.” I burst into giggles because her fingers tickle the feathers.
Grinning, she hands me the bag. “Your flier clothes.”
Goggles and gloves are on top. A leotard and tights like Sara’s in the middle. “Are these ballet shoes?” I ask, holding up a pair of soft, black flats.
“Kind of. They’re sturdier yet light, and will keep your feet warm. Go on. Get dressed.”
Self-consciously, I remove my clothes while she watches. When I try to take off my torn beige T-shirt, my wings get in the way.
Sara pulls a pair of scissors out of the bag and snips at my T-shirt. She gasps when it drops to the ground. “How did that happen?” She points at the fist-size bruise on my stomach, which I got when I stumbled into a fence last week.
I shrug. “Mom says I’m accident prone. I trip a lot.”
I squeeze into my tights, which hide the huge gash on my leg and a black-and-blue mark from the fall this morning. Good thing the leotards have long mesh sleeves to cover the scrapes on my arm.
When I’m dressed, I twirl about in my flier clothes, as light as air, loving how the feathers on my wings rustle as I spin.
“There’s a pocket on each side of your tights,” Sara says. She hands me a thick elastic band. “For your hair, so it doesn’t blow in your face when you fly. And finally, the last piece of flying paraphernalia: earphones.”
These are round and black, and fit snugly in my palm. They have two flaps like the ones on clip-on earrings, and a small knob to fit inside my ear. On the other end are two buttons.
“We use this to communicate,” Sara says. “Tap the left button once to speak privately with me, and twice if you want to talk to anyone else close by. The red button to the right is for emergencies. If you press it, the flier or fliers closest to your location will come to your aid. Yet, be warned. If you press it during your treasure hunt, it will also mean you’ve given up.”
She sounds like she’s reciting from a handbook. This treasure hunt is definitely not for me. All I want to do is fly. Without worries. Free.
Sara places her hands on my shoulders. The expression in her eyes makes me wonder if she read my mind. “Melody, to keep your wings, you must solve all three clues.”
“What?” My jaw sinks lower and lower. Then, I remember what she said about giving up. “If I press the emergency button, will I lose my wings?”
She hesitates. “Don’t do that unless you absolutely have to. Anyway, I’ll be with you, so there’s no need to worry.”
It’s like a net tightens around me, trapping me. I’ve got to go on the treasure hunt. I’m stuck with a guide who’s not certain about much. Feathers tickle my chin and I reach up to caress the tips of my wings.
I can’t lose them. I’ll do whatever I can to prevent that, even if it means breaking all the rules in Chimeroan.
7
Dinner
I wave goodbye to the flapping wings. Even the red pair seems happy for me, which makes me feel guilty all over again. Without warning, my wings spread out and I topple over until my face is inches from the concrete roof.
“Sara!” I do a clumsy dog paddle and stand, panting, as my wings fluff their feathers and settle down.
“They were saying goodbye to the others,” Sara says, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “When you didn’t bow, they did it for you. I should have warned you. I’m sorry.”
“So . . . so . . .” I’m too relieved to be mad. My wings didn’t act up because I’d chosen them. “What will happen to the other wings?”
“They’ll stay here until their wearers come.”
And what if one doesn’t? I hurry toward the door and try not to think of what will happen to the red wings or the person the blue pair belonged to.
We pass through the garden and back along the corridor, which appears much brighter than it did earlier. It doesn’t smell musty either. The other Guided are already in the large chamber, dressed like me and showing off their wings.
Claudine has a pink set shaped like a humming bird’s. “I was by a lake, and they came down and landed on my back,” she says excitedly.
“Mine were in a closet similar to the one in my room back home,” Jackson says. “That’s where I keep my collection of miniature wolves. These ostrich wings were the only things inside. Aren’t they cool? They remind me of snow.”
He’s right. They are the purest white. I reach out to stroke them and shriek as a bolt of electricity sizzles through my fingers.
“I told you that you have to ask permission to touch someone’s wings,” Sara says.
How could I have forgotten that?
“Go ahead, Melody,” Jackson says, but I shake my head, no longer wanting to because my hand hurts.
Sean snickers, but avoids my glare by rummaging in his plastic bag as if searching for something.
Liz had a similar experience to mine except she had to jump from a platform in the middle of the ocean. Fiona got to play hide and seek with five different sets of wings.
“Mine were lined up with eight others,” Sean says. “As soon as I saw these, I knew they were mine. They’re the most beautiful of all.”
His wings are the dull green of money. They are so not nice.
“All wings are beautiful,” the guide with the pigeon wings says.
“No, they’re not.” Sean gives him a smug smile.
“How about you, Melody?” Jackson asks.
“I was on the roof of a very tall building, and lots of wings were there.”
“That’s it?” Jackson asks.
I nod.
I nod again.
“Cool,” Jackson says.
He says ‘cool’ like he doesn’t believe me. I don’t look at him in case he can tell from my eyes he’s right.
Kevin leads the way to the rear of the chamber and opens a black door. The room we enter is rectangular. Four round tables that can seat up to maybe ten people each are in the middle. A table laden with food is at the back. The ceiling towers above us, and hanging from the center are two heart-shaped chandeliers. They resemble the ones I saw in a hotel once, where Mom and Dad did a ballroom dance performance before the accident. I get a lump in my throat. So many things on Chimeroan bring up memories.
A group of young kids stand in a circle, giggling and admiring each other’s wings. Their guides are in deep conversation with a tall, elegant lady with burgundy wings.
“Those were the children we saw flying earlier?” I ask Sara.
“Yes. They arrived this morning.”
“They’re only six or seven years old.”
“That’s right.”
The kids fall silent when they see us. One girl has dark hair, a round face, and a carefree grin. She reminds me of when I was five and didn’t have anything to worry about except dolls, stickers, and how much candy Mom would buy me.
The lady with burgundy wings greets us with a wide smile. “Welcome, Guided. My name is Vivian, the leader of this outpost. You must be famished, so please, eat. We’ll talk later.”
With a sweep of her hand, she indicates the table stacked with dishes of food: mashed potatoes, chicken, green peas, french fries, pasta, apple pie, ice cream, brownies, apple juice. My stomach still feels queasy from getting—choosing—my wings, so I settle for chicken, carrots, and one brownie for dessert.
Fiona and Liz are at a table with some of the younger guides. Although I don’t want to have anything to do with Sean, I follow Sara to where he, Claudine, Jackson, and their guides are sitting.
Claudine beams as she strokes her humming bird wings. Before I’ve taken two bites of my chicken, I learn she’s from New Jersey, hates being called pleasantly plump, and her younger brother and sister are twins.
Jackson says he was born in Trinidad in the West Indies, wherever that is.
“So, Claudine, girl, I saw how scared you were earlier,” he says. “How did you get over your fear of heights so fast?”
Claudine adjusts her thick glasses and gulps down half a cup of Coke. “You wouldn’t believe it. When my wings attached to my back I couldn’t stop screaming. It hurt so much. Did that happen to you?”
I nod along with Jackson and Sean. The wings hurt all of us. Not just me.
“Anyway,” Claudine continues, “all of a sudden, I had this image of when I was two and fell from my parents’ bed. It hit me like a lightning bolt, you know what I mean? I realized that’s why I get terrified of falling when I’m in high places. And the strangest thing happened. I wasn’t afraid anymore.”
“Way cool,” Jackson says. “Drake helped me figure out something too.” He grins, stroking his white ostrich wings. “Drake’s my wings’ name.”
I choke on a carrot.
Kevin high-fives Jackson.
“Mine have a name, too,” Claudine squeals. “Princess.”
“How about you, Melody?” Jackson asks.
“I didn’t name my wings as yet.” I wish I’d thought of it.
“Me, neither,” Sean mutters.
“You don’t—” Jackson starts to say, but Kevin nudges him and whispers in his ear.
“I would love to show Princess to my parents,” Claudine says, fiddling with her glasses. “When I was seven I told Mom I could fly, and she laughed at me, you know in that ‘oh, you silly girl’ kind of way. She kept insisting that people couldn’t fly. She yelled at me once. I didn’t mention it again.”
I inhale a whiff of freshly cut roses and reach over to caress the tip of my wings. It’s so cool how they smell of flowers sometimes. Everyone seems so understanding here. And nice.
“I never told my parents,” Jackson says. His short dreadlocks slap against his face as he looks from one to the other of us. “They wouldn’t have listened anyway. Too busy telling us—there’re four of us boys—that we have to study hard to make something of ourselves. Man, can you imagine me saying I want to fly like a bird?”
The smell of roses grows stronger. “I told Mom the first time I dreamed of flying.” The words spring out my mouth. “She was so excited, she twirled me round and round. But then after the—” I stop. What’s wrong with me? I almost mentioned the accident. “Then, she told me the same thing your mom told you, Claudine.”
The rose smell is gone.
I shove another carrot in my mouth, conscious of Sara watching me. I pretend not to notice and force myself to examine the room, the ceiling, the floor, the Guided at the other tables, and Vivian. Her hair is thick and black, and she wears it loose to the middle of her back. She’s easily my mother’s age, though slim and trim. On the back of her left wrist is a silver tattoo, but I can’t make out the shape.
Vivian looks up and catches me staring at her. She smiles, then stands and claps her hands twice.
“Congratulations, Guided,” she says. “As you know by now, this is a place where dreams come true. You are here because you’ve been strong enough, thus far, to hold on to your dreams and not let go of them despite the skepticism of adults. You were all given the chance to leave?”
I nod.
“Two Guided from the younger group and one from the older group here decided to return home. They are now safely back telling their parents what they saw. No one will believe them. Soon they will be convinced they imagined it all. Be careful whom you confide in, young ones.”
Vivian glances at us one by one. When it’s my turn, I feel naked, sure she can read my thoughts.
“Why did we come here? To Chimeroan?” Sean asks. His dark green feathers rustle nonstop.
“Because you want to fly so badly you can taste it,” Vivian says. “Because you daydream about flying all the time. Because deep inside you’re aware that adults don’t know everything, and that there’s something more to what you see.”
Yes, it was just like that. Exactly like that.
“What about my parents?” the young girl with the round face asks. “I don’t want them to worry when I don’t go home.”
“They won’t,” Vivian says. “Residents of Chimeroan have disguised themselves and taken your place until your return.”
The Guided start talking at once. I lean back in my chair, stunned.
So I didn’t imagine the lookalike Melody after all. She’s in my home, sleeping in my bed, playing with my toys, eating my food. I stroke my wings, not sure how I feel about all this. She’d better be nice to my parents. And she’d better know how to do the zombie. What if she messes up? Or says something to make Dad suspect she’s not really me?
I wonder if Andrew will know it’s a lookalike Melody and not the real me. He has the deepest dimples I’ve ever seen. There are times when I want to teach him the zombie so he can scare off Natasha and Wendy. But then he’ll think I want to be his friend. Friends want to come to your home and meet your parents. I shiver and conjure up a black hole, then hurl the thought of Andrew meeting Dad in a wheelchair into its depths.
Vivian is talking. “Let me explain. Before you can get here, we see you through the Dream Stone, which is the heart of Chimeroan. That is how we know who is ready. A resident of Chimeroan takes on the identity of each Guided. These residents will act and behave exactly as you would in all circumstances. So, you see, there’s no need to worry.”
“My dog will know the resident is a fake,” Liz says.
“I am certain he will,” Vivian says. “Animals are more sensible than people give them credit for.”
“What’s a Dream Stone?” I ask.
“The core of Chimeroan. It taps the dreams of everyone alive, those that dominate y
our thoughts whether asleep or awake. In the case of everyone here, that dream is flying.”
Vivian smiles, the warmest, most beautiful smile I have ever seen. It reminds me of Mom, or at least a memory of Mom, dancing with Dad.
“The next few days are going to be the biggest adventure of your lives,” Vivian says. “Now, I know you are all tired and need your rest for your treasure hunt tomorrow. I wish you good night and sweet dreams.”
I stifle a yawn. It would be nice to sleep without having nightmares for a change.
8
Who Says Eavesdropping is a Bad Thing?
We flock out of the dining room and head down the wide, brightly lit corridor opposite the one that led to our wings. My feet drag with exhaustion and I end up in the back with Sara, Jackson, and Kevin.
Red doors fit snugly into the walls, so many it’s impossible to gauge the number. What could be behind them? Bedrooms, most likely. Or do some lead to other parts of Chimeroan, like the golden door? Maybe they contain magical items that can help me with the treasure hunt. I try several of the doorknobs, but they don’t budge.
The younger kids skip ahead, chatting nonstop. They don’t seem tired, unlike the rest of us. At least my shoulder blades where my wings attached don’t hurt, which is strange because the bruises I got in the park this morning still sting.
“What’s behind these doors?” I ask, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
“Bedrooms for the guides,” Sara says. “This is the main flier headquarters, but there are many smaller outposts throughout Chimeroan.”
At the end of the corridor we swing left. I rub my eyes, sure I’m imagining things. The hall before us is so long, I can’t see the end.
“Whoa,” Jackson says.
Sara waves her hand. “The guest wing. For Guided.”
“There must be a thousand rooms here,” I gasp.
“Only two hundred,” Sara says. “Years ago, this outpost was filled with Guided. But many people stopped believing in dreams, even kids.”
Up in the Air Page 4
