by Harrison, S.
I don’t even need a second to think about it. “Science.”
“That’s right, and science tells us that your body, your mind, the world, and everything in it, are all made up of pretty much the same stuff. What happens up here,” Jonah says, tapping my forehead with his finger, “can affect what happens all around you.”
“I’m too little for a gun, Jonah,” I murmur, only half-convinced.
“Nonsense. I was only a year older than you when my father taught me to shoot, and I was smaller than you are now!”
“You were smaller than me?” I say with a crinkled nose of suspicion.
“Yes, I was. But don’t you dare tell anyone,” Jonah says, standing tall and jutting out his chin. He smiles down at me warmly. “Firing a bullet into a tree is just as real and a whole lot easier than riding a bike, and if you can learn to do this, then I promise I’ll teach you how to do that, too.” He points a long arm at the oak’s trunk. “Alright, now try again, but this time imagine your arms are strong like metal, and the gun is a part of your hand, merely an extension of your—”
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The echoes fade into the night and a wisp of smoke gently spirals up from the muzzle of the gun. The crickets have fallen silent, and five little round holes have appeared in the bark at the center of the old oak tree.
“WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!” screeches a voice from behind us.
I glance over my shoulder to see musty old Nanny Theresa striding through the night toward the gazebo.
She’s wearing her usual stark-white blouse, dreary green cardigan, and long black dress. Her hair is tied up in its standard big gray bun, and there’s an all-too-familiar angry glower on her wrinkled, leathery face. She marches between us and snatches the gun from my hand.
“This?!” she squawks, waving it in Jonah’s face. “This is what you’re teaching”—her piercing, silvery-gray eyes glare down at me like she’s trying to find the right word—“her?!”
“Yes,” Jonah says straightening to his full towering height.
“You don’t get paid to play soldier around here, Major Brogan. Your responsibility lies with monitoring her behavior! That is all!”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Theresa,” Jonah says calmly.
“I don’t think you realize what she is capable of, Major. I’m convinced it was she that set fire to the kitchen last week, she steals every little trinket she lays her eyes on, and now here I find you, recklessly putting lethal weapons in her hands?!”
“She’s learning a valuable skill,” Jonah replies.
A tiny vein swells and pulses on Nanny Theresa’s temple; her face is scarlet with rage.
“Richard will be hearing of this, you mark my words,” she growls.
“Well, you can try, but as you know, he’s a different man than he used to be. Something tells me that he’ll side with me on this matter, Theresa. If he answers you at all.”
Nanny Theresa thrusts a gnarled finger at Jonah’s face. “We’ll see about that.”
She glares down at me one last time, then turns on her heels and strides off back across the lawn, Jonah’s gun still clutched tightly in her sinewy old hand.
I tug on the leg of Jonah’s trousers and point back toward the tree. “Five holes because I’m five,” I say proudly.
He nods and ruffles my hair. “Six in just a few days.”
“Can I have a red bike, please, Jonah?” I say, grinning up toward him hopefully.
Jonah looks down at me and smiles. “Of course you can, sweetheart. Of course you can.”
“Oh, I know I can; I just did,” whispers a voice from across the room.
“Wha . . . what are you talking about?” I say groggily, squinting in the sharp blue light of my bedside clock.
3:48 a.m.
“Oh, you’re awake. Sorry, you were talking in your sleep again.”
Less than half-conscious, I sit up droopily on my elbows and look over at my roommate, Bettina. I’m not surprised by what I see. She’s sitting at her desk in the dark again, lightly waving her fingers through the softly lit sections of holograms floating above her computer slate. The same thing she has done almost every night since I started at this boarding school when I was thirteen. You’d think after four years I’d be used to her bouts of insomnia.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she whispers.
“Nah,” I say drowsily turning over on my side, trying to get comfortable again. “Whatcha doing?” I mumble. “It’s four in the morning.”
“I was just finishing up that thing that you asked me to do.”
“Wha-did I ask?” I mumble dopily.
“You asked me to hack into Blackstone Technologies, remember?” Her words are whispered with a weighted tone.
“Wha? Why would . . .”
I stop myself mid-sentence, bored of talking. I have no idea what she’s babbling about and I’m far too tired to care.
“It was harder than you said it would be, but the passwords you gave me were a big help,” Bit says, her voice getting quieter and quieter in my disinterested mind with every syllable. “I’m proud of how deep this hack goes, Infinity. In just a few days’ time, they’ll let us walk right through the front door. And think absolutely nothing of it.”
“That’ll be nice,” I murmur sleepily as I close my eyes, my mind tumbling head over heels back into the deep, warm darkness.
CHAPTER TWO
The muted blue glow of my alarm clock fades to black behind my heavy eyelids, but I know it won’t stay that way for long. Almost on cue and from absolutely nowhere, a pinprick of white blips into existence, throbs, and brightens and then, in a blink, it flashes forward through my eyes, bursting open like a bottle rocket into busy noises and colors. The colors form into people-shaped blurs, passing by hurriedly, and the noise becomes their voices, chattering all around me. I’m home again, and the whole of Blackstone Manor is bristling with activity. All day long, servants have been cooking and cleaning and rushing here and there, and I’ve been trying my best to stay out of everyone’s way.
It’s late in the afternoon on the day before my sixth birthday, but that’s not the reason why everybody is bustling about. Oh no. This occasion is far more important.
You see, my father is scheduled to arrive tonight.
I’m standing on the first-floor landing, trying to be invisible, holding a silver-framed photograph of a man and a woman. Jonah once told me that the man in the picture is my father and the woman is my mother. Jonah never lies, so that’s who they must be. Richard and Genevieve Blackstone. Two people I have never met.
My father is a very handsome man. He’s wearing a white suit, a black, collared shirt, and a crimson tie. His jet-black hair is slicked back stylishly and a pencil-thin moustache is precisely groomed over the faint smile on his lips.
My mother is standing close beside him. I can see myself in her graceful features, with her long, straight, dark hair, alabaster skin, and sparkling, sapphire-blue eyes. She’s gorgeous. I hope so much that I look just like her when I’m older. Jonah says that I already look like a tiny version of her.
She’s dressed in a simple, elegant, sleeveless white dress, a black diamond pendant in a silver circle hanging on a chain around her neck. It’s beautiful, too, so it suits her perfectly. One of her hands rests over her belly. There’s no bump, but I often wonder if I was in there when this picture was taken.
The look on her face is hard to judge. Sometimes I think she looks a little sad. I’ll never know what she was thinking on that day, but she seems to be so very far away. Mother died when she was giving birth to me.
That’s about as far away as anyone could ever be.
Jonah always says that Father is a very important man with an extremely important job, and that’s why he’s never home. He’s busy trying to make the wor
ld a better place for everyone. I’ve been told that I should be grateful, that there are people in the world who struggle simply to find their next meal. Jonah says that I should count my lucky stars to be the daughter of the richest, most brilliant man in the world, but to me he’s a just a stranger frozen in a picture frame. My whole world is this house and Jonah. I touch my finger to my mother’s face and trail it down across her necklace. My heart aches. There should have been so much more.
Nanny Theresa plucks the frame from my little hands and adds it to a stack she’s cradling in the other arm. Her silvery-gray eyes bear down on me with a familiar disdain.
“When Dr. Blackstone and his guests arrive today, you will be on your best behavior. You will not tarnish the Blackstone name. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Nanny Theresa,” I murmur.
She heads off down the hall, plucking another picture from another table as she goes.
I’m far too excited and way too nervous to let Nanny scare me today. If Father is the king of this castle, then surely that makes me a princess, and a princess needs a proper dress to wear when she stands before the king for the first time—not this worn-out t-shirt and jeans. Mariele, one of our maids, said Father would be here in an hour, so there’s no time to waste. I run down the hall back to my room.
Mariele is there, laying out my dress for me. It’s all frills and lace and beautiful. I’m so bouncy and fidgety with bottled-up energy that it takes ten minutes for Mariele to get me sitting still, let alone clean and ready. When I’m finally dressed, she brushes my long black hair and puts it in red ribbons. Nanny Theresa appears at the door.
“Ready the child for presentation, Mariele.”
Father is early. I’m hastily ushered down the hallway and jostled into position in the marble foyer at the bottom of the main stairs. The servants have gathered, standing side by side in a line like soldiers. I stand nervously at the far end, tightly squeezing Mariele’s hand.
Even though the front door is still a distance away, I can hear the faint crunch of car tires on the gravel in the driveway. Car doors open and close, and my heart jumps into my throat. Through the door, I hear the muffled voice of Nanny Theresa greeting someone important. No. Not just one someone. Lots of people. There are muffled voices everywhere. My stomach is so full of butterflies, I’m afraid that if I sneeze one will fly out of my nose.
Time seems to stand still.
This is worse than waiting up all night to see if Santa Claus will really come down the chimney. Sometimes, being a day away from six years old and having never met your own father makes him seem like he is a magical imaginary creature, like an elf or the bogeyman or, I suddenly decide, just like Santa, except brave and heroic like Superman. Super Santa!
The voices are coming closer and closer. They’ve been out there forever. My heart is beating a million times a second. I feel like I’m going to blast off like a rocket and zoom around the room, my little shoes left sitting smoldering in the exact spot where I was standing.
I look over at the servants, and their eyes are transfixed on the long golden door handles. A second later, so are mine. Finally the handles dip, and the doors swing open.
The first man I see from my child-sized view is Reynolds, the butler. I see the familiar pinstripe fabric of his trousers and his cavernous nostrils. A wave of his hand is followed by the deep slow tones of his refined bass voice.
“Right this way, gentlemen.”
There’s a bustle of shoes and legs and ties and beards and nostrils. Hands clutch briefcases and folders and documents, fat cigars puff thick plumes of smoke, booming voices and laughter echo off the marble of the foyer.
I stare into the group, searching faces, waiting for the moment when they all stand aside and the man from the photograph rushes forward and scoops me up into his arms. He’ll swing me around, kiss me on the cheek, and tell me how wonderful it is that we are finally together. He’ll be so sorry that we’ve been apart for so long. He’ll tell me that he loves me and that he thinks about me all the time, like I do about him. I’m so excited that my nerves get the better of me and I hide behind the safety of Mariele’s skirt.
I spot Jonah out of the corner of my eye. He’s behind us, heading into the hallway under the stairs that lead to the southern wing. He gives me an uncharacteristic look of concern that worsens my nerves, before smiling and disappearing down the darkened passage.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Reynolds announces to the visitors. “Dr. Blackstone sends his most heartfelt apologies that he is not here to greet you in person, but I assure you that he will address you all via video conference later this evening.”
A few disgruntled grumblings issue from the group. A pang of sorrow grips my little heart and it sinks right through the floor, through the ground, out the other side of the world and into the cold, lonely darkness of space.
“May I present the staff,” Reynolds says, motioning toward the twenty footmen, maids, and servers. They all bow and curtsy accordingly.
The men walk down the line behind Reynolds until eventually they reach the end. “And this is Dr. Blackstone’s daughter.”
I peek out from behind Mariele, tears beginning to pool in my eyes.
All of the men lean in, their eyes glaring scarily at me like I’m an animal at the zoo. They whisper and nudge each other. The ones behind peer over the others’ shoulders. They gawk down at me like they’ve never seen a little girl before.
“There she is,” says one.
“Incredible,” whispers another.
They’re so taken with me that Reynolds has to clear his throat and step in between us to get their attention.
“Gentlemen, the chef is preparing a wonderful, ten-course, gourmet meal for you this evening, but for now, if you would please follow me into the red drawing room, refreshments are being served.”
They all follow Reynolds through the archway like a gaggle of suited geese, muttering and whispering and glaring back at me as they go.
I feel extremely uneasy and, for the first time in my life . . . abandoned. Unsure of what to do, I stand with the servants as Nanny gives them detailed, last-minute reminders of what will be expected of them tonight. She talks about how important our guests are, how their every whim must be catered to. She drones on and on, and before long her voice becomes nothing but a dull warbling in my ears. I stare at the door, broken-hearted. I feel so stupid to have expected so much from a man who has promised me nothing.
“Dismissed,” commands Nanny Theresa. She nods to the servants and they quickly disperse back to their duties. Father is not here. Just like every other day. I decide to slink away to my room. “Come child,” Nanny Theresa barks as her knobbly fingers reach toward my little wrist like five gnarled twigs on a withered old tree.
“The men would like to see you properly.”
I sit bolt upright. The bright sunlight streaming through the dorm-room windows stings my eyes and I feel like I haven’t slept a wink all night. Bettina’s bed is empty and already made. Crap. I’m gonna be late for class. In a flurry of mismatched socks, rumpled skirt and blouse, and mystery-mustard-spotted tie, I’m up and dressed in my uniform in two minutes flat. I pull a brush through my hair, kick my feet into my shoes, grab my blazer and satchel from the back of the chair, and hurry out the door.
From there it’s a quick sprint down the stairs, out the front door of the dorm, and across the courtyard, followed by a quick shortcut through the cafeteria kitchen, up two flights of stairs, and finally into the science wing.
“Hey, wait up!” I yell, pushing past a group of boys who are loitering in the hall. “Bettina!”
I catch up with her just as she’s walking into Professor Francis’s class.
“Hey Bit, why didn’t you wake me?”
She looks at me accusingly from behind her glasses with those big, brown, doe eyes of hers.
“I tried; honestly, I did. You were dead to the world. I can’t say that I’m surprised, considering what time you snuck in the window last night.”
I follow her into class, frowning as we pick our seats. “As per usual I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“What?” Bit says, suddenly weirdly flustered. “No, of course you don’t . . . I didn’t mean snuck in, I meant . . . what I meant to say was . . .”
“Save the chit-chat for your own time, please, Miss Otto,” Professor Francis says from the front of the class.
“Sorry sir,” Bit says as she pulls her computer slate from her satchel, completely avoiding eye contact.
I shake my head and smile. Bettina Otto can be so strange sometimes.
The Professor clears his throat with a loud “ahem.” “Before we begin, I would like to make a little announcement,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
“Due to an unexpected last-minute invitation, the location of the Annual Excellence field trip has been changed.”
There’s murmuring and furrowed brows class-wide. A bunch of kids shoot their hands in the air to ask questions, but most look a little confused and perturbed, me included. Bit, on the other hand, is sitting quietly, smiling contentedly toward the front of the room.
Professor Francis gently waves the forest of flagpole arms back down. “I know that those of you who are in contention to nab a seat on that bus were looking forward to visiting the Cité des Sciences Museum in Paris, but I’m afraid the new opportunity we have been offered is far too good to turn down.”
The murmurs become a little louder and increasingly more excited.
I can see by the look on the Professor’s face that even he is having trouble containing his own elation. “This occurrence is so extraordinary that the other members of staff have taken it upon themselves to hold a raffle to determine which one of them will accompany me as a chaperone. And I’m certain that when you all hear the good news, you’ll try especially hard on your final exams on Wednesday.”
