by Trisha Leigh
The space is loud; three different conversations are going on at once, each trying to be heard above the others. The sight of Geoff sitting up stops me in my tracks. He’s not talking and his muscle tics remain, but none of that diminishes my amazement a single bit.
Mole senses my arrival and leaps out of his chair, cutting Pollyanna off mid-sentence as he leaves her behind and crosses to me. He pulls me into a hug, making sure our skin never touches, and the familiar smell and feel of him brings tears to my eyes. As quickly as he grabbed me, he pushes me away, sightless eyes peering into my face. It always unnerves me when he appears to be checking me out.
“Are you okay?”
“What? I’m fine. Why, are y’all not?”
“We’re okay.” His lips tighten over the words, pinching until it’s clear they’re not entirely true.
Athena and Reaper continue their argument, both red-faced with eyes full of fire, but everyone else settles down into various seats. Haint and Pollyanna share the overstuffed chair-and-a-half, their hips and legs pressed together, arms crossed over their chests. Goose flops, belly first, onto a beanbag, and Mole climbs back into his recliner. The arguers lean up against opposite ends of the couch, their toes inches from touching in the middle, and Geoff rests in his typical spot on the floor, except with his back against the couch instead of stretched out in front of it.
I sit on the round, padded footstool between the girls and Mole. “Does Prism know about the meeting?”
“Probably, but she can’t risk being here with us, especially not now. We’ll assume the syringe ninjas got to her, too.”
“And Flicker?”
Everyone shakes their heads, one at a time.
Like the ghost stories rampant in the South, tales of a nude red-haired girl appearing and disappearing from thin air arise around the world. The Philosopher and his staff gathered news reports and blurbs, many from silly tabloids, and kept them in a thick file in Darley’s library.
If the feds found that, they probably thought some really weird shit was going down at Darley Hall. Whatever they think, it can’t be weirder than the truth.
“Okay, so where do we start?” I take a deep breath, expecting them to all speak at once and wondering why they’re all listening to me, anyway.
“This afternoon,” Goose spats. “Everyone’s story the same? Someone comes out of nowhere, makes sure they’ve got the right person, stabs you with a syringe?”
We each nod, and everyone’s faces mirror the slick nausea slurping at my stomach. It’s violating and terrifying—not knowing who and why and what.
Athena looks at his twin, then takes a deep breath. “We fought back, managed to get the upper hand for a second, and then it was like… we froze. Like statues. My brain was telling my hands to punch, my legs to run, but it was as though someone shoved a block between the command and response.” Goose nods, encouraging. “I think they were like us. Mutated. That was why we couldn’t move, and as soon as they injected us and ran off, we both fell over.”
The phrase they were like us trips, stumbles, picks itself up, and makes its way around the room, leaving stunned confusion in its wake. We’ve considered the possibility, of course, since our mutations are random. There must be others, ones not taken in by such forward-thinking, scientifically minded people.
But to think there not only are others, but that they know about us… I don’t know what to make of that.
“If that’s true, how do they know who we are and where to find us? And that we’re like them?” Haint echoes my thoughts. Some of them, anyway.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Mole suggests. “Where did everyone come from, before Darley? Was it like they told us, that foster homes or our parents gave us up because our mutations started to show up?” He glances at Pollyanna. “She and I don’t know details, but Sandra, that social worker, said our mothers were both at some kind of group home before we were born, and always planned to give us up.”
My breath catches. “Mine, too. Her parents sent her away because she was in high school and refused to let her keep me.”
“Our dad said he didn’t know our mom was pregnant until a long time afterward because she transferred schools,” Athena murmurs. “One of his friends ran into her on summer break years later. She was dying and spilled the whole story, but she was at a place like that, too.”
We ended up at Darley because our families, in one way or another, were ashamed of the circumstances of our births, which have nothing to do with the strange things we can do.
Looking around this room, at the faces of the only people in the world who understand me, it’s hard to feel sad about how my life began. I grew up knowing love. In a world of people who might think we’re special because of what we can do, the Cavies love one another because of who we are.
“My mother is dead, and I know Gypsy and Mole’s and the twins are, too.” Haint’s voice doesn’t betray any emotion, a giveaway that the fact bothers her, and she waits for Polly and Reaper and Geoff to confirm it’s the same for them. “Anyone know how?”
“Our dad doesn’t know, just that it wasn’t sudden. Some kind of terminal illness,” Goose offers. “We can try to find out more before Sunday.”
The twins had talked their father into letting us all come to Beaufort—families included—for a get-to-know-you picnic. It seems so far away, but having the real-life reunion on the horizon helps.
“My grandparents don’t seem to really understand. It was like… some kind of weird virus, or maybe radiation poisoning? I’ll have to get them to give me more details at some point or send me to someone who can explain it better.” Haint continues in her robot voice.
Reaper stays quiet, which we assume means she doesn’t know, either.
My own father hasn’t told me anything specific. “Okay, well, let’s all try to get more details about where exactly we were born. Maybe we can get information there.”
“What for?” Pollyanna snaps. “Playing novice detective into our pasts while we’ve got present issues to deal with? I mean, worrying if some deranged, mutated miscreant is going to jump out of the bushes and stab me in the neck seems a little more pressing.”
“I think Gypsy could be right,” Athena objects, poking her ankle with his toe. “This mystery has been going on a lot longer than this afternoon. If the attackers know about us, maybe they always have.”
“Oh, come on. We all know Gypsy’s more concerned with learning more about her real family because she’s not in any danger in the real world. If she loses control or slips up, she sees a number in her mind. Big whoop. Mole could burn half the city in under a minute. Reaper could kill everyone in her school just by thinking about their blood curdling in their veins. I could make the basketball team jump off a roof.” She glares at me, jutting out her chin. “I mean, sorry, but it’s true. Stopping our training is a big deal to the rest of us. If there are more people out there who understand our mutations, they might be able to help, and that’s my priority.”
“Polly’s right,” Haint says, quiet but sure. “There’s more going on. They changed us and we need to know what that means.”
“Me. Better.” All of us stare at Geoff, who raises his eyebrows with much less effort than the last time we were all together.
“Better?” Haint questions. “I’ll go with different. I disappeared after dinner and it took me twenty minutes to figure out how to come back. My grandparents could have missed me.”
The uncertainty grows heavy, presses against my throat. It grows, squashing my arms and legs, flattening my belly. The kind of terror I’ve only read about or watched in stupid horror movies holds on tight, painful and electric.
“I burned my hand in the shower.” Mole stares down at his right hand, as pale and strong and smooth as ever. “Weirder, it hurt like a bitch, but it healed in under five minutes.”
“What?” Goose gasps, the word crackling, booming in the deafening quiet that preceded it. “You’ve never been able to
do that before!”
I can see him wondering what he can do that he couldn’t this morning. Whether it’s better or worse than his brother’s abilities and what kind of advantage it will give him. Reaper says nothing, remaining sullen and silent. Pollyanna doesn’t look shocked—I assume she and Mole already discussed this development—but she does look wrecked. If she loses control of her gift, she’ll be forced to be more antisocial than me. I only have to avoid touching others. If she’s not paying attention, her mood can affect people up to fifty feet away.
And that was before today.
“I touched a boy at my school this morning on accident, and saw… well, you know what I saw. But later, when he came over to check on me, he hugged me before I could stop him.”
“Wait, what? A boy you just met came over to check on you and you let him hug you?” Mole’s pale green eyes bug out, shooting an incredulous hurt toward me that doesn’t compute.
“It turns out the normal kids take quite a shine to our Gypsy,” Reaper drawls, refusing to look at me, or anyone else for that matter. “She’s already got a whole new collection of friends.”
“Whatever. They only think I’m weird and want the juicy details about Darley. And I didn’t let Jude hug me, exactly. I just figured… I already knew the number, so what was the point in refusing?” The admission in my voice, the truth that I wanted to touch him, rings so clear there’s no way they miss it. We’re too close. I soldier on, hoping to distract them with my next piece of information. “But the second time I saw more. Pictures. I think of how and where he’s going to die.”
I leave out the detail of my involvement. The Cavies feel different to me, and not just because of the injections. Reaper’s lashing out. Scared. Haint’s too… controlled. It makes me gun shy.
Mole’s blank gaze burns holes in my cheek. I can’t figure out why he’s so upset.
I mean, the alteration to my talent blows my mind, but in light of the fact that most of us have experienced some kind of tweak or another since this afternoon, it’s understandable that no one falls out of their seat.
Maybe I should bring up Dane, admit to momentarily losing my gift, but the fact that everyone else is getting stronger chokes off the confession. Also, I don’t want to bring up touching another guy right now. They’re all looking at me as though I betrayed them somehow—as though my embracing our new life for half a day brought this unknown danger down on us all.
“What are we going to do?” Mole asks, avoiding my gaze. “Someone knows who we are, and they obviously know about our mutations if they gave us something that’s fucking with them. We need to know what they know.”
“Everything,” Geoff grunts, his breathing heavy as though sitting up takes it out of him.
“He’s right,” Goose chimes in. “And so is Gypsy. We need to know everything.”
Chapter Eleven
I’m dragging ass the next morning, having lain awake long after the rest of the Cavies nodded off, some back in their corporeal beds, others with me in the Clubhouse. We decided that Mole and Pollyanna would contact Sandra to see if they can find out where the Philosopher is being held, if he’s out on bail, or if there’s a way to contact him. He might be willing to help us. He seems to have cared all these years, at least about keeping the truth of our abilities from finding its way into the wild, and he did so much research that he might know about others like us, if they exist.
Luckily, paying attention at school isn’t a requirement for me, at least not yet, and it takes a good thirty seconds to realize the Latin teacher is trying to get my attention after class.
“Miss Crespo?” he prods for maybe the third time.
“Sorry, what?” My eyes trail the rest of the students as they escape this classroom and head to the next, the story of each and every day, one that’s significantly less intriguing than I imagined.
“I wondered if I might talk to you for a minute.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”
He walks around to the front of his desk and leans against it, holding on to the whistle around his neck. Mr. Patton is actually Coach Patton, it turns out, and heads up the boys’ basketball and girls’ lacrosse teams.
“I’ve noticed a couple of things during your two days in my class. First, your Latin skills surpass most everyone else in your grade, and your ability to not only translate, but extrapolate intent, is impressive.” He pauses, but not long enough for me to thank him for the compliment. “Second, I wondered if you’d be willing, since you don’t have any other academic responsibility at the moment, to give Mr. Greene some extra help.”
“Mr. Greene?”
“Jude. He’s my star point guard, and his grades are declining. I can’t have him on the bench before districts.”
“Oh.” My brain races with a million excuses, jumping back and forth so hard between recoil and intrigue that it feels as though the halves are pulling apart. In the end there’s no good reason to refuse. Not one I can share with Coach Patton, at any rate.
“Sure.” I nod, feeling resigned.
“Wonderful. I’ll let him know.”
Jude doesn’t say anything about tutoring during lunch or when I run into him after microbiology, my final class of the day. Maya doesn’t find me on my way out the front door, either, then I remember that she has some kind of rehearsal or practice after school.
The afternoon is warm, and invisible whispers from the Unitarian graveyard brush past my ears. They beckon me with crooked fingers until my feet pull me across the street, anxious for peace and quiet and time to breathe instead of trying to act okay all the time.
Windows topped by gothic arches frame decorated panes of glass and tower over of Archdale Street. A plaque near the building’s front entrance declares it the oldest Unitarian Church in the South, and an ornate wrought-iron fence rests against a brick and plaster wall. There are headstones on either side of the grounds, but the gate admitting the public sits a few steps to my right, wrapped in late-afternoon shadows.
“It’s pretty inside. Peaceful.” A quiet voice interrupts my tortured thoughts of stolen babies, years of lies, syringes, and my own uselessness.
I turn to find Dane Kim, a small smile on his face, like an offering he’s not sure will be accepted. Seeing him should raise my hackles, given that he’s one of the reasons for my angst over my mutation, but I’m kind of relieved it’s not Jude or Maya or someone else who would want me to be smiley and chatty and entertain them with the personality quirks I’d gained being raised in a bubble.
“Yeah?”
His strong shoulders relax, and he breathes into the smile now. “I sit there sometimes. I mean, I don’t advertise it or anything because people would think I’m all morbid and weird in addition to being shy and nerdy, but I enjoy the silence.”
“I’ve been meaning to check it out.” I smile back, glad to see him, now. “It’s kind of got a… presence. Compared to the others I’ve visited in town.”
“Does it?” He purses his lips. “Maybe. There’s something about it, for sure. Want to stroll through?”
I hesitate a brief second before nodding, then walk beside him toward the entrance. The graveyard is manicured at the front, the part that’s visible from Archdale Street. I know from my ambles down King that it’s not as maintained all the way through, and before long a thick canopy of trees and moss and vines blots out the weak warmth offered by the winter sun.
The headstones get harder to see among the bushes and ferns, and the path grows uneven and sometimes invisible, the stones sunk into the earth or carried off by time. Benches crouch here and there, under trees and next to little crops of graves, and it surprises me how badly I want to stop and sit, to soak it in, letting the breeze wipe my worries away and the people under the ground remind me that I’m still alive.
It’s as though Dane reads my mind, leading me over to a little stone bench and settling in without saying a word. He’s a mostly silent companion but it makes me feel better to be next to someon
e, words or not.
“So, how is your first week going?” he ventures after a while.
I eye him. “Is this one of those stupid student-ambassador-required-coddling things?”
He smiles. “No. I was hoping you’d ask me the same thing, is all.”
“Oh. Well. It’s hard starting at a school where everyone has been friends since they ran around naked together in their backyards. But not terrible.”
“That’s a terrible image.” Dane gives an overdramatic shudder, displaying a gentle sense of humor that puts me at ease. “You don’t seem like you’re having trouble adjusting. You already know Eve, and out of the three of us newbies, you’re fitting in the best with the popular kids.”
“I’m not sure there are popular kids in a class of forty-seven,” I reply, uncomfortable talking about Maya and the others, and definitely wanting to avoid the topic of Reaper. “How are you finding your first week at Charleston Academy, Mr. Kim?”
“Typical. I’m a military brat, so moving is kind of a forced hobby.”
“Ah.” It disappoints me, for some reason, to know that he’s used to this. My face feels rubbery, refusing to obey my command to hide my reaction. Maybe it’s too tired.
Dane reaches out, using a finger to tilt up my chin. There’s still nothing. No number. No death scene. It’s a relief and cause for concern at the same time.
There is warmth, comfort, and what might even be the rumblings of a budding friendship. I like sitting with him. I like that we’re not talking about Darley, like Maya likes to, or about a series of disasters, like the Cavies are. This afternoon, with Dane, it’s almost as though the real Norah, the Norah-that-could-be, pokes a toe into the sunshine.
“It’s not easy for me,” he promises. “Change is never simple, Norah, no matter where you came from. Come from. But every place is just a place. They’re not all that different.”
