The Art of Saving the World

by Corinne Duyvis

  “So cool,” Four breathed. “You really could cut up a helicopter.”

  “What kind of knife is that, anyway?” Rainbow leaned in. Her glasses slid down her nose. “The shape is so weird.”

  The blunt side of the blade had a curved indent near the tip, creating a hook. I’d dismissed the shape as weird without giving it much consideration, but looking at it now, it seemed oddly familiar.

  “Oh!” It dawned on me. “It’s a hunting knife. It skins game.” I pointed at the tip. “That’s the gut hook. To open up the animal’s belly without damaging the meat.”

  “Wait,” Red said, “how do you even know that?”

  “I think we’ve found the evil twin,” Rainbow said.

  “Do you hunt or something?” Four asked.

  “Of course I don’t hunt!” The mental image alone was bizarre. I could sooner picture myself with Rainbow’s haircut. “My neighbor hunts. He lets me ride their horses, so the least I could do was listen when he wanted to show off his gear.”

  “Which neighbor—Marcus’s dad?” Red asked.

  I shook my head.

  “You have a Marcus in your class, too?” Four bit her lip—(I nearly flinched at the sight of her front teeth, what the hell was wrong with me)—and went on. “He’s cute.”

  Cute? A boy?

  Did that mean Four—?

  I wasn’t the only one caught by surprise there; Rainbow gave her a stunned look, while Red seemed suddenly more alert. (Maybe I was, too.)

  “Hold on,” Rainbow said. “He? You think a he is cute?”

  Four hesitated. “You don’t like . . .?”

  “Boys? Um, no.” Rainbow gestured at herself. “I didn’t think I was subtle.”

  “You could’ve been bi,” Red said.

  “Fair. But no. I’m gay as hell.”

  My mind shorted out. That was my voice. Me. Hazel Stanczak. Saying those words. Not even “I like girls” or “I’m not into boys” or “I’m a lesbian.” Rainbow even said it with a laugh. And gay as hell? Who said that? I felt more like Red. The way she dipped her head, fiddled with her fingers. That, I recognized.

  And if Rainbow was—

  And if Four wasn’t—

  What did that mean for me?

  “So am I the token lesbian?” Rainbow raised her eyebrows.

  We stared. Four’s mouth dropped open slightly. (I made sure mine was closed.)

  “I mean,” she went on, “I was just as gay a few months ago before I dyed my hair. I’d assumed you were, too. Marcus? Really?”

  A blush crept onto Four’s face, all splotchy and pink. “Did you see his dimples?”

  “No, I can’t say I noticed,” Rainbow said blandly.

  The scrapes on my hand itched. I didn’t scratch them. I sat as still as I could, even when the cold of the asphalt crept though my pants and leeched the heat from my skin. I didn’t want to interrupt.

  I wanted to hear every word.

  “You’re not the token.” Red plucked the filling from a frayed part of her coat. Her eyes briefly met Rainbow’s. “But, um, almost nobody knows. People at school always joke about those things. But it wasn’t a joke when those books got pulled from the library last year, or when Neil’s brother got trapped in the locker room. And Mom and Dad . . . I mean, they’re not bigots. They’d never kick me out. But whenever a celebrity comes out of the closet, they’ll go, ‘Another one? Are there any straight people left in Hollywood?’ They’ll say it’s just a publicity stunt and that being gay is trendy now. And that parents shouldn’t enable kids who claim they’re gay or trans or whatever, that it’d be fine if the kid really was but they’re too young for those decisions, and . . .” She trailed off. “I just don’t want them to look at me any different.”

  Four was nodding. Could I nod? That didn’t have to mean I was the same way, right, just that I’d heard the same things from Mom and Dad? Tiny comments. Pangs. Bracing myself when we watched TV and a certain actress or newscaster came on.

  “Caro was the only one who knew,” Red said softly. She still didn’t say the actual words. “I kind of wish I’d told Mom and Dad, now.”

  And she didn’t say: In case I don’t get to go home.

  “My parents found out by accident,” Rainbow said. “They felt guilty that I wasn’t comfortable telling them, so they tried to be supportive. I mean, they let me do this to my hair. I think the guilt’s wearing off, though. Now they’re saying that it’s OK if I like girls, but they wish I wouldn’t change my hair or clothes or music for it. They think I’m trying to become someone I’m not. But it’s the opposite.” She smiled wryly. “And I can’t talk to them about any of the—the politics, I guess, or what it’s like hearing certain jokes . . . They don’t get it. They think I’m being ‘morally superior.’ Like I’m trying to make them feel bad.”

  “Do you wish they hadn’t found out?” Red asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s nice not to have to lie, but we fight more nowadays. We never really used to.” She pushed the toe of her boot against the concrete floor.

  My parents and I were the same. We rarely fought. I didn’t really challenge them. They didn’t need me going all angry, hormonal teen on them—I was enough of a problem for my family as it was.

  I propped my arms up behind me and stared at the ceiling. I wouldn’t bring a girlfriend home anytime soon. Was there a reason to tell my parents? Was there even something to tell? I kept thinking, Maybe you’re just admiring Marybeth, like girls do, because it wasn’t like I fantasized about sex with her or seeing her naked, or anything. I just liked the way she looked. I liked the way she danced and hunched close to her desk when writing, so close she’d almost have her nose to the paper. I just wanted us to sit side by side. Lean my head on her shoulders, toy with her hair, play video games with our legs touching and toes tickling, and maybe kiss since I couldn’t stop looking at her lips—

  Girls did that, right? They were close, they experimented? It was normal to wish for that level of closeness.

  It didn’t matter if it was more than that, because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror and think those words. Gay. Lesbian. Queer. Likes girls. They suited someone like Rainbow, stylish and sharp like a person on TV, but not someone like me, with this big bush of hair, with big front teeth I hated even after I’d had my braces out, with one boob slightly bigger than the other, gawky and curveless and sheltered and unkissed.

  Seeing Rainbow had been like being handed an answer. Here, look: You were right. This is who you are. This is who you could’ve been if you weren’t so scared. This is who you could’ve been in another life.

  But then Four wasn’t—But Red was, and—

  I was no closer to knowing about myself than before.

  The only one who hadn’t said a word was me. Any moment now, the others would realize that.

  I took the knife from the ground. “Aww. Look at us, bonding.”

  I tried to be jokey but, shit, I just sounded dismissive. If someone responded like I did after confessions like those . . . I cringed at the thought.

  I flashed a smile and stood. “I’m gonna check on Neven.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Damford had a population of eight hundred and seventy-six.

  Plus a number of trolls and one Hazel Stanczak, if we were right.

  We started our descent far out enough that nobody would see Neven coming, and landed by a patch of forest. We stumbled off Neven’s back, our legs stiff. Since I’d sat at the front, my eyes burned, and my hair was tangled to the point of hurting.

  I removed my gloves and unwrapped my scarf from my face. The others sat down in the tall grass, slowly stretching their legs to get some feeling back. Rainbow passed around Lina’s cereal bars.

  It almost felt like a picnic. I’d wandered the grounds and woods around my house often enough that this scene on the grass—even with a grumpy dragon, three identical faces, and mountains on the horizon—felt more like home than any part of Philadelphia had. It
was quieter, too. No traffic. No sirens or car horns. No police on every corner. I didn’t even hear birds. Only a rush of wind, rustling leaves and grass, and the quiet chatter of my own voice a dozen feet away.

  I could almost imagine my house standing just past those trees. I could walk over and be home before dinner.

  I turned away, coming up by Neven’s side. “Do you need anything?” The flight here had taken over six hours—the few breaks we’d taken couldn’t have been sufficient. “Food? Water?” Medical care?

  “I’ll look after myself after you’ve gone into Damford.” She scanned the area.

  “I have a question.” I spoke softly, though the others were too far away to listen in. “What does being the Chosen One actually mean? I understand that I have a destiny, but . . .” The answer seemed obvious—I was Chosen—but that could mean a dozen different things. I shook out my stiff legs, unsure how to finish my question. “But does that mean I’m going to succeed?” I asked finally. “Am I supposed to succeed? Does it mean I’m the only one who could?”

  Neven seemed to deem the area safe. She lowered herself gently onto her side. Her glossy black eyes looked up, unblinking. “Just do what you can.”

  “How do I know it’s enough?”

  “All Chosen Ones wonder that, eventually,” Neven said. “I always wish I could answer.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, and stepped away.

  I wished I hadn’t asked at all.

  I wished I could scrub off this uncertainty like it was dirt or water. I wished it were something physical I could peel away and be left with only me, confident and heroic and ready to fulfill her destiny—

  But as I watched the others in a half circle by the trees, I couldn’t pretend that I was that brave girl underneath all my fears. Not with Four biting her lip, the same embarrassing way I now knew I did, or smiling so hopefully that I recognized it as too eager, too desperate. With Red leaning toward Rainbow and quietly asking her something, her eyes so concerned, and so too much in the exact same way that Four’s smile was.

  I shouldn’t be judging them. They didn’t want to be here any more than I did. They’d lost their worlds and nearly fallen to their deaths and more, all because of me. And if that conversation in the parking garage was anything to go by, they were far braver than I was.

  I breathed deep and headed their way. As I came within hearing range, they fell silent. Their eyes flicked at me. They’d been talking about something they didn’t want me to hear.

  I couldn’t turn back now. “Got any more of those cereal bars?” I offered a cheerful smile, like nothing was wrong.

  Was it cheerful? It could be that awkward smile I’d seen on them. Maybe they recognized it on me, too. The smile fell.

  “We should get going,” I said abruptly. “Damford is half a mile away. We can eat while we walk.”

  We’d made Neven rest back in Philadelphia, but I didn’t want to delay any further. I could nearly hear her say: And what did you do? You had a picnic. You did some stretching.

  The others didn’t argue.

  We left Neven behind—she’d stay out of sight and keep an ear out in case we needed her—and set out. There was a single main road to follow, and we trudged along beside it, devouring the little food we’d brought.

  Several times, I almost broke the silence—I wanted to talk about something inane or ask questions about their lives and worlds. I stopped myself each time.

  I didn’t know how to act. I felt see-through. Exposed.

  “What do we think this fifth Hazel is doing out here?” Red wondered. “We spotted that photo by pure luck; we could’ve easily missed her.”

  “Maybe she’s hiding from the MGA,” Rainbow said. “Same way we hid at Aunt Lina’s.”

  All the way in Damford? I doubted it. Hazel Five’s presence had to be related to the trolls. There wasn’t much else here. While there were more signs of habitation the closer we got—a farmstead, a 24/7 diner that seemed curiously abandoned, signs pointing to a golf shop—for the most part it was a blur of field-hill-trees-barn-grass-road-trees, with faint mountains on the horizon.

  I walked fast. My breath made little puffs in the air. The signs by the side of the road were increasing, advertising everything from a KFC to three different auto shops to the biggest used bookstore in the region. I glimpsed buildings above the trees ahead.

  “Car,” Four reported from the back of the group. We took cover behind a copse of trees.

  “So there is life out here,” Rainbow said.

  “Look.” Red pointed. “It’s stopping.”

  The car’s brake lights flared as it disappeared behind a curve in the road. A moment later, I heard the distant sound of car doors opening.

  Instead of returning to the road where we might be spotted, we cut through the trees and climbed up a low hill. I brushed spiderwebs from our path, and prickly plants snagged at our pants.

  “Oh, wow,” Four whispered.

  A dead deer lay at the base of a tree, deep red slashes across its body. One eye was gouged out. Scratches covered its face.

  “Looks like a fresh kill,” I said.

  They looked at me in unison.

  “I don’t hunt!”

  Rainbow raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like something a secret hunter would say.”

  Red crept closer. “It hasn’t been eaten. Maybe those trolls did this. Still, you’d think animals would scavenge the body.”

  “Unless they’d been driven off.” I hadn’t heard any birds. Nothing flying up from the trees when Neven landed, no chipmunks or squirrels fleeing as we trudged through these woods . . .

  I worried at my lip, then abruptly stopped when I realized what I was doing. “Let’s keep moving.”

  As we walked, Rainbow unhooked her backpack and silently passed out the weapons. She took the claw hammer. Red got the baseball bat, and Four the carving knife. I still had my hunting knife.

  As we reached the top of the hill, voices trickled through the trees. I crouched. The others did the same behind me. We peered through the trees down at the road.

  The car that’d passed us—a silver sedan—had come to a crooked stop before a roadblock. Two men wearing baggy camo pants stood nearby. One carried a golf club. The other had what looked like a shotgun strapped over his shoulder. On the other side of the roadblock stood a battered pickup truck.

  “. . . to turn back, all right?” Shotgun Guy was saying. “We’re just trying to keep people safe. The area’s had some nasty animal attacks.”

  “Trolls,” Red whispered by my side.

  “It’ll take ages to go around!” An older man—judging from his hair; I only saw his back—stood beside the sedan. “What’re you supposed to be, anyway? State police? Got any ID?”

  “Concerned citizens.” Golf Club Guy smirked.

  My chest felt suddenly tight with nerves. That smirk, the weapons, the abandoned roads . . . Those guys could get away with anything they wanted.

  At home, the MGA protected me wherever I went. The rift might blow up and kill us all, sure, but I’d never had anything to fear from other people.

  For the first time, I felt the agents’ absence sharply.

  Even if these men meant well—and they probably did, if they were stopping people from going into troll-infested areas—the next people we met might not. How did anyone do this? Go out into the world every day and trust that none of the strangers you passed would hurt you? Knowing that if they did, help might not come in time? The thoughts raced through my head in the space of a second. My throat felt dry.

  “Concerned citizens?” The sedan driver scoffed.

  “Sheriff-appointed concerned citizens,” Shotgun Guy said. “We put up signs. If you missed ’em, that’s your fault. If you ignored ’em, that’s your fault, too. If you heard about our situation and came to snoop, well . . .”

  “Situation?” the sedan driver said. “You mean the animals?”

  “What could some animal do to us? We’re in a c
ar!” a woman called from the passenger seat.

  Golf Club Guy pushed himself away from the roadblock. “You heard about Philadelphia?”

  “No, we missed it.” The woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “My family in Lithuania knew within minutes, for crying out loud.”

  “Well, we’ve got our own troubles up here. Go around through Seymour and you should be safe. You’ll pass the Night ’n’ Day diner—tell them Barnes sent you. You’ll get a coffee on the house.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “Then we have a problem.” Golf Club Guy gripped the club tighter.

  “So . . .,” I whispered. “Let’s not go via the road.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The four of us withdrew. It took another few minutes navigating the trees, staying out of sight from the road, before we reached the first houses—rather, reached their backyards.

  “Careful.” I extended an arm to keep the others back. In several places, motion detectors had been crudely shoved into the lawn. They seemed similar to those we used to have on the grounds: The sensors faced each other, with an uninterrupted line of sight. They were placed low enough that the beam would catch trolls emerging from the forest, whether on four legs or two. We could easily step over without triggering the alarms. Damford took its trolls seriously if, after only two days, people were already evacuating and putting up roadblocks and motion sensors.

  This had to be the threat the Powers That Be wanted me to fight. I had to believe this wasn’t a coincidence.

  We crossed the lawn and slipped past the houses, ready to bolt if we disturbed any alarms. The street was deserted. I kept one hand inside my pocket, loosely holding the knife.

  “Do we just walk around until we find that house in the photo?” Four whispered. “Hazel Five might’ve already left.”

  “The house is in that direction.” Rainbow indicated our left. “I looked it up when we had Wi-Fi in the parking garage.”

  Red reached for her phone. “Did you download the map?”

  “No, but I remember. It’s not far.”

  As we made our way through the town, the streets remained abandoned. No people. No cars going past. Only a few parked vehicles.