by Kat Zhang
“Did you check in the top cabinet?” Addie walked past her to look.
I tried not to think about the deliberate way Nina’s frown had disappeared. As if she’d forced it away, along with her curiosity. As if, even at eleven, Nina had learned that her life would always be full of other people’s secrets, and some were dangerous, and sometimes it was better not to know.
Maybe that was good, since there wasn’t anything that could be done, anyway. Should Addie and I have lied about Sallie and Val? Or at least told Kitty we didn’t know?
I was so terrified of doing something wrong. I wanted, so badly, for Kitty and Nina to have a life where they didn’t need to worry about these sorts of things at all.
SEVEN
Ryan and Hally came downstairs a little after noon, just in time to help Kitty and me polish off that morning’s leftover pancake batter. Hally fooled around with Kitty in the living room, laughing and striking poses while Kitty filmed her on the old camcorder. I kept them both in the corner of our vision as I told Ryan about Sabine’s phone call.
“You said you’d go?” Ryan kept his voice to a murmur. “What about Hally and Lissa?”
“She didn’t mention them.” The pancake batter glopped onto the oiled pan. I prodded at it with our spoon, spreading it out. “They could come, I’m sure. Maybe she just forgot to invite them.”
Addie’s skepticism was tangible.
“She said she wanted to show us around town?”
“Yeah. And have us meet her other friends.”
Ryan’s gaze stayed on our face, but I felt his focus stray. Whatever conversation he and Devon were having, it distracted him.
I’d learned a lot about Ryan since our escape from Nornand—that he was a morning person, that he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth. That he and his sisters used to play at being soldiers when they were little and lived in the country, fighting wars that sometimes his sisters won because he and Devon let them and sometimes because the girls were really very vicious when things got down to it.
But I hadn’t learned what he was like around other people—people who weren’t me or Kitty or his sister or adults. There hadn’t been much room to make friends at Nornand, and we’d never hung out at school. Was he curious about Sabine and her friends the way I was?
“You wouldn’t have that much trouble sneaking out,” I said. Ryan and Devon slept in the living room, where Henri had a foldout couch. Hally and Lissa had appropriated the spare bedroom. “I don’t think—”
“I’m going, Eva.”
I looked up at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re going, so I’m going. I never said I wasn’t.”
“Okay.” I smiled. I slipped my hand over his, and he leaned toward me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was going to kiss me. I could sense it. I could almost feel it already—his mouth against mine. But I couldn’t let it happen. Not with Addie squirming beside me.
I caught the moment Ryan hesitated. Saw him hold himself back, rein himself in.
“Eva,” he said.
“Hm?” My voice was barely more than a breath.
He grinned and looked away. “Your pancake’s burning.” The heat suddenly shooting through our body had nothing to do with the stove. I rushed to scrape the pancake from the pan. “You know, I thought you were lying when you said Kitty was a better cook than you are, but—”
I shoved at him, laughing. “Shut up! You were distracting me. We were having a very distracting conversation.”
The pancake was blackened, but salvageable. I kept a hawk’s eye on it, but couldn’t help the ridiculous smile that spread over our face. It would be all right. Being with Ryan like this—being with him but unable to really be with him—was crazily awkward, borderline insane. But it was what it was. It was my life, and I understood it. He understood it. We could laugh about it. We could still be happy, and that was what mattered, wasn’t it?
“What are you two doing in there?” Hally called from the living room.
“Slaving away to feed you,” Ryan shot back. He gave her a dark look that quickly melted when he couldn’t bite back a laugh.
“Well, somebody’s got to do it, brother dearest.” Hally and Kitty were bent over the camcorder, fiddling with its controls. “Emalia’s not actually going to develop this film, is she?”
Kitty pulled the video recorder from her hands and pressed the record button before turning the lens in our direction. “She promised she would.”
“Dear God,” Hally said. She winked at me. “Well, there go my plans for political office.”
I burst out laughing again. Addie unwound a bit, then even more as my happiness infected her. Guilt suddenly pressed cold hands against our heart. Sabine hadn’t asked for Hally or Lissa to show up tonight.
I didn’t, of course. But as I turned back to the stove, I realized I already hoped there would be.
Anchoit’s streets were not completely empty, even at nearly two a.m. Still, they were quiet as Ryan and Addie slipped from our apartment building into the warm summer night.
There would be more people downtown, where places stayed open late. I imagined music flowing out from low-lit bars, people laughing and stumbling from party to party. Emalia’s neighborhood was more known for pickpockets and the occasional gang fight than dance clubs.
“Is that it?” Ryan said as we approached a fast-food joint. It gleamed yellow and red in the darkness.
Addie hesitated. “I think so.”
We peeked through the windows. The tiny restaurant looked deserted but for the cashier lounging behind the counter and a band of four people squished around a cheap plastic table. The blond girl had her back to us, as did the red-haired boy sitting next to her, but Sabine and Jackson faced us. The latter noticed us first, lighting up with a smile.
“There you are,” Sabine called out as Addie came inside. Jackson pulled out an empty chair. It scraped against the linoleum floor.
Ryan took the seat on our left, beside Sabine. Or maybe it was Josie, the other soul sharing her body. We didn’t know either of them well enough to tell.
“Sabine,” the girl said, as if reading my mind. She smiled, then gestured to the redheaded boy. “You’ve already spoken with Christoph. And that one there—” That one rolled her eyes. Her bleached-blond hair curved to frame her face. Her eyebrows, which had been left dark, stood out in sharp contrast. “That’s Cordelia.”
“And Jackson,” Jackson said before Sabine could continue. He smiled his match-strike smile. “Hopefully you haven’t forgotten that.”
Sabine grinned. “You are so forgettable.”
“We make him reintroduce himself every Thursday,” Cordelia said, but softened her words with an arm hooked around Jackson’s neck. She pulled him toward her, laughing.
Addie smiled and snuck a look toward Ryan. But the boy on our left wasn’t Ryan anymore. Devon looked around the table with the air of someone studying a complicated puzzle.
I hadn’t even considered the possibility that they weren’t.
I didn’t like to think about that. Sabine had been rescued just under five years ago. In five years, Addie and I would be twenty. Would we still be in hiding? Would we have slipped into the skin of someone else’s life so fully their name slipped off our tongue like our own?
“I’m—” Addie started to say, then hesitated. We couldn’t drop either of our names in public, even if there was no one around to hear but the guy reading behind the counter. We had the i
dentity Emalia had forged for us. But it stuck in our throat. We didn’t want to introduce ourself with somebody else’s name.
“It’s all right.” Sabine smiled. “We know who you are.”
They might know our names, but how could they know if Addie was in control right now or me? How could they know if the boy next to us was Devon or Ryan?
“Jackson said you guys have gone down to the beach already?” Cordelia asked as she let go of Jackson. He rolled his eyes at her and ran his hand through his shaggy hair, trying to get it to lie down flat again.
Addie shrugged. “Only once.”
“But not at night?”
“No.”
Cordelia threw out her arms, as if trying to capture and express the sight of the ocean after dark. “It’s beautiful. We should go right now.”
“It’s a little far to walk,” Sabine said. She caught Cordelia’s drink as it almost tipped off the table. “And a little late to take a bus.”
Cordelia laughed. “Okay, okay. The voice of reason reigns. We’ll go straight to the shop, then.”
“The shop?” Addie asked.
“Sabine and I recently opened a photography shop a few streets down,” Cordelia said. “We hang out there sometimes.”
I wouldn’t have guessed either Cordelia or Sabine was over twenty, if that. But such was the magic of a forged identity. Perhaps they’d convinced Emalia to fudge a date or two, give them years they’d never actually lived.
“Did you guys want to order something before we left?” Sabine asked as the others picked up their things, clearing the table. “They’ve got—” I caught the moment she realized neither Devon nor I had any money. How could we? “Here.” She took Addie gently by the arm and led us toward the counter. “You’ve got to try their milkshakes.”
“It’s all right,” Addie protested. “I don’t—”
The man behind the counter straightened as we approached, setting aside his book.
“No arguing, okay?” Sabine smiled. “I’m sorry I never properly welcomed you guys to Anchoit when you first arrived. Two milkshakes, please,” she said to the cashier. Then to Addie, “What flavors? Do you know what your boyfriend likes?”
Addie went cold next to me. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Our voice was barely above a whisper, but the cashier heard, anyway. He tried to look as if he hadn’t.
Sabine wore embarrassment like an ill-fitting coat. “Sorry,” she said with forced lightness, and I could feel Addie trying to look blasé about it, too. We couldn’t attract attention.
“Chocolate,” Addie said. “Both of us. Please.”
The cashier nodded and called the order to whoever was in the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” Sabine murmured again while the man was out of earshot. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s all right,” Addie said. It wasn’t. Not really. I could tell.
Neither of them spoke again until after the cashier came back with the milkshakes. Sabine paid, brushing aside Addie’s thanks.
“Just let me know if you ever need anything, okay?” she said as we headed for the exit. The others had already gone outside, laughing in the darkness. Devon stood a little apart from the rest.
The milkshake was rich and sweet and cold. Addie shivered as we stepped outdoors, but smiled. “I will.”
Devon accepted his drink without comment, though he nodded at Sabine in what passed for his version of thanks. Jackson slipped between the two of us as we headed down the street. “Did you guys have any trouble getting here?”
“No.” It was the first thing Devon had said all night. “Do you all live in the area?”
I laughed. I didn’t tell her this wasn’t Devon making small talk at all. This was Devon investigating, questioning, studying. There was a light in his eyes that I recognized; Ryan had worn that same look when he took apart Emalia’s camcorder to figure out what was broken.
I never knew what to make of my feelings toward Devon, or what sort of feelings he might have toward me. Sometimes, his presence grated. His wall-like silences and unreadable eyes seemed like such wastes when I could be having Ryan’s smiles, his surprised laughter, his quiet jokes.
But other times, I was overcome by a fierce sort of affection for Devon. It wasn’t at all what I felt for Ryan. But it wasn’t like anything I’d ever felt for anyone else, either.
“Sabine and Cordelia share an apartment about fifteen minutes away,” Jackson said. “Christoph and I live a little farther.”
Christoph looked over at the sound of his name. Sabine and Cordelia had left the rest of us behind a little, and they turned now to wait for us to catch up. I saw the moment Sabine’s face changed, her easy smile pulling tight, her eyes focusing on something—someone—over our shoulder. A beam of light struck us from behind.
“Hey! You lot—wait a minute.”
Addie jerked around. A police officer in full uniform directed a flashlight at us.
Our heart rate rocketed. Heat flared through our body, setting our blood alight like it was gasoline.
Devon, I thought.
Devon, who stood beside us, as immobile as we were. Devon, who, even more than us, should not be seen by anyone. He was doing nothing wrong, breaking no laws, causing no trouble. It was not actually illegal to be foreign, much less look foreign, and a police officer ought to know that better than the average person. But still.
Someone took hold of our shoulder. Jackson.
“Something wrong?” he asked the officer. His voice was light. He took a few steps toward the man, pushing us along though everything in me screamed that we should be going in the opposite direction.
The officer lowered the flashlight beam so it wasn’t blinding us. The stars in our vision didn’t fade.
He frowned at Addie and me. “Bit late for you to be running around, isn’t it?”
Our lips couldn’t form a reply. Jackson’s hand tightened on our shoulder, but he laughed. “She’s fine; she’s with us.”
“You know about the curfew?”
“That doesn’t start until Monday,” Cordelia said. Without my noticing, she and Sabine had joined us. She grinned. “We’re running wild while we still can.”
The officer ran his eyes over her short, platinum hair, her red lips. “Well, don’t run too wild. It’s two in the morning. Be careful.”
“We were headed back anyway.” Sabine tilted her head at the milkshake in our hands. “Just came out for some food.”
We snuck a look at Devon, who wore a look of magnificent boredom. Our smile softened into something a bit more natural.
“It’s my birthday,” Addie said. Our voice came out quiet, almost shy. We sounded more like Kitty than ourself, which only made us more flustered. Heat crept up our neck, bloomed on our cheeks.
To their credit, no one looked surprised.
“All right,” the officer said finally. “Have a good night, then.”
We all stood quietly until the man was out of sight. Then Cordelia broke down into giggles. Jackson tried to shush her, but her laughter was making him laugh, too. Only Christoph looked as serious as Devon did. Sabine hustled everyone forward.
EIGHT
“That was a brilliant play by all involved,” Cordelia said as we hurried through the streets.
“That was a close call,” Jackson corrected, but there wasn’t any real warning in his tone, only an amused sort of exhilaration.
“Not really.” Cordelia skipped ahead of us, then turned to face Addie and me, walking backward. She grinned. “He was just worried we were corrupting your sweet fifteen-year-old mind. Gang initiation, maybe.”
“It’s not really your birthday, is it?” Sabine asked. Addie shook our head. “Good going, then. Nearly fooled me.”
“It’s my birthday,” Cordelia said in a surprisingly good imitatio
n of our voice—only higher and breathier. Addie blushed, and Cordelia laughed. “You sounded like an angel, my darling. Nobody in a thousand years would ever suspect you of anything.”
The photography shop was marked by nothing more than a plain door and a wooden sign declaring Still Life in elegant, black script. A long display window stretched along the wall, but I only got a glimpse of picture frames and black-and-white photos before Cordelia moved to unlock the door.
A bell jingled as we entered. Photographs crowded the small shop’s limited wall space. Inside one silver frame, a little boy pressed his face against a set of slender, white stair railings. An enormous, broad-shouldered man with an equally enormous pumpkin-colored cat sat within the frame beside it.
Cordelia led us to a storage room at the back of the store, everyone crowding inside among the array of empty frames and dusty cardboard boxes. The ceiling here was surprisingly high. Even Jackson, tall as he was, needed a stool to get a good grip on the string hanging from a hatch door.
“The string used to be longer,” he explained. “It snapped about half a year back, so we have to use the stool.”
“Tie another string,” Devon said.
Jackson smiled as he pulled the trapdoor creakily open. “But the stool is more interesting. A longer string would also make the door more noticeable.” He stepped off the stool, still pulling on the door. A series of steps unfolded, groaning and creaking. “And this,” he said, yanking the steps so they clicked into place, “is a secret.”
Automatically, Addie took a step backward.
Once, when Addie and I were little and still lived in the city, our family was invited to a party thrown by one of Mom’s old friends. They’d moved to the suburbs, had a big house and a pool and a barbecue. It had been summer. Hot. The adults milled about outside, our parents busy as they mingled and looked after Lyle and Nathaniel, who’d been only two.
I don’t remember how many people were present. To seven-year-old me, it had seemed like a hundred or more. There were at least ten kids. That much I remember. We played hide-and-seek. A girl in a yellow dress was It.
