by Julia Hoban
Guy takes the paper from her gently and throws it along with his own in a nearby garbage can.
“You say that I’m wrong about my brother,” Willow goes on. “But that’s part of how I know that I’m right. I’m a constant reminder to him of what his life used to be like. He can never get away from it, not even for five minutes at a time. I’ve invaded his world. Every time he sees me, he knows that something has changed forever.” She pauses. “I’m sorry. You ask me a simple question and I . . . Look, even I don’t want to talk about this stuff anymore. Do me a favor, okay?”
“The weather in Kuala Lumpur?” Guy raises his eyebrows.
“Well, something, anyway.”
“Okay . . . You know what I was doing when you called?”
“Uh . . .” Willow thinks for a minute. “Watching the game?”
“What game?” Guy looks confused.
“I don’t know, isn’t there some game?”
“You mean the World Series?”
“That’ll work.”
“You’re about ten days ahead of schedule.”
“Okay, so what were you doing?”
“Reading The Tempest.”
“Oh.” Willow thinks about this. “And . . .” she prompts.
“You may have a point,” Guy concedes. “It is better than Macbeth.”
“I told you!”
“I said you mayhave a point. You can’t really compare because they’re so different. I mean, The Tempestreally is this magical, romantic—Hey look at that,” he interrupts himself. “Look, over by the pond.”
“What?” Willow follows his gaze but can’t see what he’s interested in, unless it’s the man getting out of the rowboat.
“He’s just leaving it there,” Guy says. He sounds excited. “You’re supposed to return them, I know because I’ve rented here a couple of times. It’s really expensive, but that guy’s just leaving it! C’mon.” He grabs her hand, jerks her to her feet, and starts running down the hill.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Willow says as she watches him get into the boat.
“Excuse me.” Guy looks at her. “I row on the river three mornings a week, you think I can’t handle a pond?”
“Whatever.” Willow shrugs, then climbs gingerly into the boat and sits down as he grabs the oars and steers them toward the center of the pond. “So did you and Andy ever, I don’t remember, shave three minutes off your time or something?”
“Try ten seconds.” Guy pulls on the oars. “We do the 2500 in eight minutes and twelve seconds right now. If we took three minutes off of that, we’d be beating the world record by a pretty wide margin. Anyway, I’m not expecting to beat eight twelve. Andy doesn’t work hard enough, and I don’t care enough. I really just row because I love being out on the river early in the morning.”
Willow watches the deft action of his arms as he rows. There’s something incredibly soothing, almost hypnotic, about his movements. She can’t take her eyes away from the smooth motion that his strong, lightly tanned forearms make as they manipulate the oars.
She reaches her hand down into the water and lets it trail behind her in the little wake that they’re making. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s worn out from the night before, or maybe it’s the gentle sound that the oars make as they dip into the water, Willow doesn’t know and she doesn’t care. The only thing she’s certain of is how peaceful she feels, better than she’s felt in days, weeks even. She watches Guy through half-closed lids, and the last thing she sees before she drifts off to sleep is his smile.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Now, that one looks like a rabbit.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Willow turns her head to look at Guy as they lay side by side on the grass staring up at the clouds. “If anything it’s a swan.”
“You’re the crazy one, look.” He points toward the sky. “See the ears?”
“No, that’s the neck.”
“Ears.”
“Listen.” Willow rolls over onto her stomach and props her head on her hands. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but you might be in serious trouble.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“You know those inkblot tests? You must have read about them somewhere, the ones where a shrink makes you look at all these pictures of, well, of inkblots?”
“Yeah, sure.” Guy turns on his side to face her.
“Okay, so the way they work is that most people will look at some splotch of ink and think that it looks like a house or something, but then you get someone else who thinks that it looks like a . . . I don’t know, a spider . . .”
“Or a rabbit.”
“Exactly! And thosepeople are certifiable.”
“Your point?”
“Well, thinking that cloud looks like a rabbit . . . that’s a bad sign.”
“Maybe thinking it’s a swan is more worrisome,” he says with a yawn and flops down on his back again. “So what’s this homework you’re supposed to be doing now?”
“Please, don’t remind me,” Willow groans. When she decided to skip school that morning, she really had intended to spend the day looking over her French quiz, or getting to work on her paper. She never expected that she would spend it hanging out in the park with Guy. But in the three hours since they had breakfast, they’ve done nothing more demanding than rowing, taking a long walk, and then finally, just sitting around and talking.
Willow knows that she shouldn’t be doing this, and yet, it would be impossible to tear herself away. Because in spite of the fact that she still hasn’t really processed what happened the night before, in spite of the fact that she’s so far behind in her work, she doesn’t feel the need to do anything beyond sitting and talking to him. The girl who killed her parents, the girl who cuts, that girl’s a million miles away. Right here, right now, Willow is simply and only a girl spending a day in the park with a guy.
“Well.” Guy gives her a nudge. “C’mon, tell me.”
“I’m way behind in that class all of you like so much, Myths and Idiots, or whatever it’s called,” Willow says as she pulls a couple of blades of grass from the lawn. “I have tons of reading, and I’ve got to get started on this paper already.” She tries to use the grass as a whistle. “How come this isn’t working? I thought you could use grass as a kind of whistle or something.”
“Myths and Idiots?” he laughs. “That’s good. Andy would appreciate that one. And yeah, you can whistle with a blade of grass, but I haven’t done it since I was about five, so don’t ask me to show you how.”
“Some help you are.” Willow lets the grass scatter in the wind. “You know what this paper is supposed to be about? About Demeter and Persephone, loss and redemption, how after Persephone is abducted to the underworld they’re dead to each other. I mean, this should be pretty easy for me. I’m probably the only one in the class with personal experience, right?” Willow pauses for a second. “Except you know what? It’s not about loss, it’s about rebirth, how they get to be reunited . . .”
“Did you pick the topic?” Guy seems surprised.
“No, what’s his name . . . Adams? He gave it to me.”
“Yeah, well, that was really sensitive of him.”
“Oh you know, he probably wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing.”
“Obviously not.” Guy turns his head and looks at her carefully. “Well, listen, if you’re really having a hard time, maybe I can help. I’m sure that I still have my old papers hanging around somewhere, maybe looking at them would make it easier for you to get started.” He turns back and stares at the clouds again.
“Thanks,” Willow says. “What . . . What are you doing?” She looks at him suspiciously. He’s flat on his back staring up at the clouds, but his arms are outstretched and he’s moving them as if he’s . . .
“What does it look like?”
“Uh, if I had to guess, I’d say you were trying to direct traffic or conduct a symphony.”
“Sort of. Act
ually, I’m trying to move the clouds closer together,” he says. He looks serious too. “See? That one that looks like a rabbit, okay, swan, and that one that looks like a layer cake. I’m pushing them closer together.”
“All right.” Willow sits up abruptly. “I told you seeing a rabbit was a bad sign, you’ve obviously completely lost it, this is just the . . .”
“Did you see that?” Guy interrupts her. “It moved, you can’t deny it! And relax, I’m not crazy, this is a very old and respected technique that I’m using.”
“Huh?”
“It’s from the Boys’ Book of Magic,out of print since 1878, I bought it downtown. Trick number nineteen. How to control the weather and astonish friends at outdoor tea parties.”
“Tea parties?”
“I told you, it went out of print in 1878. Besides, it was English. It was full of references to things like garden parties and playing cricket, and how to behave when doing tricks for your betters.”
“Uh-huh, and you umm, bought this recently?”
“I bought it when I was twelve,” Guy says. “And, okay, this is really embarrassing, but I actually believed that stuff like spells for controlling the weather would work. There! Did you see that! I’m telling you, I’m moving these clouds!” He looks at her with a triumphant expression on his face.
“Please.” Willow doesn’t even bother to glance up at the sky. “It’s the wind. It’s been getting windier and colder for about the past hour.” She lies back down on the grass. “Boys’ Book of Magic? It sounds like something that tutor of yours would have liked.”
“I’m sure a long-lost relative of his wrote it,” Guy answers her, but he’s totally focused on the sky. “Actually, I think it was the last book I bought before we moved to Kuala Lumpur.”
“I would have thought that it would have helped you fit in with all those British kids,” Willow says as she watches him. He’s infinitely more interesting than the clouds. She wonders what he must have been like when he was twelve.
“Maybe if we’d all been living a hundred years ago, and maybe if I ever learned any good tricks. But the only magic I ever figured out how to do was really stupid card tricks that would irritate your friends and make you look like an idiot at outdoor tea parties.” Guy makes a face. “I haven’t actually even thought about the book since then. I got bored with it pretty fast, but reading The Tempestreminded me of it. Remember the way that Prospero conjures up that storm? See! You’re not watching.” He gives her braid a little pull. “C’mon, give me some credit here. Obviously the book had something going on, and I was just too young to really grasp how hard it is to control the weather. I’m telling you, those clouds are moving, we are definitely on the way to having a storm here.” He stops and turns to face her. “You see? Just like Prospero.”
“You’re not at all like Prospero!” Willow objects. “If anything, you’re . . .”
Well, he’s exactly like Ferdinand.
Willow is struck by just how true that is. Of course he’s like Ferdinand: He’s a perfectromantic hero. She’s reminded too of Miranda’s words when she first sets eyes on Ferdinand:
Oh brave new world that has such people in it . . .
Unlike Miranda, Willow is in a new world, and though she would never have chosen to be there, it is amazing to her that it has such an incredible person in it.
“Look,” Guy says, interrupting her thoughts. “It reallyis going to rain. We should get out of the park. Unless you want to stay. It is pretty fun to be outside during a storm. You should see the way the lightning looks over the river.”
“No,” Willow says shortly. “I hate the rain.”
“No! Don’t say that!” Guy looks genuinely distressed. “I mean, that’s a really serious category, people who get how great the rain is and people who just get mad because it screws up traffic. Please don’t say that you hate the rain.”
“I used to love it.” She thinks back to all the times at home, when she would spend hour after hour curled up on the window seat with a book, while the rain beat against the glass.
“Then why don’t you—”
“It was raining that night,” Willow says suddenly. “It wasn’t supposed to rain, but it did. And it wasn’t beautifulrain, the kind you’re talking about. It was torrential. I’ve always wondered what would have happened if the weather had been just a little bit better.” She doesn’t elaborate further. She’s sure that he’ll understand which night she is referring to.
“Why were you driving anyway?” Guy clearly picks up on the reference. He moves closer and takes her hand. “I don’t get it. You told me that you didn’t even have your license yet, and the weather was so awful. What was going on?”
“Nothing. There was nothing going on. What do you mean? We were out. My parents felt like drinking.” Willow shrugs. “It’s just so awful, what I did. There’s just no way to ever . . . Last night, I had this . . . scene with my brother. This argument. You know what started it? We ran into some friend of his and he asked David about our parents, and David didn’t tell him. He couldn’ttell him. He can’t face what I did. He can’t face what I am.”
“Maybe he just didn’t want to get into all of it. Maybe he was trying to protect you. Spare you from this guy asking any more questions,” Guy says.
Willow stares at him without speaking, considering this for a moment before rejecting it as implausible.
“We should probably leave the park,” Guy says as the rain starts falling. He stands up, pulling her with him. “Do you want to go back to your house, or maybe get some lunch? I’d say go to my house, except my mom will be there, and she’ll wonder what I’m doing home in the middle of the day. She’s a painter,” he adds. “So she works from home.”
“I’m not ready for lunch,” Willow says. “And my house is too far away.” They start walking faster to avoid the rain, but it’s a losing battle.
“You know where we could go?” Guy says suddenly. “We could . . .” But he doesn’t finish the sentence, and he has a hard time meeting her eyes as they exit the park and cross the street.
Willow is sure that she knows what he’s thinking. It’s the obvious place, barely a block away, free if you’re a student, fascinating, and, unfortunately for her, full of memories.
They could go to the museum. The one where Guy heard her parents lecture, the one where she herself has been countless times.
“You were going to say the museum, weren’t you? C’mon, that’s a good idea. Let’s go.” She tugs on his sleeve.
“Are you sure?” He looks worried.
“No, but let’s go there anyway,” Willow says over a peal of thunder. The rain is coming down in driving sheets, it’s madness to stay on the streets, and it’s by far the most sensible option.
“Okay.”
They run as fast as they can down the block and up the stairs into the museum.
“I’m soaked!” She shakes her head and droplets of water fly all over. Guy is also dripping water over the polished marble floor.
“I have that sweatshirt that I lent you the other day in my backpack,” he says. “We could use that as a towel.”
“Please.” No sooner is the word out of her mouth than she finds herself swathed in his sweatshirt and being given a vigorous rubbing. “Ow! Stop!” Willow laughs. “Not so rough!”
“Don’t you want to get dry?”
“Yeah, but I’m not a puppy!”
“I wouldn’t be so—”
“Ssh!” A security guard admonishes them.
Willow stops laughing—not so much because of the guard’s reproof, but more because she’s suddenly become aware of her surroundings. She looks around slowly, testing out how she feels. Will this be like the bookstore?
But as she gazes around the great marble entrance hall, she experiences none of the feelings that she did in the store. Maybe it’s because, unlike the bookstore, the museum seems completely different than she remembers. Willow has never visited on a weekday afternoon before.
It’s practically empty. She’s never seen it be anything but crowded, but now it seems as if they have the whole place to themselves. Maybe it’s because she has memories of this place that are separate from her parents, having been many times without them.
Or maybe it’s just because she isn’t alone.
“So what do you want to do?” Guy says as he finishes drying himself off. “What do you feel like seeing?”
“Forget what I want to see,” Willow responds as they head toward the stairs. “I know exactly what youwant to see. The dinosaurs, right?”
“Got it in one.”
They walk through the vast corridors, past rooms filled with jade ornaments and tribal masks, past the lecture hall where her parents spoke, until finally they reach the dinosaur exhibit.
“These are my favorite,” Guy says as he leads her over to a pair of ornithomimids. He leans over the velvet rope, and for a second Willow thinks that he’s going to pet one.
“No touching,” a bored guard cautions.
“As if I would,” Guy mutters under his breath. “I guess I can understand it from his perspective, though.” He stands up straight and turns to Willow. “I’ve been here on the weekends and the place is packed with little kids. You should see them, they practically climb all over these things. Especially the T. rex. They go crazy for that one.” He walks across the room to examine another skeleton.
Willow can’t help smiling a little. As far as she can tell, he’s no different from the five-year-olds, at least when it comes to dinosaurs, anyway.
