The Girl With Borrowed Wings (13 page)

“I don’t understand, Nenner, you told me in Spain that you’re fine with the way things are.”

“Well, I lied, didn’t I?” I snapped, then stopped dead. Why had I said that? “No, I didn’t lie,” I said.

Gingerly, Sangris petted my shoulder. I pulled away, still feeling the hot itch of tears in my throat, and I was horrified. Crying, here in school—in front of Sangris. I scraped at my face. It would be fine as long as I didn’t talk.

But keeping quiet meant that Sangris was allowed to fill up the silence.

“If someone gave me a list like that, can you imagine I’d ever take it seriously?” he said, giving my shoulder a little shake. “Just think of that night in Thailand. You were all right then, weren’t you? We’ll go back, and you’ll remember what you told me, and you’ll see—”

“I don’t know,” I croaked, and what I felt when I heard my own words, above all, was terror.

“What?”

“I’ll never be the right way, will I?” I whispered.

No guppies to hand over and cheer me up this time. Sangris’s hands hung helplessly. “What?”

“I’m not the girl he imagined. The one on that list. But he won’t give up. He’s trying to—” Then I got it, the best way to make a Free person understand. “He wants to pin me down into one shape, Sangris.”

Sangris promptly abandoned the no-touching rule, wrapping his arms around me and holding me in. He felt warm and solid and I wished I could enjoy it, but I didn’t know how. I think it was the first time I’d been hugged.

It was too hard to look at him; I fixed my eyes on the wall. I didn’t have the first clue how to respond. So I just kept mumbling. “If I improve in one direction he’ll only pick on something else—trying hard doesn’t work, not when there are a million tiny ways to be wrong. It’s impossible; I’ll never be the right way, he’ll never be satisfied.”

“Nenner, please,” said Sangris, leaning his head against mine. He sounded almost as miserable as I was. “I only wanted to know why—”

“So are you happy, Sangris?” I said in a hoarse voice. “Are you glad you know now?”

His eyes widened and that’s what made me get a proper grip on myself at last. “No, it’s not your fault,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”

Sangris let go of me and went to shove open the big classroom window. Heat and dust streamed in. For an awful second I thought he was just
leaving
. But no sooner had his wings spread out, huge gray wings fanning out the tips of their black-barred feathers against the dazzling sky, than he twisted around and reached for me.

Taking his hand, I stepped onto the sill next to him. The next second we fell out of the window, plummeting upward, and the air was roaring around me; leaving behind the stone vault of the air-conditioned classroom, and my schoolbag with my father’s ten commandments inside.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In Which Frogs Are Captured

My heart thundered. There was no way I’d be able to sit opposite my father at the table every day,
wanting
to please him, and stumbling. It would be like going into battle without a shield.

All he’d have to do was flick a finger and I’d fall.

I’d have to work harder at not caring.

I felt steadier once I’d made my decision. It was something solid to grip.

“I’ve thought of an ideal place,” said Sangris, unaware of the resolve I’d taken. Curled up in his arms, I nodded. Already it was working, I really did feel stronger. But this wasn’t enough. I needed a way to reach out and turn off the last light inside me, like flicking a switch: something absolute and reliable.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“It’s in Oman.”

The sky around us was now so feverishly bright that I had to shut my eyes. When the painful light subsided a bit, I was able to look down and see enormous dusty white plains and mountains, with a few thin mountain goats and some shriveled gray trees.

Sangris swerved toward a peak, then set me carefully, in my ridiculously formal school shoes, down onto the flat, dust-coated stone.

“I suppose,” he ventured, “that if I ever asked for your hand in marriage, your father would say no?”

I shook my head at the idea of Sangris ever meeting my father. “He’d kick you out the door.”

Sangris brightened. “We’d just have to elope, then.”

“Actually, I’m planning to be a spinster, if I can.”

“What,” he said, “even if I took you somewhere as amazing as this?” He took my face in his hands and lightly turned it so that I could see what he meant.

We stood on the cliff at the edge of a wadi. Not a dried-up, cracked river like the one behind my house. This wadi was set deep into the valley walls, a smooth, hollowed-out area hidden from the heat of the sun. The water lay folded into those crevasses, gray and deep, as though the mountain had secretly bled it out. It didn’t have the blue brilliance of a lake, but it was protected by the valley walls like something pure and precious, a cold pocket of liquid. It was as miraculous as a living world in deep space.

All around the edge of the water, green plants grew. Three date palms, dark in the shade, long grasses, and even a little shrub that bravely spat white flowers out into the world. There was something like glitter in the air, which might have been the wings of a dragonfly. And the faint sound of water lapping over stone.

The instant my eyes focused on the wadi, I lit up. I imagined jumping into that bottomless pool of water and coming out clean, washed colorless, a ghost.

“Ah,” I breathed. “Then I might have to reconsider.” His hands were still holding my head in place. I turned, and he withdrew his fingers, more slowly than he should have. We stood face-to-face.

“I was hoping for somewhere new,” I said. “How did you know?”

“I guessed.”

“Really?”

“Well, I guessed that you needed a place without memories,” he said, watching me. His eyes were almost translucent in the strong light, like amber. Because of the heat, there were drops of sweat on his temples, staining the skin a richer brown. “No human’s ever even been in this wadi before. It’s completely untouched.”

The idea, uplifting and airy, like a wave of cool water, lapped through me again. I stepped up to the edge of the rock. Sangris automatically grabbed my arm to keep me back. “Don’t worry,” I said without looking around. “I just want to see the water.”

“Why?”

“I want to jump in.” I twisted around to look at him. “Do you think I could swim?”

His hair ruffled in the same breeze that had spread the idea through me. “Your uniform,” he reminded me. “It’ll get wet, and we have to be back by three forty-five.”

“Well, yes,” I said. “You’re going to have to promise not to look.”

Sangris gaped.

I smiled at the expression on his face. I had never before seen anybody who could accurately be described by using the word
flabbergasted
. “I’m not going to swim naked,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

Sangris didn’t look worried. He looked disappointed.

“But I need to borrow your shirt,” I said.

“Why?”

“I
do
have to take my own clothes off,” I said. “I can’t swim in them. Even if the uniform dries in time, my mother will be able to tell when she does the laundry—”

Sangris wasn’t listening to my treatise on laundry. He had already pulled off his shirt. “Here you go,” he said quickly, thrusting it at me.

I was very steady. I’m sure of it. I didn’t even look at him. As a matter of fact, I impressed myself. Rock and ice couldn’t have been more indifferent. I gestured at him to go away. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

He did, but not without complaining, “Why do I have to close my eyes if I’ve already turned around?”

“Just to be safe. Do it.” I waited. And then, with a furtive look around at the bare white mountains, I changed, savoring the warm air that moved over my skin. I tucked my own clothes out of sight beneath a bush, where I could retrieve them later.

His shirt fell down past my thighs, just like one of my nightshirts. It was, on the whole, I thought, much more modest than a swimsuit. The cloth had the light, woody smell of Sangris. I was never sure whether that was his natural scent, or whether he just had a habit of prancing around in forests a lot and the smell happened to rub off on him. Either way, I wasn’t about to ask. Glancing over, I saw the subtle shadows under his shoulder blades. Beneath the skin, between the muscles, there was a suggestion of his spine.

“Okay,” I said, looking away quickly.

Sangris turned and an ill expression crossed his face as he stared at me. I call it ill because it looked unnatural and flushed, as though he had a fever. I stepped forward instinctively. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Ah. Actually. Give me a second.”

I waited for ten. Then, when he continued to study the ground without saying anything, I said, “Are you dehydrated?”

“Maybe. That must be it,” he said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. He must have been starting to recover.

I took that as a no. “Well, what is it, then?”

“Nenner—you’re wearing nothing but
my shirt,
” he said huskily.

“But it covers everything—”

“Nothing but
my shirt,
” he repeated, in exactly the same tone as before.

“I’m wearing stuff underneath,” I said indignantly.

“Stuff?” He looked as if he was going to faint.

Oh. This could be a problem. I watched him for a moment.

There is a hardness inside of me. I know that better than anybody else. When all’s said and done, the bit of me called
Frenenqer
is an impenetrable lump, and it’s almost a comfort to feel it there, because if it’s cold, then it’s also strong. I chewed at my bottom lip. I tried to see if the telltale shadows beneath his eyes had darkened. They had.

“Sangris,” I said, “maybe you should go away. Pick me up later?”

No. He shook his head without looking at me. He wasn’t going to leave me alone in the mountains.

So that was the choice. Sangris’s peace of mind, or—I glanced back into the wadi. More than anything, at this moment, I wanted to wash away my father. Inside the water was everything I needed. If I could just be free for this moment, and leap—that was the way to ease that old, old itch on my back, to shake off Thailand. It would be my good-bye to caring. Just at the thought, I lightened; the heavy parts of me rolled away.

Sangris was still unable to face me. Briefly, I wondered if I was sacrificing him. And the thought felt knife-sharp, but . . . at least it wasn’t heavy. I made my choice. And everything that followed afterward was my fault, I admit that. But at least I got to clean myself in the dark water of the wadi first. And, at the time, it didn’t seem so bad. It was easy to decide. This was silly, wasn’t it? I’d just had a breakdown, didn’t that entitle me to attempt a recovery? Anyway, Sangris had already seen my legs. And, most of all—he was being a bit of a pain, wasn’t he?

“You do what you like,” I said. “I’m going to swim.”

“Just a minute,” he managed.

I gave him another ten seconds. Then, “Better?” I said.

“Yeah,” Sangris said, giving me a glance and looking quickly away again. “Uh . . . Should I pick you up to take you into the wadi?”

“I don’t think you could handle it.”

He leaned over and put his hands on his knees, like a marathon racer recovering from a long run. “I don’t think I could either.”

“I guess I’ll climb down then.”

“Fine,” he said, without really listening.

“You’re useless.”

“Nenner . . . what
stuff
?”

I didn’t understand at first. When I did, I glared at him until he said quickly, “Sorry. That just slipped out.”

I wondered if all boys were like this.

I turned away and lowered myself over the wall of stone. The surface was heavily pitted, with ledges and pale puckered caves, and I had no trouble picking my way down. The only difficulty was that the larger stones had grown too hot to hold or step on. I had to rely on the covering of pebbles that had enough air and dust between them to make touch bearable. When I was a few feet above the water I inched out into a precarious position, checked that the water was deep enough, and let myself fall.

I had an airborne second with my shirt rushing around me.

Then there was the momentary chaos of a splash, and I sank into a deep, clean, silent world. The water was cold against my skin, like fluid frost. When I broke the surface a breeze went to my face and made me shiver. I reached up to a nearby boulder and pulled myself partway out of the wadi, my wet hands sticking to the dryness of the stone.

I was floating in the water, and the bitterness and the yearning dissolved away. I ducked under again, just to make sure. And when I came back up the air was still fresh and calm-smelling, and the flowers by the waterside were still white, and the palm trees rustled in faint applause. I would cut out my heart again and again, as many times as it took.

Sangris was sitting amid the grasses by the waterside, watching me.

“You can come in if you want,” I called.

He shook his head firmly. “Nuh-uh.”

I let myself slide back into the water. My hair was plastered flat and sleek against my head, but the minute it was submerged it fanned out like black seaweed, twinkling near blue in the direct light. I watched it wave around through the sun-threaded water. A fish darted away. “Are you sure?”

“It’s not a good idea,” he said.

I ducked under. Oh, this was liberating. The water was so clear I could hardly see it. I felt as though I was gliding through air. I resurfaced at the edge of the pool, where it was too shallow to swim. I had to get up and walk out. And the itch on my back hadn’t exploded. I could barely feel it at all. Letting the warm breeze cool me and the cool water warm me, with a sensation of complete relief, I sat beside Sangris. “You’re my best friend, you know,” I said to him. I watched as a little smile came to his face, but, noticing my gaze, he wiped it away at once.

“I’m still not coming into the water with you,” he said, his hands resolutely clutched around his knees.

“Why not?”

“Because I might do something stupid,” he said. “And don’t ask what.”

“Why can’t I ask?”

He shot me a sideways glare, then went back to staring straight ahead.

I grinned at him. “You can’t beat me at this, you know. I’m a champion at asking questions. I can bring a teacher to his knees within a minute.”

“I bet you can,” he muttered. Again came the little smile, and again it was wiped away.

“Seriously, you should try the water. I feel so much better, it’s incredible . . .” I had a brilliant idea. “We could catch frogs! I’m sure there are some around here.”

“Nenner, we’re not little kids.” He swallowed. “And your shirt’s clinging to you.”

Why did he have to insist on embarrassing me? But the cool water and the purifying peace of the wadi kept me calm. The school uniform was made of heavy material, anyway, so I knew it didn’t show anything. “
Your
shirt, actually,” I said, matter-of-fact.

He started to ask something, but stopped.

“What?”

“Am I going to wear it afterward?” he said without looking at me.

“Not if you’re going to be weird about it,” I said. “Come on. We have an hour. Let’s hunt for frogs. If Anju were here, I bet she’d hunt for frogs with me.”

“Yeah, well, Anju’s your little slave, isn’t she,” he muttered. “She’d do anything you asked.”

I frowned. He owed me—or at least I thought he ought to. I’d defied my father for him, albeit briefly, but he was still acting as if catching frogs was too much to ask. “You mean you wouldn’t?”

His eyes shot to my face at that.

“I’m pretty sure you would,” I said.