She’d never much asked the second of Ms. Halabi’s questions. Always looking for meaning, deciphering codes, sure—how to present, how to study, how to fit in, how to disappear, how to fake it—but never enough what does it mean to me? She was used to second-guessing, staying in the background, and waiting for real life to begin in some distant future.
If the thing with Billy was going to happen—if—she was never going to be friends with the girls in his group. Pippa might be an exception; she showed occasional signs of being human, at least.
But Vân Ước had never tried to make her own friends here, never initiated any friendly contact. It wasn’t on the list. She could walk to practice with Polly, sit in a class meeting next to Lou, and talk about irrational and transcendental numbers with Michael, but she’d pretty much thought of these years as the study zone, and imagined that real life—life as an art student, life with friends and lovers—would magically start when school finished. Art school was where she’d meet her people.
But maybe life couldn’t be kept incubating indefinitely. Maybe it was ready to hatch a bit earlier, like right now, if only she’d play along.
She took the winged cardigan out of her bag. This clear, bright Tuesday, the first day of autumn, was the day to set it free, let it find its next custodian. She hadn’t had a chance to wear it again anywhere special, but she’d enjoyed living with this thing of strange beauty. She’d wondered a thousand times about its maker, its history, and its future. It was folded and tied up with a ribbon. The tag never had turned up, so she’d made a new one and pinned it inside, to make sure the cardigan’s story continued.
“I spy stolen goods,” said Holly when she saw the parcel.
“Lock up your valuables, people,” said Ava.
Lou was bent down tying her sneakers. She stood up and faced them—a formidable, bespectacled avenging angel. She had a big voice when she wanted to use it. Secret singer’s projection knowledge, no doubt.
“Do you understand that what you just said is basically illegal? That it’s defamatory to slur somebody by lying about them? That you are, potentially, damaging Vân Ước’s reputation ‘in the eyes of reasonable people,’ which is the legal test for defamation? That if she decided to sue you and you were prosecuted, you’d be ordered to pay her damages? Do you? Do you realize that?”
“Settle down. If she gives it back, no biggie, right?” said Holly.
“SHE DIDN’T STEAL IT.”
“Fine. Have it your way. Freak. But we all know the truth. As if any garment has ever had a tag that says WEAR ME.”
Michael looked up from his notebook.
“Are you looking at me?” Holly asked.
“Yes,” he said calmly.
“Well, don’t.” Holly and Ava walked out rolling their eyes and giving each other crazy people looks.
Michael had one of his abstracted whirring-cogs faces; it typically happened when he’d had a brain wave of some sort—a frequent occurrence. He looked around as though taking inventory of who was there—only about six people—shoved his notebook in his pack, and walked out.
Vân Ước braved up. She thought of balance. She thought, What does it mean to me? She thought of life being allowed to start here, right now, at school. She summoned her courage. “Lou—thank you for that.”
Lou shook her head. “They’re such idiots.”
“I’m delivering the cardigan back into its habitat. Do you want to come for the walk?”
Lou smiled, as though she was genuinely pleased. Vân Ước corrected herself: Lou was genuinely pleased that she’d suggested they do something together, something friendly, something that had nothing to do with schoolwork.
They crossed the road and entered the Botanic Gardens. They walked in companionable silence for a while, until Vân Ước remembered that this was officially her friend foray, so she should probably talk.
“What work do your parents do?” Okay, a bit random, but at least it was a start.
“One’s a surgeon and the other’s a history academic. What about your folks?”
“My mother does piecework sewing at home, mostly baby clothes. And my dad works in a chicken-processing plant.”
“Wow. Hard work.”
“Hard work, low wages. And if I get to do what I want to do, that’ll make three of us.”
Lou smiled. “Are you talking about art?”
“Yep. Only such a tiny percentage of artists make anything that resembles an income.”
“True, but your stuff’s awesome, so, who knows? Listen, do you mind me saying, you don’t at all speak like someone whose parents have English as a second language.”
“It’s probably just from homework club.”
“Really? Debi was your tutor, right? I sat near her last week—she’s terrifying some poor kid with Jane Eyre.”
“I was that poor kid five years ago. But it worked.”
“As in…?”
“As in, I probably do sound like I come from an English-speaking family, I guess.”
“Yeah, but how did it work? I’m tutoring now, don’t forget; I need some tricks of the trade.”
“For starters, I’ve got a totally warped work ethic—courtesy of my parents—and I just drilled vocab for years, like really long lists every single week. And paralleling that, I fell in love with reading. After Jane Eyre we read Emma and Pride and Prejudice and Northanger Abbey and To Kill a Mockingbird and The Catcher in the Rye and Wuthering Heights and The Great Gatsby and Dubliners and Tess of the D’Urbervilles—”
“Well, that one’s a major downer,” said Lou.
“Yes, I’m still recovering. And I’ve always read stacks of young adult fiction, and I like English as a subject and it all sank in, I guess. I suck at Vietnamese, though.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
“How did you know that legal stuff?”
Lou laughed. “TV.”
“It was very convincing.”
They arrived at the thatched shelter where Vân Ước had decided to leave the cardigan. It was on the opposite side of the gardens from where she’d found it. Maybe she should have gone farther afield, but she wanted somewhere a bit protected. She gave the parcel a kiss good-bye and put it gently on the seat inside the shelter.
“Farewell, pretty cardigan,” said Lou.
They headed back in the direction of school.
Maybe this was a first step in her and Lou becoming proper friends. Jess could meet Lou and her mothers, and—she had a fleeting feeling of limitlessness, of disappearing boundaries, as she’d had at Mount Fairweather a couple of times—some days the horizon stretched right out.
It was a scary feeling for someone who’d lived a cautious life.