I linger outside the history classroom, waiting for class to let out. Callen’s inside, and Lia is too—it’s the site of the great battle over the seats. I’m going to try to bump into Callen as he leaves. I have a plan. I recite it to myself. Is your mom stressed out about the Flower Festival? Ms. Herron is in charge of the Arbor neighborhood float. Does she need help? I could come by after school this week. If I volunteer for the Arbor float, I’m bound to run into Callen. Three conversations should be easy.
Hopefully my asking now counts as one. I’m jittery, and seeing Lia makes it worse. Forget her. I take a step closer to the classroom. I have to do this. For Violet’s security and even for little Kat Deva. But most of all for me.
I painted my nails for voxless last night, with the Temptress Tin nail polish Lia had left me when she came over to do the Diary, and this morning I put on the new socks I bought with Selwyn yesterday. I did the Skin Sequence, and I dug up some makeup Selwyn bequeathed to me for a birthday party.
I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
The bell rings, but Mr. Primer’s determined to make them stay until he’s done with his lecture. While I wait, I wander over to Henna Shelter’s poster for the Drama Club play auditions. The play’s title is The Big Steal, the words encircled by cetek bills.
“Enjoying the view?” Scoop joins me in front of the poster. I’m glad to see him.
“Yeah, it’s a nice poster. I have something to give you.” I’d wanted to pass him a note about the Sandcastle in math earlier, but Terra had taken my seat again and Mr. Black was on time for once.
“A surprise gift. Lucky me,” Scoop says. In a light blue button-down shirt and nice khaki slacks, he hasn’t changed much for voxless.
“Don’t get too excited—it’s just notes for the test.” I scrounge in my book bag for the note. Buried in the string of math tips is my idea that the stone building behind Character Relations is the Sandcastle.
“Thanks. Every little bit helps,” he says, casually tucking the papers into the book on whales he was reading during math.
I peer into the history room again, and Scoop chuckles.
“Callen?” he guesses, tossing the book from hand to hand playfully.
“Shhh.” I whip my head around and scratch behind my ear fiercely.
“Oh, okay.” He nods. “Sometimes I think Callen might kind of like you too.”
“Really?” Now he has my attention. “Why? Has he . . . said anything?”
Finally, the history room door swings open, and the students pour out. Scoop takes off, saying something about needing to get to physics on time.
Callen is nearly the last to leave the classroom, but he sees me and smiles. For a second, everything seems simple.
Then a familiar voice makes me look away.
“Nettie, were you waiting for me?” Lia strides out of the classroom. “Nice nails,” she says, holding up her hand to show off her identical ones.
“Um.” Callen’s still standing in the hall. He has to be waiting for me. I reach behind my ear, hoping that Lia will see the gesture and step aside, but her gaze just drifts behind me to the poster.
“The poster looks amazing,” she sighs, positioning herself beside it so a nearby camera can get a good shot of her. “Doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, plus ten,” I agree, but she needs more and waves to a passing Pastel, one who I think is a stagehand for Drama Club. Skinny, skittish Geraldine Spicer, who seems surprised that Lia noticed her.
“What do you think of the poster, Gerry?” Lia calls. I take a furtive step away from them, but Lia shoots me a glance, eyebrows raised, and I stop and turn back to gaze at the poster with her and Geraldine. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Callen’s still waiting for me. He didn’t see Lia’s stay signal.
“The Big Steal is such a great title, and the cetek bills fit perfectly. It makes you want to know more.” Geraldine bobs her head enthusiastically.
The second bell rings, and I catch Callen’s eye, but he shrugs and starts walking down the hall in the opposite direction.
“Literature, Nettie,” Lia says, abandoning Geraldine with a smile and dragging me down the hall. “Mom’s going to go to that counseling appointment I made for her at the hospital.”
“That’s great, Lia,” I respond, using all my strength to resist the urge to turn around and run after Callen. You’d think she’d help me with my suggestion, since she’s so diligent about her own. Did she get me away from Callen on purpose?
“Selwyn says you bought a sexy dress yesterday,” she says, walking fast. “I’m sure it looks nice, but probably not the right fit for the Double A.”
“Understood,” I snap. She seems oblivious to my irritation, holding up her arms and fluttering her fingers about, examining the nail polish.
• • •
I return home that afternoon, defeated. I wanted to try to talk to Callen at lunch, but he and Rawls ate in two minutes flat and took off. Art was a failure too, after Ms. Shade’s instructions to “paint with silence as your inspiration.”
I have five more days.
After dinner, I curl up on my bed and halfheartedly page through The Player in the Attic before tossing it aside. “Boring,” I mutter into my mic. I put down Player and pick up Blissful Nature, the book Violet gave me. I flip to the back, where there’s a map of the island ringed in blue. My eyes drift southwest, to where the Drowned Lands should be. Where Luz said the Originals came from. How long did it take them to get to Bliss Island? I wonder how long it will take Belle and Revere to make the reverse journey.
I pinpoint where they are now, the approximate space where the Sandcastle is, behind Character Relations, though there’s nothing that marks the Center on the map, so that the Audience remains ignorant of its existence.
Avalon Beach is marked and the neighborhoods are all there: the Granary, the Heights, Treasure Woods, Four Corners. I’m drawn into a long section about the Brambles. As the largest green space on the island, the Brambles attract thousands of migrating birds every spring, many moving from the chillier climate of the northeast. The mainland Sectors. The diversity of birds found on the island is the greatest in the world. Come spring, the birds will leave the Brambles and fly off the island, headed southwest. To the Drowned Lands.
An idea occurs to me: Callen talked about missing the Brambles—maybe he’d be interested in the book. I could give it to him now.
I go over to my window and see that his car—a hand-me-down junker with a lopsided antenna—is there. I grab Blissful Nature and dash outside, conscious of the cameras embedded in the trees and of a neighbor mowing the lawn across the street. I ring the doorbell, practicing what I’ll say. To Callen’s parents: Is Callen here? To Callen: Here’s a book. I frown. Not good enough. Here’s a book I thought you’d like.
After what feels like a month, his mother answers the door, her hands and arms encased in long yellow gloves with traces of dirt on them, like nature’s embroidery.
“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, Nettie. I was out in the garden,” she says, standing in the door frame. She has the same blue eyes as Callen, but hers are icier.
I fumble with my words. “Yes, um, Callen’s not expecting—I brought this book over for him.”
She steps back, which I take as an invitation. “Callen,” she calls upstairs as I sidle inside, her voice reverberating in the spacious front hall. The interior of his house is solemn as a cathedral. The walls are covered in dark blue wallpaper with golden vines, and plants in exquisitely patterned ceramic pots provide most of the decoration.
A few seconds pass, then we hear steps overhead. Should I ask her about the float?
“I think he was napping,” she confides. She sees the book’s cover and her eyes light up. “What’s that? A nature guide?”
“Sort of. My grandmother gave it to me.” I pass Blissful Nature over and watch as she peels off a glove and pages through it, clicking her tongue admiringly at the pictures.
Callen appears at the head of the stairs, hair rumpled, tufts sticking up like hay. His voice is thick with sleepiness. “Hey, Nettie,” he says, blinking a couple of times as he descends the stairs. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” I say hastily. “I was just reading this book that my grandmother gave me, and there’s this section about the Brambles that made me think of you. So, here, I’m lending it.” I am talking superfast, almost like a Real. It’s awkward coming over here, not as natural as it was just running into him on his porch.
His mother yawns as she hands the book to him.
“Callen, honey, can you finish watering the garden for me?” she asks apologetically. “I’m just so tired after today’s back-to-back Festival meetings.” It’s my chance to ask about helping out with the float, but my mouth is dry, my whole body suffused with shyness and fear.
“Not a problem,” Callen says, patting her back.
“Nice to see you, Nettie,” she says, and heads upstairs. I’m too nervous to even get out a good-bye. Callen sets the book down and finds his sneakers. I watch as he bends to lace them up, but I can’t think of anything to say.
Maybe those few words sufficed? My Missivor will tell me.
“I think I’ll go home,” I croak.
He stands up in the blink of an eye, body unfurling with the same graceful movements that define him on the baseball field. “Wait, do you want to come outside?”
“Yeah, okay,” I say quickly, not giving myself any time to chicken out. I can’t tell whether he actually wants me here or is just being polite, but I’m encouraged by his smile.
“This way—it’s faster.” He leads me downstairs, through the basement, piled high with gardening tools and seeds and fertilizer, and out into the blooming backyard. A rabbit sees us, freezes, then races into the bushes.
Bees and butterflies tangle among the flowers and plants, their vivid colors swirling together like a finger painting. Callen unravels the hose curled up at the back of the house while I watch the lilies bobbing in the breeze at the outer edge of the garden.
“I see your mom out here every morning,” I say, jumping back as he turns on the faucet. Droplets fly in the air, making a rainbow.
“She’s dedicated,” he says, squinting as he aims the hose toward the hollyhocks against the fence. “She lucked out—she was anyassigned to the Botany Society.”
“You’re kidding. That is lucky.” I follow him down a wood-chip trail to the back of the garden, where waves of flowers break against a row of pine trees.
“It’s a nice surprise—you stopping by. We’ve been next-door neighbors for years, but you never visited before,” he says, watching the water fall over a patch of violets. “But I guess you surprise me a lot. I just can’t tell what you’re thinking, Nettie. Like, why did you ditch me in the hall today? I thought you wanted to see me.”
“Ditch you in the hall?” I ponder the statement for a few seconds. “Do you mean after history, when Lia—I didn’t think I was ditching you, she—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts. “That’s not the only time I’ve been curious about what you were thinking. I used to wonder about you during lunch, when you were always so . . . watchful. You’ve always been sort of mysterious.”
“Me?” I say. “Thanks. Or . . . sorry? I don’t know—is that a compliment?”
He smiles. “You decide.”
“Well, I don’t mean to be mysterious,” I say, thinking about the last few weeks and dealing with Luz and the apprenticeship. I do feel like I’ve been hiding a lot. Lia said Callen would freak out if I told him about the suggestions, but I could just tell him a little. Dispel the mystery. “It might be because of the Initiative,” I whisper.
Callen moves a few feet over, putting us out of the range of the cameras in the pine trees. “I’m not in it,” he mouths. “What are they making you do?”
Straight to the point, of course.
“Random stuff, like about getting my apprenticeship,” I mouth. He raises a sandy eyebrow.
I pretend I don’t get that he wants to know the actual suggestions. “I came up with a signal, to tell people when something’s a suggestion.” I demonstrate for him.
He stares at me pointedly for a second, as if he’s waiting for me to say more, but I don’t, and he does a sort of half shrug. “Smart,” he says, easing us back on-camera.
And that’s it. He hauls the garden hose toward the sunflowers. The greenery is thick here, and I have to swat away leaves.
“Yeah, sometimes she goes overboard with the plants,” he says, even though I haven’t said anything. “Anything new at the lunch table?”
“Not really,” I say, gliding over Revere’s absence. “Martin’s around a lot now. Henna Shelter too.”
“Still Lia’s show, then?” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t miss it.” Or her goes unsaid, but I hear it. He turns the water off, and side by side, we walk to the front of the house. My hand drags along the rosebushes as we round the corner.
“I miss you at lunch,” I blurt out when we reach the bottom of the porch steps. The fading light blurs his features, but he’s so close, I can feel his breath on my skin.
“I miss having lunch with you too,” he says quietly.
Panic seizes me. Followed by guilt slamming down. I almost feel like Lia is here, watching everything and hating me, realizing that I actually do like Callen . . . and that maybe he likes me too. “I should go catch up on Player in the Attic.” I step back.
Flustered, he looks away, and I see his disappointment in the way his eyes fall and his jaw twinges, like he wants to say something, but can’t.
• • •
My bike ride to school feels like flight. I barely have to push the pedals. The sky is cloudless. Must be natural, not scripted, since I didn’t hear the helicopters last night, and I was up past midnight, thoughts racing. I had received the Missive confirming my conversation with Callen in the garden counted toward fulfilling the suggestion, then I got a second Missive inviting me to a Makeup Session at the Center on Thursday.
I’m unstoppable, I think as I breeze into Bliss High, grinning all through my morning chat with Lia and Selwyn at our lockers.
“What’s gotten into you?” Lia asks. She’s brushing her hair in front of her locker mirror. Selwyn starts humming again.
“Nothing,” I sing. I squeeze my face next to hers, trying to get a closer look at my own hair, which I’d braided this morning.
“There’s not really room for two,” she says, closing the locker.
“Okay,” I reply, not wanting to start an argument. I do a quick scan of the hall, searching for Callen. I walked away out of guilt yesterday, but I’m ready to continue our conversation now. I want to tell him that I’m shy, not mysterious. The bell rings, though, before I find him.
The day zooms by, and soon it’s nearly lunchtime and I’m back at the lockers with Selwyn, who’s been in a bad mood all day.
“I wish I had a crush. That’s so sweet, Callen helping his mother with her garden and you joining in,” she says, pulling at the collar of her black turtleneck. It’s too hot for it, but I guess she wanted to stick with voxless, and it was the only black she had. “I’ll never have anything like that.”
I guess she and Garrick didn’t rekindle anything. “It was nice,” I allow, not wanting to encourage her self-pity. Over her shoulder, a cricket with a camera approaches us. I recognize her from the aquarium.
“We’d like a reenactment,” she says. This time I understand her right away. “Starting with ‘I wish I had a crush.’”
Selwyn nods, repeating the line to me. We do the scene over and over again, and I’m happy to do it, sunnily delivering my lines.
When it’s over and the crickets have left, Selwyn and I finish putting our book bags in our locker, and I notice a note, folded into a triangle, at the bottom of my locker. Someone must have slipped it through the grate.
“Just a minute,” I say, kneeling. I unfold the note and squint in the locker’s darkness. My body shelters it from the cameras behind me and the one inside the locker can’t crane down. Scoop’s handwriting. I think you’re right. Come to the Sandcastle with me?
I do want to know what’s in that stone building, but getting in is a whole other level of dangerous. I stare at the note for a second, all the shock of his aunt Dana’s theory returning, pummeled by images of Revere and Belle, and even the father I don’t remember, chained to hospital beds. But Ms. Cannery did have an active imagination. I crumple up the note and put it in my pocket. I’ve already done a lot for Scoop.
“Okay, let’s go.” I stand, and we head to the cafeteria.
Selwyn stares listlessly at the food, not even noticing the pileup of Characters behind her as she stops the line. I grab her plate and put a hamburger on it.
“Selwyn, it’ll work out,” I assure her, looking over at our table in the distance. Scoop is there. Ordinarily I’d think he was a better addition than Martin, but I sigh, knowing he’s going to ask me about the note.
I straighten my shoulders as I approach the table, determined to appear unfazed by his presence. Scoop flashes me an easy grin as I sit, and continues his debate on the pros and cons of the newest model Harrow, the fancy car the Herrons recently bought, with Lincoln. Martin keeps trying to insert himself, but they deftly divert the conversation away from him.
“Henna and I are finalizing the Double A program this week,” Lia informs me. Henna sits on her other side, a silk purple scarf wrapped around her head, nodding along. “We’re thinking a star by each name in the listings and then on the cover, like, a starscape, with planets and meteors. What do you think, Nettie?”
“That’s like when we had to draw the solar system in third grade,” I say without thinking.
“You think it’s childish.” Henna’s lip curls upward.
“Yeah, thanks, Nettie,” Lia says sarcastically. “Can always trust you to speak your mind.”
“I think it’s perfect for the Double A. It’s important. Of cosmic significance,” Scoop says from across the table.
Lia laughs and kicks me under the table. “Talk to him,” she whispers when I look over.
I shake my head. “We’re math friends,” I say to her, lowering my voice. “That’s it.”
“Math friends. I need one of those. Oh, Nettie, guess what?” Lia says. “Lincoln’s having a party Thursday night, since we have Friday off for the Flower Festival. He’s calling it the Antithesis,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “So we’re all going to dress the opposite of how we normally would.”
“Nettie, that dress we got on Sunday would be perfect,” Selwyn pipes up, speaking for the first time since we got to the cafeteria. I’d almost forgotten she was here.
“True,” I agree. I notice she’s cut her hamburger up, but hasn’t had a bite. Her hands are in her lap. “Are you okay?” I ask. “Is this about the cello?” Her eyes are shimmering—is she crying?—and she just looks at me, her lower lip quivering again. She moves her hand to her collar. “Is something wrong with your neck?” I guess. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
She starts to speak, but Scoop interrupts us. “Nettie, did you have time to take a look at that problem set I left in your locker?”
Caught. “So, Scoop,” I say, turning to him. “I can’t help you with that stuff anymore. I have too much of my own homework.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, just nods and bites into an apple.
Lia latches on to the conversation. “It’s true. Nettie doesn’t have time for private tutoring anymore now that she’ll be assisting Mr. Black.”
“I understand,” Scoop says, picking up his tray and angling his head toward Terra’s table. “I’m going to finish up over there. See you.”
Part of me wants to call him back and apologize.
Lia watches him, smirking. “Nettie, poor Scoop is hurt because you don’t want to talk to him. I can think of some ways to make him feel better. Why don’t you—”
“He’ll be fine.” I pick up my burger again, but now I’ve lost my appetite.
The conversation takes off again as Lia discusses paper stock with Henna, and Martin and Lincoln trade Antithesis ideas. I sneak a glance at Scoop’s table, long enough to see he’s already immersed in conversation there. I’m not sure he can pull off getting into the Center alone. What if he gets caught? I’ll feel responsible.
“Since it’s the Antithesis, how about fruit juice instead of alcohol?” Martin suggests.
“Don’t go overboard,” Lincoln scoffs. “It’s still gotta live up to the standards of past Grayson parties, and that means booze.”
Lia chuckles, and Henna smirks. Only Selwyn doesn’t react, and the food on her plate is still untouched.
“Are you upset about Garrick? What happened when you saw him?” I hiss, furious. He’s done it again. This is exactly how it used to be: she’d see him, then be depressed for days.
“Not him—it’s nothing,” she says, casting her eyes down to her tray.
I don’t believe her. “I can’t stand him,” I declare, amped up. “He’s such a loser. He thinks he’s so cool, that’s what makes him such a loser. I can’t believe Callen was ever friends with him.”
Lia turns from her conversation with Henna. “What about Callen? Have you been talking to him?” she interjects. Selwyn picks up her fork and stabs into her hamburger, relieved the attention’s off her.
“I saw him last night while I was helping out in his mom’s garden,” I say. I need to get out of this. “By the way, I think you should go with the high-quality paper. The programs are meant to be saved.”
“I agree.” Henna tucks an errant lock of hair back underneath her turban in one swift motion. “It’s just a matter of persuading the rest of the committee.”
“Of course.” Lia nods, but her eyes wander back to me, and I know she’s dying to ask me more about my conversation with Callen.
I stand abruptly, nearly knocking my chair down, and mumble something about needing fruit.
At the counter, I grab an orange and roll it in my hands, watching the cafeteria. I’m not ready to go back to the table and face Lia. Does she even have to be involved? She’s not dating him anymore.
“Nettie, hey.” Callen comes up to me. Only a few inches separate us, and I can smell that soap he uses, with woodsy undertones. “I took a look at that book you gave me.”
“Blissful Nature? What’d you think?” The words come out smoothly enough. I feel less nervous here than at his house.
“I liked it,” he says. His hands are empty, I realize. He doesn’t seem to be here to do anything but talk to me. I’m not going to run away from him like I did last night. I can’t stay worried about Lia forever. “It inspired me. I’m going to skip the Flower Festival and spend the day in the Brambles instead. Some nature might be nice after the party.”
“You mean the Antithesis? You’re going?” I say, glancing back at my table. Lia locks eyes with me. I hesitate, the guilt rising again. My hand rises, about to scratch behind my ear, but I resist the urge. Callen knows about the signal now.
“For sure. You are too, right?”
“Definitely.” I toss the orange from hand to hand, and he steals it in a flash, smiling. I try to snatch the orange back, but he steps out of my reach, smile growing wider. Rawls’s voice calls him back from across the cafeteria.
“Here,” he says, handing me the orange before he goes. I watch him walk back, waiting to calm down before going to my own table.
I sit down and dig my Temptress Tin nails into the tough orange skin. Selwyn’s knee bumps into mine under the table. “I saw you two up there,” she whispers, the most lively she’s been all lunch. “He likes you.” I put my fingers to my lips warningly.
Lia watches me peel the orange. “What were you guys talking about?”
“Nothing, just, um, I lent him this book.”
“That so?” Her eyes are hard and flinty.
“He’s coming to the Antithesis,” I add. I can’t tell if she’s digging because she’s suspicious or because she thinks it’s what the Audience wants. She chose Callen to be her boyfriend for ratings, and she’ll make the most of him being her ex-boyfriend for the same reason.
“Of course he is,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Callen pretends he’s above it all, but he loves being surrounded by trac groupies at parties.” My heart falls. Like all of Lia’s bitchy comments, the sting comes in there being an iota of truth. But I let it go. I’ll let him show me what he’s there for instead of having her tell me.