Orfyn

 

 

“I don’t have a One True Thing,” I lie.

“Why don’t you tell them how you got your name?” Anna says.

I shrug, as if it’s no big deal my parents didn’t want me. “I’m an orphan.”

“That’s not the entire reason, is it?” Anna asks.

I want to give her a Shut up! look, but everyone’s eyes are on me.

“Come on, spill it,” Stryker says. “What’s said in the jungle stays in the jungle—thanks to Alex.”

“Yeah, what’s up with your name?” Alex, unlike Anna, looks genuinely curious.

“I needed something unique … for when I’m famous.” It hurts that I can’t admit I already am.

Anna crosses her arms. “But there’s more to it.”

“He’s already told us his One True Thing,” Lake says from across the room. “He’s an orphan.”

“That’s too innocent for a One True Thing,” Anna says.

“It’s true, that’s what counts.” Lake holds her eyes, and Anna is the first to look away.

The door opens, and a man in tan overalls strolls into the room, carrying a toolbox. “Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here. I’m inspecting smoke detectors. You kids don’t mind if I do a quick check, do you?”

Marty catches my eye, confirming there’s something strange going on.

Stryker answers, “No problem, sir. Do whatever you need.”

The maintenance man double-takes Stryker in his gray-blue suit. “Ah, there it is.” He makes a big deal about pointing at the plastic circle on the ceiling.

Alex sticks his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“Hey, what’s that?” The man pulls over a chair, climbs up, and grabs at the guitar string. After he uncoils it, he places the guitar string into a plastic bag that he just happens to have on him. He points an electronic device at the smoke detector, checks the reading, and nods.

As soon as he leaves, Alex pulls out his gadget and turns it back on.

“Still think it’s all fun and games, Anna?” Stryker asks.

She glares at him, as if it’s his fault we’re being spied on.

All we wanted was a few hours alone. But they wouldn’t let us have even that. I thought I didn’t have any privacy living at St. Catherine’s, but this is different. They’re listening to everything we say. Always. It suddenly feels like a ghost has walked into the room, stealing all the warmth.

“Hey guys, I have a One True Thing,” Alex says, and we all look at him. If anyone can add a laugh when we need it, it’s Alex.

Jules gives him an encouraging smile. “Tell us.”

“My dad is the top oil producer in West Texas.”

“But you’re working on alternative energy,” Anna counters.

“Now you get my One True Thing. My dad says he’ll disown me if I succeed, but that didn’t stop him from taking their payoff.”

I may be an orphan, but Sister Mo never made me feel bad about doing what I love.

“It’s not a payoff,” Jules says. “It’s their way of thanking our parents for giving us up to science.”

“Ha!” comes from Marty, who’s got the eraser end of a pencil in his mouth and his eyes focused on his notebook.

Lake says, “That money will improve their lives. At least, it has for my family.”

It will for St. Catherine’s, too—as long as the Bishop sticks to his word.

I go to the food table. “Let’s eat. This is jerk chicken, which I just learned is one of Marty’s favorite foods. If you’ve never had it before, then you’re going to be thanking me big time.” I wave toward the chips. “This is the island version of French fries. And this—” A crash cuts off my words.

I turn to see Alex on the floor, gasping for air.

Before any of us can react, Lake is on her knees next to him, propping up his head, smearing paint every place she touches.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jules’s face is filled with horror.

“This happened to a guy at my orphanage when he ate peanuts,” I say.

“Alex didn’t eat anything,” Marty says.

“His airway isn’t blocked,” Lake says with her fingers down his throat. She tilts his head back, takes a deep breath, wraps her lips around his and breathes air into his lungs. After a couple of times, she turns to Stryker. “Get help!”

Stryker removes the box from Alex’s hoodie, points it at the ceiling, and pushes the orange button. Then he yells, “We need medical attention in the art classroom. Now!”

Even though I now know about the bugs, it’s still a shock when two men in white lab coats arrive within a minute.

“He’s having difficulty breathing,” Lake informs them.

They hurry over to Alex. Lake moves aside. One of the men flashes a light into Alex’s eyes, and the other checks his vitals. They cover Alex’s face with an oxygen mask and lift him onto a gurney. Then they wheel Alex out of the party that was his idea in the first place.

Stryker’s eyes land on Lake. “You may have saved Alex’s life.”

A flush colors her cheeks. “A few years ago, I got certified in CPR for my babysitting certificate.”

The rest of us didn’t think to give Alex mouth-to-mouth. And Lake stayed so calm. I thought she was amazing before.

“I need to get back to work,” Anna says, as if nothing terrifying had just happened. As she passes me, she whispers, “I was once the very first person to discover an Orfyn.” Then she strolls out the door without a backward glance.

I check out the others, but no one is acting like they heard her.

“Nice party. Seriously,” Marty says as he heads out, clutching his notebook.

Within minutes, everyone else follows, leaving me alone with trays of untouched food and glasses of barely drunk drinks. I lower myself to the floor, bummed. I’d like to say it’s only because of Alex, but I’d be lying to myself. I wanted to give Lake an amazing party, and I didn’t deliver.

My eyes land on her abstract painting. She has a great sense of balance, and I love her color choices: yellows and purples and all different greens. The party wasn’t a total failure. Lake got to paint a picture for the first time—using her hands, which gives me an idea.

I grab what I need and head to her place. Nothing hangs from her door. They all put something on their handle as a signal to let each other know when they’re working and don’t want to be disturbed. I haven’t bothered, since I’m always awake during the day. I should probably talk to Bat about that. We actually have a lot to talk about in our next dream session.

I knock on Lake’s door.

When she opens it, confusion fills her face. “Hi?”

I hold up the can. “I thought you could use this. It’s walnut oil. It works as good as turpentine, but smells a whole lot better.” Bat told me it’s what the Renaissance painters used to use.

She shows me her rainbow-colored hands. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to remove this.”

“It’s oil paint. Soap and water doesn’t cut it.”

She takes the can, then looks at me expectantly while I wait for her to invite me in.

“Once your painting dries, I’ll hang it up for you,” I offer.

“It’s not worthy to be displayed.”

“You’re wrong. It has a great feel.”

Lake looks pleased, but she doesn’t invite me in. Probably not comfortable being alone with a guy in her room.

I lean against the door jamb to let her know I’m fine with talking in the hallway. “Have you heard anything about Alex?”

“I presume they’re running some tests. It’ll probably take some time.”

“Right. That makes sense.” I need to think before shooting off my mouth around Lake. “It’s weird how it came on so fast.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too. His lungs were inflating and deflating, but there didn’t seem to be any gas exchange. It’s as if his body decided not to turn oxygen into carbon dioxide, which of course is impossible.”

Yeah, my thoughts exactly.

She gives me a strained smile. “Is there anything else?”

“Want to grab something to eat?”

She looks down at her hands. “Sorry, but I need to take care of this.”

“Sure, I understand. It’s getting late.” It’s not even eight o’clock, but it has been a crazy night.

“Thanks for the walnut oil.” She sort of slams the door in my face, but it could’ve been because of her oily fingers.

That went well.

I think.