I woke confused and flat-tired, not a good sign. Normally, I felt a sense of elation following one of my Stork dreams. This time, however, it felt incomplete. Not only had none of the vessels — not even Jaelle — been present, but there had been two essences. Of course, multiples were not unheard of. But from what I understood, twins and triplets (and up) presented together, in a like location and as the same age. I remembered Svana had once described a set of identicals in a hollowed-out pumpkin shell. An older child, such as the boy, happened occasionally, too. It indicated a soul that had hovered for some time without selecting a mother. The two anomalies — their separate locations and different ages — were, thus, puzzling.

Nor could I help thinking of the similarity between my dream and the classic “Hansel and Gretel” fairy tale. While it certainly had all the markings of a Stork dream, I wondered at the borrowed imagery — complete with evil witch — that was so recently suggested to me with our new “gingerbread” house. Despite this, I knew the children were essences, so where were the prospective mothers? And why the element of fear? Unfortunately, none of it put me any closer to helping out Jaelle. But it was, if nothing else, a lesson in that patience Hulda had so recently preached.

At school I dragged my two-ton limbs to first period, where I had a hard time keeping my head in an upright position. Thank God for educational videos, lowered lights and blinds, and head-in-laptop teachers.

In Design, my walking coma made Penny’s effervescence all the more crackling.

“You seem awfully chipper,” I said. “Even your hair is having a good day.”

It was. Her natural curls were normally just a kink or two away from frizzdom. Today, however, they seemed tamer, more gentle wave than churning foam.

“Thanks.” She fluffed her bangs.

“Did you use some kind of relaxing product?” I asked.

“No.”

And now that I was hawk-eyeing her head, the shade seemed brighter, too. I had always loved Penny’s hair color, all redheads for that matter. Today it was even more flaming, like something alive.

“Did you do something with the color?” I asked.

“No.” This time, with all my attention, she patted down her hair, which — come to think of it — seemed longer.

“Good morning.” Marik passed between us and eased into the desk behind Penny. I noticed she sat up straighter. Had her shoulders always been so angular? And her boobs, had they always been so perky?

From her backpack, Penny pulled a spiral binder and turned to hand it to Marik. “You left this in my car last night.”

Huh?

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll need that next period.”

I knew Marik was a quick study in the social game and that Penny was a willing subject, but it was the first I had heard of them spending time together without . . . me. I felt oddly strange about it. I trusted Penny more than I trusted anyone else in the school, myself included. Nonetheless, there was something that nettled about this new information. And exactly what was it? A study date? They had American History together. Or was it a date date? Penny would have told me about that; I would have thought so, anyway.

Abby arrived, making a point of walking down our aisle. She stopped to chat with Marik on her way to the back of the room. I could sense her disappointment that he had settled near Penny and me today. Unlike the rest of us, Marik was a floater, taking various desks around the room with no apparent rhyme, reason, or rotation. He hung just as easily with the stoners in the far right corner as he did with Abby and her social climbers as he did with the math-club types. I’d even witnessed Mean Dean, a guy who talked to no one and had — according to school lore — coined his own nickname, lend Marik his latest Manga Club magazine.

With Marik and Abby involved in a conversation, I took the opportunity to ambush Penny. I leaned across the aisle that separated our two desks and whispered, “So what’s up with you and Marik?”

She went cherry-pie red; even her freckles tinted with crimson. “I don’t know,” she said, keeping her voice low. “He could have his choice of any girl; still, I just can’t stop thinking about him. And it may sound weird, but”— she swiveled in her seat, bringing her head to within inches of my own and cupping her mouth with her right hand —“I feel like we have something.”

I snuck a glance backward to where Abby was perched on the edge of Marik’s desktop. She, from the looks of it, was working on her own something, and it involved her chest being right at his eye level.

Ms. Bryant walked in the room, bringing our conversation to an end and sending Abby back to her own seat.

While Ms. Bryant distributed a handout, I sat brooding. How could Penny not see that Marik had something with everyone? Even Mean Dean, for Pete’s sake. And I felt fairly confident that if the Pete of Pete’s sake walked in, he’d be Team Marik, too. I made a mental note to keep a close eye on her and Marik. The guy was already after my sister; no way was he getting my best friend, too.