School felt like a changed place come Monday morning. It felt a little disingenuous walking the pre-first-bell halls when Pinewood didn’t have any. Besides local damage, all anyone could talk about was the leveling of their building. An emergency session of the school board — make that combined school boards, for both communities — had been called for that evening. Speculations were rampant that Norse Falls High would accommodate the displaced students from Pinewood.

Even as all this was, almost spookily, sorting itself out, another mystery was in the making. Both Penny and Marik were no-shows for first period. I texted Penny twice but got no reply. With respect to Marik, this had potentially tragic implications. Penny I didn’t get, however. Especially with so much news to cover.

“Where’s Marik?” I whispered to Jinky as the bell rang to second-period Design and there was still no sign of them.

She pumped her shoulders, the universal dunno signal.

“And Penny?” I asked.

She gave me the same response with a slight widening of her eyes. It seemed to indicate concern. Looking around, there were more than a few unoccupied seats. Word was that counselors were available to everyone who had been huddled down in Pinewood’s shelter. Or anyone else who had PTSD. Ironic that it had been a term Marik had to learn for that first school-board meeting. Maybe Penny was having a harder time dealing with Friday’s events than she’d let on. It couldn’t be easy for her to be so close to all the weirdness I’d brought to Norse Falls, except without my, Jack’s, Marik’s, or even Jinky’s, for that matter, unique perspective on it all. It had to be like living next to a graveyard and wondering at so many passersby in period attire.

Ms. Bryant took the first half of class to discuss the events of Friday. A lot of kids wanted to talk about the experience, and others had questions about the rumors of an accelerated merger. As always, Ms. Bryant was cool and collected. Though not at all like my earthy mom, she, nonetheless, had a maturity that complemented my dad’s personality. His heroics during the crisis showed a side of him that I had always known was there, but it was nice to think that others — Ms. Bryant and my mom, even — would see a depth in him, too, now. Perhaps not an old soul, but one who was growing. No doubt he’d always be the first to run for the ice-cream truck, but he’d save you a place in line, and probably buy.

Just as Ms. Bryant segued to the topic of our top-notch projects at Friday’s show, there was a commotion at the door, through which entered none other than Penny and Marik, looking rosy, robust, and almost obscenely goo-goo eyed. I nearly smacked my chin on the desk, my mouth fell open so quickly.

Ms. Bryant seemed to be unsettled, too. As Marik — looking as he had the first day of school with his easygoing smile, burly frame, and vitality — passed by her desk, she covered her mouth in an attempt to hide her surprise. She undoubtedly picked up on what I was sensing as well. Marik was better. Marik was different.

For the rest of the period, I had a hard time concentrating. Luckily, Ms. Bryant’s similarly distracted state kept her from delving into anything that was testworthy material.

The moment the bell rang, I was on Penny like a bug on a windshield. I blocked her path to the door.

“What’s up?” Penny asked, cocking her head to the side, cool and coy as a da Vinci girl.

My suspicions, for one. And my heart rate, for another. I perched on a nearby desktop, saying, “Oh, you know, a bird, a plane, Superman.”

With the last of my “up” items, I gestured with my head to Marik, who had come to stand beside Penny. His recovery was miraculous; his eyes were bright and fiery, his cheeks plump, and even his shaggy hair had spring to it.

“You’re looking better, Marik,” I said. “Was it the flu, after all?”

After the ceiling incident in Afi’s back room, Penny’s head had been an itchy mess, but Jinky had been fine. Shortly thereafter, Ofelia got the call.

“A mild case,” Penny answered for him.

Penny had worn a hat to Jack’s yesterday. She never wore hats. I was the hat girl, particularly if it was the day after a meeting-signaling scalp rash. I remembered how nasty the affliction was those first few times. But Penny? Could she really be . . . ? But what other explanation was there? Penny, a Stork! Why hadn’t I seen it coming? How had she even known that Marik needed a soul? And how had she accomplished so much in so little time? It indicated a power exceeding my own, one that surely confirmed her rightful inheritance of the Bleika Norn’s cameo. I also thought of Jinky’s rune reading. Penny had chosen Othala, the stone of ancestral property, which could represent both a physical and a spiritual inheritance. No surprise that it was right on both scores. And once again, Hulda’s words — that they awaited a harbinger of change — proved prophetic. Why wouldn’t Penny be a Stork? That Stork, moreover. Her birthright was as legitimate as mine. Birds of a feather . . . , I couldn’t help thinking.

“Glad to hear you’re feeling better, Marik,” I said, starting for the exit with drunken steps. By then, Jinky had joined us.

“Penelopa came over with an herbal remedy,” Marik said, following me through the doorway.

His use of Penny’s full name did not elude me. Penelopa scrambled to one apple, which I had known all along but had never interpreted as Penny’s rightful role in it all, her connection to the Pink Lady cameo, her ties to the life-giving symbol, and her magical destiny.

“It was something my amma mixed up for him, some kind of herbal infusion,” Penny said. “Like I told you, she’s good with home remedies. Maybe some of them learned from the Bleika Norn.”

So this was how it would have to be. An understanding between us that would be danced around and batted back and forth but would never be put into words. The four of us walked as a group toward our bank of lockers.

“That’s cool,” I said.

“Maybe the whole concept of a metaphysical shop here in Norse Falls isn’t such a bad idea, after all,” Penny said.

“Finally she admits it.” Jinky lifted her chin in a small display of pride.

“It’s better than a hat store, anyway,” I said.

“I don’t know,” Penny said. “I think you single-handedly brought them back into style, around here, anyway. I’m thinking of getting a beret.”

“What color?” I asked.

“Something in the gray family,” Penny said, “not dark, more of a —”

“Dove gray?”

“Yes.” Penny’s eyes sparked.

Naturally, she’d be the bird of peace. And I got it in one guess. My father’s daughter or what?