The Sapphiri

by R Gene Curtis

  “Sounds good to me,” I say. At least she’s open to coming over at some point. “Do you know any good places?”

  She tells me to meet her at six-thirty in front of her apartment. I tell her I will and then get off the treadmill and go back to my apartment to shower.

  Success? Maybe not, but at least I have another shot this evening.

  * * *

  Things don’t go any better in the evening. I don’t find out much about her job, and the information she gives me about her family is extremely vague. She doesn’t even mention Karl, only that her mom died recently, and her dad is living in Phoenix. She doesn’t tell me about Ler, either.

  And, I’m still not sure if I can call her by her first name or not.

  But, complete failure aside, for the first time in years, I go home from work thinking about a girl. It’s kind of nice.

  Cassi was gorgeous, but she didn’t radiate the inner confidence Pearl has. She needed me, as a protector. I don’t feel like Pearl needs that. She’s happy with her life, even though I haven’t figured out why. The happiness in her eyes is a sharp contrast to the depressed look Cassi always had.

  Of course, Pearl isn’t an option. Even less than Cassi ever was. I have three months to fulfill a mission, and then she’ll die, and I’ll move on again. Every once in a while, I still cling to the hope that someday I’ll escape and find Cassi. There’s no way she’s found someone else.

  And, all thinking about Pearl aside, I haven’t either.

  4 Ache

  Brit

  I follow the team into the locker room and sit down by myself on the bench next to the door. My clothes are soaked from the rain, but I’m happy. We’re beating UCLA 2-0 at the half, and they’re good. That means we’re good. Maybe just as good as we were last year.

  No, maybe better.

  It’s fun to be on a team that wins games. I liked soccer in high school, but we never won anything.

  I smell her sit next to me, and my heart sinks. Only one girl on this team wears an entire bottle of perfume to play a soccer game. Joana. She’s a forward on the team, and she hates me because I was friends with Lydia. And because she’s a cruel, manipulative type of person who knows I can be easily manipulated.

  “You’re smiling now, but you have to know people are onto you,” Joana whispers in my ear. “I’ve heard the rumors—you killed her, didn’t you?”

  Tears jump into my eyes—just like she knew they would. I close my eyes and will the tears to go away. They don’t splash onto my face, which is a minor success.

  “What are you talking about?” I say as calmly as I can manage, as if it’s perfectly natural for Joana to accuse me of murder. I know what she’s talking about. Joana smells worries like a rat smells peanut butter.

  I didn’t kill Lydia, of course, but I’m worried someone did. The only story I know is that Lydia disappeared through a magical portal into another world.

  “Thala.” She smirks. She stares at me when she talks to me; she wants me to know how much she enjoys the pain that the daggers coming out of her mouth cause.

  “Who?”

  “Thala, your friend that used to be on the team. It’s my little nickname for her. She looked like a Neanderthal from the cavemen era, and she was just as stupid as you are. Kind of chubby, too, and she had that creepy smile. Anyway, I heard you killed her so she wouldn’t heal and take your spot on the team. That you like being the hero.”

  If there’s anyone who likes being a hero, it’s Joana. Even with the maturity of a three-year-old, she’s scored both of our goals today. She certainly celebrated each goal for everything it was worth.

  And the whole time she was doing it, she was probably gloating over how much I miss Lydia. I blink the tears from my eyes and look away. I would give up my spot on the team in a heartbeat if I knew Lydia was back. I would quit and never play another game in my life!

  Joana moves off the bench and makes eye contact with me. Her smirk is evil. She’s evil. I’ve almost quit more than a dozen times because of this girl. She’s mean. Why would she talk to me like this, when we’re winning a big game and when we still have an entire half to go? Doesn’t she realize I’ve made five stops tonight that should have been UCLA goals?

  “I knew it. Silence means you’re guilty.” It’s not a question. Her voice is barely audible. No one else can hear her over the rumble from the rest of the team. I wish I would gag on the smell wafting from her perfume and pass out.

  She keeps staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “I didn’t kill her,” I say. It’s too bad I wiped the rain off my face when I came inside. I feel tears tracing their way down my face, obvious to Joana.

  “You’re feeling bad.” Joana whispers. “But you should know I think it’s okay. She deserved it, that pretender. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” She laughs and walks away. Probably to find another victim; halftime isn’t over yet.

  I hate her.

  But she got to me, and my concentration is shot for the entire second half. It isn’t long before I’ve given up two goals. Coach Fant yells and nearly benches me. It doesn’t take my mind off of Lydia, but at least I get my mind into the game enough to prevent giving up any more goals.

  Joana scores in the last minute and we win 3-2. And she’s a hero and Coach Fant gives her the game ball. Not that it matters, but I would have received the game ball if I had kept my head in the game and we had delivered a shutout.

  I don’t mind her being the hero. I just wish she would leave me alone.

  Or, even better, I wish that Lydia would come back and be my friend again. When Lydia is around, Joana doesn’t matter as much.

  * * *

  “You can’t let Joana get to you like that,” Zoey says as she takes the seat next to me. We had two classes together last year, plus this one this year, and this is the first time she’s ever even acknowledged that I exist in a setting off the soccer field.

  I look at her for a moment and then shrug. “How do you know Joana said anything to me?”

  “I have eyes, Brit. I saw her talk to you during halftime. And then we went back on the field and it was like you couldn’t concentrate on the game. If it weren’t for Joana’s last-minute heroics, we probably would have lost. Surely you can see it. You looked like a failure and Joana looked like a hero.”

  “But, we still won.” So, shut up and leave me alone.

  “But we won’t next time. You can’t let her hurt the team like that.”

  Sheesh. Who made Zoey my mommy? I hope Joana targets her next time.

  “You know what, I just remembered I told that guy over there that I’d help him with homework after class today,” I say, gesturing over my shoulder. I stand and look around, desperately hoping there’s at least one guy in this room who has an empty seat next to him. I find him on the back row, a blond guy hunched over his seat with his textbook open. I grab my bag and hurry over, wishing I could escape the burn from Zoey’s eyes into my back. I don’t need her to verbalize what I’ve had rattling around in my head since that game ended. I don’t need to have her pretend she suddenly cares about me when she hasn’t so much as made eye contact with me once outside of soccer.

  I throw my backpack under the empty seat and sit down next to the guy, pulling out the little writing table attached to the seat. “Hi, I’m Brit,” I say, trying to make an appearance of having something going on with this guy in case Zoey is watching. I sneak a glance in her direction. She’s watching.

  The guy jumps and looks up from his reading looking startled. And then he looks at me and my face gets hot.

  Stupid blush. I’m sure Zoey can see it from across the room.

  Still, things could be worse. This guy is much better looking than I expected. And anyway, as long as I don’t make any more big mistakes in games, I’ll be invisible to Zoey for the rest of the season. The fact that she knows I lied to her won’t matter.

  To my surprise, the boy blushes, too. “Hi Brit,”
he says, and he drops his pencil and fumbles with the pages in his book. “You play on the soccer team, right?”

  “Yeah.” I glance up. Zoey is still watching us, and I think her look could kill. And I’m sitting here with a guy, and we’re both bright red. Every time I lie, something like this happens. I look away from Zoey’s eyes and watch the boy’s face return to a more natural color.

  He’s really cute.

  “I’m Terrance.”

  “Nice to meet you, Terrance.”

  His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, and then he returns to his textbook. It’s only the second week of school, but he’s already nearing the end of it. I bend over to check the cover, and it’s the required book for this class. How is he so far already? I always do my reading, but I never read ahead—I’m only on the third or fourth chapter.

  Am I brave enough to ask him? I did introduce myself, after all. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

  The professor starts lecturing. I sigh and turn my attention away from Terrance. Biology isn’t my subject, which means I’m going to have to work really hard in this class. No distractions.

  A few words into the lecture, I glance over at Terrance. He’s enthralled with what the professor is saying. How does he understand any of it? He starts scribbling notes in his book. He writes fast, but his handwriting is legible. So, he’s not pre-med. Maybe research? He glances back up at the slides and then keeps scribbling. He doesn’t even notice me looking at him.

  I try to focus on the slides, too, but I don’t understand anything on them. It’s some cartoon. All I can see is that it looks like a bunch of little spaceships. You’d think they would make an introductory class easier for people to understand with more biology and fewer spaceships.

  Terrance glances up from his writing again, but this time he looks at me. And he smiles.

  I turn bright red.

  He does, too. Then, he looks back down at his book and starts writing again. I look back at the professor, but I can’t understand anything he’s saying. I’m totally going to fail this class!

  Terrance watches the professor with long eyelashes that blink furiously against his glasses. I wish I had eyelashes like that. I wish the eyes behind them were looking at me instead of that book.

  Except then I would blush again.

  This is ridiculous. I put my head in my hands and wish I had missed my alarm this morning. I made a deal with myself that I would not have a boyfriend this year. This is the year I’m going to find myself and figure out who I am. Me. Brit Sorenson. Not So-and-so’s girlfriend Sorenson. I’m going to move past Jacob’s death and Lydia’s disappearance. I’m going to survive the coursework for second-year chem majors, which is supposed to be really hard. My grades were pretty low during soccer season last year. They’re going to be better this year.

  That means no boys.

  Terrance catches me looking at him again and he smiles. I smile, too. And blush. I move my eyes back to the spaceships, but my resolve to keep them there doesn’t last long.

  Class ends, eventually, and people start leaving. Terrance stands awkwardly and drops the book that was on his lap. I reach down to pick it up for him and barely miss bumping his head. I catch a whiff of his cologne—it’s nice. Who wears cologne to biology class?

  I’m bright red again. I should invest in some really strong makeup. Not that it would help.

  “Um, uh,” Terrance stammers.

  “It was nice to meet you,” I say.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Hey, uh...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you headed home right now?”

  “I live at the dorms, so you can’t call it much of a home, but, yeah. I need to get caught up on homework for a few hours before soccer practice starts.”

  “That’s cool. That you have soccer practice, I mean. Probably not so much about the homework.”

  He smiles. This guy is really getting to me. I like the way he blushes when he looks at me. I’ve never seen a guy who blushes as much as I do. I didn’t even know that was possible.

  “Do you want to walk me back?” I usually bike home, but I can walk today and come back for my bike later. Still, I can’t believe how forward I’m being. It must be that smile of his. Terrance laughs and runs his hands through his hair. It’s a little long, and curly. I’d love to run my hands through that hair. While he kissed me, maybe.

  I’m turning red again. I don’t even know this guy.

  “I, uh, can’t,” he says. “I have to get some reading done.”

  “Oh.” I look at his finger in the biology book. He’s almost a full semester ahead—what reading does he have? The heat from my face dissipates.

  What happened? Everything was going so well.

  “But, can I have your phone number?”

  My heart skips a beat. I picture spending the evening doing homework, sending texts, laughing, getting distracted. And not doing homework.

  No. I’m not doing that this semester. I promised myself. Especially with a guy who would rather read about the spaceships in our cells than walk me home.

  “Um uh...”

  Now it’s his turn to look disappointed.

  Serves him right. “No, it’s just that I got a new phone plan yesterday. For some reason, they couldn’t transfer my old number. Anyway, I forgot my phone and left it back at the dorms. I still don’t know what my own number is—you know?”

  He shrugs. “Well, can I at least give you a granola bar?”

  Huh? A granola bar? And then my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I feel my face heat up. The classroom is empty enough he can probably hear it. Why does something like this happen every time I lie?

  “Well?” he asks.

  Weird or not, I have to go. “Yes,” I say. I grab the granola bar and my bag and run out of the classroom, tripping on the door on my way out. I don’t know how I managed to embarrass myself so thoroughly. That was impressive, even for me.

  Once I’m far enough away, I check my phone. It’s not a number I recognize. The message tells me that I’ve just qualified for a new bank card. Probably from a Nigerian bank.

  I look at the granola bar. The packaging looks a little disturbed, probably from being in Terrance’s pocket. A little smashed, but nothing serious. I’m hungry, and so I rip off the wrapping and eat it. It’s good—silver lining.

  * * *

  My head aches. And my stomach. And every muscle in my body. I groan and force my eyes open. I’m in my dorm room, and it’s dark.

  It’s dark. I must have fallen asleep. No! I push myself out of bed and then fall back into it. Maybe I’m not getting out of this bed again today. The clock in the corner reads 8:28 PM. I’ve already missed soccer practice. I must have fallen asleep while I was studying, and now I’ve missed soccer practice. Coach is going to be so mad. She’s going to yell at me like she did during the game.

  I feel awful! My head hurts so bad. And my tummy is about to explode.

  I’ll send Coach a text. I’ll tell her I slept through practice because I’m sick. My bag is next to me on the bed. I fumble with the zipper and get out my phone. It’s dead. I blink at it blankly; it had a full battery this morning. I know it did.

  My head hurts.

  I pull the charger out of my backpack and reach over next to the wall to plug it in.

  I’m only holding half of the cord. It’s been cut.

  My head is so foggy, and my body hurts. Why is my phone charger cut in half? I’d use my roommate’s charger, but she’s out of town for the next few days.

  My tummy hurts.

  It’s dark. I’ve missed soccer practice, and Coach doesn’t know why. She’s going to be so mad.

  I should go buy a new one. A new phone charger. The clock says 8:55 PM. The school store should be open for a few more minutes. I need to call a doctor. I take my wallet out of my bag.

  Now it’s 9:27 PM. I need to get to the school store before it closes. I manage to get out of bed and make it to the door witho
ut falling over.

  It won’t open. I push against it, which makes my shoulder hurt. The doorknob turns but the door doesn’t open. I scream into the hall. That makes my head hurt. It really hurts. I don’t have any Tylenol in my room.

  I walk over to the window. It’s raining outside.

  I’m tired. My head hurts.

  I go back to my bed and lie down. Maybe if I sleep for a while longer the pain will go away.

  My tummy aches. I wish I could throw up.

  I fall back onto my bed.

  5 Approach

  Lydia

  Streaks of color slash across the sky and over the walls of Sattah. It isn’t a modern city, but it’s just as beautiful in the sun’s waning light. Tops of buildings that seem to go on forever huddle together, separated by narrow streets that extend outward from the city center where a castle sits on a hill.

  It’s picturesque—the kind of thing that one would take a snapshot of to turn into a puzzle.

  A light breeze caresses my cheeks as I stand on the hill and look at the city. Was I born in that castle? I picture Togan and Reenah standing here, looking over the city. What would they say to me if they were here with me now? Have I done enough? What else do I need to do?

  Was the city this big when I was here last? Karl said millions of people live here.

  Millions. And their hundred-year-old government just collapsed.

  Will they be happy to meet me? Will I be able to lead them? I wasn’t even a captain on my high school soccer team. I knew how to play and I played hard on the field, but the other members of the team never voted me to be a leader. They chose people like Maria. People who knew how to talk to people. People who were strong and didn’t make mistakes every few minutes.

  Those were the leaders.

  I sigh and look away from the city. Karl stands next to Somrusee on my left, and his arm is around her waist. And she’s leaning into him.

  I turn back to Sattah. Once upon a time Karl kissed me, and I thought it might be real.

  But it isn’t Karl I need to think about. If Togan were here today, he would tell me to save the city. It’s what he would want, and it’s what his wife, Reenah, the woman who carried me inside her, would want. The woman who raised me, my mother Sandra Miller, would expect me to fight for this city, too.