The Different Girl

by Gordon Dahlquist

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “That’s the question,” said Robbert. “Do you remember anything, from when you were asleep,”

  “Like a dream?”

  “Just like a dream,” said Irene. “Did you have one?”

  The last thing I remembered was May’s fumbling hand. I wondered where the others were, and if May was with them, and if she had told them what we’d found.

  But then I began to blink.

  Irene gently turned my head so she could see my eyes. “Veronika?”

  “I don’t know when it was,” I said, “or even if it happened, but I can think of it. Is that a dream?”

  “Why don’t you tell us?” asked Robbert. His hand slipped under my hair, the fingers probing softly.

  “It was one of May’s photographs.”

  “Which one?” asked Irene.

  “The seventh one, with May on her boat, on the Mary.”

  “But why?” Irene shook her head and started again. “Not why did you dream—what part of the photograph feels important?”

  “Zebra stripes.” They both stared like they hadn’t heard. “That’s what Isobel called the bandages against May’s skin. In the seventh photo she has a bandage on her finger, so that’s one stripe, and the line of freckles beneath her eyes is another darker stripe, and then on the boat, the wood edging the deck is white, but the side of the boat under it is black, so the white is a stripe, too. Then the dark water and the bright sky are stripes, too. And the teeth in May’s mouth and the white of her eyes. Except for May’s green shirt almost the entire photograph is light and dark stripes pointing different directions.”

  “But why is that important? Why did you think about that when you should have been asleep?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think hard, Veronika.”

  I was blinking, trying to know the right words. “It was May’s eyes. The pupils of May’s eyes. They’re like round holes. Black circles in the whites. I thought if I could look in them—all the way, if she would let me—it would explain where she had been, and it would say what had happened in the storm.”

  “May’s eyes?” asked Irene.

  “They were round hard holes.”

  Irene nodded. But it was only because of the buried plank that the eyes seemed that way—that was the real source of my dream, yet I couldn’t ask why that would happen without telling them where I’d been. Did they know? They looked at me without speaking. I felt how hard it was to have a secret, how secrets made you feel apart and alone. Now May was on one side of a secret and Robbert and Irene were on the other.

  Robbert patted my head and looked at Irene.

  “Am I sick?” I asked. “Like May?”

  “No, Veronika,” said Irene. “We think it was a bit of sand.”

  “I’ve never had a problem with sand.”

  “No,” said Robbert. “You haven’t. So from now on you have to be extra careful, don’t you?”

  I nodded. Robbert and Irene led me into the kitchen. Everyone else was on the porch, waiting to come in, and when they did we all began to make an early dinner, since it didn’t seem like Robbert and Irene had ever eaten lunch.

  Dinner was noodles, but with a new recipe that used half the sauce and half the vegetable protein. We went to bed earlier than normal and there was no time to talk to May or for any of the others to talk to me.

  As I lay on my cot, waiting for Irene, I wondered again if I should say where we’d been. She knelt next to me, her hand brushed through my hair.

  “Irene?” I whispered. “Were you scared for me?”

  “The important thing is that we knew just what to do. Were you scared, Veronika? Are you scared now?”

  I shook my head, because I didn’t know. Being scared of water made sense because it was dangerous. Could you be scared of something invisible, that you couldn’t name? Irene slipped her fingers to my spot.

  “Good. Sleep well, Veronika.”

  • • •

  The next morning Irene used the same tea bag as the day before, and for lunch she made her sandwich with peanut butter. That meant we could expect the supply boat any day.

  But five days later the boat still hadn’t come.

  8.

  Since we had never actually seen the supply boat, it wasn’t so much that we expected to see it now. But we kept waking from our naps to find Irene still eating peanut butter and no stack of new boxes in the kitchen, and we began to wonder why, especially when Robbert went to the cliffs with his toolbox almost every afternoon.

  Our walks began to skip the dock, and as the days went on we began to skip everywhere except the woods. I thought this was because Robbert was at the aerial—so we didn’t go to the cliffs. And because of my own accident with sand we didn’t go to the beach. But then we began to just stay in the courtyard, which wasn’t so much of a walk at all and more what Irene called focused study, which usually meant that we watched bugs.

  Isobel found a black centipede and everyone went to look. Irene asked Eleanor to list the different parts of the centipede and the rest of us to make sure she didn’t skip anything. But instead of looking at the centipede, I looked at May. She wore her shirt with the flowers, the bottom button undone and the shirttails pulled by the breeze so I could see her stomach, soft, brown, and round in a way our stomachs weren’t. The scab on her face had peeled away, leaving a pink shadow, shaped like the bones of coral. The bandages had come off her feet as well, and May no longer wore flip-flops, because she said she didn’t need them.

  “You can count them all together!” May snapped impatiently. “They’re all the same!”

  Eleanor had been listing the centipede’s legs one by one, which was a lot of legs. She looked at May and cocked her head. “But they do different things.”

  “No they don’t! They’re all legs!” May raised her hands and wiggled her fingers to imitate ten of the centipede’s legs in motion.

  “But each leg makes a different part of the centipede move,” said Caroline. “Doesn’t it?”

  She turned to Irene, but Irene was looking at the classroom. She realized we were waiting and spoke to me. “What do you think, Veronika?”

  “I think Eleanor is right because every leg is necessary. But May is also right because every leg is by itself the same as the others.”

  “Very good.”

  “But do we count them together or not?” asked Isobel.

  “You can do either,” Irene replied. “The important thing is that you know there’s another way. If it’s the very first time you’ve seen something, you should count like Eleanor. But after that, you can count like May, as long as you know the difference.”

  “The first way is useless,” muttered May.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Isobel.

  “No, it isn’t,” Irene echoed. May didn’t say anything. “All right,” Irene went on, “everyone keep looking. Don’t leave the courtyard. I’ll be right back.”

  She crossed to the classroom steps and went inside, the screen wheezing shut behind. We stood in a clump for a moment but finally nosed around in different directions. After a minute of this, I realized I was between Caroline, kicking at a tuft of grass, and May, still looking after Irene.

  “We found the plank,” I whispered. Caroline stood and cocked her head.

  “What plank?”

  “In the grass. Under the sand. The one you found.”

  “Found when?”

  “After the storm.”

  Caroline began to blink. “When?”

  “You found it on the beach and Robbert took it to bury. He told you not to tell. It had three holes in it.”

  “Bullet holes,” whispered May, who was listening.

  “What?” I asked. She hadn’t said anything about the holes before. “What is bullet?”

  May snorted and shook her head. “Bloody hell . . .”

  But Caroline just stood there, eyes fluttering like moth wings at a window. “I don’t remember.” />
  “You have to remember. You told me where to look.”

  “Then how can I not remember?”

  “Because of him,” whispered May.

  “Was it a dream?” Caroline asked me. “Did I forget because of that?”

  “Didn’t you have a dream?” This was Isobel. She had come near with Eleanor. “When you had trouble with sand, Veronika? Is it something you remember?”

  “I did have a dream, but that was different.”

  “It’s not a dream,” said May. “I saw it, too.”

  “Maybe you both dreamed together,” Isobel suggested.

  “That’s stupid,” said May. “Caroline told us. She told Veronika. He did something.” She pointed to the classroom. “He took her in there and he took it away. None of you know what’s real. You just know what they tell you!”

  Irene pushed open the screen. A lock of her hair had fallen loose, a dark line dropped across one eye. She saw us standing together and clapped her hands.

  “What is this? Back to work! I don’t know what’s come over you girls!”

  We hurried apart to find more bugs, except for May, who stayed. Irene saw that she hadn’t moved and frowned. She waved for May to come over. When May reached the porch Irene put a hand on each of May’s shoulders and whispered something none of us could hear. Then the two of them went inside.

  After our nap May wasn’t there. Robbert woke us, which wasn’t normal. Instead of going anywhere, even to the kitchen, he said we should have a talk.

  “Where is Irene?” asked Eleanor.

  “That’s part of the talk,” Robbert replied. “Irene is looking for May.”

  “Is May lost?” My voice was loud. “Did she fall off the cliff? Did she go in the water?”

  Robbert held out his hands. “No—no, it’s nothing like that. Nothing has happened to May. Nothing is going to happen to her.”

  “Then where is she?” I asked.

  “She’s . . . she’s hiding.”

  “Why?” This was Caroline. “Why does she need to hide? Do we need to hide, too?”

  “No one needs to hide,” said Robbert, getting sharp. “Everyone is fine. May is upset. She’s still sad, about the storm, about everything she lost. She’s going to be sad for a long time, no matter how nice we are to her. She’s going to be sad and angry.”

  “May is angry,” said Eleanor. “More than anyone.”

  “And when she’s angry, it isn’t your fault. Or anyone’s fault. And deep inside May knows that. That’s part of the reason she’s gone, to be by herself for a while. It’s probably the best thing for everyone.”

  “Then where is Irene?” asked Isobel.

  “Irene is trying to find her—”

  “But why? If hiding is the best thing—”

  “Because—to make sure—so we know where she is, just in case. Just to know that she’s okay.”

  “Can we see if she’s okay, too?”

  “Not now.”

  “Can we see if she’s okay later?”

  “We’ll see. Right now we have to talk.”

  “Talk about what?” asked Eleanor.

  “About hiding?” asked Caroline.

  “No. And I need everyone to listen.”

  We all leaned forward on our cots, because we were good at listening. Robbert scratched his nose with his thumb, which helped him decide how to say things. “I also want you to think. We always want you to think, whatever happens. Never forget that. Even if there’s no school—if no one is asking questions—if neither Irene nor I is there—”

  “What about May?”

  “Veronika, be quiet.” Robbert rubbed his eyes by sticking two fingers under his glasses. “Keep your questions to yourselves. Solve them yourselves, all right? You can do that. You can. Right now you need to listen.”

  Making sense of what Robbert said was hard. I could imagine being without him or Irene—like when we went on separate walks—but since it was always temporary and since we talked together afterward and since whatever we did think by ourselves was always rethought depending on the others, I didn’t see why that was so important. I wondered if this was a new assignment—to find May by thinking.

  “Instead of talking about May,” Robbert began, “I want to talk about your parents.”

  All four of us began to blink. No one had said anything about our parents for a very long time, except for May, who just reminded me how much I didn’t know. Apparently Robbert and Irene knew more after all, though they always said they’d told us everything. And now, because we had been very good and studied hard, he had finally decided to tell us.

  “The four of you are not like other girls. You’re not like May. You know that, because you’ve seen her, but you don’t know why. May doesn’t know why either. No matter what she’s said to you, she doesn’t know. May has no idea. She’s ignorant. Don’t ever forget that. Do you understand?”

  We nodded.

  “Good. You’re all going to be smarter than she is. You’re going to be smarter than anyone. And that is because of your parents. Most people have a mother and father, but you four girls had eight mothers and eight fathers. And together they all made each of you. They all made different parts, but each parent cared for each one of you just as much as the others. You are all extremely special. You’re not like anyone else. But when you’re made by that many parents you get made a different way—the whole project is different. It takes time, and it takes up space, all to make four girls. There are places where that work can happen and places where it can’t. And the thing is, those places change. Because some people . . . well, they get angry at what’s different, angry at what they don’t understand. All right?”

  I nodded, doing very well not to interrupt. We had so many things to ask.

  “Good. Now, we told you there was a plane crash. There was a plane crash. And all your parents were killed. But there were two planes that day. One of them exploded and one of them didn’t. The truth is that the explosion wasn’t an accident. Your parents’ plane exploded deliberately.” Robbert stopped to scratch his nose. “People stopped it from taking off by blowing it up—angry people—ignorant people—and everyone on that plane was killed. The second plane escaped. Only Irene and I were on it, and the four of you. You were still asleep. You didn’t wake until we got you here. And what you need to know—what we haven’t told you—is that these angry people haven’t changed. Do you understand?”

  What we all understood was why Robbert was telling us now.

  “Is that what happened to the Mary?” asked Caroline.

  Robbert didn’t snap at her, so Isobel leaned forward.

  “Why would anyone sink the Mary if May only had two parents?”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Eleanor.

  “Is it because of the numbers in the picture?” asked Caroline.

  “Does the Mary mean angry people came near our island?” I asked.

  As soon as it was said, everyone knew my question was the most important one of all, and we waited for Robbert to reply. He nodded when he saw us waiting, and took a breath to think. This became a different kind of talking, an answer he had to make right now, almost as if Robbert were in class along with us.

  “We don’t think so,” he said. “They would already be here. When they find what they don’t like, they destroy it. Because it scares them—and you girls would scare them as much as anything they’ve ever seen.”

  “Why?” asked Isobel.

  “Because . . . because of what they believe.” He waved his hand to say it wasn’t something he wanted to describe. “So we can’t let anyone tell them. Do you understand? Not anyone.”

  “We won’t,” said Eleanor.

  “May won’t either,” I said.

  Robbert stared into my eyes.

  “Where do you think May is now, Veronika?”

  Since I already wondered if Robbert wanted us to find her, I was ready for his question. “Maybe in the dune grass, crouching down?”


  “Maybe.” Robbert kept up his stare. “But you don’t know. Just like you don’t really know what she’ll say.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t,” I said. “Not if we ask her to promise.”

  “No, Veronika. Think. Facts. What we know most about May is that we can’t predict what she’s going to do. Because that’s the difference between two parents and sixteen. You girls can do many things at once, but not things you don’t decide. May can do things—she will do things—without any decision at all. She’ll do things and then be sorry for them, after it’s too late. She’ll do things—say things—without even realizing what she’s done. And then what?”

  Robbert leaned back and crossed his arms, which meant it was time for us to think. I knew he didn’t believe me about May, but I didn’t know who else she could talk to on the island. The only others were the men on the supply boat—now a whole week overdue—and since we never saw them because of naps, it was just a matter of making sure May took her nap along with us. But then I thought of the aerial and Robbert’s machines in the classroom and telling the supply ship when to come and what to bring. Since May lived on a boat, did she know how to contact the supply boat, too? What if she contacted the wrong boat by mistake? How many other boats were there? How many nights had May spent with the machines? She’d seen how to wake me up. How many times had she watched Robbert with his tools? Was that why Irene had gone to look for her?

  “Did all of our parents love us?” asked Eleanor.

  “They did,” said Robbert. “Of course they did. Every bit as much as Irene and I do. And you’ve turned into just the girls they dreamed you’d be.”

  • • •

  There were so many more questions—names, hair, skin, voices, smells, everything. We wanted to know as much as we could about every parent, but Robbert said it was time to go outside. We followed him down the steps. Knowing how many people had been on the plane that exploded made me think of how lonely Robbert and Irene must have been afterward. How would I feel if I was alone with only Eleanor, never to see Isobel or Caroline ever again, or Robbert or Irene, or May? I had always assumed that Robbert and Irene were the most important people to each other in the world, but now I realized I didn’t know that at all. What were their lives before the plane crash—and us—had bound them together?