Rowan bites down hard on the back of his teeth, so the bone of his jaw juts out.
“I never went to another spelling bee,” I say, as the tears fall down hard and I wipe my face with my hand. “I told Mother I was done with them. And that’s what makes me mad. That I gave up. That he won.”
I turn to look at Rowan, my face puffy and wet, his tight and full of anger. I think about that first day, when he was ready to fight Louis, when he punched a hole in the wall.
“That’s what you need to take with you, Rowan. That anger you feel right now. They may be clever and big, and the crowds may never cheer for you, but maybe that can be your advantage.”
He looks at me, his brow scrunched and wrinkled, like he doesn’t understand.
“They want to win. But what do they lose if they don’t—their pride, their confidence? That’s nothing. You’re strong because you have to be. You’ve got no choice. Everything rides on you winning each match. Use that.”
I lean my head into his shoulder, listening to his breath.
“You do have special powers,” he says.
Rowan removes his arm from my shoulder, and when I lift my head to look at him, he places his hands on my neck, kissing me on the forehead, then gently on the lips. He sits back for a moment, then leans in again, pressing his lips against mine, harder this time, opening my mouth with his tongue. I close my eyes and let my skin turn warm with his touch. But when I feel his hand slide under my nightgown, between my legs, I jump.
“It’s okay, Elimina. Trust me,” he says.
There’s a confidence in his voice and in his touch that’s hard not to trust—as though it’s wise to let go and give in to everything he says and does. I feel nervous and needed and afraid all at once, and I don’t know which feeling to let all the way in or all the way out, so I close my eyes and hold my breath.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
I smile with my lips pressed tightly together, pain pressing between my legs. I open my mouth, ready to scream or cry, or shout for him to stop, but I clasp my hand over my lips and hold it all in instead.
“Relax, Elimina,” he whispers, his face resting in the groove of my neck. “You’re beautiful. You’re amazing,” he says again and again.
I breathe in and out slowly until my whole body starts to believe him, until my mind and my body give in completely.
16
WHEN I MAKE DELIVERIES TO THE DECO OFFICES IN the Main House, I take the long route through the Hall of Heroes, where the eight portraits of the Livingstone Academy graduates who have achieved Redemption Freedom are hung. I gaze up at the portraits, and I whisper each name, adding my own to the list, hoping Redemption Freedom will happen for me too: “Colson Harper, John MacDonald, Samuel Prince, Freddie McDouglas, Thomas Baker, Timothy Jones, Morris Taylor, Harry Dennis, Elimina Madeleine Dubois.”
Two months ago, when Albert Cootes was delivering mail to the campus, he told me his debt was almost entirely paid off. “There are still processing fees and formal applications to be made, but sometime in the next year, I should officially be a free man,” he said, which would make him the ninth Livingstone Academy graduate to join the Hall of Heroes.
When I see Albert smiling and moving briskly up the road, I wonder how he does it—how he gets more happy and hopeful with each passing day instead of the other way around.
Albert is holding a bundle of flat envelopes with a thin red box pinched under his arm, and when I meet him partway up the driveway, I ask him if we’ll see him at all once he’s done with his debt.
“I got no plans to stop working just yet. Got a fine-looking lady and a bunch of grown kids out there who got a ways to go,” he says with a shrug. “Might as well help them out.”
“How many kids do you have?”
He looks up at the sky, counting in his head. “Six in total. Well, five now. Youngest died a little while back.”
I tell him how sorry I am, but he just waves his hand in the air, like he doesn’t want me to fuss.
“I got two that are still on the Mainland, working their way, just like their old man. Three landed themselves in trouble and got sent back, best I know. Hard to keep track of them now. But this job helps. I find out what I can from folks here and there along my route. I told you about my old lady, right?”
I nod.
“So long as I can see her, I feel good and fine. I’ve always loved having a lady in my arms. Probably why I got so many kids,” he says, laughing and grinning pink gums and teeth separated by large gaps.
When we reach the steps to the Main House, Murray Smith is standing under a tree, watching us in his new red coat, a jacket with shiny gold buttons. Albert lays down a few packages, turning his body so Murray can’t see. He hands me a few envelopes, and when he opens the box I see an assortment of tiny chocolates.
“Try them out, Elimina,” Albert says, winking as he wiggles the lid. “I brought them just for you.”
I look closer at the box and spot an envelope pinned under the lid, my name printed neatly in the middle. It’s the first letter I’ve ever received, and I can tell from the handwriting who wrote it.
“Had to make sure this one got to you proper,” he says. “Couldn’t let this fall in the wrong hands. You know how it is.”
The mail that comes in and out of Livingstone Academy arrives by way of the Mainland Postal Service, where Albert once worked on the mail room floor and is now a deliveryman based in Mainland City. According to Albert, the MPS can legally check any mail addressed to Gutter folks as part of the Treason Prevention Act, so Gutter folks use the Gutter Underground Network instead.
Josephine got a letter from her parents through the Network during her second year at Livingstone, but once they had both read it, David forced her to burn it, so they wouldn’t get caught.
“I wish I could still look at their handwriting every day,” she said, while I just wished that I had someone who would send me anything.
I take the bundle of envelopes from Albert and slide the letter discreetly into my pocket, selecting a chocolate and shoving it into my mouth before Albert heads back toward the gate.
I OPEN THE letter in the back stairwell of the West Hall, bursting into tears at the sight of her handwriting because I’ve missed her and resented her since she left: “My dear friend, I’m sorry. Life is fine.”
I show Rowan the letter when we meet in the Fieldhouse, and I can tell that he’s relieved to know she’s okay, that her words have brought him peace too. I hold the note in my hands, and I feel my heart squeeze as I try to forgive all the way.
“This guy was huge, Elimina. Huge,” Rowan says, standing and moving around the stall like he’s still in the ring, while I sit quietly, closing the letter inside my book. “I had him the whole time. I was here and moving fast and he was just standing there, swinging heavy, like I wouldn’t see his fists coming.”
We don’t talk about what happened the last time we were together, but when he finally sits down again, he wraps his legs around me, holding me inside his arms in a way that makes me remember. I smile and close my eyes, relaxing into him, because it feels good to be held and wanted.
Next week, Rowan will leave Livingstone Academy to compete in the Mainland Boxing Circuit. He’ll travel all over the Mainland under the direction of a boxing promoter and a specialized debt manager who, according to Rowan and Mr. Gregors, have both worked with the best of the best in the MBC. They’ve promised to get Rowan Redemption Freedom faster than a Gutter boxer who did it in just five years a few years ago.
“And he wasn’t as good as me,” Rowan says.
“Is he still boxing?”
“Nah. He died. Went to sleep and didn’t wake up. He was only twenty-three,” Rowan says, and I shake my head at the cruelty of working so hard to get free only to die before you can really enjoy it.
I decide to be happy that Rowan is moving forward, even though I have five more months to go before I turn sixteen. I try not to worry that I wil
l never see him again. But the thought of Rowan leaving causes a squeeze in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. Please don’t leave me here alone.
“You’re going to be okay, Elimina,” he says. “It won’t be that much longer for you too.”
He tells me that when he’s done on the circuit, he and his mother will come to the Hill so we can all be together. “You’ll be fine,” he says with his lips close to my ear.
We sit in the stall and imagine what the Hill might look like and what it might feel like to be there. We imagine busy streets full of fancy shops and restaurants where we can sit at a table with a view of the mountains or under a large umbrella.
I think of the colorful dresses I might wear, and Rowan imagines all the money he’ll be able to spend. “Maybe a coat or a car or a house,” he says, and he smiles so big I can feel his cheek press against my face.
We imagine David owning a wood shop, and Josephine taking care of it and managing all the customers. We talk about the parties the four of us will go to, like the kind they have on the Mainland, and we stand in the stall to dance even though there’s no music and neither of us has danced with anyone before.
I place my head against Rowan’s shoulder, and we move around the stall, standing so close I can feel his heart race against me. He spins me around and when he tries to dip me low to the ground, we both fall and laugh so hard we have to press our hands over our mouths to stay quiet.
Rowan crawls toward me and asks if I’d like another dance, his dimples deep, his smile wide and bright. But I frown and turn away, shaking my head.
“What’s wrong, Elimina?” he says.
“You’re leaving,” I say. “And I’m staying . . . And I don’t know . . . All this dreaming . . . it’s just . . . making it harder.”
He sits next to me and pulls me under his arm. “Elimina, it’s okay,” he says, but I shake my head harder.
“I can’t stop thinking about the Hill, and Josephine and David, about you and the boxing circuit, about being here alone. For months. Sometimes the Hill . . . sometimes I feel like I imagined it,” I say, looking up at him. “Like I made the Freemans up.”
“But you got that letter from Jose. You know it’s real.”
“But what if Mr. Gregors finds someone else? What if I end up like Violet?”
Rowan holds me tight, rubbing my back and rocking me in his arms. “It happened, Elimina. It’s real. And the Freemans are coming. You’re going to the Hill,” he says.
When my breathing finally slows, Rowan lets go and leans back against the wall, staring into nowhere, like he’s thinking about the possibilities as well. And I hate how I’ve done this, how I’ve ruined all of our fun.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil things or make you sad too,” I say, reaching out and placing one hand over his.
But Rowan doesn’t respond. He just keeps staring into the darkness.
“Rowan, what’s wrong?”
Eventually, he looks down, wiggling his mouth side to side before speaking. “Sometimes I don’t feel like myself, Elimina.”
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, like he’s trying to get his thoughts or his words in the right order. “When I’m moving around that ring, I . . . I can feel the good side of me that’s focused on winning and technique, that’s all controlled. It says, Go and stop, and punch, punch, punch, okay, stop,” he says, palms raised in front of him. “But the bad side, this . . . other side of me, it says, Keep going, keep hitting. And not just in the ring. The bad side of me is walking down the street saying, Don’t let them look at you like that. Make them stop. And, Elly, the bad side feels like it’s getting stronger. Especially out there. On the Mainland. I don’t feel like I do in here.”
I turn to him and hold his face in my hands, just like Ida does with me when she tells me something important. “You’re a good person, Rowan. You’re a good man. Your mother would be so proud of you,” I say, and when he bursts into tears that come down hard and fast, I’m not sure how to respond.
I hold my arms out and he leans in, gripping me tight, like he’s been waiting years to let it all out. As he cries, I sing a song Mother sang whenever I felt scared, a song that only comes to me now: “Come cool waters of paradise. Come find me in the waters of paradise.”
Rowan looks up at me with wide, wet eyes as I sing, and when he sits up, I hold his face again and wipe his tears with my thumbs.
“Come cool waters of paradise. Come find me in the waters of paradise.”
When I’m done, he pulls me closer, staring at me so deeply I can almost feel his hunger.
“Again,” he says.
I sing the song again, and this time, he places me on my back and climbs on top, a wide, heavy shadow hovering above me.
“Again,” he says.
And I close my eyes and sing the song over and over, whispering it like a prayer.
17
FOR WEEKS I’VE BEEN FEELING UNWELL, AND WHEN MISS Templeton finds me in the workroom lying on the floor, unable to respond, she screams and splashes me with water. My eyes flutter and I wipe the water from my face as Miss Templeton asks so many questions so quickly that I struggle to keep up with her words.
“What happened, Elimina? Elimina, what happened? Are you hurt? Can you hear me?”
“I . . . don’t know,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut and opening them again until everything stops moving and the room becomes clear.
“What were you doing when you collapsed? Do you remember? Elimina, look at me. Do you remember what you were doing when you collapsed?” she says, leaning in closer.
“Collapsed . . . I . . . ?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
I look around and spot an envelope on the floor, next to the table where I was just working. “I was opening the mail . . . I . . . I had just come back from walking . . . with Albert.”
“Was it the heat? Were you out there very long? It’s very hot out.”
I shake my head, slowly, so it doesn’t hurt too much. “I don’t know.”
“Elimina, look at me. What do you remember?”
I squint up at Miss Templeton’s red face, so close I feel her breath.
“I . . . I just wanted to lie down.”
“Did you hit your head on anything?” she says, and I shake my head, even though I’m not sure.
Miss Templeton reaches out and touches the back of my head, looking down at her fingers and pressing in different places, checking for blood.
“I just need to sit,” I say.
She holds out her hand and helps me up, and when I’m seated, she sits down next to me and continues. “Is this the first time something like this has happened to you?” she says.
I nod because even though I’ve been feeling dizzy for weeks, I’ve never fainted before. I try to convince Miss Templeton that I’m alright, that I just need to eat, but she insists on escorting me to the nurse’s office.
“Can’t we just stay here?” I say. “I’m starting to feel much better.”
“You need to go to the nurse,” she says, and I can see in her scowl that there’s no room for negotiating.
“I haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all,” I say when I’m seated across from Nurse Gretchen, watching the string dangle down from the sides of her glasses.
“How long has this been going on?” she says, holding a pen and a clipboard while Miss Templeton watches.
“A week, maybe,” I say, even though it’s been more like four.
I keep telling myself I’ve got what May Bennet had, that Rowan’s departure and the loneliness of Livingstone are making me feel tired and heavy. But when Nurse Gretchen asks me to pee in a cup, and she shows the results to Miss Templeton, they both look at each other and shake their heads.
MR. GREGORS STARES down at a file with my name on it, like he did on my first day. But this time he looks up at me with an expression that’s difficult to read, his mouth wrinkled tight, and I’m not sure i
f he’s pleased or bothered.
“I’m feeling much better, sir. It won’t happen again,” I say, hoping that he’ll tell me everything is okay and that it’s time to go to the Hill.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s true.”
“Sir?”
“You’re pregnant, Elimina,” he says, studying my reaction.
“Pregnant?” I say.
I think about the nights in the Fieldhouse with Rowan, about the closeness he seemed so hungry for, that maybe I wanted as well.
“Elimina?” Mr. Gregors says. “Do you understand what I just told you?”
I nod but part of me wonders if Nurse Gretchen got it wrong. “I think there’s been a mistake,” I whisper, as though there’s not enough air in my lungs.
“There is no mistake, Elimina. You’re going to have to go away for a while,” he says.
“Away . . . for a while? What do you mean?”
“Until the baby is born,” he says, looking back down at the file. “Which, based on Nurse Gretchen’s calculations, will be in about eight months.”
“Eight months? Sir, I’m supposed to go to the Hill in four!”
“Yes, well, your new situation changes things, Elimina,” he says, waving his hand toward my belly.
“But, sir!”
“It’s only four more months, Elimina. Surely you can manage that,” he says.
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head.
“You can and you will.”
I feel something thick and sour in my throat, and I bite down on my lip, pressing against my stomach and rubbing in circles, so that whatever is stirring stays still.
“Sir, you told the Freemans a year. They’re expecting me soon.”
“Until that child is born, your hiring will need to be delayed,” he says. “This is not a discussion or a debate. You are pregnant. You cannot get hired in your condition, and you cannot stay here.”
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