by Leah Thomas
“. . . and I’d tell you more about it, but it involves gory details about my bowels and blood and things, so maybe don’t ask.” I gave a bow. “I’m just so happy to be here!”
A few of them looked shocked. Then some kid in the back began slow-clapping. I sat down to laughter and a little applause. The teacher, Mr. Elton, pointed at me and said, “There’s a healthy high school attitude. See that, kids? Be more like Oliver.”
“It’s Ollie.”
Until you make it.
By the end of that first class, I’d been reminded to raise my hand seven times, and eventually, Mr. Elton asked me to let someone else answer questions about Poe for a change. I waited like ten seconds for anyone to raise a hand for the next question, scanning the classroom with my eyebrows raised. A few people scowled at me and a few snickered before I blurted, “Edwin Drood!”
At lunch I had no idea where to sit. I gather from you and Bridget that it matters somehow? That where you sit is where you’ll have friends for the rest of the year. So I made sure I ate half my pizza at a table full of punk kids and then said good-bye to those kids, and then I ate two bites at the next table full of kids in basketball jerseys and drank my milk at the next table full of kids in glasses and spat out cold, whitish carrot sticks at a fourth table full of girls in cutesy dresses, and then finally ended lunch with my Twinkie at a table full of art students and a table full of student council members.
I hope this means I’ll have friends everywhere!
I do this every day. I don’t really have a favorite place to sit. I like the art kids because they remind me of you, even though you say you aren’t creative. They say things like that, too. And at the punky table, I found, like, Fieke’s soul brother. Gabe, a boy with a bazillion piercings who wears bondage pants. I showed him my “medically approved” bodysuit and he looked envious. Pretty funny.
I’m babbling again, aren’t I?
Brian and Bridget don’t eat together or even in the cafeteria since they stopped getting along, so right from day one I had to dart out early to go find them. Bridget eats in the hallway by the gym. And Brian lurks by the English wing and chews beef jerky from his hoodie pocket.
When I found him on the first day: “Why are you by yourself?”
“I don’t like people.”
“Why don’t you sit with Bridget?”
“She doesn’t want me to.”
“She doesn’t care either way. You read her notebook. You know this.”
“Who says I read it?”
“You left greasy fingerprints on the pages. Beef jerky fingerprints. I’m like a detective.”
“Mind your own business.”
I noticed he had that suspiciously beating paper bag with him again. At some point every day, he tries to give her heart back to her. He picks the most random moments and holds it out in front of her by the drinking fountains or lockers or by the flagpole. It’s the most dedication Brian’s probably ever shown to anything.
But once I caught him holding it over a trash can. So much for modern romance, Moritz.
“Hey. No Brianism. You have to keep chasing her.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He tucked the heart away and signed up for the track team.
In Physical Science class, Ms. Goledge didn’t care that I didn’t know all the constellation positions for June through December.
“This isn’t Astronomy.” She was middle-aged, with sunspotted skin. Wheat-like wisps of hair. “But welcome to our classroom, Oliver. Happy for you to be here whenever you can.”
“Ollie. Or Liver. That might be funny. And don’t mind the terribly ugly hat. I’ve got miscellaneous terminal diseases.”
She bit her cheek. “Miscellaneous?”
I laughed and didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeppers!”
I got the hand-raising speech ten minutes in again. Also, I have a hard time sitting still. But I think most people assume that’s a side effect of my nonexistent medication, so none of the teachers say much when I stand up in class, or sit with my feet on the chair and hug my knees.
I really like Ms. Goledge’s class. We’ve done some awesome experiments with fire and sound waves and water and sticking marshmallows in vacuums. The only experiments I don’t like are the electrical ones, because when I tried to help my lab partner, Whitney, this whispering girl in glasses, wire a circuit board in the back of the classroom, the whole thing sparked and busted three times in a row, and Whitney became totally convinced she was just going to suck at all things science forever. Ms. Goledge scratched her head and told us to take notes on someone else’s project.
Two days later, Ms. Goledge proposed some kind of potato-electricity activity.
“Don’t ask me to do that unless you want potato goop everywhere.”
“What does that mean, Ollie?”
“Let poor Whitney have a nonterminal partner this time, huh?”
I didn’t explain. I sat out and took a bad grade. It doesn’t really matter what grade I get anyhow. I’m just grateful to be here. Everyone feels bad for me, but I feel bad for everyone else.
A lot of kids here, Moritz, wake up every day determined to be disappointed. They drag their feet, moan about homework, ignore all the amazing things around them: They’ve got the world in their pockets and miracles on all sides and they’re fed up?
Moritz, the first time I got to use an automatic hand dryer, I laughed so loud I cried.
Near the end of the week, a girl from the gym class I sit on bleachers for (can’t really run in that stupid bodysuit and I have to play up the terminal thing) walked right up in her gym shorts, all confident and good at volleyball and blond and yeah, hot as hell, and smiled like a bazillion pennies and said: “Wanna go to Winter Carnival with me?”
“Why would you ask a dying kid to a dance?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re cute.” She tossed her head, which was pretty impressive. “I’m not shallow.”
I remember Liz saying I only loved her because she was the only girl I’d ever met. Liz was always convinced there were girls out there that were better than her somehow. Fact is, that’s bullshit. As I sat here looking at a hot girl, I Bridgeted—didn’t care.
She didn’t know me. I didn’t know her.
“I didn’t say you were shallow. But you’ve never talked to me. I’m Ollie, by the way!”
“I know.” A whole circle of girls behind her sort of stared and whispered, like the girls on Arthur’s train. Bridget B. and company.
“In nature, most animals seek out the healthiest partners. Are you intentionally fighting your instincts? Or are your instincts kind of crappy? Could it be a biochemical problem? Or—”
“So much for doing you any favors.” She glared at me.
“Oh, I didn’t know that’s what you were doing!” I smiled. “But I’ve already got a girlfriend. Thanks for asking! That was a first!”
“Freak.” She wasn’t saying it because of my allergies. She was saying it because of my personality. So I smiled bigger.
She stalked away, looking more confused than angry.
I didn’t think it was a big deal until later. I sat around waiting for my ride after school. Track season doesn’t begin until March, but Bridget runs laps on the semi-icy track every day after school. While I was leaning on the fence, craning my neck to look at the massive stadium lights with their giant bulbs, wondering how quickly those would make me seize, Brian slumped against the fence next to me, all sweaty practice clothes and hoodie.
“Rumor has it you have a girlfriend.”
“Kind of! There’s a girl back in Michigan. Her name is Liz.”
He waited a second before saying the next thing. “If you’re so in love with this girl, how come you’re always making me print out letters from that foreign kid instead?”
“Moritz is . . . there are things Liz doesn’t get. She had a normal upbringing, you know?”
“No such thing.”
“Fine. But Moritz and I bot
h had especially demented childhoods.”
“Maybe that’s why Bridget and I don’t work.”
“You might. You’re demented enough.”
He spat on the ground at his feet. “I guess. I kicked her heart across a room.”
“Well? I kicked you in the nuts and you’re cool with me.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Have you tried just, I don’t know, asking her out again?”
He answered me for once. “How can I ask her out knowing how she is?”
“Does it gross you out that much? I mean, it’s kind of cuddly, her heart.”
He shuffled his feet. “Asshole. I mean, how can I ask her knowing that she might be a completely different person? She’s never been her full self around me; she’s never felt for me. The actual her probably wouldn’t give two shits about me. She’d just leave.”
“Who says she’s not her actual self now?”
We watched Bridget zoom by. She did not glance at us as her feet fell. She went for another lap. No way Brian could ever catch her. Why can’t people just talk to each other?
“Okay,” I hazarded, “but you still want her to have her heart back? So she can have the option of being whatever version of herself she wants to be. Even if she chooses a version of herself that doesn’t give two shits about you.”
“So?” He kicked his spitball with his shoe.
“Just realizing for the first time that you aren’t really a loser at all.”
“Shut up.” He pulled his hood over his face.
There’s definitely more to tell you, but I have to go meet Wharton. Turns out when he said “biweekly” he meant twice a week, not once every two weeks. There should be two different words for that. English is stupid. I don’t know how you deal with it, Moritz.
His so-called experiments are something else. I mean it. I’ll tell you more about it soon.
Are we passing for human, Moritz?
chapter twenty-eight
THE VIDEO
We might be, Ollie. Do not jinx it.
Klaus asked me to be more expressive. Still, I thought it wise to restrain my surprise when a chauffeured vehicle appeared outside my apartment complex. A driver held the door for me.
“Get in, Farber.”
Klaus sat on the leather seat opposite. Arms folded. I had never seen him so neat. Dress pants and a suit vest. Not a speck of sawdust in his combed hair.
St. Francis’s was located in the backstreets behind a multitude of office buildings in the Lustlos district. I will not say it was spotless. I have never heard a thing that’s spotless. But clean-swept steps. Disinfected doorknobs. A reception desk clear of debris. The smell of warm nutmeg. This place did not recall a laboratory. An older gentleman in a cardigan showed us to the lobby. Gave Klaus the heartiest handshake.
“Master Blumen. A pleasure to see you! Your mother was in just this afternoon!”
“Was she, Eugen?” Klaus beamed. My jaw slackened. “I hope she didn’t inconvenience you. She can be a bit . . . overwhelming, I know. ”
“Oh, to the contrary! She always makes the children laugh; she arrived dressed as a wizard and taught them magic tricks. And you know, there’ve been rumors that St. Francis’s might have to be consolidated with the Rafner Boys’ Home. We wouldn’t mind, but there’s hardly room for everyone.”
“Not for growing boys. What did Mother say?”
“She tapped me with her magic wand and reassured me that for as long as the Blumens have any say, we’d be looked after. She suggested expanding into the next building over, if necessary.” Eugen cleared his throat. “Should I ask Molly if she’ll be wanting visitors?”
Klaus started. “Yes, please.”
“Klaus and . . . ?”
“Moritz. He’s a friend.”
Eugen left the counter and traveled back into the building. Klaus settled into a worn leather chair beside the radiator. Patted the seat beside him.
“You’re a frequent visitor.” I sat.
“For years. My parents used to bring me here to play with the children.”
“You told me you didn’t know Molly.”
Klaus shook his head. “She never spoke to me. She never spoke to anyone until she started at Myriad. Then she was like a whole new person.”
“Oh?” I clicked at him. “I wonder how that feels. Not to know the person next to you.”
“Don’t, Farber. If you’d have asked me where I came from, I’d have told you.”
“Doubtless. So why haven’t you seen her yet?”
“She refuses to see me.”
He tells me this now? “You tell me this now?”
“She’ll see you.” A miserable smirk. “I’ll wait here.”
“The usual seat, Klaus?” A wrinkled woman across the room sat in an armchair beside a box of fabric, clothes. Old coats. Cutting and restitching.
Another polite smile. “And you, Frau Andert. What are you making today?”
“Making do. Some of the girls will be needing thicker mittens.”
I thought of Molly’s lace clothing. All repurposed from used items. Her patterns and prints bought secondhand. Made vintage, made beautiful. No one would know.
If we could bottle and sell her.
Eugen returned. “Moritz, is it?”
We stood.
“She’ll see you. Just you. Sorry, Klaus.” Klaus sat back down. “She’s been under the weather, but she says it’s nothing to worry about. She doesn’t like doctors.” He led me down a narrow hall. “We find that lamps are just so much warmer than fluorescent bulbs. This is a home, not a hospital. We’re proud of our kids. Melchior—who’s just turned eight—won a spelling contest. And our oldest, Wendla, was accepted into university!”
We made our way up rickety stairs. The air closer, warmer on the second floor. The change irritated my ears for a moment. The linoleum underfoot was scratched to cardboard thinness.
“Molly does us proud. Full scholarship to that academy. She acted her heart out to get in, now, didn’t she? You’ve seen her. She’s wonderful, isn’t she? Isn’t she just? To think she was so quiet when she came here. Not a word. Refused to be adopted. Got downright taciturn whenever she was interviewed, didn’t she? But here we are.” He knocked his knuckles against a door that creaked open. “All right, pet? Here’s your Moritz for you.”
“Thank you, Eugen.”
Four cots in the narrow room. The sound of traffic through the cold breeze of open air. Molly stood on a tiny street balcony. Doubtless she’d seen us arrive. Even with hearing slightly muffled on the right side, it was apparent to me that something was awry. Her posture was so still.
“Molly . . . ?”
She twisted toward me. Bedraggled curls. A face wan and tired.
“Klaus wants to see you.”
She looked out. “He thinks he does.”
“You underestimate him. He knows about my, um, nothingness.”
“I wish mine were a nothingness. If it were a nothingness, I could hide it.”
I clicked my tongue. Her mouth wasn’t muzzled now. It was bruised. Pin-stuck. A needle and thread dangled from the edge of her trembling back lips, the thread tangled in her hair. Her lips were scabbed and scraped.
“Molly—! What have you done to yourself?”
“I tried to sew it shut,” she told me. “But it’s difficult when you can’t see what you’re doing. The dratted teeth kept biting the stitches. An awful mess. A real drama.”
Someone else might have held her. I waited just inside the doorway.
“Why, Molly?”
“I’m not sure I can keep acting. It says the most awful things.” She sat down on the cot closest to the window.
“What sort of things?”
“Only the truth you idiot Molly you utter monster you beast it only says the truth and you know it.”
The second mouth’s voice was harsh and hideous. I did not want her to see me flinch. But what good does hiding do us, Ollie?
&
nbsp; “Don’t listen, Molly. We all have voices like that.”
“Truly awful, awfully true things.” Molly coughed. “Things I’m afraid of. Before I went onstage it said I would forget my lines. It said I would fail. It says I’m destined for a laboratory again. Have you come to take me to one, Moritz?”
I sat on the cot. My back to hers. “Never, Molly.”
I could be doing more for her, Ollie. And for you. For all of us, if I only looked for my mother. There are laboratories we can never leave. Feet we’ll never grow.
“What’s the matter with me? I stood on that stage with everyone watching, and I felt happy, Moritz. I had them.” She fingered her lace skirt. “They thought I was a star. And then I saw that poor rabbit.”
“The hardest thing to be is happy.” You know us, Ollie.
She leaned her shoulder blades against mine. Her mouth at my spine, hissing.
“It talks in my sleep. I’ve torn my hair out. Soon everyone will see me.”
“They’ll see you and you’re awful to see aren’t you?”
I tilted my head. My ear centimeters from the mouth. No scent of cherries; unwashed breath. “Molly, my dearest friend advised me to see the best in people.”
“Now who says ‘friend’ easily.” The back mouth whimpered. “Sometimes I still hate you, Moritz.”
“You will always hate him and you know it.”
If only my hearing had gone out then. “That . . . isn’t unjustified.” I spoke directly to Molly’s second mouth. “Do you believe the best of everyone?”
“Moritz?” She tilted her head.
“Do you believe there was any good in my mother?”
Now it sounded like a shriveled, tiny thing. “Not her not her oh god not her—”
Molly shushed herself. “There must have been.”
“Don’t say I’m evidence.”
“I won’t. But the day I left the laboratory, she didn’t hurt me.” Molly closed her eyes. “She took me here. She gave me a home.”
Klaus’s pacing had almost repatterned the lobby floor by the time I returned. Frau Andert lay slouched in her seat, apparently fast asleep.
“Well? How was she?”