Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

But to Felicité’s relief, a distraction appeared. Dr. Lee came out of the surgery and waved. “Mrs. Wolfe! I’m delighted to see you back.”

  “And I am delighted to be back, Dante,” Grandmère said. “Come talk to me when you have a moment. I’m running for the empty council seat!”

  “Congratulations,” Dr. Lee said. “Well, that certainly simplifies my decision.”

  His reaction was echoed again and again as they crossed the town square. Felicité was torn between admiration at Grandmère’s skillfully understated campaigning and alarm at its apparent effectiveness. Everybody seemed relieved that she was running. Once she registered at the town hall, she seated herself on its verandah like a queen. The town came to her as she held court. Jack even brought her lunch.

  By the end of the day, Felicité knew that Grandmère had won the council seat. She tried to be happy for her, and tried harder to watch and learn a master of politics in action. But all she could think of was the impending battle within her family.

  Please, Grandmère, Felicité inwardly begged her. Keep the peace. Act like you’re not Changed, and Daddy will pretend you aren’t.

  When the bells rang for the evening shift change, they took leave of the happy crowd and walked up the hill.

  Grandmère looked around with obvious pleasure at her garden and house. “I see that everything has been kept up beautifully in my absence. Not that I would expect anything less.”

  Mother appeared in her office door, looking distracted. “Oh, there you are, Mother. Where have you been all afternoon?”

  “Campaigning, of course.”

  Mother’s smile was completely unsurprised. “I’m sure it went brilliantly.”

  So Mother had known in advance. Why hadn’t she told Felicité? Daddy hadn’t warned her about Henry, and Mother hadn’t warned her about Grandmère. Didn’t her parents understand her at all? Did they still think she was a child, even though she was about to graduate?

  Grandmère went on, “I invited someone for dinner, Valeria. Henry Callahan.”

  Mother’s smile widened. “I would have loved to have you all to ourselves, but I’m sure Felicité will enjoy that.”

  “We all will. She’s found herself a charming young man. ”

  “Let me change,” Felicité said, happy to hear Grandmère and Mother talking approvingly about Henry. Normal talk. Maybe she was having childish fears over nothing.

  * * *

  Henry arrived promptly at six, in a new black linen suit that set off his light complexion and hair.

  “You look quite handsome,” Grandmère said. “Is that your mother’s excellent tailoring?”

  “Yes,” Henry said, turning to display the details. “It’s the same design I wore to the dance, but that one got ruined in the battle.”

  “Cool,” Will said enviously. He’d never gotten over spending the entire battle shut up inside, first in the schoolhouse and then the town hall.

  “That was a fine suit. It’s a shame it got ruined.” Daddy smiled. “But perhaps the subject of battles is better left for after dinner.”

  Clara brought in their best silver tray with a steaming haunch of roast beef atop a hash of root vegetables. Daddy carved with his usual skill as the side dishes of sautéed green beans, corn bread, and baked pumpkin were laid out. Felicité breathed in the delicious scents. No fish, Henry at her side, everyone on their best behavior: it would be a wonderful night after all.

  “Oh, Valeria,” Grandmère said. “You didn’t light the candles.”

  “It’s so warm,” Mother said.

  Grandmère raised her hand dramatically toward the candelabra, commanding attention. Everyone froze, Daddy with his knife in mid-air and Will with his hand on a piece of corn bread.

  “No,” Felicité tried to say, but it was too late.

  With a soft poof, the candles burst into flame.

  Daddy’s brows lowered in anger. Sick with fear, Felicité groped under the table for Henry’s hand. But Henry’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a white line of horror. Felicité snatched her hand back.

  “Grandmère,” Will exclaimed. “You can’t do that here—”

  “William.” Daddy’s voice was sharp.

  Will turned to Daddy. “But she can’t do Change powers at the table!”

  “Leave that discussion to the adults,” Daddy said.

  “But you said—”

  “Will.” Daddy’s voice was commanding. “Leave the table.”

  Will instantly stood up.

  “William, sit down and eat.” Grandmère’s tone also demanded obedience. Will stood uncertainly, looking from his father to his grandmother. “My use of my Change is not up to you, but—”

  Daddy laid down the carving knife. It clinked hard against the platter. “Please let me discipline my own son.”

  “By all means,” Grandmère replied. “When he has earned it. What exactly was it that you said that gave him the impression that I may not light my own candles at my own table?”

  “It’s a matter of decent manners.”

  Grandmère lifted her chin. Her combs flashed in the firelight like a crown. “My actions are indecent, Thomas? That is a first.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about manners.” Daddy’s voice rose angrily. “But I won’t have anyone endangering my family with those unnatural powers in my house.”

  “It’s my house,” Grandmère pointed out.

  Daddy shoved back his chair, threw down his napkin, and walked out.

  “Ma mère, was that necessary?” Mother asked softly.

  “Valeria, I’m too old to pretend that I’m something I’m not. I have this power and I’m not going to hide it,” Grandmère said. “Thomas will simply have to adjust.”

  “Mom . . .?” Will said plaintively, still standing.

  “Sit down and eat,” Mother said.

  Will plonked down and went back to gobbling his roast beef, as if dinner were all that mattered. Grandmère launched into a practiced speech about being true to oneself, then gracefully led Mother and Henry into a discussion of the election.

  Felicité could neither eat nor speak. She knew that Daddy would never adjust. Even if Grandmère apologized, Daddy would never forget how she’d flaunted her power in front of him.

  Even Daddy’s one-time Changed pet, Jennie, had never used her power when Daddy could see. Felicité had despised her as a hypocrite. But it had worked. Daddy had accepted her into the Rangers. And Henry had mentioned that once Daddy took over Ranger training from Jennie, Jose had stopped using his earthmoving power during training, though Brisa kept on exploding rocks whenever she felt like it.

  Daddy loves his Norm children.

  Felicité pulled her scarf tight around her throat.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that Henry acted as if everything were completely normal, or frustrated that he didn’t seem to register how tense the meal was. He helped himself to a second slice of peach pie and scarfed it down before he finally noticed that everyone else was sitting there with empty plates. Even then, he stood up and waited as if he expected Felicité to invite him to her room.

  He didn’t get the hint until she said “Good night, Henry,” and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. Then, to her immense relief, he left.

  Felicité fled upstairs. Wu Zetian ran up to comfort her. She always knew when Felicité was upset. Felicité cuddled her rat and waited with her door open a crack, listening for Daddy’s footsteps.

  When she heard them, she crept on to the dark landing, so she could see as well as hear. No light shone from under Grandmère’s door. Daddy had probably waited for that before coming back. He and Mother stood by the front door with their backs to Felicité.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your dinner, Valeria,” Daddy said.

  A kiss usually followed her parents’ rare fights and apologies, but when Daddy leaned in, Mother stepped away.

  “Thomas, what about tomorrow’s dinner?” Mother asked. “And any dinner in whi
ch my mother lights the candles . . . like that?”

  There was a long silence before Daddy spoke again. “If she does, she can do it before I come into the room. Compromise goes two ways.”

  Another silence, then Mother spoke so softly Felicité had to creep halfway down the stairs to hear. “This is proof that the Change is in the Wolfe bloodline. I have not yet reached menopause. What if I Change?”

  “Impossible.” Daddy spoke so forcefully that Felicité scooted back up to the landing. This was not a conversation she wanted to be caught eavesdropping on. “You don’t want to, so you won’t.”

  “Thomas, this is not a matter of wanting or not wanting.” Mother’s voice rose slightly with frustration. “Could I stop my hair from going gray? Does an infant choose to be born Changed?”

  “No, babies don’t choose. Their mothers chose for them. But anyone who Changes after childhood either wanted it to happen or didn’t have the willpower to prevent it. You can see for yourself that your mother wanted it.” Daddy sounded so reasonable.

  Felicité’s nails dug into her palms. Wildly, she thought that maybe she could convince Daddy, if he ever learned her secret, that she had been born Changed. Then he wouldn’t blame her, just as he hadn’t blamed Jennie and didn’t blame Jose.

  But it was impossible. Her parents had bathed her when she was a baby. She’d swum with all her schoolmates, and nothing had happened. She knew that; she’d thought all this through a thousand times before. She had never wanted a Change, but it had happened anyway, the month after she got her first period.

  Felicité didn’t want Daddy to blame Mother. She didn’t want him to blame anybody. She just didn’t want him to know. Ever.

  “But you’re not weak-willed,” Daddy went on. “You’re the strongest-willed woman in town. Nothing could ever happen to you that you didn’t choose, and you’d never choose to become a monster. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “That was not what I meant,” Mother replied. But Daddy drew her into their bedroom and shut the door behind them.

  Felicité could hear nothing more. She returned to her room, numb with despair. Daddy was right. When other Norm kids nearing puberty had done their nighttime rituals to prevent the Change, Felicité had never bothered. She’d been so certain she was safe that she’d secretly laughed at the other eleven- and twelve-year-olds who fell asleep every night reciting to themselves, “I will not Change. I will fall asleep a Norm, and I will wake up a Norm. I will not Change . . .”

  She was a monster, and it was her own fault.

  * * *

  Felicité’s last day of campaigning was the worst yet. Since she had to campaign for Grandmère as well as for Mother and Daddy, more people than Mrs. Callahan made remarks in her hearing about the “royal family of Las Anclas.”

  Felicité forced herself to treat the younger voters at Luc’s, though she never wanted to see the place again. It helped that Henry accompanied her, dancing with anyone she asked him to as she offered the gold coins of her compliments before her carefully worded reminders about voting. She pretended not to notice that Tommy Horst wasn’t there, though he was a regular at Luc’s, especially when someone else was paying.

  But there were other voters absent, like Indra and Sujata—and Paco, Jennie, Mia, and Ross, all new voting citizens. The only new voter who did show up was Kerry.

  Felicité didn’t trust her for a heartbeat. And it wasn’t just Kerry. Despite the thousand false compliments Felicité forced herself to utter, and her generosity in paying for food and drink and the band, it felt as if everyone who did come ate and drank at her expense while smirking at her, then whispering as soon as her back was turned.

  She wished they’d all whisper. She overheard the potter’s assistant and two friends talking loudly about how “certain people” took it upon themselves to waste the town’s money on that useless book of Ross Juarez’s.

  What could Felicité say? She had to pretend that she didn’t hear them. When she walked home at last, failure dragged at every limb.

  Her headache was back. So was another day’s worth of sweat and dust. Again, she gave her skin a quick swipe with a barely damp washcloth, then scrubbed with a dry towel. The only good thing in the miserable day was skipping her hideous Change.

  She fell into bed—and a nightmare of her gills opening up at the dinner table.

  It was only a dream, she told herself. But the look of horror and revulsion on Daddy’s face felt more real than the sheets under her hands.

  Will was silent at breakfast, his expression as sullen as Felicité felt. On their way to school, he said, “I still don’t see why Dad got mad at me the other night. I didn’t do anything.”

  “It’s the election,” she explained. “Everybody is in a bad mood. It’s not your fault.”

  “At least the election is today. I’ll be so glad when Dad wins. Then he won’t be crabby anymore.” He ran off.

  Though it was early morning, a line of citizens already waited to vote at the town hall. As she passed, Jennie Riley was waved inside. A spurt of irritation burned through Felicité. All that work, and when it really counted, she was still a mere child, unable to cancel out Jennie’s vote with her own. For all Felicité’s confident words, she knew that Jennie would vote for a donkey before she’d vote for Daddy.

  At the schoolhouse, the kids were running wild, with a harried Sujata trying to marshal them.

  “Felicité, help me get these brats in order,” Sujata called. “Get Will.”

  Felicité pretended not to hear. Let Sujata play the boss and see how she enjoyed it.

  Will’s voice rose above the hubbub. “If you Change it’s because you wanted to. You chose to be evil.”

  Felicité was appalled to hear Will talk like that in public. Summer leaped into the air. Her black hair streaming out behind her, she flew all the way across the schoolyard and slammed into Will, knocking him flat.

  Felicité froze. The black-haired girl crouched on top of her brother, pinning him to the ground—it was just like the duel between Elizabeth Crow and Daddy, when the Changed woman had stolen Daddy’s rightful position as sheriff.

  Will screamed in pain. “My arm!”

  Summer pulled back her fist to punch him, but Jose caught her wrist and Sujata grabbed her other arm.

  “Stop that right now!” Sujata yelled, yanking Summer off Will. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”

  Felicité ran to her brother’s side. Jennie came charging up, too. They crouched beside Will as he rolled back and forth, sobbing for breath. His hand was curled protectively around his wrist, which was already puffing up into hideous distortion.

  Jennie snapped over her shoulder, “Get in the schoolhouse, all of you! Jose, fetch the first aid kit. Felicité, run and tell Dr. Lee.” To Summer, Jennie said curtly, “And you can sit on that bench and wait.”

  Felicité ran. She found Dr. Lee in the infirmary, examining Grace and Sebastien Nguyen’s infant son. Felicité’s stomach clenched as the curling antennae on the baby’s bald head swiveled in her direction.

  “My brother broke his arm,” she gasped. “Jennie’s bringing him now.”

  Dr. Lee hastily handed the baby back to his parents. “A fine healthy boy.”

  * * *

  “Daddy carried Will home,” Felicité told Henry.

  They were sitting at a corner table for two at Jack’s. Felicité loved the quiet adult voices murmuring below the sound of the duo playing guitar and singing old ballads. As far as she was concerned, she would never set foot in Luc’s again.

  Henry’s pale skin and bleached hair looked its best by candlelight. He listened, his blue eyes reflecting the flames, as she finished, “And now all Will’s friends are there, scribbling on his cast and talking like he fought Voske, a gang of bandits, and fifteen coyote packs.”

  “Don’t forget the sand tiger,” Henry said, grinning. He already looked less upset than he had after the catastrophic Ranger ceremony. “You missed Summer getting both end
s of Jennie’s tongue. She said Summer has to bring Will his work every day until he comes back to school. And she gets to write his work on his slate for him until the cast comes off. And if she injures anyone else, she gets kicked out of town.”

  “I’m surprised she stayed and took it.”

  “She didn’t,” Henry said. “Summer got up and announced, ‘Fine. I’ll go and Ross will go with me.’”

  Good riddance, Felicité thought. “What did Jennie say to that?”

  “She said, ‘Ross isn’t going anywhere. This is his home now.’ Summer glared like she was going to try to break Jennie’s arm. I was all ready to stop the fight, then Jose said, ‘We don’t want bullies in Las Anclas.’ And Summer turned and walked—”

  The saloon doors slammed open. Summer stood in a dramatic pose, skinny arms outstretched between the doors, feet planted wide, her scrawny body in baggy jeans and rumpled top silhouetted against the ruddy light of sunset. Her long black hair half-obscured her ragged travel pack hooked over one shoulder.

  Jack looked at her over the tray of glasses he held. “Can I help you?”

  Summer marched past him to the bar, the doors slamming shut behind her. She dumped her ragtag pack onto a chair, grabbed a mug of beer from a man just lifting it to his lips, and brought it to her own mouth.

  Before she could drink a drop, Jack’s hand reached down from behind her bony shoulder and nipped the mug away. As she gaped in surprise, he said, “Come back in four years. Can I get you some lemonade?”

  He returned the mug to its owner and handed Summer a glass of lemonade without waiting for a response. She half-pushed the glass away, then seemed to change her mind and tasted it. Her scowl turned to surprise, and she took a bigger gulp. Then, as if to hide that she liked it, she turned around and leaned against the bar, glaring at the musicians. By the time the song was finished, so was the lemonade.

  “No one can dance to that,” Summer said scornfully. To Jack, she said, “Get me a room. I’m staying here now.”

  The entire saloon was watching in dead silence.

  “Aren’t you Ross’s guest?” Jack asked.

  “Not anymore.”

  Jack looked startled, then his expression smoothed out. “No, I’m sure you still are. Anyway, I can’t give you a room. They’re for adults. Go back to Dr. Lee. He’ll have kept your room for you. I promise.”