“No,” I said a little too defensively. “I guess I’m not.”
“Me neither. Unless it’s a tribe thing. Even then…”
“I don’t really know anything about those.”
“We don’t have them very often anymore. Usually there’s some traditional dancing, and that part’s all right. But then people start drinking and that’s when I leave.”
“Oh.”
“I seem to have a knack for bringing up depressing topics today. Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s fine.” I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt. I had made it myself out of a taffeta that folds and wrinkles like raffia paper, but it looked smoother in its digital incarnation. I looked up to find him watching me with a sort of perplexed curiosity.
“So…what do you do for fun?” he asked.
Escape from falcons? Tend my garden? Read?
“I design and sew my own clothes. I make my own dyes, too.”
His eyebrows shot toward his forehead. “Wow, that’s awesome. I’m not very creative. I can’t draw anything except stick figures. But I do play a mean harmonica.”
I giggled but then tried to grab it back in case he was seriously proud of his harmonica skills. “What songs can you play?”
“Hmm, well, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ and ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.’ I tried to learn ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb,’ but it was a bit too complex for me.”
I laughed again, and his face lit up.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t play anything at all,” I said.
“Awesome! I win this round.”
“Oh, are we having a competition?”
“It’s a contest for who can play the most ridiculous, useless instrument. Clearly I am the champion.” He leaned into his chair, his shoulders easily as broad and strong as the wooden back. I had to wrench my eyes away from them.
“Well then, I’ll just have to accept defeat.”
“Don’t give up so easily now.”
His eyes traced over my facial features. I blushed and scratched a non-existent itch on my forehead. He seemed to recede into himself, and the open, happy guy was replaced with the cool and confident Jack I saw talking to those girls.
“That seriously is amazing though,” he said.
“What is?”
“That you make your own clothes. You do a good job. I’m not good with style, but yours are cool. That shawl thing is really colorful.”
It was a scarf, but whatever. “Thank you. That’s a…a really nice compliment.” No one had said anything about my clothes before.
“Maybe you could come over and stitch up this hole in my sock…”
“Oh, no, you didn’t. You did not go there.”
“I think you’re learning how to be the perfect little housewife.”
“Sure. Too bad you’re not training to be Prince Charming.”
“Ha.” It came out like a bark. His face scrunched up under the sting of my words, and I instantly felt bad. When would I ever stop putting my foot in my mouth?
“I’m sorry,” we both said at the same time. Then we laughed in unison.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I probably deserved it. And I think I should make it up to you.”
My heart stopped for a moment. I tried to think of something clever to say but all that came out was, “No, really, you don’t have to.” Mentally, I kicked myself. Hard.
“I know I don’t have to, but I’d like to. Unless you don’t want me to.”
“No, I would.” It came out way too quickly.
“Do you play Pixelsgarden?”
Pixelsgarden was a game or, really, a digital world where players constructed their own environments. You projected yourself into the world with an avatar. Most people used their regular scanned selves, but you could alter almost anything about your appearance.
“I have an avatar for it, yes.”
“Why don’t you meet me there on your birthday?”
“What time? And what construct?”
“If you give me your email address, I’ll send you an invitation.”
“Oh, that’s very smooth of you.”
“Getting your email? That’s nothing. I just got you to agree to go on a date with me on your birthday.”
My cheeks started burning at the word “date.” It was getting hard to meet his eyes again. Instead, I focused on typing my email address out for him in the chat box.
“Thanks,” he said. “You’ll hear from me soon. I’ve gotta go—Mom needs me.”
“Okay. It was really nice to meet you.” Wow, was that the best goodbye I could manage?
He returned my smile. “Likewise. See you soon.”
I grinned awkwardly at the screen as he vanished and his sign-on blinked off.
And that’s how Jack and I began.
Chapter 3
After Jack signed off, I had tried to go about the rest of my day as normal. I’d read about those girls who pined by the phone (even though I didn’t have one), and I was determined not to be like them. I would be confident. I would continue on with my life.
Instead I chewed down all my fingernails and refreshed my email every ten minutes. And every hour I logged into Pixelsgarden to check out my avatar and tweak the outfit, fix the makeup, or primp the hair.
But I didn’t get an email that day. By the time bedtime rolled around, I had worked myself into despair over the absolute surety Jack had forgotten me. Even though I really, really hoped I was wrong.
There was no email the next morning either. I had kicked myself for checking and gave myself a long lecture on the way to morning practice with George about how stupid I was being over this strange boy I did not even know and how could I have a crush on someone I had just met? But then I would convince myself it wasn’t really a crush, that I was only extremely curious about this handsome guy and we were going to have a nice, friendly chat together if he ever got around to emailing me about this date he had proposed.
I was in such a mood by the time I arrived at the aviary that George hadn’t known what to do with me. When I asked to practice with the poisoned needle darts, he handed them over with more trepidation than was really warranted.
I continued to practice with George until lunchtime. I’d hoped the flight speed drills would distract me from thoughts of Jack, but he stayed there in my mind the whole time like a shadow.
We stopped for lunch and I returned to my house to eat. I mixed a nut and herb salad for myself and ate the entire thing before I gave in to the siren call of my computer.
There, in my inbox, was an email, its subject letters bold and new. It read: “So…about tomorrow.” With my breath stuck in my throat, I clicked on it, half-afraid he was writing me to cancel.
Hey Thumbelina,
Meet me tomorrow at 9 p.m. your time in the construct called ‘Linasbirthday.’ It’s case-sensitive. The password is your screenname.
Looking forward to it! Let me know if that time doesn’t work for you.
– Jack
I reread it too many times to count, even though he didn’t give me much to analyze. All I knew was that he was “looking forward to it!” and he’d gone to the extra trouble of creating a construct specifically for my birthday. Those two observations alone gave me a high unlike anything I’d experienced before. I was completely useless during my afternoon tutor session. I could not wipe the smile from my face for the rest of the day, not even when I accidentally stabbed my palm with my sewing needle.
The next evening, I resolved I would not change clothes ten times. My hair was a complete disaster. I had put it into pin curls the night before because I’d envisioned tight, well-defined ringlets that would, of course, become looser and sexier as date time approached. But when I took the pins out, my hair became an even more enormous puffball than usual. I looked like someone had attached a rabbit tail to my head. Or a porcupine. Or a blowfish.
There was only one thing I could do: wet it down and put it into a ponytail. I
tied a lace ribbon as tight as I could to keep it all in place.
By the time my watch clock beeped to tell me it was 9:00, I was presentable. I logged myself into Pixelsgarden, loaded my avatar, and checked it one final time. It looked better than I did. As long as he didn’t want to chat afterward over webcam, I was good to go.
I clicked on the construct and held my breath as it loaded.
Stark pine trees came into focus against a cloudless blue sky. The ground below them ended at the sky, and it took me a moment to realize I was on a mountain, staring off a steep ledge.
I was also alone. Five minutes late and he wasn’t there yet. Unease settled into me, stealing my excitement. Where was he?
I turned around to take in the scenery behind me and was instantly blinded by the sun. It definitely wasn’t 9 p.m. in this world. A dirt path wound up the mountain, mostly obscured by dry shrubs. All of the evergreens gave me the impression they needed a good meal.
While the view from the ledge was of a beautiful mountain vista, that was the only exceptional thing about the location. Large masses of rock erupted out of the thick, endless forest below. Not a drop of haze appeared even when the blue sky dipped behind the horizon.
I could not, for the life of me, figure out why he would bring me there. Or why he hadn’t already arrived himself.
At 9:16, as I was about to log off, Jack’s avatar loaded right next to mine. He looked around, worried, and then let out a sigh of relief when he saw me.
“I’m really sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.” Except it wasn’t.
A strained smile forced its way onto his face. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
Awkward silence.
A lump started to grow in my throat, and no amount of reason would make it go away. I was too disappointed. This was all a mistake. I told myself I should give up and log off.
I wiped my hands on my shirt, pretending to iron out any wrinkles.
He cleared his throat. “So how was your day?”
I swallowed a sigh. I did not want to play the small talk game. Especially with someone who was not at all enthusiastic to be with me.
“It was fine. Just had some chocolate cake with friends.”
“That sounds really nice.” He kept looking away, out at the view.
Another awkward pause. I drew lines on the ground with my toe as the silence grew stifling. Finally, with a sick feeling in my stomach, I decided it just wasn’t worth it. I’d clearly gotten my hopes up for no reason.
“Look,” I said, “we don’t have to do this. I’m not sure if something is wrong or what, but it doesn’t seem like you want to be here.”
“No, I do.”
I folded my arms. “Is something wrong?” I braced myself for the answer.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “My mom drinks too much sometimes. Today she…she started early.” When he took his hand away, he was blinking rapidly.
I closed my own eyes for a moment. “I’m so sorry, Jack. Can I…can I do anything? To help?”
His voice was shaky. “No. Not really.”
“We can hang out a different time if you want.”
He seemed to think about this for a moment, but then he drew himself up and cleared his throat. “No, today’s your birthday. And I’d rather be here. So let’s make it a good one.”
“Okay.” I tried to think of a conversation topic that would distract him and get us on track for a more pleasant evening. “So what is this place?”
His face brightened. “This is my mountain. Harney Peak. It’s the tallest point in South Dakota.”
“Your mountain?”
“Well, not mine exactly, but I come here a lot.” He pointed toward the east. “I live over there on the Pineridge Reservation. Come on, there’s a better view at the top.”
I’d never climbed a mountain before. Actually, I’d rarely climbed anything at all since I could fly instead. The whole process was rather tedious, but I humored him anyway and we were rewarded with a clear view of what seemed to be all of South Dakota. Trees and strange outcroppings of rocks stretched out for miles. I stepped to the edge of the lookout point and had to fight the urge to jump and test my wings at such a tremendous height.
“Happy birthday.” He sat on a log and patted the spot beside him.
I joined him but didn’t get too close. Since it wasn’t “real,” I couldn’t feel his body heat, but I could still sense his intent. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He asked me about my friends. I described their personalities to him but skipped their ages and the fact that they’re all scientists and janitors and cooks and housekeepers. He asked about my house, my school. I didn’t lie about a single thing; I just didn’t tell the whole truth. As the half-truths piled up, I grew more and more uncomfortable, so I started asking him questions instead.
I learned he lives in a two-bedroom house where nothing works exactly right but there’s not enough money to make repairs. I learned he has a stepfather who walked out when he was sixteen but still lives on the reservation. Whenever they run across each other, they pretend the other doesn’t exist. His favorite book is Moby Dick. He has a horse and goes riding bareback and barefooted out in the Badlands to get away from everything.
That is still my favorite mental image of him—riding out into those windswept wilds wearing his worn white t-shirt and jeans and no shoes. I asked him once to take a photo of himself out there, but he’s never gotten around to it, so I’ve contented myself with the picture in my mind.
We talked for four hours. It was early morning when I signed off, eyes drooping and heart full.
Since then, we haven’t always met in constructs. Sometimes we set up our webcams, and he watches me sew. I’ve told him I don’t get along with my “step-mother.” I’ve told him about her clinical coldness, how she pushes me to participate in more “sports” than I’m really comfortable with, how she doesn’t allow me to have any friends over. He told me how his mother’s drunken loose lips say more than he has ever wanted to hear but how she’s a good woman when she’s sober. She makes a mean Reuben sandwich and tells him often she is proud of him.
I’ve told him everything. Well, everything except the fact that I’m small enough to fit inside his heart.
In two days, he’ll know.
Chapter 4
Even now, after nearly one whole year, I feel the weight of the half-truths as a heavy woolen cloak I am forced to wear every day. I have tried to tell him in a dozen different ways that I am only six inches tall. I’ve told him I am as tall as his heart, that he could hold all of me in his hand, that I am shorter than I appear. Every time, he’s acted as though I’m saying something romantic or poetic.
And it’s my fault I’ve never driven the truth home. I’ve never forced him to see it. I’ve never told him in words he would understand.
Now I don’t know how I ever could. In the beginning, I convinced myself our friendship wouldn’t last long anyway. I thought he would get tired of talking to a girl who lived on the other side of the world, who went to bed at inconvenient times and had no experience talking to boys. But he didn’t.
He actually likes me. Or, rather, he likes the girl he thinks is me. The version of Lina that is normal-sized and doesn’t live in a scientific compound.
I can’t tell him yet. I just can’t. No one has ever liked me who wasn’t paid to be around me. I can’t give that up.
In two days, I won’t have a choice. I’ll turn sixteen, my picture will be released, and Jack will know I’ve been lying all along.
The clock on the wall beeps noon, dragging me back to the present. Half an hour until I have to go back for the rest of my daily training. I look down at my hands. I’ve twisted my skirt into wrinkled rope.
How am I going to tell him? Anxiety squeezes and twists my stomach as tightly as my skirt. Maybe if I just talk to him, the words will come and I’ll know what to say. I fumble under the desk to click the power switch, b
ut it’s not there.
It’s gone.
My computer is gone. I shove aside everything on my desk, searching for my halojector. It’s not here either. Panic claws at my throat as I look at the ceiling. A thin line of light pushes through a crack that wasn’t there before. Someone opened my house.
I explode from the floor, my wings knocking over a chair and a potted plant. I run my hands along the edges of the roof. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I have to do something.
I know who did this. There’s only one person who would take my things…
Dr. Christiansen took my computer. And all of the video files of Jack.
I hover there, horror racing through my veins. I don’t want to know what she will do if she finds those files.
Then I remember what George said just before I headed back for lunch. Dr. Christiansen had scheduled him to fix her computer fifteen minutes from then. It wasn’t her computer that needed work. No one but George would have given me something she’d forbidden, especially a computer, so I’m sure this is just her way of cornering him in her office to confront him with the evidence. I close my eyes and hope against hope he doesn’t get fired. It would be all my fault.
Jack’s face presses to the forefront of my thoughts, and my heart aches so deeply I struggle to breathe. If I don’t get that computer back…
I have to find Dr. Christiansen.
I blast out the door without stopping to close it. Fears of invading rodents trashing my place fall behind me and are beaten apart by my furiously fluttering wings.
Five minutes later, I hover outside the door to the main office. Dr. Christiansen is talking to someone—I can only presume it’s George—but I can’t tell what’s she’s saying because she’s “quiet yelling.” Getting scolded by Dr. Christiansen is worse than being screamed at. I learned pretty quickly not to throw tantrums as a child because it was impossible to get her to care. I remember one time, when I was about five years old, I nearly passed out from screaming because I was trying so hard to get some sort of reaction from her. But she only took out her notebook and wrote down observations. That’s when I realized she sees me as nothing more than her pet science experiment.
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