The flutter of small wings catches my eye, and I spot two of the Toms. They sit down at the tiny table on the center platform. I can’t make out any of their features other than their hair—pitch black and blond—but I’m suddenly curious. I lean forward to get a better look.
Light pierces through my retinas and blinds me. I shield my eyes, furiously blinking. I’ve been spotted. Literally.
The room breaks out in scattered applause. As my eyes adjust, I squint out into the audience. Dr. Christiansen’s got her arms tightly folded across her chest, and her nostrils are flaring like an angry bull’s at the sight of my hair and dress. Score one for me.
Jane’s voice echoes across the dome. “And…here’s Lina!” I guess she didn’t head to my house after all. There’s another smattering of polite clapping. A string quartet begins to play in the corner, and Jane starts singing “Happy Birthday” completely off-key. The room joins in gradually. I think it’s safe to say we don’t have any vocal superstars here tonight.
The song tapers off as Jane’s microphone picks up some reverb, screeching everyone into silence. A dozen camera flashes go off, blinding me yet again.
Dr. Christiansen’s voice replaces Jane’s. “Lina, please come down and blow out your candles.”
The guests remain quiet. You could hear a pin drop.
I hesitate, but I can’t resist her without looking petty. She wins this round. I descend onto the cake—a three-tiered wedding cake with a platform on top. I tuck my dress in around me and blow out each candle in turn. I’m so winded by the time I’m done that I can only stand there, dazed and seeing stars, as everyone claps.
Now Dr. Christiansen stands beside the cake wearing her constipated smile. In a painfully high voice she says, “And now there are some young men I would like you to meet!” She gestures toward the center platform where all of the Toms are standing in a line. I guess that’s my cue.
With a sigh, I fly over. The photogs follow after me, snapping pictures all the way. I’m going to have to meet them one by one while everyone watches. I come closer and their faces grow clearer. They all seem generically handsome. It’s so strange to have six guys near me who are the same size as I am. I’ve talked to people online with my scales adjusted to theirs, but these are flesh-and-blood young men and there’s really no comparison. Their features look sharper, and the entire effect is more immediate. I’m me, in the real world, in my own body, about to talk to six guys who don’t tower over me. It’s weird.
I land right in front of the first one. He reminds me of a piece of overstretched taffy. When I shake his hand, he grips mine sincerely. His eyes are earnest, serious, and nothing like Jack’s. Tom2 has strawberry-blond hair, and he smiles so hard I think his face will break. Next. Toms3, 4, and 5 are forgettable and go by in a blur. However, when I get to Tom6, I’m completely startled by his vivid blue eyes. His hair is completely black and his features suggest his DNA is primarily Asian, but his eyes… Then I realize I’m not taken aback so much by their color, but the intensity that reminds me of Jack. Except Jack is not as serious. Jack would have me laughing by now.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” he says as he lifts my hand to kiss it.
“Um.”
He turns his eyes to my hand, breaking the spell. I give my head a little shake to clear the fog and then I focus on his jet black hair. It’s only hair. He’s just a guy. He’s not Jack. Still, I’m a little unnerved by my reaction. Maybe I should just avoid staring into his eyes for the rest of the evening.
The Toms turn to their seats, and I’m about to follow suit when I spot George hovering nearby. He’s got a guilty expression on his face which can mean only one thing: a new computer. The rest of the room has gone back to their conversations, so I shouldn’t draw too much attention to myself if I go and talk to him now.
“One moment, guys. I’ll be right back.” I fly over to George and hover right in front of his face.
“You’re quick,” I say.
He shrugs sheepishly. “Happy birthday.”
“You’re a peach, George. Thank you!”
“Shhhhh.” He ducks his head, sticks his finger into the black olive in his drink and then lifts the empty glass. “Time for more.”
“Enjoy.” I return to the table and suppress a groan when I see the Toms are all watching me eagerly, waiting for me to come and sit with them. There’s only one seat open and it’s at the head of the table. When is this party over? When do they all go home?
As I approach the table, they all stand up, and two of them reach out at the same time to pull out my chair for me. I bite my lip as a wave of guilt sweeps over me. This isn’t their fault. It’s not their fault that they’re not Jack, that I’m the only girl their size, or that Dr. Christiansen has put us all into this room together.
I take a deep breath. I can be polite and friendly and charming for one evening. I’m pretty sure that’s all I have in me right now. So I put on my game face and take a seat.
“Thanks for coming,” I offer.
“I bet we had as much of a choice as you did,” Tom4 says without looking up. Well, at least he’s honest.
Tom1, Overstretched Taffy Boy, clears his throat. “Shut up, Shrike.”
“Shrike?” I ask.
“Only the staff call us by our numbers,” Tom2 says cheerfully. “We’ve come up with names for each other.”
“That makes sense. What are they?”
“We picked the names of birds, and they’ve gotten shortened down over the years. Let’s see if you can guess what they stand for.” Tom2’s smile nearly cracks his face in two again.
Tom5 runs a hand through his fiery red hair and rubs his eyes. “Are we really going to do this?”
I ignore him and nod at Tom2. ”Okay, you start.”
“My nickname is Row.”
I squeeze my lips together while I think. “Short for Sparrow?”
“Excellent!”
I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. I turn to Tom1. “How about you?”
He unwraps himself from his dinner plate. “Sorry, but it’s Crane. I don’t have a nickname other than that.”
“Oh, well, at least it suits you.”
He stops chewing and gives me a sideways glance.
“I mean, you’re really tall. And sorta thin?” Oh my gosh, Lina, stop talking now!
“I’m called Blue.” The deep voice snaps my head around. The blue eyes are staring through my skull again, but this time I manage to grab hold of my composure as it tries to flee the room.
“Hmm… Not Bluebird. That doesn’t quite fit. Bluejay?”
He nods but says nothing. Man of few words, that one.
“Well, you’ve got him pegged already!” Row says. “Very perceptive!”
I’m beginning to wonder if Row should be renamed Mark. Short for Exclamation Mark.
Shrike tosses his napkin onto the table and leans back in his chair. “My turn.”
“I don’t think I’m familiar with—”
“Tiger Shrike,” he interrupts. “It’s a small bird of prey. Eats butterflies.”
I raise an eyebrow. I suppose there has to be one bad apple in every group. Shrike would be attractive if his default facial expression wasn’t a scowl. He’s got medium brown hair, and he’s smaller than the others. Maybe he has something to prove.
“Charmed,” I say.
“Your turn.” Row elbows Tom6, a hulking boy-man with midnight skin.
“You can call me Al,” he says after swallowing his food. He would be a lot of fun to sculpt with his incredible inky skin and toned muscles.
“Al is for…Albatross? Let me guess—you fly the fastest.”
Shrike snorts. “Nah, just the longest. He floats like a feather. Perry’s the fastest.”
“And that must be you?” I turn to Tom5. He’s the one with the bright red hair.
“Short for Peregrine. Peregrine Falcon.”
“Does that mean you’re twice as fast as the rest of us?”<
br />
He winks at me. It is not a friendly wink. “Sure.”
Row leans forward, breaking the unpleasant connection between myself and Perry. “I have to say that I love your hair. I—we—were so worried you wouldn’t be, you know, normal. It’s very refreshing. Says a lot about you.” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry I’m so talkative. I’m not normally this talkative. I guess I’m nervous!”
He blurts out an awkward laugh, and I can’t help but join him. They’re all watching me, and every single one except for Row resembles a rapidly deflating balloon. Row made me laugh, and they didn’t. Their disappointment seeps into my own heart. I have to say or do something funny. I need to turn this ship around, and I need to do it fast.
“I’m glad you like the hair. This is actually my natural color.”
“No, it’s not,” Shrike says. “They told us you were blonde.”
Crane sighs. “Which donor did you get your tactlessness from, Shrike?”
“At least I don’t look like a limp noodle. I don’t have one either.” He laughs at his own joke, but no one joins in. Crane’s face turns bright red, and he reabsorbs himself with the thrilling activity of pushing bits of food around on his plate.
“Did you dye it yourself?” This time it’s Blue talking to me. I’m getting whiplash from turning my head so often.
“Yes. Earlier today.” My head begins to pound. I rest my elbows on the table and close my eyes for a moment while I rub my temples. I want this to end so I can go home, boot up my new computer, and have my real birthday with Jack. I’m sure he’s wondering where I’ve been for the past day and a half. Last time we spoke, he told me he was planning something special, and I have no idea what it is. I can’t wait to find out.
The quartet stops playing. I open my eyes again to see Dr. Christiansen step up onto a small stage erected during dinner. She’s allowed her hair out of its ponytail prison for the night, and she actually looks pretty in the spotlight. She blinks into the glare and holds her microphone up to her mouth.
“Greetings, honored guests. Happy birthday, Lina.” She could not sound more dismal if she was announcing our impending demise. “I have a very special announcement to make on this historic occasion. Today Lina has reached adulthood, and it is time for her to move on to the next stage of her life: marriage and family. Please direct your attention to the video we are about to play. Thank you.”
Marriage and family? Excuse me?
The video image pops up out of the projector and unrolls itself along the wall in full-color, then snaps into focus. It’s just a green background. Some cheesy pop piano blasts over the speakers, and flowers and hearts begin to “bloom” over the green. Then words write themselves in cursive white lettering as the deep voice of a male narrator booms, “Little Love: A Tom and Thumbelina Story.”
My mouth drops open, and one of the photographers snaps a flash in my eyes.
The narrator continues: “Deep in the forests of Denmark, the land of fairy tales, lives a young woman who is only six inches tall.”
The green background dissolves into some footage of me flying around the flower gardens, then video of me doing drills with George. At least, I think that’s what I’m doing. When did they start taping me without telling me?
“Meanwhile, six young men of the same size are preparing to fight for her heart.”
Footage of the Toms parades past. They all look handsome and strange as they race each other across a course and then practice wrestling bare-chested. It’s more than a little over-the-top.
“There is only one woman in the entire world whose heart is the perfect match for theirs. And now, Thumbelina will choose her true love, her husband, from among them as you watch from your very own living room.”
I get the vague impression music is playing, but all sound has turned to sludge in my ears. Jane bounces onto the stage as the video ends. Her voice pierces through everything.
“Thank you so much for watching! We’re so pleased to announce that Lina and the Toms are going to have their very own reality show to find true love!”
Chapter 7
Shock paralyzes me. Even my thoughts seem unable to move forward in any logical fashion. I stare open-mouthed at the empty wall where the video just played. The crowd finishes their applause. How can they possibly clap for that?
Fingers touch my hand, and I jump and pull away. They were Blue’s fingers.
“They didn’t tell you?” he asks, his voice low and tender.
I stare at him, then look at each of the other Toms in turn. They’re all watching me with strange expressions.
“We thought you knew,” Row says, his eyes darting to his brothers for help.
I stumble to my feet, knocking my chair over in the process. Al rushes to grab it and set it aright and takes my arm to steady me. His strong grip holds me up, but his hands are too warm. Everything feels much too warm. Another flash goes off in my face, and I press my hand to my stomach. My dinner threatens to make another appearance, and I’ve broken out into a cold sweat.
All eyes are on me. One or two guests wear furious expressions along with their formalwear. A couple more people look concerned. Everyone else smiles as if forcing a girl to pick a husband on international television is the best idea they’ve heard in their entire lives.
I can feel my heartbeat pulsing through my head. The world goes silent, even though people are still talking. I can see their mouths moving, but all I can hear is pulse, pulse, pulse and a faint ringing.
The spotlight centers on me yet again, and the light hurts so badly I close my eyes.
“I…I’m sorry. I don’t feel well.” I back up, then head for the back door.
“Lina, please sit down at the table,” says Dr. Christiansen’s voice behind me. It’s not a request, but I don’t care. The door is all that matters right now.
Get through the door, then worry about the rest.
Chairs are scraping, footsteps coming from every direction. I grab hold of the door’s edge and pull myself into the kitchen. Just like before, none of the staff notice me. They’re too busy cleaning up.
Get to the window. Window, window, window. As my fingers touch the cold pane of glass, the door opens behind me and slams into the wall.
“Lina! Get back in there now!” It’s Dr. Christiansen. I’ve never heard her yell before.
Window, window. Get through the window. Someone’s left it open a crack to let the fresh air in. To let me out.
“Shut that!” the doctor screams as I slip through. She’s all blonde rage and limp curls.
I head for home. I won’t have much time. She won’t ever let this one go, but there’s one more thing I need to do and I direct all of my focus, all of my energy, toward that one goal.
I hurl through my living room window, exploding the glass into chunks. My shoulder hurts from the impact, but that doesn’t matter.
I fumble for the power switch to my new computer, a converted old cell phone with built-in camera.
Bless you, George.
Everything whirs to life. Jack’s video chat invitation pops on the screen, and with shaky fingers, I push “accept.” Moments later, Jack’s face appears on the screen.
“Happy birthday! Nice hair. Are you all right?”
A sob bursts out of me before I can stop it. No, not a sob. A wail that cannot stand to be contained any longer. I crumple in on myself and cry into my hands.
“Lina! What’s wrong?” His palms are pressed against the camera. He looks like he’s about to push into my living room.
They can’t be far now. I force myself to catch my breath. To slow down so I can speed up. I try not to think too hard about what I have to say. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” I manage before another wave of tears overwhelms me.
“What?! Tell me what is going on. Do you need me to call someone? I will.”
“No.” There’s no one to call. “I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t explain. But I won’t…be able to see you anymore. It will all make sense
…very soon.”
He pushes himself away from his computer as if I’ve punched him in the face. “What are you talking about, Lina? What is going on? What happened yesterday?” He keeps going on and on with questions I have no time to answer. I can’t get a word in.
Fresh tears. Footsteps running toward me outside.
“Jack, I need to tell you something, so stop talking.”
He stops, cold and motionless. I do not recognize this Jack.
I inhale hard and deep. “I love you.”
He blinks. His mouth opens to say something, but I can’t bear to hear what it is.
“Goodbye,” I whisper, and I pull the plug.
He’s gone.
A raw sob tears its way through my throat and mouth. I force myself to get up, grab my razor knife, and open the cell phone. I will not allow Dr. Christiansen to have this piece of me. I scrape the blade over the motherboard, popping off dozens of tiny pieces. Then I dig through until I find the memory card. I unscrew the cover and stab the inside over and over again until the metal is a mess of dents and punctures. Panic overtakes me. Look at what I’ve done! I run my fingers across my broken memories as tears drip down onto the unforgiving metal and plastic.
The ceiling opens. Jane’s face enters my house like an unwelcome ogre. Her flashlight gives her features a gruesome appearance as she shouts to Dr. Christiansen that she’s found me.
I stand, still holding the destroyed bits of my computer. My fingers explore the holes, wrapping themselves into twisted places, becoming one with the last tie to Jack I still have.
I don’t resist when Jane picks me up and gently clips my wings together, nor when I am placed in an animal carrier that still has tufts of fur from its last occupant.
As I am transported to the main buildings, the deadening realization that Jack and I are truly over hits me full force. It isn’t until I am locked securely into Dr. Christiansen’s spare bedroom that I notice I left the computer pieces in the carrier. I don’t even remember when I let them go.
Chapter 8
I wake up with a stiff back, still clothed in the awful dress. Dim light seeps through cracks in the blinds.
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