“I’ll try.” My voice echoed with an empty ring.
jonah’s portrait
For a whole week, I’d done what everyone expected of me: gone to class, completed the work, and kept from sketching, in case another strange event happened. Now, I was on a shaded bench at the lakeside commons, running my fingers over the smooth curves of my waterstone, and missing Academy classes again.
I just have to figure some things out, then I’ll go to class, I thought. But the sky was so blue and the lake was such a swirling green of reflected trees that I couldn’t make myself leave. Mur had sent me to the commons to sketch for some reason, maybe to discover that new technique. She must have had some grand design, some reason I couldn’t see.
Part of me hoped that the woman I’d sketched would descend upon me, without Purity, so I could understand what had really happened that day. But it was Jonah who appeared, blocking my view, in an Academy uniform that matched my own.
I flushed and smoothed some damp hair off my face, wanting to look nice for him and hating myself for trying too hard. “What are you doing here?”
Jonah sat on the bench. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I shoved my water stone into my pocket. My bag was scrunched between us and my slate was on my lap. Only a few people were hurrying through the courtyard — the heat was too oppressive to linger. No one to spy on us. Mother could never know about Jonah.
“I’m sketching.”
Although I wasn’t really. I was only thinking about sketching, about how my life was dull without it. All that was left were my parents — who planned my days for me — and the droning classes at the Academy.
Jonah glanced at my blank slate then pierced me with his eyes, as if he could pierce a hole into my soul and expose me.
“Maybe you should sketch me. I’m ready for a portrait.”
“What?” I stared at him. I’d sketched Jonah before, but not in my new way. “But what if I…?” I stopped.
So what if I sketched him, connected with him, even healed him, not that he needed it. Sketching Jonah was no chore.
“I’ll do it.” I sat up straight and cleared the screen on my slate. Jonah knew just how to help.
“Good.” He adjusted himself on the bench, one arm dangling casually over the back and his feet planted solidly on the ground. “What do I do?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. Just sit. I have to find you.
I got my slate and stylus ready, then gazed steadily at him. Nerve-wracking, meeting his eves like that without talking. It had been easier with a stranger. Yet when I had him solid in my mind, I shut my eyes and began to trace his image over again on the back of my eyelids.
Help me, Mur.
Then Mur was with me, a trusted friend.
I will.
Her voice was the rush of a cool spring breeze, and I followed the playful flow of her. Gradually, I could sense my artist fingers reaching out for the energy that was Jonah. My skin grew hot and my blood pumped faster. Amazed and relieved that I could do it again, I extended my energy into his.
His wide mouth was level with mine. His face, his whole body, glowed like a bronzed statue. His radiance pulled me toward him with a magnetic force. Our legs and arms meshed; our bodies fused like two beings sharing the same heart.
Don’t let it end, I thought, like some corny, love-struck fool.
Never, I heard Jonah say.
My eyes burst open in surprise. Instantly I shut them again, wanting to get back to Jonah. He could hear me. He had answered me. It had been so pure. I had to get close to him again. But I was too late. The connection was broken. I ached, wanting it back.
“No,” I moaned.
My heart was still beating fast and my head pounded.
I opened my eyes again, searching Jonah’s face. His eyes were wide, his lips parted.
“Did you hear…” I began.
“Yes,” he answered, without letting me finish. “I don’t know how you did it, but… wow!” He grinned and squeezed my hand.
Then, as if we were still connected, we both glanced down at the portrait together.
The slate showed the swirl of two figures dancing, with legs, arms, torsos entwined. Jonah’s body was stretched tall and filled with such energy that he might move off the screen. Like a bad omen, my own image was fractured by hairline cracks, giving me the appearance of a glass figurine about to shatter.
I let the slate fall into my lap and looked back at Jonah, pushing my image from my mind. My hands were hot and trembling. I breathed deeply to still the pulsing energy in my head. Jonah pressed closer and kissed me, his velvet lips sliding over mine. So pure! I knew I belonged with Jonah. My whole body screamed for him. I couldn’t stand to be separated. We’d started a raging fire and I wasn’t going to extinguish it.
“Get away from her!”
Mother? It was her voice! I saw Jonah’s surprised eyes, gaping at something behind me.
Please, no. Don’t let it be her.
I spun, clenching my teeth, bracing for the attack. Mother. She was wearing an electric blue dress of special fibers to block the sun’s rays. Light glinted off her huge studded sunglasses, and she was holding a solar fan in her chubby pink hand. She looked eccentric, bizarre — toxic. What would Jonah think?
“You should leave now,” Mother told Jonah, her voice shrill.
“No, you don’t have to go.” How dare she order him around!
Jonah didn’t move. He glanced from Mother to me, confused.
Mother stepped into the shade, removed her sunglasses, and scrutinized Jonah. “Well, a polite young man wouldn’t make me stand in this heat!” Her eyelids fluttered weakly.
“Stop it!” She just wanted to chase him away. I tasted blood, then realized I was biting my lip. My head still ached but I ignored it. I had to pay attention. I had to handle Mother.
Jonah vaulted off the bench. He stepped backward until he bumped into some low shrubs, then fell. He was back on his feet in seconds.
“You can’t trust anyone, Lenni.” Mother wilted onto the bench, dropping her sunglasses, beads of sweat decorating her forehead. “You let people get too close. I try to protect you, but…oh, this heat makes me faint.”
She was talking crazy. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. No yelling. Deal with her. Only a few months ago, Mother had collapsed during an argument with Dad. I had to keep her calm.
With as much sweetness as possible, I said, “Jonah, meet my mother.” I hated to admit this creature was related to me. Yet if I could smooth this over, quiet Mother down, maybe I could make this work out.
Jonah stepped forward, looking relieved to have something to do, and put out his hand. I hoped he noticed there was no family resemblance. “Glad to meet you.”
Thanks, Jonah, I thought. He was behaving better than Mother.
Mother refused his hand. “I’m sorry, Jonah, but Lenni has a policy of no male friends. Her studies keep her much too busy.”
“Oh.” Jonah pulled back his hand and looked at me for help.
“Mother!” I stood. I wanted to strike her.
“Lenni, do you know what I’ve been through?” Her voice wobbled. “First the Academy tells me you missed your classes again, then I find you with this… this… boy?” She fluttered a hand at Jonah, who was staring, open-mouthed. “I have to watch your every move!”
“You were following me? Spying? How dare you!” Tension traveled up my spine, making my muscles tight. “You had no right….” My voice rose to a shriek.
“How can I keep you safe when you won’t listen?” She let out a low moan. “Oh, even in the shade I’m done for.” Her eyes had that familiar glazed look.
“No, Mother. Don’t !” I yelled.
Mother shriveled and faded in an instant. Her skin paled, and her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites showed. Her fan fell to the ground and stopped buzzing.
“Is she all right?” Jonah sounded alarmed.
Mother lay slum
ped across the bench. I glanced around desperately for Elyle. She had to be nearby. If Mother was here, so was she.
“I… I don’t know.”
It was my fault. I shouldn’t have challenged her. But she was so infuriating. I had to defend myself. I felt her pulse. Steady.
“Mother?” I shook her gently.
She didn’t budge. Her eyes weren’t moving under the lids. I shook her again. Her head slumped lower.
“What can we do? What’s wrong with her?”
“I… uh…” I could say that my mother was paranoid, overprotective, and manipulative. It was true, but even Jonah might not understand. “She’s ill, sometimes.”
Jonah didn’t answer.
Then, Elyle appeared, breathless from running across the grass. She raised one eyebrow at Jonah, then broke a capsule in half and held it under Mother’s nose.
“Can I help?” Jonah asked.
Ignoring him, Elyle caressed Mother’s cheeks and whispered into her ear.
Mother’s eyes fluttered open. She groaned.
I tried not to cry. What did Jonah think of me now? I’d made Mother collapse. What did he think of my mother? I wished she were normal. Oh, Mur, I wish you could fix all this.
“I need your help, Lenni,” Elyle called, trying to lift Mother off the bench.
I helped Mother to the car, numb with guilt and embarrassment. Jonah followed with my bag. If only I could have disappeared with him. If only Mother didn’t poison everything.
I didn’t cry until I heard the buzz of the car’s electric engine. We pulled away from the commons, away from Jonah, and tears streamed down my cheeks, staining my uniform dark blue. I could have cracked into pieces. I was being pulled apart by conflicting forces. Splintering, just like my image in Jonah’s portrait.
letters
I flopped onto my bed and embraced my pillow. I couldn’t stop seeing Jonah silently watching me leave. I’d left him behind, just like Mother had planned. I punched my pillow, wanting to scream.
Mother would control my every move. I’d never get time with Jonah now, even if he did want to see me again. I’d probably lost him forever.
The room blurred as tears pooled in my eyes and began to trickle down my cheeks. My bag was still looped around my shoulder. I tugged it off, and flung it to the floor.
At least Mother hadn’t seen the sketch of Jonah. Although Elyle had glanced at my slate. She’d tried to talk to me about it in the car, but I’d refused. That sketch was private. And hadn’t she known about Mother’s spying? She should have warned me. She’d promised to protect me. No wonder I’d felt watched. It hadn’t been Purity spying on me; it was a more personal betrayal.
I licked a stray tear and tasted warm salt.
Oh, Jonah. I miss you already.
Sketching would help me feel better. Wiping my cheeks dry with one arm, I wormed to the edge of the bed and stretched down to retrieve my slate from my bag. As I powered it up, my hand itched to draw, yet when I thought again of Jonah’s portrait, I changed my mind. I couldn’t sketch on my slate just yet. I couldn’t be reminded of what had happened with Mother. And, there was my power allowance. I was probably close to my weekly limit. I rummaged around in my bag until I found some homemade paper and a pencil.
With my hand clutched tight around the pencil, I stared down at the rough paper. Strange how I was in his sketch — how the two of us had been caught in that dance. Jonah gave me reason to breathe. I couldn’t be separated from him.
I flipped the paper onto my bed, unable even to try to draw. Incredible — how we’d connected. How I’d known him in a wonderful new way. Now I’d never see him. Mother would be sure to make that impossible. A sharp shard of pain cut through me.
Enough. I marched over to my full-length mirror with paper and pencil in hand. I pulled a chair up to the mirror, sat down, and studied myself.
I shut my eyes and began to draw. My pencil bumped and jerked over the surface. Ultra-smooth sheets made from lifewort plastic had replaced traditional paper, but there was something about my rough homemade paper that I preferred.
Drawing without a slate was awkward. I stopped to check my sketch. A close-up — a poor likeness of the nose, cheeks, and eyes I saw in the mirror.
No, I thought. It’s all wrong.
I flipped the sheet over, glanced at my image in the mirror, shut my eyes, and began again. The curves of my chin, neck, and shoulders.
No. No.
I took up another sheet. The bumpy texture of the paper was a familiar brush against the side of my hand now. This time I drew my hand with fingers tight around a pencil, then long legs with one foot pointed, then the bend of my elbow.
Again and again, I drew pieces of myself until the carpet was scattered with half-finished sketches. Puzzle pieces that somehow formed a whole.
I’m just wasting paper, I thought. I could draw into others, connect to Jonah, but I couldn’t do this.
Stop it. Breathe. I pulled my waterstone from my pocket, where I’d kept it faithfully since Elyle had given it to me. Could it give me answers? The figure on the stone was reaching out. Her gesture was flowing and graceful, not stiff and scattered. Imitate her, I thought. Rubbing the stone, I stared at the papers on the floor and at myself in the mirror until I calmed. Then I shut my eyes again.
I concentrated on Mur. Guide me, Mur. I need to draw.
This way, she replied, tugging me inward.
My eyes rolled backward as if I could look inside at myself. Then I began to dot the page with the pencil. Flecks and tiny lines weaving together. Dense here, loose there. I let my hand reveal the picture. Something familiar. Something I knew. What was it? I pushed the question away, afraid to stop the movement of my hand.
When my hand slowed, I opened my eyes. Gradually, I recognized the arrangement of dots and lines. My dream — the one I couldn’t decipher. Tiny dots that were so close together they formed shapes, patterns. Letters — black on a white paper — that were magnified. Too large to read. I let the idea move through me until I could see what the letters were spelling.
My own name: Lenni. Made from a pattern of dots. Like cells that fuse together somehow to create a whole person. Parts of a whole.
In my dream, I’d been desperate to see more than just dots. Now, I could finally see the whole shape — my name — but it was fractured again, just like in my sketch with Jonah. Another bad omen. I hugged my knees, wondering what it all meant.
the academy
“She doesn’t own me. She can’t make me walk with you.” I burst out the door into the morning heat. Walked to school by Elyle. It was beyond embarrassing.
I leapt ahead, through Mother’s garden. Mother had clipped the yew and forced a butterfly bush to flower in spite of the heat, but at least new sprigs of lifewort were keeping pace.
Elyle matched my steps. “Well, you did miss school twice. And you broke her rules with that boy.”
Jonah. I hadn’t dared to transmit to him last night. How could I explain? Today, at the Academy, I would talk to him. Mother couldn’t stop me from seeing him there.
“She was spying on me.” I raised my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me about that?”
“She wasn’t spying. The Academy transmitted that you weren’t in class and we went looking for you. We were worried.”
“You said you would help.” I walked faster.
“Slow down, Lenni. I’m not the enemy. Neither is your mother.”
I sighed, then slowed. “I know.” Mother was ill; it was hard to remember that when she was so controlling.
We walked along the side of the road in silence. When we reached the corner where the street widened, other people appeared, walking, on bikes, or in solar-electric cars. Everyone would see me walking with Elyle. I put my head down to avoid their eyes.
“Do you want to talk about your sketches?” Elyle said.
“What?” I frowned. This wasn’t a friendly stroll; it was a punishment.
“Your sketches.
How are they going?”
I stared at the scuffed toes of my Academy shoes. Elyle had made me a water stone. She would understand, but this was too personal to discuss on the street, surrounded by people.
Trust her, came Mur’s voice.
And I knew Mur was right. How often did I get Elyle to myself?
The words slipped out without effort. In a low voice, I told Elyle about my new portraits, and the healing. I told her how good sketching felt. How everything else faded away until I was the stylus and Mur was drawing with me.
“You still hear Mur?” Elyle raised one eyebrow.
“Yes.” Mur was almost too private to share. Only once before, when I was seven, had I ever mentioned her.
“Did you hear what Mur said?” I’d asked Elyle. We’d been drinking juice at the table. Mother was asleep in a huge pillowed chair. Even then she was ill.
“Mur?”
“Yes, Mur. She tells me things. There, see her silver hair?” I’d pointed to where she stood among Mother’s plants.
“Hush,” Elyle had said in her calm, caring voice. She lowered my finger, glancing at Mother. “Most hear only themselves.”
“You don’t hear her?” I’d been confused. How could that be?
“No.” Her eyes had shown she was far away, dreaming, or maybe wishing. “I muddle through on my own.”
I’d been sad then. Sad for those who were only one.
We were stopped under a row of locust trees now, halfway to the Academy. Sunlight filtered through the leaves onto Elyle’s face.
“Look at my portraits.” I offered her my slate.
Elyle took it and gazed intently at each sketch, one by one. People rushed around us on both sides. Not one person bothered to look at my slate. I had nothing to worry about. No one else cared about my sketches.
“Lenni,” Elyle began when she saw the woman’s portrait from the commons. “It’s like you sketched her soul.” Tears collected in her eyes.
I nodded, staring at Elyle, wanting to hug her, to cry out, to celebrate. She understood. She really understood. The scent of lavender enveloped me.
Pure Page 4