“You sure you knocked them in the sink?”
She presses her palm to her stomach, and her cheeks turn bright red. “What do you think I did? Smoked them?”
I close the space between us. “Keep your voice down.”
Sonia stares over my shoulder.
Rona’s there, a robe cinched at her waist and her hair spun into one of her turbans. “What are you girls doing out so late?”
“I’m going for a drive with Sonia.”
It’s not that I even want to take off with Sonia, but Rona standing in front of me and acting like she won’t let me leave makes the desire to go rise up out of nowhere.
Rona glances from me to Sonia and raises an eyebrow. “Can I talk to you, Tal? Alone.”
I follow her into the shadows of my tent trailer.
She yawns into her sleeve. “You really are going out with just Sonia?”
“Who else would I be going with?”
“I saw you driving around town the other day. With a boy I didn’t know.”
That I didn’t expect.
I work my hand into my hair, faking casual. “Our ecstasy scam got a little hot.”
“You ran your ecstasy scam here?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “That boy helped me out.”
She rubs the back of her hand across her sleepy eyes. “I understand, but markie boys can’t be trusted. They’ll use you and then discard you. Those temptations all end in heartbreak.”
Spencer and I, whatever we are, we’re not the devious thing she’s making us out to be. He’s the only person who’s ever kissed me and left me feeling like I still belonged to myself.
“And you shouldn’t be running around with any boy. You’ve got a fiancé.”
“Are you going to let me go with Sonia, or not?”
I’m pressing my luck now.
Rona’s gaze sharpens, but the tension leaves her face just as quickly. “Don’t stay out too late. Tomorrow night’s the autumnal equinox.”
The Chevy is a few miles from camp, past the rolling hills that circle the civilized part of Cedar Falls. We still haven’t spoken.
“So you need to get a new pack?”
“Yeah.” She flicks her ID between her thumb and forefinger and smiles in the moonlight. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” Sonia’s two whole years older than me. Two years and twelve days that don’t mean much, except it’s legal for her to buy cigars.
She stows her ID inside her bra. “How are you feeling about Felix now?”
“Don’t know.” I can’t tell her I have no intention of marrying him or that I’m trying to buy my freedom back. I don’t trust her to keep my secrets.
“Has anyone said anything about where you’ll live after? It’s not like they’re going to let him take you off anywhere.” She flips down the visor mirror and rubs her fingertips under her eyes, smearing away some of the makeup that’s settled on her cheekbones. “If I’d married someone from another camp, they’d send me packing. But not you. You’re their compass.”
“Tried it. Lando says that deal dies with Boss. He believes in me about as much as Wen believes in wearing worn-out clothes.”
“That’s crazy,” she whispers. “Everyone believes in you.”
Her limitless faith in me, in the Spirit of the Falconer, it’s a curious thing. Believing in something I can’t see has never come natural for me. Not since one particular day when I was a kid.
We sat around the campfire, me tucked between Rona and Wen. It was the seventh day of the month, a spiritual day, so we put on the best of our clothes and dragged an ice chest around the pinwheel of RVs into the heart of camp.
We listened to Marius, the camp’s spiritual advisor, tell stories of times when horse-drawn carriages kept us wandering. He spoke about the Spirit of the Falconer, too. It wasn’t long after the whole compass thing happened.
I’d never recognized a real omen or seen a trace of the invisible Falconer, but I’d lied about the pulling inside me, and they’d believed me. A thought began to snowball: if Marius lied to them about the Falconer, they’d believe it just the same. And maybe, in some other part of the world, some other people were more attuned to the workings of the universe, and maybe they didn’t believe in the Falconer.
Right then that doubt lodged itself inside me, and it’s stuck with me every day since, something I’ve never voiced, not even to Wen: what if everything they tell us is wrong?
Outside the Quick and Easy, I park in the first empty space. I flip through the magazines by the storefront while Sonia selects a package of the nicest cigars the place stocks.
I watch Sonia’s reflection in the convenience store window, the way she flirts through the sale, despite being obviously pregnant. She pays with cash dug out of her bra. It’s something I haven’t seen her do much of. Pay, that is.
Pretending things are the same between us feels like a scam. I’m not sure who I’m trying to con, Sonia or myself. No longer is our friendship the reincarnation of Rona and Greta’s. It’s gone. Like my mother.
The clerk drifts to the back of the store as Sonia falls in beside me, holding her cigars. She cocks her head to the ice-cream freezer humming in the corner. The clerk’s stocking the beer fridge, not noticing as Sonia reaches into the freezer and pulls out two ice-cream sandwiches I know she doesn’t intend to pay for.
“Sonia, no.” I grab on to the door she’s leaning into and keep her from stepping outside.
Her gaze carries a question I can’t answer.
The logical side of me tells me I’m doing this because it’s not worth the risk. Every con has to be calculated from now on, a necessity to raise the bride-price. But it’s something more than logic stopping me.
“They’re, like, a dollar apiece,” I say. “It’s not worth it.”
She knocks her shoulder into the door and breaks my grip. “Being worth it’s never mattered to you before.”
Sonia’s right. Never have I given a second thought to a small item lifted while a salesperson had his back turned. Sonia isn’t the only one who’s changed.
She climbs into the Chevy with the stolen ice-cream sandwiches in her hands and the cigars under her arm.
I don’t follow.
There’s no way to reconcile—not to Sonia and not to myself—this shift in me. Stealing two ice-cream sandwiches after narrowly avoiding handcuffs days before feels reckless. I can’t. Not after a boy who didn’t know me put himself on the line to save me.
I walk to the counter, eyeing the clerk until he makes his way behind the register. In my jeans pocket, I find a buttery soft five-dollar bill and slide it along the counter.
“This is for two ice-cream sandwiches.”
CHAPTER 17
Wanderers mill throughout camp, carrying jugs of moonshine and baskets filled with bread and grapes, while boys hang lanterns from the trees. It’s almost sundown on my favorite night of the year.
Tonight is the autumnal equinox, marking the end of summer and the first night of fall. As much as summer runs through my veins, there’s something about the changing of the leaves that will always sing to me.
I hide in the shade of Rona’s trailer, the silky, green fabric of my dress slipping between my fingers as I wait for her to leave for the heart of camp. This is how it always is now, when I need something from Rona—even if it’s as simple as a shower—I’d rather hide for an hour than share a two-minute sham of a conversation.
The screen door slams, and Rona darts out her door with her black-and-white hair trailing after her.
I close myself inside, take a lukewarm shower, and tug my dress over my head. When Rona found it in a thrift shop two months ago, I told her to forget it. It had no place in our lifestyle, the same as Wen’s encyclopedias. We travel light, so it was wasteful to hang on to a dress I didn’t need for the last three moves. I didn’t want to admit I actually wanted the thing. Still, Rona insisted we make the dress mine.
The sun disappears under the tree line, shrinking through the br
anches as I go looking for Wen. He isn’t inside our trailer, but something else catches my attention. A flash of green sits on top of my pillow. An equinox crown. Rona must have left it for me. It’s made of ivy, woven together with strands of tiny burgundy flowers. The crowns take hours to weave. It’s obvious Rona spent a lot of time making mine. I can’t believe she went to the effort this year.
Wen gives me a lopsided smile as I step outside and into lantern light.
He wears green slacks and a crisp navy button-down shirt with swirls of dark green matching the pants. He’s always been vain, and the equinox provides an excuse to indulge.
His face is healing now that we’ve got some extra cash to keep him from fighting regularly. All our money is supposed to go toward the bride-price, but I can’t bear the thought of Wen fighting when we’ve got enough cash to keep his face unharmed.
He eyes my crown. “You look real nice.”
My fingers brush the leaves, and I tug my hand to my side. “I can’t believe we’re still playing along with all this.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dressing up like this. Wearing my crown. We follow all these traditions and pretend camp hasn’t sold me.”
Wen freezes, an awful look passing over his face as he takes my hands into his. “We’ll fix this, Tal—you always fix everything.” He lets go and offers his arm. “Don’t let it ruin tonight for you.”
I put on a dark smile and straighten my crown. “Carpe diem.”
I take his arm, and we walk, circling the pinwheel instead of cutting through the trailers.
The hum of the music vibrates through me at the heart of camp. A fire is crackling beside a heavy navy blue rug hauled into the dirt to serve as our dance floor. Secretly, I’m dying to dance, to move, to float, to twirl around and around, and forget about the weight bearing down on me.
Boss sits in his wheelchair like it’s a throne, wearing a suit that matches Lando’s.
Behind them, Felix stands in the dusky light outside Sonia and Emil’s RV. Our eyes meet, and he starts toward me.
“Hello, Talia,” he says. “You look real good tonight. Always, I mean. Whenever I see you.”
“You’re a real charmer.”
“Thanks.” His blank face wobbles into a smile. “The other day, with the tires . . . I’m sorry about that.” He lowers his voice. “People’ve got expectations of me. And of you.”
In a lounger at the edge of the dance floor, Rona’s long legs are crossed toward Boss, but every so often, she glances at me. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking—it must appear like I’m making nice with Felix—and I’d hate it if that’s what she thought.
“Maybe I don’t care about other people’s expectations,” I say. “Maybe you shouldn’t either.”
“No, I’m ready for this. Marriage, I mean. I’m ready to grow up and make my family proud.”
He doesn’t want me because I’m me. Following through with the arranged marriage will make him a man in the eyes of his camp. It could have been any girl.
“You really think marrying me will make you grow up? Make you a man?”
“This is what we do—”
I fold up my arms. “People around here will tell you lecturing me is a waste of time.”
“Look, I’m not real good with words. You should come see my trailer sometime—it’s the best money can buy. I think you’ll like being married to me.”
For the whisper of a moment, I imagine it. A life with Felix, together under the same cloth roof, letting him choose what roads we place before our wheels.
That life is no life at all.
We don’t eat until the sky is black, and then we devour everything we’ve all spent days preparing: roasted meats, skillet cornbread, desserts, and candies. We crowd around the campfire and sing the equinox song and pray for a mild fall and winter.
People dart between Felix and me all night, but I feel his gaze burning through their bodies and into my skin. Not once do I laugh or smile when I’m not conscious of his stare.
After we’re all full of food or drunk on wine or both, the music strikes up. I want to dance. I want to dance all night, spinning until I’m dizzy.
My mouth goes dry as Lando ambles to my side with Felix in tow. Our three-piece orchestra strikes up a new song. A marriage waltz.
My rib cage strains against the satin fabric. I can’t breathe.
I’d like to think my poker face is as much a part of me as my smile or my frown, an easy expression to slip on when the need arises. Tonight, when I need it most, it fails me.
Lando grins—he knows he’s rattled me—and takes me by the shoulders. “You’d love a little practice dance before the real wedding, wouldn’t you, Tal?”
Practice. It’s only practice. My tension drifts away, but I hold my chin high. “The hell I would.”
Wen’s a few feet away and blurry through the campfire smoke. But I know what he’s thinking—Don’t do it, Tal.
“Come on,” Felix says, elbowing Lando. “Don’t make her.”
Lando brings his mouth against my ear. “Make a scene, and Wen will pay for it.”
I glance at my brother, in his nicest clothes, with his healing face. “Fine.”
The band increases the tempo, and Felix puts his damp hand into mine and leads me to the rug. I’d rather never dance again than be led this once.
We stop in the middle of the crowd of Wanderers all swaying to the wedding waltz, and I drape my arm over Felix’s shoulder, keeping a few feet between our bodies.
“Do you really have to look so unhappy?” he says.
None of this is his fault. I almost feel guilty.
His back is stiff as he spins me around the rug. We make two wide turns, and I try not to think about how the thin satin of my dress is the only barrier between his palms and my back.
Wen’s sitting at the end of Rona’s lounger. They whisper as they watch me. Sonia’s on the sidelines, her legs tucked beneath her as she shovels more food onto Emil’s plate and refills his wine glass.
Felix hauls me against his chest, and his foot smashes my delicate equinox slipper.
“Ow,” I say. A reflex—it barely hurt.
He lets me go and, as he backs away, stumbles over a wrinkle in the rug. He stalks off to the sidelines to a spot beside Boss.
A little smile on my lips, I shrug, toward Lando.
Heading back to my trailer would be so easy, but I’m not letting anyone ruin this night for me.
On equinox, I used to dance with Sonia until the sun came up.
Tonight is still mine for the taking.
I kick off my shoes at the edge of the rug and twirl into the middle of the crowd. This night can make me remember what it used to feel like to be a Wanderer.
I’m twirling around, harder, faster. I catch flashes of Sonia, then Felix, two alternating focal points, two glimpses of my future staring at me. They only make me spin faster.
Dizzy and drunk on adrenaline, I throw my head back. The paper lanterns woven throughout the trees tremble from the music. I’m trying as hard as I can to fall in love with this life I’m living. To fall in love with wandering again. But my thoughts are racing to Cape Town, hot maple syrup, and Spencer Sway.
The sky spins with me as I whirl. Between the strings of the lanterns, something flies across the horizon. It spreads its wings—a barn owl.
My feet freeze on the rug as the owl flies out of my line of sight. I think of nothing but the Spirit of the Falconer. Even though I’m sure he’s imaginary.
The vibration of the lanterns builds into a steady shake. My crown slips off my head and tumbles down my back. I’m the one at the center of it all, surrounded by the dancing camp. They’re oblivious. All oblivious.
Until lanterns crash around us.
There’s scrambling and screaming as people jump across the flames. The oil from the lamps could burn not only our camp but the forest and the town of Cedar Falls.
A whooshing sound swoops through t
he camp, sucking up all the flames at once. The air goes still, and if I believed in anything at all, I might think that gust of wind was something magical.
Panic fades, and we all stand silently under the dark night sky.
CHAPTER 18
“I read something in here today.” Wen taps the book sitting on the edge of the diner table. “It said, ‘I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.’” Between his fingers, I can read half of the spine—the name Lewis Carroll.
Wen met the owner of the bookstore the other day, a woman with a bouffant head of white hair named Blanche Fairchild. I hung back in the travel section, thumbing through glossy color pictures in atlases while she spoke to Wen. She said he could read all the books he wanted without paying, as long as he stayed in the store.
“Did you pay our good money for that?”
He runs his fingertips over the embossed cover, not making eye contact. “Stole it.”
For a con man, deception isn’t his strong suit.
“Liar.”
The diner’s front door swings open. Wen sinks into his seat, shading his face in the collar of his shirt. The mirror hung above our booth flashes with navy-and-yellow letterman jackets. Jeremy or Craig would probably like nothing better than to finish what they started at Whitney’s party.
I lift my chin toward the restaurant’s kitchen, silently asking Wen if we need to make a run for it, but he relaxes. It’s not them.
“While we’re on the subject of paying,” he whispers, “are you paying for lunch, or are we going to dine and ditch?”
“Haven’t decided.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to pay.”
He’s right. The heat from the con isn’t what’s keeping me honest. It’s stupid for me to develop morals now when every dollar we stow away gets us a dollar closer to buying my future back.
“I’m worried about our money,” says Wen.
He’s got no business being worried, not when it’s my freedom on the line. “Don’t be.”
“When I counted it, the figures from the last con didn’t add up.”
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