Page 34

It all starts with the butterflies.

As the day trudges on with dragging heels and resentful silences, black wings dance over our heads. Just one or two at first, small and dainty enough to dart out of sight before any of us can get a close look, and then more join in, fluttering low enough that Evan cries out, “Look, butterflies!”

“Are they usually black?” Radhika asks, presumably to Keiffer, but he either didn’t hear or is pretending not to hear.

“Monarchs are,” I say. “Mostly orange and black, with just a bit of white.” It’s nice to be able to offer some knowledge, even though I can’t imagine what use it will have.

“This one is full black.” Tayla tilts her head, studying one of the butterflies as it swoops over Kiara’s head, grazing her ear. With a yelp, Kiara swats at it, mistaking it for something that could sting.

“Huh,” says Evan, then shrugs. “I like the blue ones.”

“Me too,” I say. “Must be nice in here.” At Evan’s sideways look, I clarify, “For them, I mean. No pesticides, no people to threaten their environment. It’s like…a sanctuary.”

They hum in agreement. “A safe haven.”

“Safe? This one seems weirdly attached to me,” Kiara complains, ducking to avoid the butterfly that seems to have a preoccupation with her face or, to be more accurate, with flying directly into it.

“Are you wearing any perfume? Makeup? Something it’s attracted to?” asks Radhika.

Kiara shakes her head, the butterflies moving with her.

It’s obvious she’s barefaced. There’s no sticky red lip gloss today; all of us are sticking to sunscreen, moisturizer, and lip balm to keep our skin from dryness and cracking.

“Maybe it’s my natural stink,” she says.

“The wipes are okay, but this is my second day unwashed, and I’m pretty sure I can smell myself. ”

Tayla laughs. “Babe, we don’t call it ‘stink.’?”

Keiffer raises an arm to sniff his armpit. “I do.”

“It is odeur naturelle ,” Tayla says with a dramatic air, rolling all her R’ s to make us laugh.

“ Ewwwww ,” Radhika squeals, but when Keiffer holds his arm out to her, she snuggles into his side.

I can see why they work as a couple. They’re both super cuddly and into physical touch.

Not that I’m one of those people who thinks love languages are the end all and be all, but Kiara seems more like an acts of service gal.

This line of thinking leads me to what my love language could be, but thinking about love and Kiara in the span of two seconds makes my head hurt. Maybe my heart a little, too.

All I know is that I was right about what I felt at the carnival.

As much as I love spending time with Kiara, after all this is over, we’ll both return to our respective lives, which might occasionally intersect, Venn-diagram style, but eventually Tayla will win her over.

Especially if her natural leadership (a.k.a.

bossiness) is a turn-on to Kiara. For all I know, it’s why they got together.

Mom’s friends from Chalice are always talking about how real competence kink is, so… that tracks.

Kiara huffs as another butterfly joins the fun, then another. “Okay, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“Just ignore them and they’ll go away,” says Tayla.

“They’re wild animals, not bullies.”

“Is there really a difference?”

“And she’d know,” I say under my breath, not quite low enough to escape detection.

Tayla’s voice is sweet as she says, “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Nothing,” I chirp.

“Hmm.”

The butterflies are fascinated with Kiara, with more joining her entourage as we pick our way across the forest floor, following the moss.

Where they were shy and skittish before, hovering out of range and hiding when they felt too many eyes on them, now they’re daring enough to fly in circles around Kiara’s head like she’s a cartoon character who’s just bumped her head hard enough to see stars.

“Are you still here?” asks Austin. His voice makes me jump.

“Yeah, I am,” I say, still a little distracted by the butterflies’ peculiar pattern.

I had radioed in to let them know which path we took, so they’re aware of our general vicinity in case we need rescue.

“We seem to have caught the interest of a swarm of butterflies. They’ve been following us for a little while, and they’re fascinated with Kiara.

Dancing around her but never quite landing on her. They’re kinda obsessed.”

Austin masks his words under a cough.

Suspicious, I ask, “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“And it’s a flutter of butterflies, not a swarm,” Caroline pipes up. “If they’re being so delicate about it. If they were being disorderly, the collective noun is rabble. And kaleidoscope if it’s a big varied bunch of colors.”

I blink. “How do you even know that, Care?”

“I read. Open a book sometime, Nova!”

“I read plenty,” I protest.

Just not The Way of the Wish . Something that I’m now regretting. I mean, what if there’s something in there that only I will understand? Some hidden meaning that makes sense only to me?

Oof. I sound like Radhika now. I’m not special. Being a Prior descendant has never made me feel special. It’s only brought my family misery. Our lineage is a kind of curse all on its own.

As we say our goodbyes, Tayla is attempting to shoo more of the butterflies away. She catches my eye, the flash of worry there and gone again before I can stow the radio in the side pocket of my backpack.

“They’re not dangerous,” Evan says calmly, but neither Tayla nor Kiara respond except to continue waving their hands around themselves.

Even Keiffer makes a few brushing motions to startle the butterflies away, but they ignore everyone who isn’t Kiara, never straying far. How they haven’t exhausted themselves with all that flapping is beyond me, but they keep pace with us with single-minded perseverance.

“I see you can’t stay mad for long,” I murmur to Keiffer once Radhika’s pulled her book out again, falling a few steps behind to furiously turn pages as though she hasn’t already read it cover to cover—multiple times, judging by the soft, rounded edges of the paperback and the couple dozen dog-ears, not to mention the handwritten notes in the margins with her familiar half-print, half-cursive penmanship.

At the uncertainty on his face, I add, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s an endearing quality.

I mean, I’m still a little peeved that everyone unilaterally decided the moss option was a sign of wonderment. You made good points.”

He smiles. “Duly noted. I can’t hold a grudge to save my life. Wouldn’t want to, even if I could.”

“That’s…healthy.”

“You sound like you mean something else.”

“No, I really do mean it!” I clear my throat, try to go for light and jokey and breezy. “Can’t catch me being that mature, though.”

“I don’t know about that. You set aside your grudge to help Kiara, didn’t you?”

Anxiety swells like a sudden wave. “How did you know I had a—”

“Chill. I’m not going to tell anyone.” His smile is amused then not. “I’m not Tayla. I don’t want to ferret out your secrets.”

“I don’t have secrets,” I say, immediately defensive.

He rolls his eyes. “We all have secrets, Nova.”

“Even you?”

He shrugs, all hot and mysterious, and for one tiny little tickle of a second, I remember why I liked him so much. He’s sweet and protective and speaks his mind, not the follower Tayla made him out to be.

“Nah,” he says cheerfully. “I’m too boring. WYSIWYG.”

I parse through all the slang I know. “Visivig?”

“What you see is what you get.” He pulls his backpack forward, rummages, then yells, “Second breakfast!”

Maybe he’s missing sports and throwing balls around because he insists on lobbing our apples to us even though Evan has zero hand-eye coordination, Radhika’s nose is still buried in her book, and Tayla threatens that if hers falls on the ground, she would make him eat it.

Nevertheless, we all lurch to snatch our apples out of the air, rewarded by his undaunted smile.

As we munch, we keep walking. No one wants their fruit to brown, so only the chorus of crisp sounds of biting and chewing fill the air.

Now that we’ve made it through the first day and night unscathed, there’s actually a moment to appreciate the majesty of the forest.

The resplendent yellows, golds, and oranges cling to the birch trees, dousing us in a warm, glowing filter.

Papery bits of their slender trunks curl underfoot along with the rocks and roots that mar the path.

They flit harmlessly around our feet, rolling closer and scurrying away at the wind’s mercy.

Henry Prior’s notes might obscure the location of the wishing well, but at least he was clear that it’s at the lowest elevation, which is lucky because none of us—except maybe Keiffer—are sturdy enough to go uphill.

Even luckier that it’s not summer, when bug bites and humidity would undoubtedly plague us.

Mom will be glad to know this trip has made one thing obvious: I am the opposite of outdoorsy.

“They’re still obsessed with me,” Kiara murmurs. She doesn’t need to point to the black butterflies still trailing us for me to know exactly what she’s talking about. Her resigned air is a dead giveaway.

“Isn’t everyone?”

She side-eyes me. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

I shrug. I can’t help but be more mesmerized with what’s happening above us than between us.

The butterflies aren’t just circling her anymore, they’re…Well, the best way I can describe it is that they’re crowning her.

Do I tell her? No, I can’t. It sounds so silly.

And if they are a sign of wonder, then I’m the last person who would be able to see them.

Unless, somehow, my sense of wonder is returning?

Would I even be aware of it if it was? I don’t feel any different.

I peer at the butterflies. Their numbers have grown at least double what they were before, and now they’re almost militant in their devotion.

Kiara makes a sound of frustration. “I don’t get you sometimes, Nova.”