away. Once she was gone, Melody sat back down, digging into her meal. “Your father sounds like he was an interesting person.”
Joel nodded.
“You remember much of him?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Joel said. “I was eight when he died, and we have some daguerreotypes of him hanging in our room. He was a kind man—big, burly. More like a fieldworker than an artisan. He liked to laugh.”
“You’re lucky,” Melody said.
“What?” Joel asked. “Because my father died?”
She blushed. “You’re lucky to have had a parent like him, and to be able to live with your mother.”
“It’s not all that fun. Our room is practically a closet, and Mother works herself near to death. The rest of the students are nice to me, but I can’t ever make good friends. They’re not sure how to treat the son of a cleaning lady.”
“I don’t even have that.”
“You’re an orphan?” Joel asked with surprise.
“Nothing so drastic,” she said with a sigh, scooping at her spaghetti with the fork. “My family lives down in the Floridian Atolls. My parents are perfectly healthy, and they are also perfectly uninterested in visiting me. I guess after their fourth Rithmatist child, the novelty kind of wears off.”
“There are four Rithmatists in your family?”
“Well, six if you count my parents,” she said. “They’re both Rithmatists too.”
Joel sat back, frowning. Rithmatics wasn’t hereditary. Numerous studies had proven that if there was a higher likelihood of a Rithmatist having Rithmatist children, it was very slight at best.
“That’s impossible,” Joel said.
“Not impossible,” she said, taking a bite of spaghetti. “Just unlikely.”
Joel glanced to the side. The book he’d spent all day reading still sat on the table, dark brown cover aging and scuffed. “So,” he said offhandedly. “I’ve been reading about what happens to Rithmatists when they enter the chamber of inception.”
Melody froze, several lines of spaghetti hanging from her mouth and down to her bowl.
“Interesting reading,” Joel continued, turning the book about. “Though, there are some questions I had about the process.”
She slurped up the spaghetti. “That?” she said. “That’s what the book is about?”
Joel nodded.
“Oh, dusts,” she said, grabbing her head. “Oh, dusts. I’m going to be in big trouble, aren’t I?”
“I don’t see why. I mean, what’s the problem? Everyone goes into the chamber of inception, right? So, it’s not like everything about the place has to be kept secret.”
“It’s not secret, really,” Melody said. “It’s just … well, I don’t know. Holy. There are things you’re not supposed to talk about.”
“Well, I mean, I’ve read the book,” Joel said. Or, at least, as much of it as I could make out. “So, I already know a lot. No harm in telling me more, right?”
She eyed him. “And if I answer your questions, will you tell me about the things you and Fitch talked about with that police officer?”
That brought Joel up short. “Um … well,” he said. “I gave my word not to, Melody.”
“Well, I promised I wouldn’t talk about the chamber of inception with non-Rithmatists.”
Dusts, Joel thought in annoyance.
Melody sighed. “We’re not going to argue again, are we?”
“I don’t know,” Joel said. “I don’t really want to.”
“Me neither. I have far too little energy for it at this present moment. That comes from eating this slop the Italians call food. Looks far too much like worms. Anyway, what are you up to after dinner?”
“After dinner?” Joel asked. “I … well, I was probably just going to read some more, see if I can figure out this book.”
“You study too much,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“My professors would generally disagree with you.”
“Well, that’s because they’re wrong and I’m right. No more reading for you. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“I don’t know if the kitchen has any,” Joel said. “It’s hard to get in the summers, and—”
“Not from the kitchen, stupid,” Melody said, rolling her eyes. “From the parlor out on Knight Street.”
“Oh. I’ve … never been there.”
“What! That’s a tragedy.”
“Melody, everything is a tragedy to you.”
“Not having ice cream,” she proclaimed, “is the culmination of all disasters! That’s it. No more discussion. We’re going. Follow.”
With that, she swept out of the dining hall. Joel slurped up a last bite of spaghetti, then followed in a rush.
CHAPTER
“So, what’s it about Rithmatists that makes you so keen on being one?” Melody asked in the waning summer light. Old Barkley—the groundskeeper—passed them on the path, moving between campus lanterns, twisting the gears to make them begin spinning and giving out light. Melody and Joel would have to be back from this outing