the white birds, the thousands of white roses . . . And though I can’t see him, I know Leo is there too.
Tonight, I feel more deeply connected to this place than before. As if the veins of the roses flow with my blood, as if the birds are lifted by my breath, as if the life of this place is powered by my heartbeat. I feel that if I flex my fingers the branches of the trees will shift in response, if I step through the grass the roses will pull up their roots and follow me, if I draw figures of eight in the air the birds’ flight will follow the pattern of my hands . . .
The feeling rises until my fingers start to fidget at my sides. Then, all at once, I have that power surging through me again, as if I’ve been struck by lightning and am conducting ten thousand volts of electricity. I can command armies. I can topple nations. I can . . .
I pick a willow tree and focus on the cascading leaves of a single hanging branch. I stretch out my hand, fingers long and flat. Imagining that my longest finger is the branch, I twitch it.
I watch and wait. But the branch doesn’t shift. The breeze has fallen and now even the leaves are still. I draw up a deep breath and try again.
Nothing.
Perhaps I’m not feeling anything at all. Perhaps it’s only my imagination, wishful thinking. I stand barefoot in the grass, wondering. Perhaps I’ve been too ambitious. A tree is too sturdy, too unyielding. I should start with something smaller. I glance about. A rose.
Scanning the bushes, I pick one of the hundreds within reach, a small, white, barely opened bud, curled petals beginning to unfurl. I focus, fixing my eyes, my breath, my body on that single flower until everything else in the garden is a blur, until I see only that rose. Then I reach out, stretching my palm flat, elongating my wrist, and, ever so slightly, lift my longest finger into the air.
I watch. I wait.
Nothing.
I lower my finger and, after a few minutes, I try again. And again. And again.
7:35 a.m.—Bea
When Bea steps through the gates of Trinity College, Vali is waiting for her on the wall. He stands when he sees her, holding two takeaway coffees and a brown paper bag. “They only had chocolate croissants today.”
“Thanks.” Bea takes the cup and the bag, then hands him an envelope. “A gift.”
“What is it?” Vali sets down his cup on the wall, having already eaten his croissant.
“That’s the point of opening it, so you can find out.”
Vali presses the envelope between his palms. “I’m cherishing the moment. I can’t remember the last time anyone gave me a gift.”
“You’re breaking my heart.” Bea sighs. “Just open the fucking thing, will you?”
“All right, all right—thank you.” Vali rips it open, pulling out a glimmering black card, embossed in silver lettering. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a voucher,” Bea says. “For a night at the Hotel Clamart.”
“Yes, I see that. But . . . why?”
“Because I’m not having sex with you in college,” Bea says. “God knows it’s embarrassing enough without having it witnessed by the entire student body.”
Vali stares at her.
“I know, I know,” Bea says. “You can thank me later.”
She starts walking, but Vali remains planted to the pavement.
“Come on.” Bea sighs again. “So, all right, maybe you and your expectations were right after all. Maybe you thinking I’m a nice person is starting to turn me into one, maybe I’m not as much of an evil bitch as Mamá claims.”
“I—I . . .” Vali tries to reply but finds himself unable to form words.
11:01 a.m.—Liyana
“But I didn’t think you had a sister,” Kumiko says.
“Neither did I.”
“Then how did you find her?”
“I, um, well . . .” Liyana stalls, fingering the edge of her toast. How should she put it? Can she admit that she dreamed of this unknown sister? Saw her face, heard her voice. Or will Kumiko think she’s truly unhinged? No, Liyana needs to channel BlackBird again and say it—to stop being this pale ghost of herself, to be brave and bold, without fear of the consequences.
“Was she illegitimate? Did your father have an affair? Did she contact you?”
“Yeah,” Liyana says. Melted butter drips onto her thumb. She licks it off. “That’s right. Exactly that.”
“What’s right?” Kumiko says. “Everything I just said?”
“No, I mean—I meant . . . Yes, she found me. I’m not