Wilder Girls - Rory Power Page 0,49

come hang out more, but I—”

I hold up my hand, and his voice falls away. Not the same, I write. And then, when his eyes widen just that little bit, I add:

You can’t catch it

He lets out a bark of laughter. “Is that true?”

Of course not. But I want what I want. No boys allowed

He’s thinking, biting his lip as he frowns at me, and then I see his shoulders drop like he’s let out his breath. Whether he knows it or not, he just gave up.

I take a step. Take another. He doesn’t say a word. Watches me, and when I see his fingers flex—they look ridiculous through that suit, but I won’t tell him that—I know I have him.

His mouth is slick and dark. I can see a nick on the slope of his jaw, can see the speckled blood he must’ve forgotten to wash off. I close the distance between us, lean my face in close to his. A piece of my hair slips loose, blows forward. Sticks to his bottom lip. I watch his eyes flutter shut.

It’s simple. It’s nothing at all. I inch that little bit closer, tilt my head up, brush my fingers against his chin, and guide his mouth to mine.

He kisses like he’s afraid of me. And he is, but I don’t think I mind it.

When he steps back it’s not far, and he wraps my hair around his fingers, his other hand brushing my hip. I can tell he wants to ask. It’s in every glance, every touch that’s barely there.

I lean the whiteboard up against his chest, and he laughs as I try to write upside down, so he can see without letting go of me.

Go on

Ask

“Ask what?”

I give him a look, roll my eyes, and he smiles sheepishly.

“I’m just wondering about what exactly it does to you.”

I take his hand from where it’s resting on my hip and slide it around to my back, where the ridges of my second spine are clear even through my jacket. His eyes go wide as he feels the curve and spike of new bone.

“Shit,” he says, and I smother a laugh. “Do all of you have that thing?”

I shake my head. Some of us just die

“But I mean—”

I know

I write a list. Mona’s gills. Hetty’s eye. Even try to draw Reese’s hand, and there are a hundred more flare-ups I can’t remember from a hundred other girls. It startles me, seeing it all laid out. How the Tox models us after the animals around us, tries to change our bodies, push them further than they’re willing to go. Like it’s trying to make us better, if only we could adapt.

“That sounds scary,” he says when I finish, his eyes wide, face solemn, and I can’t help laughing.

I guess hard at first

“And then?”

And then. Hetty and Reese and someone needing me. A wilderness in everyone, like the one I’ve always felt in me. Only real this time. In my body, and not just my head.

Not so much

“They’ll figure it out.” He touches my cheek, plastic glove catching on my skin. “Whatever the Tox is, they’ll fix it.”

Movement in the woods, a bird taking flight. He jerks around to look. I can’t see anything but blood, flaking off his skin in the wind.

Let’s go back in

* * *

—

Back in the ward, in my bed. Curtain drawn, jacket and boots off. Hands free, whiteboard wiped clean.

“Dr. Paretta will be by in a minute,” he says. Winks as he draws his mask up, ties it tight. “If she asks, you thoroughly enjoyed doing laps of your room.”

When she comes it’s in that same blue suit, and she’s carrying a stack of files and a pad and pencil, along with a tripod and a camera. Her hair is all dark and shine, and there are deep lines around her eyes. I wonder if there are matching ones under her mask, at the corners of her mouth.

“How are you this afternoon, Byatt?”

Shrug. Fine

“We’ve been easing back on your dosage of diazepam. I hope you haven’t been in pain.”

Shake my head. Point to the whiteboard.

“It was very helpful talking to you yesterday. I’d like to ask you some more questions, if you’ll let me.” She rests the camera on my bed and begins to set up the tripod. “Now, I know this will be a little unconventional. Normally, I’d take notes in an interview like this. But since you’ll be writing things down, this might