Damselfly (16 page)

“I’m sorry if it’s not good enough.”

“No,” he said, staring thoughtfully at the horizon. “I can respect that.”

“All right then.”

He gave me a weak smile. “Are you ready for the next part of the date?”

Relief washed over me, and my shoulders drooped from their tensed posture. I hadn’t even noticed how tight I was. “There’s more?”

His eyes sparkled, and I knew he felt like his normal self again. “I figured we could stay up all night and then conduct a sunrise service to celebrate your resurrection.”

I reached forward to playfully slap his arm, completely forgetting I couldn’t touch him in this world.

“Here,” he said, holding up his hand with his palm facing me. “Hold your hand up to mine.”

I matched my fingers to his. We were pressing our hands together, and although I couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin, the sight still made me smile.

“For now, we’ll pretend we’re really touching,” he said.

I imagined what it would feel like to actually feel his fingers, his hands, and I started blushing again.

“Are you ready for the next part?”

I nodded.

“Give me a moment and I’ll reload us.”

The mountain vanished, and the beach floated up from below until we were standing on the sand. The sun was peeking up from the east, washing the foaming wave crests with the colors of sunrise. Two surfboards rested on a stand.

I laughed. “Surfing? In our clothes?”

He winked at me. “Why not? Are you afraid to try it?”

“Oh, heck no.” I ran over to the boards and snagged the bright blue one before sprinting toward the ocean. I plunged in and waited to feel the coolness of the water and the weight of my wet clothes, but there was no sensation. I fought back my disappointment. Of course I couldn’t feel it. But oh, how I wanted to.

A towering wave rushed toward me, picking me up and tossing me below the surface. When I came up, Jack was pushing the nose of his surfboard deep into the heart of the next wave. The swell picked me up, flailing, and I watched him pop out the other side. He whipped his hair to the side and smiled at me.

“Where did you learn to surf?” I asked as I paddled furiously to catch up.

“We lived in Florida for a couple of years because my step-dad got a job down there right after the war. There wasn’t a lot of work, so he had to take it. I skipped school a lot and went to the beach with friends. They taught me how to surf.”

I sat up on my board and stared at him. “You skipped school? That surprises me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, you’re…smart.”

“I’m not sure what being smart has to do with it. Anyway, I only did it for a couple of months at the beginning of high school, and then my step-dad found out and threatened to kick me out if I did it again. That was that.”

“Did you not like school?”

“No, I did. I always got good grades. I just had a lot more fun at the beach. Does it bother you?”

A turmoil of emotion whipped through my stomach. I couldn’t figure out why it felt like a big deal to me because it didn’t seem like it should be. “I don’t know.”

“It didn’t hurt me, Lina. I did just fine in high school.”

“So you’ve already graduated then?”

“Sort of. I took the passage test last year so I could work and help my mom.”

“What’s a ‘passage test’?”

“It’s kind of like a final exam. The reservation offers them to kids who want to get out of high school early. I took a summer to study for it. Watch out for that wave.”

I turned in time to see a swell as tall as Jack headed in our direction. We’d drifted toward the beach while we talked, and now we were going to have to paddle hard to make up for the lost ground.

Jack went ahead and pushed himself and his board down below the wave. I followed suit in a mechanical fashion, my mind still chewing on the information he’d just shared. The skipping school bothered me for some reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Why was it such a big deal? I’d always imagined myself ending up with a guy who played by the rules when it came to education, and here was a guy who was intelligent in his own right and helping to take care of his family. I’d never had to make a single decision about my education. It was all planned for me, and I’d never given it a second thought. Should I have questioned things more?

I shook my head when I reemerged, sending both pixel water drops and pesky thoughts flying into the air.

Jack’s firm hand grabbed my board and pulled me toward him.

“You have a worried look on your face, Thumbelina.”

“We’re just so different,” I blurted out. “And sometimes I’m not sure what to think.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What to think about what?”

“How we fit together. I mean, even as friends. I’ve never considered skipping class. It’s one of those things you don’t do.” I shook my head, trying in vain to gather my thoughts into something cohesive. “I don’t know what how it feels to lose a parent or be in a war. When you talk about that stuff, I don’t know how to relate to you at all. I don’t know what to say.”

He straddled his board, and I couldn’t help but notice his wet shirt stuck firmly to his chest. “Lina, you’re doing fine. I think you relate by telling me what you’re thinking and you’re doing that right now. Do you enjoy hanging out with me?”

“Yes.” I swallowed hard. The morning sun was growing in strength and pouring its light around Jack’s silhouette. The cool blues and grays of the ocean were clipped with highlights here and there. It was nothing like my forest, nothing close to Denmark. The entire setting was strange and new to me, but wonderful all the same. It was that way every time I met with Jack. “More than anybody else,” I added.

“And I’m not leading you astray or encouraging you to do anything bad, am I?”

“No.”

“All right then. I’ll just be me, and you can be you. Cool?”

I sighed with relief. “Okay.”

“Just don’t go jumping off any cliffs again please.”

I laughed. “But you said I could be myself! It’s not fair if you make rules!”

“It’s not a rule,” he said with a grin. He tugged my board closer to him. “Only a request.”

It took all my self-control to not tear my eyes away from the overwhelming intensity of his gaze.

“Now,” he said. “Are you ready to learn how to surf?”

Chapter 21

“Are you ready to learn how to surf?” Al leans in closer to me, a goofy grin stretching from ear to ear across his midnight face.

“I already know how,” I say, turning toward the airplane window to look at the endless stretch of turquoise blue below us. Last week’s episode featuring me and Row in the fake Sistine Chapel met with mixed reviews. Apparently several critics pointed out how artificial and cheap it looked, so from here on out we’ll be going to real locations. At the moment, one of the tech staff is sorting through dozens of upgraded drones in the rear of the cargo plane. If I try to make a break, I won’t make it very far. Not that I would anyway since Dr. Christiansen continues to remind me that Jack’s happiness depends on my cooperation.

Al’s elbow gently jabs against my arm. “How did you learn?”

“To surf? Online.”

“Ah.” He returns to his chair and settles in. “Well, nothing’s as good as the real thing.”

I suppose he’s right. The other guys are lounging on our own personal flight deck. It’s a small cabin built right up against one of the windows. Instead of the uncomfortable plane seats everyone else is subjected to, we have bean bags. I even have a tiny bedroom with my old bed.

Shrike and Blue are arguing about something over in the corner—about what, I couldn’t care less. Al has been hovering around me ever since I woke up this morning. I’ve gathered he considers surfing to be his territory, and he’s waiting to get a head start on the other guys on our upcoming group date by showing me the ropes himself.

I rest my arms on the bottom of the window casing and press my forehead against the warm glass. It’s nearly noon in this new time zone, and the sun is fluttering her veil of glitter over the surface of the water. I’ve never seen such an expansive, limitless sky. In fact, I’ve never been out from under Lilliput’s dome before. For a moment, I imagined how it would feel to somehow get out of the plane and fly, completely free, through the piles of clouds in the distance.

Then, as if on cue, the ceiling of our miniature seating area begins to roll into place and the captain’s voice crackles through the intercom. “Please return to your seats. We are about twenty minutes away from Honolulu, Hawaii, and we’ll begin our descent shortly.”

Hawaii. The name still gives my stomach a little flip. I sit down in my bean bag chair and fasten my miniature seatbelt, then lean back and close my eyes. Soon, when I remember the flower Jack pressed into my hair, I’ll have a scent to go with that memory. I’ll know the feel of the salt and water on my skin and the weight of wet clothes and the heat of the sand beneath my feet.

The plane noses gently downward, and soon enough my ears are full enough to pop. We touch down with an unsettling bounce.

“I’m glad I didn’t eat much for lunch,” Perry grumbles.

“I can’t wait to get some chocolate-covered macadamia nuts!” Row says with his customary exuberance. I can’t help but smile at him. This whole ordeal would be much worse without his cheeriness.

When the flight attendant opens the door, a breeze, heavy with the scent of fresh blooms, wafts through the cabin.

“Wow,” I whisper, inhaling deeply. It’s not too hot, not too cool. Like Goldilocks’ porridge, this place is just right. If this is how their airport smells, maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

Several of the Lilliput II assistants get us tiny people loaded into our new carriers. Mine is considerably more posh than the cat-carrier-with-pillow I’d been riding in before. This one is on wheels and rides low to the ground. Inside I have a bunk bed, mini-kitchen, desk, couch, and bathroom. I even have windows instead of slits, although they’re far too narrow to allow me to climb out. I open them all up to get some air inside and flop down on the couch. The plastic door looks out the back and I can see everything we’re passing inside of the airport terminal.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much carpet. The Lilliput Project doesn’t have any carpet, probably because this place used all of it up. I sit there, staring at the miles of lint materializing from under the carrier wheels. We go through some doors, and I start noticing people bending down to get a look at me. A little girl about six years old (it’s my best guess, but I’m not sure since I never see kids) drags her younger brother over and points at me.

Then we’re through another set of doors, and screams surround me. I panic and fly up into the bunk bed as the carrier swings around.

Hundreds of writhing bodies press against a guardrail, screaming and waving at us. Some are waving signs with slogans like “Lina and Row Forever” and “I Love Little Boy Blue.”

I get down from my bed, walk over to the door, and fan out my wings. Dozens of fingers point at me, and the crowd goes wild.

I’m a freaking rock star.

***

“Are you sure this isn’t going to kill me?” I ask as I watch the hover plane’s wings slice through the clouds. We’re flying high above Waikiki, and the Toms and I are getting ready for skydiving.

I’m wearing goggles and a hot pink bodysuit a la Barbie, with the brand name “Apollo” marked in clear white letters down my side. Mercifully, Tina the hair demon did her best to slick my mane down as much as possible so it will hopefully look a tiny bit less wild after it’s experienced the high winds and a several thousand foot drop. My wings have been painted with some mysterious coating that is supposed to make them less susceptible to tearing. Right now they feel heavy and sticky.

The Toms are suited up in different colors, all with the same branding. Row is in red, Blue in…blue, Al in neon green, Perry in purple, Shrike in yellow, and Crane in an unfortunate shade of orange that transforms him into a limp carrot. Our entourage hovers, fixing makeup, adjusting suits to make sure we’re perfect specimens of product placement.

We break through the clouds into clear sky and begin to slow down. There’s Diamond Head to the East. Several helicopters hover off to the sides of us, probably waiting for some cameraman to get his parachute in a tangle.

“All right, kids, let’s review our instructions!” It’s our “ride,” the world-famous Cameron Kelso, champion skydiver. He’s covered from neck to toe in ads. I wonder if his curly mop of hair is an advertisement for some sort of hair product. I can just picture the commercial: “This gel keeps my hair smooth and shiny jump after jump!”

“Before we open the door,” Cameron continues, “we’ll get each of you strapped onto my belt here.” He taps a strap fitted with us-sized harnesses positioned right across his stomach. “Once my parachute opens and we’re slowed down enough so your wings won’t tear, I’ll release you to fly on your own. Remember to tuck in and dive first so you’re well below me before you start flying, otherwise you might get stuck in the parachute. Any questions?”

Nope.

“All right then. Lina, let’s strap you in first.”

I flick my sticky wings and then fly over to him and land in his hand. It doesn’t have as much “squish” as I’m used to; it’s made up of lean muscle and skin. He lowers it so I’m standing right in front of the harness, and I strap myself in so I’m facing outward. My wings are pressed flat against his stomach. I can’t even move them and that makes me nervous.