City of Saints & Thieves(98)

But two, even if the Goondas had wanted us back, we knew we couldn’t operate like before, robbing people blindly, not caring whose lives we affected.

We talked until the sun was up. We came up with plans, Boyboy and I, that may or may not involve more of what he calls “redistributive justice.” The world is full of bad men with hackable bank accounts.

And after all, I can’t give up being a thief entirely.

“It’ll be like Robin Hood,” Boyboy said. “Prince of Thieves.”

I bumped shoulders with him as we looked out over the city. “Come on, we can do better than that. We’ll be the Queens of Thieves.”

And he laughed, for the first time in a long while.

I face Michael. His eyes are the same color as the leaves behind him. I think he gets why I can’t go. I think, actually, he might get it better than anyone else. He may not know the details, but he knows me. He trusts me to know what’s right for me. I can tell that he wants to ask what this is between us, what it might be. Our friendship is solid, a bedrock I never knew I needed, that I never knew I had all along. But is this more than that? I’m not sure either of us knows yet. But he seems to understand that letting the questions remain, letting the messy, unpredictable future happen is maybe the only way for us to go forward.

He brings his hand to my face, his fingertips grazing my hair. I can feel his warmth. “Just . . . don’t disappear again, okay?”

“You’ll always know where I am,” I say, and tentatively lay my palms on his chest. Under his shirt I can feel his heart beating hard and fast.

He watches me like he’s taking in every millimeter of my face. I know the feeling. I want to memorize everything about the way he looks right now, with the sun so bright on his skin and little insects doing lazy circles around his head. And then he reaches around my back and brings me closer, and I’m framed within his arms and I smell him and I can feel how tense he is, holding me as delicately as a wild thing that might launch out of his hands and run away.

And something in me suddenly cracks open like an egg, and I let go of everything except for this ache for him that is so sweet and so powerful and so good. Tomorrow doesn’t matter, I realize. Not right now. Who knows what will happen? All we have is this. Here. Now.

And our mouths come together, and he holds me so close, and in this moment I can’t tell if I am quenched, or more thirsty for him than ever. We kiss and it’s like we’ve invented kissing, like no one can possibly have ever kissed like this in the history of forever. And all around us the world fades away, except for the buzzing of the bees in the flowers, like a thousand strings vibrating.





FORTY-FOUR


Rule 18: A last rule—maybe you can’t be all things to all people. You might not ever be a proper boarding-school girl. Or a perfect thief. Not always the daughter they want or deserve or the sister or the friend. Rules will break you as often as you break them. But I guess that’s okay.

Maybe I’m done with rules.

For now, anyway.

I think I will just be. I will exist. And see what happens.

? ? ?

I leave Boyboy squirting himself silly with expensive perfume in the duty-free shop and walk with my sister to her gate. Mr. G was going to come to the airport to see her off too, but I asked if we could just go alone. When she flies into Sangui with Michael and Jenny for break in a couple of months, we’ll both come and meet them. I give the security agent my special “escort” pass issued by the airline. Mr. G pulled some strings to get it. It looks just like Kiki’s ticket, but it will only get me as far as Gate 23.

Michael left yesterday, and Mr. Greyhill came in a wheelchair to say good-bye. I could tell he hated being pushed around in the chair, but I guess he really wanted to be there. Michael’s flight was full, so Kiki has to fly today. Michael assured me, though, that he’ll go with the school van to pick her up from the airport. She’ll be in the grade right below Jenny. They’ll look out for her.

We pass row after row of people waiting for their flights. They’re all colors, all ages. The only thing they have in common is a rich sort of weariness, like they’ve had their fun in Africa but now it’s time to go. Maybe they’re not all wealthy, but there are plenty of gold wristwatches and carelessly scattered designer handbags around. It would be a good place to pickpocket; all these people are leaving. By the time they realized they’d been hit, they’d be thousands of miles away.

The airport terminal is new and very clean. All straight lines and no smell to anything. The planes outside the windows look scrubbed and polished. It seems so far away from the dusty streets of Sangui. I wonder if Kiki’s new school in Lucerne will be more like this.

We stop in front of her gate.

“You have your passport? Your money?”

Kiki rolls her eyes. “I haven’t lost them since you asked me five minutes ago.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. The sun is just rising, and it comes through the window like liquid copper. Around us tourists linger over last-minute souvenirs. Mothers try to corral toddlers, and businesspeople in suits hunch over their laptops and furtively sip coffee.

Kiki watches everything with wide eyes. She’s wearing new clothes that were bought for the trip, everything pink and green. With her hair pulled back in neat braids and her new plastic backpack, she could be any of these travelers’ daughters. It’s been almost a week since her kidnapping, and she’s starting to act like her old self again. She’s had nightmares every night, but the doctor says that’s normal and that they will probably stop after a while.