If You Find Me(43)

“It’s okay. I just—” I look at him, my cheeks burning. “I reckon for now, I just want to blend in.”

His eyes warm me like our crackliest fires, the ones inside the house.

“You, Carey Blackburn, could never blend in. Believe me,” he says, his words soft as cashmere, “that’s the truth. But, if you want to keep them thinking you’re Clumsy Carey—”

I give a wobbly laugh. “Yeah, I reckon.”

“Then who am I to stand in your way?”

His eyes flicker to the building, where two guys yell his name and press goofy faces against the glass. He tucks his hands into the armpits of his sweater, the way Jenessa and I did in the woods. His eyes hold mine, causing my stomach to flip.

“But we know better,” he adds, winking. “Right?

I hand him back his coat. “We know better.”

I watch his back, his feet crunching through the snow. At the door, he turns, his eyes centered on me, the real me.

Fee bee. Feeeeee bee.

“Catch ya later, then, CC.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and a moment later, the bell rings. I fit the violin and bow back in their bed of crushed velvet, my hands clumsy with cold. I take three big bites of my tuna sandwich and swig the apple juice in the container down to its last drop before dropping the rest of my lunch into the trash can and crunching my way to the door.

I’ve survived my first lunch period as the new girl.

I feel as proud of myself as I did catching my first fish or starting my first fire.

Prod-i-gy: person with extraordinary gifts; extraordinary thing.

I’d looked it up as soon as I got home.

“Could you please pass Jenessa the butter?” I ask politely.

Jenessa wants to melt a pat of butter on top of her peach cobbler.

“Ewwww.” Delaney wrinkles her nose.

Even after weeks of good food, Nessa remains slim like Mama, destined to be long and lithe and beautiful. Everywhere we go, grown-ups and kids alike stop to stare at her. At us. Before Pixie, I would’ve thought it was because we were backwoods losers stickin’ out like sore thumbs.

Good old Pixie.

Delaney ignores my request, although the butter dish sits right in front of her.

“I got it.” Melissa, smiling an apology in my direction, waves me to sit back down. She passes the butter to Nessa as Delaney feigns ignorance, concentrating on her plate, where she pushes around a few stalks of asparagus.

“Not a big pat. A pat-pat,” I tell Jenessa.

When she reaches for another, I shake my head no.

I still can’t get used to the taste of beef. It’s so different from pigeon, quail, squirrel, deer, and rabbit. Going back in my mind, I catch the glint of my hunting knife as I deftly gut a rabbit with a few skillful strokes. We’ve yet to have rabbit at my father’s house.

“How old do we have to be before we’re allowed to have a boyfriend?” Delaney asks with a sidelong glance in my direction.

I cut into my baked potato, fuming.

“Sixteen,” my father booms in his no-nonsense voice.

“How old to wear makeup?”

“Fifteen,” Melissa says. “Tastefully.”

Delaney smiles triumphantly.

“Why?” ask Melissa and my father together.

“Oh, no reason.” Delaney smiles, careful not to look at me. “Just checking.”

They exchange a glance. Melissa shrugs.

“Hey, Mom,” Delaney says, her mouth full of cobbler. “You work too hard. How about Carey and me clearing the table and loading the dishwasher?”

Melissa puts down her spoon, her plate empty except for sugary smears on the glass dessert dish and a few crumbs pressed against the sides.

“That would be lovely, helpful daughter of mine.”

She looks over at me for confirmation. I flash a smile of consent. I might be too shy to show it, but I’d do anything for Melissa. Just for all she’s done for Jenessa, I could never pay her back.

I turn to Ness. “Teeth brushed and homework before TV, okay?”

Ness nods enthusiastically.

It’s obvious from her good mood and voracious appetite that her first day of school went well.

[page]Melissa confirms it.

“I spoke with Jenessa’s teacher today, Mrs. Tompkins. She said the children were very welcoming, especially after she explained your sister’s speech issue. She asked the children, ‘Who wants to be Jenessa’s classroom buddy?’ Every single child raised a hand.”

Ness beams from her chair.

“The class project is sign language, so they can bond with Jenessa, and she with them. Isn’t that so thoughtful of Mrs. Tompkins?”

Melissa pushes back her chair, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin before placing it on the table. She squeezes my shoulder reassuringly as she passes, and I think of here Ryan bumped my shoulder earlier.

Ness copies Melissa, dabbing her mouth with her napkin before pushing back her chair and taking Melissa’s hand. They reunite with a tail-thumping Shorty, who’s anxiously been awaiting Nessa’s arrival before the popping fireplace.

Nessa collapses onto the rug and pulls Shorty onto her lap, practically disappearing beneath the old hound. I think of Mama’s sticker on the bottom of my violin case, a swirl of black and white completing a whole circle, called “yin and yang.” That’s Nessa and Shorty.