This Might Hurt(32)

Exactly. What was I doing despairing about college when I was knocking on the door of my first real shot? I finally had the chance to effect change, to help others like me who’d had harrowing childhoods. Billions of people around the world were drowning in the wide-ranging fears that came with being human, with the pain of living. I could lessen that load for them, alleviate said fears. All they had to do was let me in and listen.

Many, perhaps even most, would dismiss me. They would say I was nothing more than a magician, a charlatan, a witch. Let them sneer. Their pain would find no salve.

I still must have looked nervous, because Evie leaned in. “A word of advice.” She shook her mop of black hair. “You need a mantra.”

She sat back, self-satisfied, as though she’d told me where the Ark of the Covenant was.

“What?” I checked my watch. Evie was better known for sage cleansing than sage wisdom.

“You come up with a saying to build you up, you know, grow your confidence. Then you repeat it over and over, I’m talking an hour every day, until you believe it. Anytime you’re low, boom”—she snapped her fingers—“you summon that phrase.”

Intrigued, I asked, “What’s yours?”

She mocked an affronted expression. “Bad luck to share your mantra.”

I checked my watch again.

She took the hint this time. “All right.” She returned her feather, sage bundle, and lighter to the folds of her dress. “I better get going. I’ll be right there in the front row, cheering you on the whole time.” She patted my shoulder. “You’ve worked your tush off, kiddo. Enjoy it.”

Then she was gone.

I checked my reflection and took a deep breath. I’d practiced this routine thousands of times. It was impeccable, revolutionary. No one I knew of had done anything like it. I thought about my potential, the number of lives waiting to be changed beyond the stage. I wouldn’t let them down. A sureness washed over me: I am goddamn invincible.

I liked the sound of that. I pushed my shoulders back and lifted my chin. Most days I didn’t feel six feet tall. Today I would own every inch.

I am goddamn invincible.

I strode toward the stage, waited in the wings, and glanced down at the new tattoo on the inside of my left wrist, written in white ink. You couldn’t see the single word carved there unless you were searching for it. I rubbed the letters.

I am goddamn invincible.

The announcer boomed over the sound system. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight at the Luke Gillespie Theater.”

I am goddamn invincible.

He told the audience to put their hands together. My legs carried me forward to center stage. I stared at my old friend, the spotlight, and waited for the applause to die down. I gazed at my new pupils, eager to compel them.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Madame Fearless.”





13





Natalie


JANUARY 8, 2020


I SWALLOW, THROAT dry. “What’s her name?”

Georgina’s and April’s eyes meet across the table. “I don’t want to gossip about her.” April scratches her neck. “All we’re saying is some people here get carried away.”

Georgina seems disappointed, like she’d relish a roast. “You’ll know her when you see her. She has a crazy gleam in her eye.”

April scowls at Georgina, who shrugs.

What has Wisewood done to Kit? To the little sister who always let me sing the girl parts of Disney songs, who knew when to crack a joke and when to hold my hand?

I’m almost positive they’re talking about her and not surprised they don’t recognize me as her sister. While Kit has long blond hair, mine is dark brown. Her face is round with apple cheeks where mine is long with sharp angles. My eyes are brown; hers are green. We don’t even look related, let alone like sisters. She takes after our father. I take after Mom.

“Is it Kit Collins?” I ask.

Their mouths fall open.

“I’m trying to find her. Do you know where she is?”

Georgina examines me. “You’re on the hunt for all kinds of people here.”

I shrug.

“How do you know Kit?”

I don’t answer, turn to April.

“We don’t see her much anymore,” she says. “But her cabin is number four.”

The innermost ring. I didn’t get that far during my search. I rise from the table, taking my tray with me. “Nice to meet you both.” I glance at Chloe. “See you around.”

“We should take a class together,” Chloe says.

I think of the scream from the forest earlier. Hard pass on any self-help reminiscent of The Blair Witch Project. “Sure, we’ll see.”

I imagine the puzzled expressions they must be sharing after my abrupt departure but am too elated to care. I dump my plate and tray in the kitchen and hurry out of the cafeteria back into the feral night. Stars fall from the sky, rushing toward me. Dizzily, I realize they’re snow. From here I can’t pinpoint the thousands of flecks holding up the black sky, can’t distinguish star from snowflake.

Someone has recently shoveled the paths, but already new powder coats the stone. As fast as I can in heavy boots, I run along the walkways to the circles of cabins, then weave my way through the rings, feeling watched, naked. Each house has an exterior light illuminating the number on the building. I rush past one, two, and three, stopping short at four. My arms shake as I raise a fist to the door. I knock and hold my breath.