You Have a Match(39)
I take in a shaky breath and say, “Me too.”
“It gets better,” says Savvy, fiddling with the chain around her neck. “First week of camp is always kind of rough.”
I watch as she pulls the chain out from under her shirt and stares down at the charm. I’ve gotten so used to the things that are the same about us—the color of our hair, the shape of our eyes, the way our voices both get a little high-pitched when we’re mad—it takes a second to register that the charm wasn’t something we were born with in common.
“Is that a magpie?”
“Wow,” says Savvy, “you really are into birds. Most people think it’s a—oh.”
She falls silent, staring at the keychain I fished out of my denim shorts. Thicker, shorter chain. Same magpie charm.
Our eyes connect, both of us already knowing what we’re going to say before we say it: “My mom gave it to me.”
I swallow thickly, holding the charm in my fist. My mom gave it to me on my first day of kindergarten, with the emergency house key attached. I don’t remember much about the conversation, only that even at five I could tell her hands had a different weight to them when she pressed the charm into mine and told me to keep it safe.
“I’m guessing yours never told you why, either.”
“No,” says Savvy. She pulls hers off her neck, and we hold them up to the light. “I’ve had it so long I can’t remember not having it.”
“Well, I guess we’ve got our first clue.”
The two magpie charms dangle, glinting in the sunlight, identical in shape, but made different by time. Mine is nicked from falls, Savvy’s worn at its edges from her rubbing it, the colors uniquely faded—but both still have that iridescent blue glimmering against black on white, two opposite extremes in one body, a bird at odds with itself.
“Maybe we make the truce a little … untemporary?” Savvy ventures. “That way you can stay. At least until we can figure this out.”
I close my fist around my magpie charm, and she sets hers back against her neck. “Yeah,” I agree. “Sounds like a plan.”
fourteen
“My first theory is the obvious one: Savvy’s parents used to be Seattle’s most feared crime lords and Abby’s parents owed Savvy’s parents the kind of blood debt that could only be paid with a fresh baby, Rumpelstiltskin-style,” says Finn, who managed to string all those words together through a mouthful of blueberry waffles at breakfast.
“You’re getting closer,” I deadpan into my yogurt. “I can feel it.”
Savvy bonks him on the head with the name tag on her lanyard and goes back to artfully arranging the fruit on her waffle. Jemmy, Cam, and Izzy are less-than-subtly leaning over from a few tables away to watch. I gesture for them to join us, but the blood about drains from their faces and Jemmy lets out a self-conscious squeak that serves as my cue to drop the idea.
It’s for the best. Savvy and I have only been getting along for about three minutes, and as nice as this bantering across the breakfast table has been, we should probably give it more time to gel before throwing more people into the mix.
“Maybe it’s a full Baby Mama.” Finn’s been at this for twenty minutes, and apparently cannot be stopped. “Abby’s mom was supposed to be the surrogate for Savvy’s parents, but whoops! Your dad knocked up your mom with Savvy instead, and—”
“Finn,” I beg. “I’m eating.”
He looks at me soberly over his waffles. “Parents have sex, Abby. Accept it. Internalize it. Because in your case, it’s happened at least five times, if not—”
“One more word and I’ll let Rufus use your pillow as a chew toy,” Savvy warns, getting up to wave at Mickey and Leo across the mess hall.
“I’m being helpful,” Finn protests. “Nobody’s a better expert on fucked-up families than I am.” Before I can look over to Savvy to glean what he means, he adds, “Besides, did you guys come here to figure out your whole secret sister drama or not?”
“Uh, you might want to keep your voice, like … way down,” says Leo, reaching our table, Mickey at his side. He grabs a chair from another table and plants himself next to me, close enough that our knees knock into each other’s. “I’m pretty sure they can hear you on the other side of the Sound.”
Mickey loudly kisses her palm and sets it on Savvy’s forehead. “Good morning, lady. I have not seen you in many moons. How did this morning’s selfie turn out without my expertise?”
Savvy beams up at her, taking Mickey’s hand off her forehead and squeezing it. “Abby took care of it.”
“Did she?” asks Mickey, nudging my chair with her foot. “I hope you got her good side. She’s convinced her left cheek is slightly different than the—”
“Mickey.”
As this is happening Finn holds out his fist for Leo to bump, which devolves into a complicated pattern of nonsense gestures that takes place over my lap and is arguably more of an interpretive dance than a secret handshake. Leo ends it with a flourish, then reaches into his back pocket and passes me a tiny bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos under the table, his eyes gleaming. “Staff room contraband.”