“A what?” Ethan asks.
“A seven pointed star.” She points to the next weather-worn abstract architecture, where a bird perches on a metal point. “You can also call it a septacle, but I never do. It sounds like ‘receptacle tip.’”
“Wha—” my brother’s mouth hangs open.
“Oh, you know,” she says, turning another page. “The wiggle room inside a condom.”
The tension in the room breaks in half. I bite my cheek to keep my hysteria inside, and I want so badly to see Julian’s expression, but if anyone looks at me I know I will lose my dignity in a fit of giggles.
“It’s the Star of Babylon.” Faye looks up at Ethan. He’s rubbing his hand over his mouth, and I wonder what he looks like when he laughs for real, not the snide chuckle he throws around like a weapon. “You study symbols?”
“No, I just take photographs. Most people seem to like them.” The defensive edge is back to his voice. His hands grip the table edge. They’re brown from the sun and the nails are broken and there is a fresh scar pulling at one white knuckle.
Faye flicks her fingers under the next page, but Ethan’s thumb comes down, trapping the sheet closed. She looks at him, but draws away, more polite than I would have been. He snaps the book shut, slides it off the table, and I reach out, wanting nothing more than to see the rest of the images. Julian’s right foot comes down hard on my left toe, and I sit back down, acting nonchalant. I examine my manicure.
Ethan takes the portfolio and stashes it back in his bag. “So, Cherry,” he says, folding his hands on the table. “What about you? What special talent do you have to share with the group?”
Cherry? I remember what shirt I’m wearing, refuse to glance down at my chest and the graphic design. Jerk.
“My memory, of course. I don’t need a camera. It’s all up here.” I wave my hand over my face, watch his eyes move upward. “I’m the group’s personal illustrated encyclopedia. Give me a date and a time, and I can draw what I saw.”
“Really?” Faye asks.
“Eight-thirty this morning,” Ethan challenges.
I grab the pencil from my bag and flip over Faye’s class schedule. On the back, I sketch, searching line until the graphite point lines up with my vision, and the form of a woman, naked, curled in the arms of an octopus, appears on the paper. I layer in rapid detail, blending what blurs out of my focus into shading. “I saw this, among other things,” I say, handing back the paper.
“Oh!” Faye laughs, and reaches into her sweater, pulling out a gold chain. She holds up a carved bone pendant. “The Minoans used an octopus motif in their decorative art. It’s a very harmonious symbol. I thought it might be appropriate for our first group meeting.”
“That only has six tentacles.” Julian is scowling. “Octopi have eight legs. Where are the other t—” He breaks off, eyes wide, face turning an odd shade of peculiar. He flips the paper over.
“Maybe that’s why she’s feeling so much harmony,” Faye says, dropping the necklace back in her shirt.
Ethan’s hand is back over his mouth, and his shoulders shake, eyes bright blue, the color of sky and flight and freedom, and this time I do lose it, giggling so hard I can’t catch my breath, and I lay my head down on the cool tabletop, trying to find some control in all this chaos.
“Can we focus, please?” Julian’s disapproval sets me off again. “Are introductions over? We’re all exceptional, we all can bring stuff to the table.” He glances at me again and takes a deep breath. “Let’s get something down so we don’t have to go running to Dr. Anders, okay? And we need to eat before the cafeteria closes for lunch. Anyone have any ideas they want to throw out?”
*
“You told someone.”
“Don’t be stupid, Memory. Who would I tell?”
I’ve dragged my brother into a dark corner by the library, after ditching Faye on the way to the dining hall. “Don’t you think it’s a little coincidental that our topic is crows?”
He pushes his glasses back. “Of course I do. But I also know that you’re prone to dramatics.” He eyes the tattoo on my wrist.
“This can’t be fair. I feel lik
e we’re cheating.”
“No, you don’t.” He sighs. “It’s probably not too late to ask for a new topic. It’s not like we’ve started yet. I doubt the others will mind.”
“What would I say? ‘Sorry, Dr. A, but my brother and I might have an unfair advantage over the other students, due to our unhealthy interest in our topic since the womb. Or maybe, ‘Can my sketchbooks, filled with nothing but black birds since I could hold a crayon, count as primary material for our project?’”
“Your drawings might actually be useful.”
“Julian! Are you kidding me?”