Authors: Megan Shepherd
“I’ve been to London. . . .” Cora paused. “I didn’t think Notting Hill was near the river.”
Nok’s heart thudded. She knew that—she’d just spoken in such a rush. “Chelsea, I mean. I moved last year. My flat in Notting Hill was a postage stamp. I couldn’t stand it.” She craned her head, trying to see on Cora’s face if she’d sensed the lie, but there was only darkness.
“Right.” Cora’s voice was softer. “A chandelier. Wow.”
Thank you,
Nok mouthed to the heavens. If Cora did suspect anything, she was going to keep it to herself.
The bed rumpled, as Cora must have flipped over. “We have a nice house too. My dad invested in tech companies at the right time. Now he’s in politics. He doesn’t know this, but I painted glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling when I was twelve. You can only see them when the lights are off.” She paused. “It seems silly now.”
Nok’s own secret sweated from her pores as her mind raced for a safer topic. “What do you think about the guys?”
“Leon’s kind of an ass,” Cora whispered.
Nok laughed before she could stop herself, and clamped a hand over her mouth. “I never go for those muscle types. Or the good-looking ones, like Lucky. Too full of themselves.”
“You think Lucky’s cute?”
“You
don’t
?”
Cora didn’t answer. Nok rolled over on her pillow, staring at the ceiling. That awful silence. One of the boys started snoring. It mingled with the hum from the black panel, and Nok’s throat started to close up. Her hand shot to her neck. Blackness swamped her from both sides: the night outside, the black window. She could feel eyes behind that dark glass studying her. She didn’t care about being watched—she’d spent her life watched by photographers from behind dark camera lenses.
When she closed her eyes, she could still see their flashing bulbs. Delphine, her steely-haired talent manager who seemed never to age, standing by the doorway eating black licorice, while a photographer who couldn’t be more than seventeen hid behind a curtain snapping his bulb like squeezing a trigger.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
“Look beyond the camera,” Delphine had said. “Look into the heart of the photographer—not this greasy-faced boy, but
every
man. Because it will be always be a man, even if a woman is taking the pictures, because it’s a man’s world. They always want something. Vulnerability. Weakness. Need. When you give it to them, you control them completely.” Sugary black saliva dribbled from the corner of Delphine’s mouth as she bit into another licorice stick. “And controlling men is the only way women like you and me will survive.”
“What did you say?” Cora asked.
Nok didn’t realize she’d mumbled aloud until Cora’s hand squeezed hers in the darkness. “Hey. You should sleep. Lucky’s keeping watch, and I don’t sleep much either. You can close your eyes. It’s safe.”
Nok searched the dark ceiling for flashing bulbs but found none. No photographers. No Delphine with her dribbling black licorice.
She didn’t let go of Cora’s hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, and thought of banana leaves and
khee mao
noodles. Her name meant
bird
in Thai; she missed the birds back home.
If she was being honest, the birds were the only thing she missed.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
CORA STARED AT THE
ceiling, feeling the absence of the glow-in-the-dark stars as strongly as the absence of her necklace. Her eyes were bleary with exhaustion, but her mind wouldn’t quiet.
She sat up to see if Lucky was still awake too.
The doorway was empty. Alarms rang in her head, and she jumped out of bed and checked the other bedrooms, then jogged down the stairs, and stopped.
He sat in the front doorway, head tilted back, eyes closed. He looked peaceful. She could almost believe she was home, a normal girl at a house party that had gone on too late, stumbling upon a cute guy passed out in the doorway.
His head rolled toward her, and his eyes opened. He scrambled to his feet. “Is something wrong?”
“No. I . . . I was just awake. I thought I’d keep you company.”
His shoulders eased. He nodded toward the floor, a silent invitation to join him. Cora hesitantly sat in the doorway opposite him, hugging her tired muscles. He tossed his jacket to her as a pillow.
The jukebox was silent now. It could be midnight, or it could be five in the morning. There was no way to tell.
Lucky looked at the dark sky. “There aren’t any stars here. In Montana, people watch the stars like people in other places watch movies. My granddad used to wake me up when there was a new moon and drag me out to the fields. Said he had Blackfoot blood in his veins, and wanted to teach me his people’s legends written in the constellations.” He’d been smiling at the memory, but it faded. “I miss him, and his old lies. He wasn’t any more Blackfoot than I am royalty.” He rubbed the place on his wrist where a watch would normally be.
Cora paused. “Is your granddad the one who gave you the watch you’re missing?”
His eyebrows rose. “How’d you know?”
“You reach for it when you talk about him.” She touched her throat. “I had a necklace that disappeared when I woke here. It had a charm for each member of my . . .” She stopped. It all sounded so silly. Her life couldn’t be summed up by a string of charms. Besides, if she talked too much, Lucky might remember the news stories from two years ago, and he’d never trust her if he knew she’d been in juvie.
Her hand fell away. “Tell me more about your granddad.”
Lucky snorted. “He’s a grumpy bastard. He got messed up after fighting in Vietnam. I moved out there a couple years ago—my mom’s deceased and my dad’s in Afghanistan. Third tour. He only gets leave every six months.”
His head was pitched downward so his hair hid his face. She wanted to tuck those strands back and read the words between his words: a mother who died too early. A father who wasn’t there. A grandfather ruined by war. Where did he fit in to all that?
“I’m sorry about your mother. How did it happen?”
He shrugged a little stiffly. “Car accident. Isn’t that how they always go—moms who die too young?” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “I was little. Five years old. I don’t remember much. I didn’t see it happen.” His words were a little forced; maybe he didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, but how could she not? She knew all too well the devastation of squealing brakes, tearing metal, burning plastic. She ran a finger across her lips, not sure how to convey the rush of sympathy she felt. She wanted to squeeze his hand. Press her cheek against his and whisper she was sorry. But her mother was still alive—how could she ever sympathize?
“It must be hard not to have your dad around either,” she said at last. “But it’s a noble thing he’s doing, serving in the army.” She winced. She sounded like her dad on the campaign trail, not a friend.
Lucky was quiet for a while, picking at his toes, but then he brushed his hair back and grinned. The tension broke. “Have a soft spot for soldiers, huh?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“I was on my way to enlist when I woke up here. Just . . . saying.”
His words slowly sank in, as her cheeks warmed.
Was he flirting?
He went back to picking at his toes. “My granddad didn’t want me to enlist, but there aren’t a lot of options for a kid like me. I wasn’t exactly academically gifted. Besides, if you get in at eighteen, you can retire by thirty-eight with a full pension. Thought I’d head to Hawaii after my service. Cash government checks and grow old on a beach somewhere with a girl and a guitar.”
Cora perked up. “You play guitar?”
He examined his left hand, flexing it slightly. “Not so much anymore.” He watched his tendons working, frowning like he was reliving some bad memory. “I busted my hand a few years ago. Got mad and punched a wall. But I still like strumming around, alone so no one can hear how bad it sounds. Music helps me make sense of things.”
Cora’s heart squeezed. “Yeah, I . . . I know exactly what you mean.”
Their eyes met, and she told herself not to look away. Her bleary eyes and tired muscles seemed to fade around him. At last she cleared her throat. “Maybe whoever put us here will fix your hand. Nok said her asthma was cured, and Rolf’s bad vision.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we’d been taken by such thoughtful kidnappers.”
She leaned into the pillow of his jacket, soaking up the smell of him lingering in the seams. “I think Nok’s tougher than she seems. She acts meek, but . . .” She paused. She’d caught Nok in a lie about her living situation in London, but Nok hadn’t struck Cora as dangerous or malicious. Just scared. And Cora wasn’t one to judge—she was keeping secrets of her own. “Anyway, I like her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girl friend.” She ran her finger over her chapped lips, regretting saying anything. “Please don’t ask why.”
“I don’t care why.”
She smiled. “You’re good at this, you know. Keeping everyone calm. You’ll be a good leader, in the army.”
“Leader?” He snorted. “All the army teaches you is how to follow.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “You want to know how I really get the others to listen?”
“Besides punching Leon in the face?”
He smiled, ignoring the comment. “Chickens.”
“Chickens?”
He nodded solemnly. “My granddad bought a chicken farm after the war. Preferred their company to humans. They’re not so different from people. You’d be surprised.”
“You’re serious?”
He smiled in a self-conscious way that formed the hint of a dimple in his left cheek. “When laying hens get flustered by a dog or a hawk, you have to reassure them or they won’t produce. You put gentle pressure on their wings. Makes them feel safe. Not many people know this, but chickens are smart. They respond to a hierarchy. That’s where the whole idea of pecking order comes from.” His smile faded. “Whenever my granddad introduces new chickens to the flock, he plays them music. The same song over and over. It lulls them into complacency.”
Cora pulled his leather jacket tighter around her shoulders uneasily. “You think whoever put us here is doing the same thing, with that jukebox?”
He paused. “Maybe. Nothing really makes sense. I mean, why the five of us? Six, if you count that dead girl. Were we just in the wrong place at the wrong time? I don’t know why they’d want me. I’m just a part-time mechanic who’s failed more classes than he’s passed.”
He leaned his head back, so his hair fell away and showed that dimple. Her first night in Bay Pines, she’d been so scared and alone. She’d cried into her pillow so her roommate wouldn’t hear. Now, the same sting pushed behind her eyes. She wiped away the start of tears.
He was quiet for a moment, then reached out an arm. “Come here.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to chicken you.”
Cora’s surprise melted as he pulled her into a hug, like he would a frightened bird. She started laughing and crying, either or both or somewhere in between, but she felt less alone. Friendships were important; that was something she’d learned at Bay Pines. The dimple didn’t hurt, either.
CORA WAS GROGGY WITH
half sleep when hazy morning light spilled through the open doorway. If she’d slept at all, it had only been fits and starts. No dreams of angels. Only nightmares.
She rubbed her eyes and found Lucky snoring against the doorframe.
They were very smart, their captors. Very clever. They hadn’t gotten all the details right, but at first glance through the doorway, she could almost be fooled. The light was soft and pink, like a sunrise. The gentle sound of ocean waves echoed from the beach. The town would be convincing, if they hadn’t thrown such disparate types of architecture together in an attempt to condense the world’s thousands of cultures into a single town square.
The sound of jukebox music drifted toward her, and Lucky jerked awake, muscles tense until he saw they were safe.
Leon came down the stairs, disheveled, and stared through the front door. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I’d hoped it was a bad dream.”
Nok came down behind him. She’d transformed her drab black dress into an outfit worthy of the runway. She’d ripped the hem to shorten it, cinched it with one of Leon’s ties—he certainly wasn’t using them—and thrown on a band T-shirt identical to the one Cora wore.
Nok rested a hand on her hip, striking a pose without even meaning to. “You don’t mind me wearing one of your shirts, do you? There are duplicates of everything in the dressers upstairs. As if anyone would need
ten
of this awful dress. And if we’re going to be rescued today, I might as well look good.”
Cora forced a smile.
Smile, even when you aren’t sure a rescue is going to come.
Rolf came tripping down the stairs, looking like a sleepy porcupine with his hair sticking up at random angles. Lucky stood, stretching his back. “I had some ideas last night about how we can figure out where we are and who put us here.”
Leon patted him heavily on the shoulder. “Sure thing, Bright Eyes. Just not before breakfast.” He sauntered toward the diner.
Lucky cursed and started after Leon.
Rolf rubbed the back of his neck like it ached, watching the two boys argue outside. “Leon took my pillow in the middle of the night. Said he was twice my size so he should get twice the pillows.”
He chewed on his lip and blinked. Though Cora was usually good at reading people, Rolf was an enigma. His red hair swept down to nearly hide his eyes, two blue-green mysteries in an otherwise expressionless face.
“You can’t let him bully you,” she said.
His face remained impassive, except for a slight twitch in one eye. “Guys like him have been beating up on me my entire life. We call them
bøller
—bullies. I tried standing up for myself once. I went to a private school in Oslo where a team of boys twice my size waited for me each day after school by the bus stop. Karl Crenshaw was their leader. He was a big Scottish kid, ugly, always made fun of my twitches. One day he beat me with a cricket bat. I was in a coma for two weeks.”