Moonpenny Island (9 page)

“But I thought all creatures had eyes,” Flor says. “I mean, I thought eyes were part of being a creature.”

“Sight had to evolve, just like everything else,” says Dr. Fife.

“Do you know what
evolve
means?” Jasper's deep voice makes everything she says sound like a lesson.

“Of course I do! Like, we evolved from apes.”

“Wrong.” Jasper shakes her head. “A common misconception.”

“Yes, well. Our Flora and Fauna has the general idea.” Dr. Fife looks pained, either at Flor's ignorance or Jasper's rudeness or maybe both. “I bet she knows who Charles Darwin was.”

“She does,” says Flor. “I mean, I do.” Charles Darwin? She's heard that name somewhere.

“The earliest eyes were simple optic nerves coated with pigment. Very primitive, but they gave those creatures a definite advantage.” Dr. Fife tugs his beard. “They could find food more easily and
avoid their predators. Over time, those eyes changed and developed, and the most useful variations were passed on to the offspring. Again and again and yes, again. And so the eye evolved into one of the most complex organs imaginable.” His own deep-set eyes shine. “Darwin's theory, as you know!”

Flor nods. Sure! Got it! Meanwhile, a voice inside her squawks,
What!
What if eyes didn't develop? What if people had to fumble their way around using their noses or ears or—gross—tongues instead?

“Trilobites were sturdy little fellows. They very thoughtfully left behind an abundant fossil record. By studying it, we can trace how they evolved to have sight as crystal clear as any animal living today.” He picks up his drill. “We've already found some prime specimens here, Flor. Your island is a tectonic treasure trove!” Switching on the drill, he gets back to work.

“Well, if trilobites were that amazing, how come they went extinct?” Flor asks. Bent over his work, Dr. Fife doesn't hear, so she turns to Jasper, who's now playing a game on her phone. “How come . . .”

“Asteroids. Changes in climate,” says Jasper, not looking up. “And they were invertebrates. They wore
their protection on the outside and kept the soft parts inside, the opposite of us.”

“But wouldn't that keep them safer?”

“Only one problem. They grew. Their shells became prisons they had to cast off. Till they grew a new one, they had to go around naked. They were easy targets for predators. Eventually the predators wiped them all out.”

“That's so sad. That's pitiful.”

“Many of their predators went extinct too. Due to other, larger predators.”

“I hate predators.”

Jasper looks up. Her eyes are so green. “Me too.”

Dr. Fife keeps working. Flor wonders if this is how things go here every night, Jasper and her father, the two of them together but alone.

“You don't go to school?”

“I did for a while. Speaking of predators.” A shadow crosses Jasper's face, and she looks back down. “It was not a successful experiment. So now I'm homeschooled.”

“Isn't that kind of, you know. Lonely?”

“I've observed you in the school yard. You look
like the last remaining member of a species on the verge of extinction.”

Flor stiffens. “My best friend moved away.”

Jasper's thumb pauses midair. “You'll make a new friend.”

“Impossible.”

Jasper's thumb hovers. “Then you're doomed to friendlessness.”

“I didn't say that.” But did she?

Jasper's thumb descends, too late. Boom. Game over. She makes a disgusted sound.

“How come you only play with one hand?”

Jasper's green eyes get darker, like when you walk deeper into a forest. She's struggling to decide something, Flor can tell.

“I only have one,” she finally says.

“Only one game?” Flor's confused.

“Hand.”

Jasper hesitates another moment, then makes up her mind. With a last look at Flor, she's rolling up one of her mile-long sleeves. Rolling and rolling, but nothing appears.

Until it does. A dented pink nub. A few inches
up, there's a normal elbow and the rest of an arm. But that nub. Flor stares. She can't help it. It's like a sightless creature.

“It's a birth defect.” Jasper could be the voice on an educational film. “It's called amniotic band syndrome, or ABS. It happened in utero—in other words, before I was born.”

“Oh. Okay.” Flor's voice squeaks. She looks away. “I didn't notice. I mean . . .”

“I know. You're not very observant.” Jasper rolls her sleeve back down. “Now you really are pale.”

Across the room, Dr. Fife has missed the whole thing. He might have forgotten she's even here. It's him and the trilobites. The room's lonesome feeling suddenly becomes so strong, all Flor wants is to go home. Even if Mama and Dad raise the roof again tonight, home is where she wants to be.

“I have to go,” she squeaks.

She takes her plate to the sink, which is full of rocks, and swings her backpack over her shoulder.

“Thanks for everything.” she says, and starts for the door.

“Going already?” Dr. Fife looks up, distressed.
“Would you like more ham? Or some lemonade?” He glances around the room, like maybe there's something else he can offer to make her stay and be Jasper's friend. But all he's got are rocks.

“She has to go!” says Jasper. Probably she wishes she hadn't shown Flor her arm. Probably she's wishing this pale, squeamish, unobservant girl would leave as quickly as possible. She walks Flor to the room's door, then shuts it firmly behind her.

The inn's porch is empty. The birders, who get up before dawn, must have gone to bed. Bats swoop in and out of the yellow light at the end of the walkway, and high in a tree, a ghost shrieks.

Stop it right now, Flor tells herself. That is a screech owl and you know it!

She hates the dark. She'll have to ride as fast as she can.

No! She smacks her forehead. Her bike! It's still back at the quarry, where she left it when she walked here with Jasper.

Flor doesn't know what to do. She can't go all the way back to the quarry now. She can walk home, but it will take forever, and the dark is very dark.
Streetlights are few and far between on Moonpenny, and where is the moon? No moon. She could go back in and ask to borrow the phone, but her parents will already be angry at her, and having to pick her up will make things worse. Why didn't Dr. Fife offer to drive her? A normal parent would never let a kid leave by herself after dark.

That pink nub where an arm and hand should be. Flor rubs her own two arms, creepy with goose bumps.

Walk. She'll just walk, that's all. She's way too old to be this afraid of the dark.

Within seconds, the friendly yellow light of the inn is history. Some closed-up cottages and then it's nothing except a wall of trees on either side. If she cranes her neck, she can spy a few cold white pinpricks. She could be a trilobite, crawling in the murky mud at the base of the inland sea. She could be a sack of bones lying at the bottom of the swim hole. If it had a bottom.

Sylvie tried to help her get over her fear of the dark. Flor strains to remember some of the things she'd say. “Night is when the world does stuff it
doesn't want people to see. Trees and flowers grow, and beautiful moths come out of their cocoons. Little baby fawns get born. Nighttime is magic time, Flor!”

Sylvie would die before she'd let Flor walk home alone in the dark.

All that ham made Flor so thirsty, she can hardly swallow. That owl screeches. Predators! She hates predators. One foot in front of the other. Her backpack bumps between her shoulder blades. Her heart bumps in her chest. In the distance she can hear the lake.
Grow up
, it scolds.
You silly scaredy-cat girl
.

Above her, the air goes electric, then hollow. Something swift and silent scoops it clean, and Flor flings her hands over her head. The grass beside the road parts, and she can sense the owl, his spread wings, his sharp beak and steely talons. Eeek! A pitiful scream rises from the grass. It cuts off abruptly, and the night closes back up, once more deathly quiet, except for that small whimpering sound.

Which is her. Flor herself. She leans against a tree, scooped out and hollow herself. Home is still so far away. Her legs are so heavy.

“I am all alone,” she whispers.

Headlights sweep the road. If only they stop! If only they offer her a ride!

And they do! The headlights pick her out, blinding her. It's not till the truck stops and the passenger door swings open that she can tell who it is, and by then it's too late.

“You!” says Peregrine Pinch the Fourth. “Where the freak have you been?”

H
is blond hair shines in the dark. It hangs over his eyes so he has to keep pushing it away, but of course it just falls right back. Even Sylvie's beautiful hair isn't that bright and shiny, like a star burning itself up.

In the passenger seat, Flor puts as much distance as she can between her and him. She surreptitiously sniffs the air, trying to detect the smell of beer or drugs, though who knows what drugs smell like. Perry drives with one hand, practically one finger, which is precisely how someone who nearly killed
himself in an accident should not drive.

He smells like soap, that's all. He's tried to wash away all the badness. He can't fool her, though.

“What are you doing out all alone?” he demands. Like he has any right.

“Visiting a friend.”

“A friend?” He turns to look at her. “You made a new friend?”

Flor stares straight ahead. “Would that be so amazing?” she wants to say. “Keep your eyes on the road,” she should say. “Shape up and do not even think about running away,” she promised Sylvie to say.

But her tongue is in a knot. From the corner of her eye, she watches him push his blond, blazing hair out of his eyes. Last year, Lauren Long tried to bribe Sylvie to steal one of his T-shirts for her. His hair flops back in his eyes.

“You miss my sister, don't you.”

Not a question, she notices. Flor hugs her backpack tight against her chest. Being alone with Perry feels aloner than with other people. He's driving way too fast.

“But it's good she went away,” he says next.

“What?” Her tongue unknots.

“It's good for her.”

“No. No, I don't think so. It'd be way better if she stayed here. You and I both need her.”

She didn't mean to say that! Lumping herself together with him. Dark trees rush by the windows.

“You're right,” he says. “But what I said is, it's good for
her
.”

What is this? Is he trying to make Flor feel bad? Like he knows what Sylvie needs. Like he even cares!

“We'll see about that,” she says. Thomas's stupid phrase! What is wrong with her mouth? It's done nothing but cause trouble and blurt stupid things all day long. The truck slows down. Moments ago it seemed like she'd never get home, but look, here they are already, the gravel driveway crunching beneath the truck's tires.

Perry leans to open her door, and she breathes in the smell of soap and something else she has no name for. A spark races upward and sets her cheeks on fire. She jumps out.

“Thanks for the ride.” Mama will have a falling-down fit over her taking a ride with him. Mama!
She's already in so much trouble with Mama. She'll have to lie about how she got here.

“Don't let me catch you out alone after dark again.”

Like he's her big brother! Flor's cheeks burn. Long long ago, he actually played with her and Sylvie. He'd ride them piggyback, buy them candy at Two Sisters. Sometimes at night, while they watched TV, he even let them play beauty parlor on him. They'd twist his beautiful hair into tiny braids and clip it with barrettes. Flor still remembers how soft his hair felt. Soft as milkweed down.

Does Perry still remember that? A sudden smile lights up his face, like something buried rising into the light. A rare pleated shell, poking through the surface of a rock.

This is why Sylvie loves him so. For a heartbeat, Flor loves him too.

What!

“You better call your sister right away,” she says, her knees wobbling. “Like yesterday, you hear me? She really wants to talk to you.”

“Got it, chief.” He nods, then juts his chin toward
the house. “Hey. Sorry about what's going on.”

The door slams, the pickup roars away. Why does he have to drive so fast?

Going on?

Flor streaks across the grass. The second she steps inside, her whole family boils up around her, hugging and scolding.

Wait. Not her whole family.

“Where's Mama?”

“Did someone drop you off?” Cecilia parts the curtain. “Did I hear a pickup?”

“I drove all over creation looking for you,” says Dad. “I didn't even get to clean my gun.”