If I Fall (6 page)

“Trust me. You would not be able to find me even if I told you,” I say, suppressing a smirk. “Goodbye, Mr. Laurence.” He opens the door for me and I step outside, securing my hair back beneath the hat as I walk.

I feel those strange green eyes burning into my back as I amble down the hall and turn my head—he’s standing just outside his door.

He waves. “Until next time, Vi!”

There will be no next time. The minute I return to the cargo room, I will be stuck there until the
Celtic
docks in New York. The aggravating man and I will never meet again. He will return to his lavish balls and will marry a girl whose parents look to have a wealthy son-in-law. I will meet with my parents in New York and we will go into hiding until the war has ended.

Two separate worlds that will never, ever collide.

7
LYING

When I return, Dela is awake.

“Where were you? I was positive you had been caught and fed to a giant squid!”

“Ah, to be twelve again. Such imagination,” I say. She scowls and I smile. “Honestly, Dela, you mustn’t allow yourself to get so worked up over nonsense.”

Her brow knits together in annoyance. “At least I have an excuse for my imagination. What about yours? Lying out in that garden of yours all night making up stories based on make-believe pictures in the sky!”

I feel my face grow heated.
This is silly
, I tell myself, but then why am I so angry?

“They are called constellations! You’re being childish!”

“Says the sixteen-year-old to the twelve-year-old. I
am
a child! What’s
your
excuse?”

I step back, wanting to hit something, to scream at the top of my lungs! “Stop doing that!” I yell.

“What?”

“Turning everything back on me!” Spinning around on my heel, I stomp over to the opposite corner and sit down on a small crate, my back facing Dela. I pull a croissant from my pocket and begin tearing it apart with my teeth in the most unladylike fashion.

As I eat, I hear Dela sniff at the air once, twice, three times. “What is that glorious smell?” She turns in a full circle before her icy blue stare finally settles on me. “You brazen dingbat! You had food all this time! The nerve of you!” She stomps up behind me and I swivel into a standing position. Her mouth gapes open in astonishment. “You must give me some, El!”

“I mustn’t do anything.”

“El!” She shrieks in exasperation and makes for the croissant in my hand. I dodge her, holding it above my head.

“You don’t deserve any!”

She jumps up, swinging her arms wildly, but I hold it just out of reach.

“You’re impossible!” she yells. “Just give me a piece! I am starving!”

Just as I am about to retort, a loud bang echoes outside the cargo room, followed by a mix of deep voices. We both look to the door and back at each other. Dela’s eyes widen with fear, a mirror image of my own.

“Now you’ve done it,” I hiss.

“Me? What about you?”

“Would you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“That!” I whisper-yell. “Stop it!”

The voices grow louder as they come closer, and we freeze. Just like before, a small group of men stands just beyond the door. Panic swarms through my brain like a horde of wasps. They buzz against my skull, hampering my ability to think straight. A closed door can only do so much. Last time, we were lucky. It stayed closed. Our secrets remained safe. This time, however, I fear our luck may change.

“Are you sure—?” a voice starts, but is hastily interrupted.

“I am telling you, sir. It sounded like screaming. An argument, maybe.”

“All right, thank you, gentlemen. Please, return to your chess game and I’ll have a look-see.”

Retreating footsteps overpower the one pair of footsteps looming closer to the door—to us. I push Dela back behind a crate and make to hide myself. A fan of light widens across the floor as the door is pushed open. It casts over my shoe, and then my pant-leg, and before I know it my entire body is glowing with the light from the hall. I become rigid. There is no chance for me now. I turn towards the door.

“Hello? Who is there?” the man calls. On cue, I collapse to my knees and break out in sobs.

The man shuffles over to my side and bends down to my level.

“Are you all right, lad? What are you doing in here?”

I shake my head, making sure not to move so much that my hair might fall down. “I have just proposed to the love of my life,” I tell him in a deep voice, keeping my face buried in my hands, “but her parents will not allow it.”

I take a peek at the man. His forehead is creased with concern, even his mustache seeming to frown in sympathy. “Dear me,” he sighs.

“I just wanted a place to be alone. I am terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you,” I whisper, wiping at my nose.

The man helps me to my feet, and I thank him. “Is there anyone I can take you back to?”

I pause. I had not foreseen this fault in my plan. Who can you take me to? How about my father? My mother? Can you take me to them? You would all get along so well. Them with their Marks and you with your hateful, ignorant nature. No? What a shame.

“Mr. Adam Laurence,” I say.
What are you doing, El?
Without thinking, the name had popped out, now hanging there, out in the open. “He is a good friend.”

“Very well. Mr. Laurence is a good man.”

I can only nod in response as he leads me through the door. A glance over my shoulder reveals Dela’s bright blue eyes, glowing in the blackness. They ask me a million questions I can only answer with a careful expression, telling her to sit tight, that I will be back. I make sure to drop the rolls from my pockets on my way out.
At least now I know she is fed,
I think, before stepping out into the hall, following behind the gentleman who thinks I am a boy, who thinks I am a passenger, who thinks I am like him.

What an ignorant fool.

The man makes pleasantries as we walk. I do not make a sound, simply nod and smile. Every few minutes, I wipe at a forced tear or sniffle. If we were not in the midst of a war, and it wasn’t so tremendously frowned upon by my mother, I would make a splendid actress. He continues the one-sided conversation, telling me I seem like a fine man and that he cannot fathom why anyone would not want me as a son-in-law.

Maybe it is because I am not a boy,
I think.
Or it may have something to do with the violet Mark on my left wrist. Oh, wait, I know! It is because my nonexistent powers frighten them! Yes, that must be why my fictitious parents-in-law-to-be will not consent my elopement with their imaginary daughter!

Stupid, ignorant fool! His lack of knowledge irks me. He should know that I had to leave my mother and father behind. He should know that I have no way of feeding the only family I have left, and that I finally deserve the title of “criminal” so casually thrown around by the Radicals. He should know that I am hated for the powers I do not possess. He should know that I am a girl. He should know all of these things! But they are my burden and mine alone. The price of secrets.

“I am sure the girl’s parents will find reason within time. You merely must be patient,” he continues.

“Yes,” I say. “I will do just that.”

He smiles, teeth and lips jutting out from beneath that bushy mass. “There’s a good lad!” He pats me on the back; I stare at him accusingly before realizing he has done nothing wrong. I am, after all, a boy. A strong, brave boy who can easily handle a firm pat on the back. Right?

We turn into Mr. Laurence’s hall and the seed of fear implanted in my chest begins to blossom. What if he chooses not to help me again? After the way I treated him, I would not be surprised.

“Well, here we are,” the man states, pausing before the door. He raps his knuckles against the wood finishing.

The moment of truth. Suddenly, the door swings inwards. A man appears in the doorway. I strain my neck to look at him; thin mustache, chiseled chin—everything you’d expect in a footman. Towering over the man and me by a good ten inches or so, the footman wears the proper white tie and tails with brass buttons stamped with the family crest. He greets us with minimal words and turns from the door, looking at someone hidden from our view.

“Call for Mr. Laurence, sir,” he says. His voice is husky, laced with boredom and deference. “Just a moment!” A man’s voice inside the room. The empty doorway is replaced with the smooth countenance of Mr. Laurence as his footman steps to the side. He looks to me with a smile. If he is surprised to see me, he does not show it.

Looking back to the servant, he says, “Thank you, John. You may return to your duties.”

With a short bow, the footman departs. Mr. Laurence watches him as he goes, as though waiting for him to falter, before returning that mischievous smile of his to me.

“How may I help you?”

The man puts a hand behind my back, pushing me forward. I gasp, having forgotten he was there. “Found this lad here in the cargo room. He claims he knows you.”

“Ah,” Mr. Laurence says, “yes, indeed. We are good friends from school.” I feel myself release a breath I had not realized I was holding. He turns to me. “But what were you doing in the cargo room, Mr. Hamilton?”

I pause. “Miss Dela’s parents will not allow our marriage. I simply wished to be alone,” I lie.

A smirk begins to cross his face, but he covers it with ease. In an instant, his eyes widen in shock and his jaw drops in sympathy.
Oh, he is good.

“They will not consent? You must be joking! A strong,
masculine
man, such as you?” I scowl, his joke not lost on me. His mouth twitches, a smile hiding just beneath the surface. “They are both fools!”

“Precisely what I said!” the man adds. We both look at him and he takes the hint. Clearing his throat, he says, “Well, I must be getting back to work. Happy to be of service. Good luck with your lady, Mr. Hamilton.” I nod in thanks. He tips his hat to us. “Good day.”

“Good day,” we echo. Once he has turned the corner, I finally look to Mr. Laurence. His smirk fills his face with light, those green eyes smoldering with amusement. He leans against the doorjamb, his arms folded before him. Not saying a word, he stares at me.

“What?” I finally ask, annoyed.

He shakes his head and begins to clap. “Bravo!”

“Oh, make quiet,” I say, and playfully hit him in the arm.

He gasps. “Did Little-Miss-Proper-Young-Lady just tell
me
to ‘make quiet’?”

“Yes, she did, and she meant it,” I say, suppressing the urge to smile.

“Honestly, you put on a good show.” He laughs. “Care to explain?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“What a shame for you then,” he says, before grabbing my arm, just as he had done before, and swinging me inside. I collapse to the same pink chaise. He closes the door and leans back against it, crossing his arms. A feeling of déjà vu passes through me. The footman hurries into the bedroom. Honestly, just how many girls does Mr. Laurence bring here?

“What is going on, Vi?”

“Nothing,” I mumble. What can I tell him? Certainly not that I am one of the Others, one of the Marked. He already knows I am not who I pretend to be, but how much is too much of the truth?

“Why were you
really
in the cargo room?” he asks.

I do not answer, but rather stare at my hands in my lap.

Mr. Laurence sighs and sits down beside me. “I don’t know why I helped you this morning,” he says, “but I did. I could have handed you in, but I didn’t.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“You are like a mystery I cannot solve. The girl who dresses as a boy, steals food, lies, and for reasons still unknown, spends her time in the cargo room. What is her story?”

I meet his eyes. “You would not like this story.”

“Actually, mystery novels are precisely my cup of tea.” He grins.

A meek smile forms at the corner of my mouth before I can restrain it. “Perhaps, but not this one.”

“Well,” he says, “what is it about?” Mr. Laurence leans forward with his head cupped in his hands, his elbows balanced upon his knees. His head tilts up towards me, vibrant green waiting patiently to absorb my tale from underneath the dark fringe of his eyelashes.

Standing up, I begin to pace.
You cannot tell him anything, El! Keep your mouth shut!

“A lying thief who pretends to be a boy, just as you said.”

“And why does this lying thief who pretends to be a boy spend her time in the cargo room?” he asks. His gaze fixates on me, honest and true.

I smile and slowly back towards the door. “I suppose you will just have to buy the book,” I say, and slip out into the hall.

I feel as though I might throw up, but it has nothing to do with being on the ship. It is the feeling that accompanies a lie, a feeling I have come to know all too well. How can I continue to lie to him again and again? Eventually, he will learn the truth and hate me forever.

“What do I care if Mr. Laurence hates me?” I ask no one in particular.
Stop it, El. It does not matter anyway
, I tell myself.
The ship will be docking in a week and I will never have to lie to him again.