The Evolution of Mara Dyer (37 page)

I grinned—couldn’t help it. “There is that. So,” I said, glad to not have to talk about my fraudulent reason for being here, “what did I do this time?”

“Interesting choice of words,” Jamie said, and looked over his shoulder at the doorway. I followed the line of his gaze, and saw—

Noah.

Here.

He stood about twelve feet away, his gray T-shirt damp
and clinging to his lean, muscular frame, droplets of rain falling from his guitar case onto the pristine tile floor.

When Noah met my eyes, I was without words.

He turned away. “Where should I put this?” he asked Barney, lifting the case slightly.

“This way,” Barney said. “I’ll show you your room.”

And then Noah walked right past me. Like I wasn’t even there.

I sat catatonically in the lounge. Seats filled up and good old Brooke sat down opposite me, her bangles jingling with every gesture. She straightened her head wrap and said, “We’ll be starting in five minutes, guys. If you want to get a drink of water or make a quick bathroom run, now’s the time.” Then she leaned forward to say a gentle hello to me and patted my arm with a pitying look before leaving to fetch some water herself.

Then Noah walked in. He ran his fingers through his still-wet hair and sat nowhere near me, his long legs languidly stretched out in front of him as he slouched in a too-small plastic chair. He didn’t say a word—to me, or anyone else. He seemed—different.

I studied him, trying to figure out why. He looked perfectly imperfect in destroyed jeans and a vintage T-shirt, his hair a beautiful mess above his unreadable face. Everything about him was the same, except—

His necklace. It was gone.

I rubbed my eyes. Noah was still there when I opened them.

Jamie acknowledged him. Barney did too. That normally would have been enough to convince me that he was real.

But when everyone tells you you’re crazy and no one believes you when you swear you aren’t, a small part of you will always wonder if they’re right.

So when Stella stood to get a drink, I stood with her. “Hey,” I said.

She brushed the hair back from her olive skin as she pulled the tap on the water cooler. “Hi.”

What
is
the appropriate way to ask someone if you’re hallucinating the appearance of your boyfriend in your glorified mental hospital?

“Do you see that guy over there?” I asked, nodding slightly at Noah, who had now crossed his arms behind his head.

Stella wound a curl around her finger as she looked back and forth, from him to me. “The hot one?”

That would be him, yes. “Yeah,” I said.

Her full lips split into a smile. “The really,
really
hot one?”

Indeed. I looked over at him, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “Yes.”

Stella looked, too. “Tall, with dark brown,
perfect
hair.” Someone said something to Noah, provoking an arrogant grin. “Unbelievable smile,” Stella said as he looked in our direction. “Blue eyes?”

“Yes,” I said, still staring at the inexpressibly gorgeous boy who told me he loved me a few days ago, and who didn’t acknowledge me now.

“Yeah, I see him,” Stella said, and took a sip of water. “I’m not sure I’d mind seeing more of him. Wait,” she said, cocking her head at me. “Do you
know
him?”

I considered my answer. Can you ever really know someone? “I don’t know,” I said.

She peered at me, then sat back down. I did too, still dazed. Jamie dropped down in the chair next to me and poked me in the arm.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing it.

“Oh, good, you’re alive. I was afraid I’d have to do CPR.” He cut his eyes at me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were surprised by this development.”

It took a monumental effort to answer Jamie when I still couldn’t take my eyes off of Noah. I thought I wouldn’t see him for months. That I’d have to wait to tell him what Jude did and about Lukumi in my hospital room and about the footage from Claire’s camera that Jude had left for me.

But now Noah was here. I wouldn’t have to wait at all, and I could have cried with relief.

“Surprised,” I finally said. “Yes.”

“As if you didn’t know he was joining us on the island of misfit children?”

“What?” I tore my eyes from Noah and met Jamie’s. “I didn’t.”

“Right,” Jamie said. “They’re making me room with him, Mara. I hate you.”

“You think
I
did this?”

“Please.” Jamie shot me a withering look. “As if he could resist a damsel in distress.”

“I didn’t tell him to come,” I said, but I had never been happier to see him in my life. “And before you complain about
your
roommate, I was informed by Mr. Robins that
I
have to sleep in the same room as
Phoebe
.”

Jamie looked appropriately horrified.

“Yeah,” I said. I complained about it immediately, of course, but was told I’d have to take it up with Dr. Kells. And she wasn’t at the retreat today—she only came a few times a week, they told me, to supervise the residential staff. So until I saw her again, I was stuck.

Brooke clapped her hands. “All right, everyone back? Great! Well, it looks like we have another new member of the Horizons family, everybody! Let’s give a big welcome to Noah Shaw.”

“Hi, Noah,” everyone said in chorus.

“Noah’s here for the retreat this weekend, to see if it suits. Why don’t you tell everyone about yourself, Noah?”

“I was born in London,” he said with complete disinterest. “My parents moved here from England two years ago.”

My mouth parted.

“I don’t have a favorite color, though I strongly dislike yellow.”

Unbelievable.

“I play the guitar, love dogs, and hate Florida.”

And then Noah finally met my eyes. I was expecting a trademark half-smile, but when he looked at me his eyes were empty. My heart cracked.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Noah. Would you feel comfortable telling us why you’re here?”

He grinned, but there was no warmth in it. “I’ve been told that I have an anger management problem.”

Everyone shared their fake feelings for an hour, and then we broke for lunch. Noah caught up with me in the hallway. He looked down at me.

He looked broken.

“You’re a hard girl to get a hold of,” he said quietly.

I barked out a laugh, but Noah covered my mouth with a gentle hand.

My lids dropped at his touch. I could
feel
him. He was real.

All I wanted in the world was to hold him and be held. But when I lifted my hands to his waist he said, “Don’t.”

I blinked, and then I thought I might cry, and Noah must have seen it because he rushed to speak. “They don’t know we’re together. If they find out, they’ll take care to separate us and I won’t be able to bear that.”

I nodded beneath his hand and he lifted it, looking over his shoulder. The hallway was clear, but who knew for how long?

“How did you get in?” I asked.

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “It’s a long story that involves copious quantities of alcohol and Lolita.”

My brows knitted in confusion. “The book?”

“The whale.”

He made me smile, despite everything. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he said tonelessly. He avoided my eyes.

Something was wrong. I wanted to ask what it was, but I was nervous so I asked where his necklace was instead.

Noah sighed. “I had to take it off during that delightful near-strip search they offer here. Hermencia quite enjoyed it, I think. I’ll be sending her a bill.”

I smiled again, but Noah didn’t. I didn’t know what had changed or why, but I needed to. Even if I might not like the answer. “What happened?” I asked him.

He lifted my hand, my wrist, and held it out in answer.

“They think I tried to kill myself,” I said.

Noah closed his eyes. For the first time ever, he looked like he was in pain.

“Do you?” I asked him.

The muscles in his throat worked. “No,” he said. “I saw—I saw everything. I saw Jude.”

When he opened his eyes, his expression was vacant again. A smooth, unreadable mask. I was reminded of a different conversation we shared under very different circumstances:

“And what if something happens and you’re not there?”
I had asked him, miserable and guilty and horrified after we returned from the zoo.

“I’ll be there,”
Noah had said, his voice clear and sure.

“But what if you’re not?”

“Then it would be my fault.”

Was that what this was? I looked up at him now and shook my head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Actually,” he said with unparalleled bitterness, “it is.”

But before Noah could say anything else, a counselor interrupted us, and we were ushered away.

57

W
E HAD NO TIME ALONE THE
rest of the day. Noah was shuttled from pointless thing to pointless thing with Adam, Stella, Megan and the other temporaries as I was left to endure more talk therapy and generally languish in solitude. I met a few permanents, who didn’t seem obviously disturbed. Not as bad as Phoebe, anyway, by a long shot.

When we finally sat down for dinner, I dropped down into a seat across from Noah. A few boys I didn’t know well shared the table, but they weren’t too close.

I was desperate to talk to him. I had so much I wanted to say.

He was so close, but too far away to touch. My fingertips ached with the need to feel him, solid and warm and real under my hands.

I said his name, but Noah gave a single shake of his head. I bit my lip. I could scream from frustration and I wanted to. I felt like I was drifting and needed him to tether me to the earth.

But then he scribbled something on a napkin with a crayon—he must have stolen it from the art studio they had here—and handed it to me.

I glanced up, then around, then down at the message as discreetly as I could.

Music studio. 1 a.m.

“But—” I whispered.

Trust me,
Noah mouthed.

I did.

I wished the sunlight away as I finished dinner that evening across from a silent, unusually sullen Stella. She picked at her food and every now and then, her eyes would sweep the room. When I asked her what was wrong she excused herself, leaving me alone.

I couldn’t wait for night to fall and I gazed out the thick, distorted windows at every opportunity. The darkness nipped at the heels of the sunset, waiting to swallow it.

The sounds of silverware clinking against ceramic dishes died away as the sun sank below the horizon. Counselor
Wayne came around with everyone’s evening meds in tiny little paper cups, just like in Miami.

Stella swallowed hers in front of me, her white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. I glanced up and saw Jamie, who downed the contents of his makeshift shot glass too. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and Wayne moved on.

Then it was my turn. There were two additional pills inside my cup today. Oval and blue.

“You know the drill, Mara,” Wayne said.

I did. But I couldn’t have been more unenthused about taking them. What if they made me tired? My eyes flicked up, trying to find Noah in the small sea of faces in the dining room. He wasn’t there.

“Mara,” Wayne said, warmly but with a touch of impatience.

Damn it. I took the cup in my hands and swallowed the pills, chasing them with a gulp of water.

“Open,” he said.

I opened my mouth and showed him my tongue.

Wayne smiled and moved on to the next person. I grudgingly stood and brought my dishes over to the counter, then followed the line of girls walking down the hallway to their respective rooms. I grabbed my little tote with my shampoo and soap in it, helpfully packed by my mother as if she’d sent me off to summer camp, and headed to the girls’ bathroom for a shower. There were stalls, thankfully, but we
had to avail ourselves of the spa-like bathroom in groups or pairs. My other half was Phoebe, of course. At that point, I was too used to my life sucking to care.

When I finished, my limbs felt weak with exhaustion and I almost dropped my towel before slipping on my robe. I managed not to embarrass myself, barely, then followed Phoebe’s stupid steps out of the bathroom and back down the hall. She opened the door to our unadorned white room, occupied by a pair of identical white twin beds. Phoebe sat on one at the far end of the room, leaving me the bed closest to the door.

Perfect.

Phoebe was quiet. She hadn’t said anything to me all day, in fact, and I counted myself fortunate. She watched me for a minute, then stood and turned out the main light while I rummaged in my recently-filled dresser for something to wear to bed, even though I had no plans to sleep. I shot her an annoyed look, which she either didn’t notice or ignored. Then she slipped under her covers and I changed and slipped under mine.

Each room had a schoolhouse clock positioned on the wall between both of the beds. Ours read ten o’clock, then ten thirty, then eleven. The seconds ticked away as I listened to Phoebe snore.