In Tegan’s place, I would’ve fought until I died. Nobody would’ve touched me while I still drew breath, so there wouldn’t have been any unborn brats to lose … yet I would’ve died. Her path of quieter resistance led to survival through suffering. Tegan wasn’t a Huntress, so according to enclave rules, she would’ve likely been a Breeder if we’d found her, because as Stalker had judged, she had no skills and no visible defects. Yet in the enclave, Breeders didn’t fight their roles.
Tegan had. That meant her mother had taught her that she didn’t have to bear young for the benefit of the group. Such freedom seemed foreign … and irresponsible. Down below, no one ever hinted that my own desires could be more important than the good of the whole. But that didn’t make Tegan mistaken; it meant the Wolves punished her. And that, I did believe, was wrong. So far as I could tell, nobody had invented the perfect system, and it was awful to hurt people who disagreed with you. That enclave had done it too. The Wolves should have turned Tegan loose when they realized she wouldn’t conform.
“You’re quiet,” she said, breaking my thoughts.
“Just thinking.”
Her eyes widened. “Sounds serious.”
“Nothing I want to talk about,” I answered, figuring she didn’t either.
Maybe she read the truth in my face because she accepted it without question; Tegan broached another subject instead. “I know you think the other girls are dumb, but you might like them if you gave them a chance.”
I couldn’t imagine that being the case, but I agreed because it would please her. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
Unfortunately, that concession opened the door to something else. Tegan’s brown eyes brightened and sparkled. “Justine is having a birthday party today, and I asked if I could invite you.”
I recollected that Justine was a girl who loved making sport of me when I read during class—and she often sent boys to harass me at school—so this was the last thing I wanted to do, but Tegan seemed set on the idea. She’d trusted me enough to follow me out into the wilderness, though, so I could attend this party for her.
“What’s a birthday?” I asked.
Tegan blinked at me. “The day you were born. You celebrate and people give you gifts. When my mom was alive, she threw a little party for me.”
That idea seemed outlandish. “Why would people give you presents for something that was none of your doing?”
It wasn’t like earning a name. I’d gotten gifts on my naming day because I survived for fifteen years, long enough to deserve them. That, I understood. This tradition made no sense at all.
“Because they care about you,” Tegan said, seeming to realize I wasn’t joking.
“But every single year?”
“Of course.” She fought a smile.
I tried to wrap my head around it. “Maybe it’s for surviving that long?” That seemed almost logical.
“That’s … one way of looking at it.”
“I’ll be expected to bring something?” Comprehension of a custom wasn’t necessary for participation. Since this would make Tegan happy, it was a small thing.
Tegan nodded. “That would be polite.”
“All right. When?”
“This afternoon, I’ll come by for you. It’ll be so much fun. I didn’t think life could be this good again.” She was so happy, glowing, from the prospect of this party.
I wished I could ask for my club back, as she’d never use it again, but that went against all the rules of generosity. Maybe I could make another one. There was enough wood up here, for sure.
Shortly thereafter, Tegan left, and I went in search of Momma Oaks. She would know what a girl like Justine wanted. As it turned out, she did; and she went with me to the shop to help me make a good purchase. In the end, I took away some ribbons for Justine’s hair. It was nothing I’d want, but my foster mother seemed convinced the girl would like them.
“It does me good to see you making friends and settling in,” she said.
This was Tegan’s doing, not mine, but I let the mistaken impression stand. “This is all pretty new.”
“You’re doing fine. And I’m proud of your place on the summer patrol.” As we walked, I noticed sidelong glances and women whispering. “But not everyone feels the same. I want you to be careful.”
I took a second look at the ladies paying me too much attention, and I agreed; those weren’t approving stares. This wasn’t news, since their judgment had been present from the first, but the awareness seemed angrier now. Frowns followed us along the main street, leaving me with the fear that doing what pleased me best might cause trouble for people who had been kind to me. Maybe if I tried to fit in and made the daughters like me, their mothers would care less that I held a position traditionally occupied by men.
It almost killed me to ask, “Do you want me to quit?”
“No,” Momma Oaks said sharply. “I don’t believe that superstitious nonsense, even if it’s part of the town charter.”
She’d lost me. “What do you mean?”
“About how the pride plagues were drawn down. That women must stay to women’s work, or heaven will smite us again.”
“Really?” I didn’t know what I found harder to credit—that such nonsense had been written down or that people in Salvation believed it.
With the increased Freak activity, which Longshot had said was unnatural, it wouldn’t take much for these people to start blaming me for their misfortune. Whether there was any truth to it or not, I accepted that flaw in human nature. Topside or down below, they always needed someone to blame. We walked home in silence, her distracted, me contemplative, and as we came in the door, Momma Oaks suggested a few improvements to my appearance.
To please my foster mother, I let her twist my hair. She used a bowl of water and strips of rag; and left them in for several hours, during which time I wrestled with the mending. In comparison to needlework, the outing sounded better all the time.
“Are you excited about going to Justine’s house?” she asked as we worked.
“Not really.” Lying went against my natural grain.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t fit in with them. They giggle when I’m reading at school because I’m so old but I do worse than girls half my age.”
Yet for Tegan, I’d go. I’d try to make people like me, using an ability other than stabbing monsters with my knives. If that wasn’t a mark of true friendship, I couldn’t imagine what one might be.
Momma Oaks leveled a steady look on me. “Well, her dad’s an important man, practically runs the whole town. So it’ll help if Justine likes you.” She set aside the skirt with the ripped hem. “It’s time for me to finish your hair.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered.
Against my better judgment, she pinned a knot of curls on top of my head, letting the rest spill down my back. I felt ridiculous … and if there was trouble, I assuredly couldn’t fight. This time, I left off the trousers and knives off beneath my skirt, though I felt nak*d with the fabric swishing against my bare legs.
Tegan returned that afternoon, and she clapped her hands when she saw me. “You look perfect!”
After a short farewell, I took the small birthday parcel and followed Tegan out into town. I had no idea where we were going, but it didn’t matter. She chattered about how much I was going to like everyone, once they had a chance to get to know me. I wasn’t so sure, but I was willing to put forth the effort if acquiring a slew of female friends could offset the possible trouble from my place in the summer patrols.
“Justine,” Tegan called. “You remember Deuce from school?”
Justine Bigwater was a pretty girl with a round face, wide blue eyes, and a crop of sunny curls. When she smiled, as she was doing now, she developed dimples in each cheek. She looked sweet, but the expression in her eyes made me want to take a step back, mostly because it reminded me of Silk’s, just before she set down some awful punishment. But then the look vanished in the wake of simple delight, so maybe I was just nervous. I handed over her package with a mumbled wish for happiness on her birthday, and she took my present to set it with the others.
The Bigwater family was important—or so Momma Oaks had given me to understand. If I’d interpreted her words right, her father was Whitewall’s equivalent; he had been the chief elder down below. So if I wanted to stay in Bigwater’s good graces, I couldn’t afford to offend Justine.
Justine’s yard had been transformed for the gathering, set with tables and chairs and bright colored streamers. A man I knew by sight but not name played a lively tune on his pipe while girls chattered in knots of two and three. Feeling wholly out of place, I stuck close to Tegan, knowing it didn’t matter at all here how good I was with my knives. Here, only talking mattered, and I’d never been the best at that. She led me to a group of our classmates, all strangers. Small of me, maybe, but I hadn’t bothered getting to know people who chortled while I read.
Fortunately—and I suspected by design—Tegan greeted them one by one, using their names, and I made a note of who they were. The tall one, Hannah, smiled at me. “I see you eating all the time with that scarred boy. Is he sparking you?”
Uncertainty welled up. I didn’t know that word. If Fade was here, I’d look to him for clarification, but I preferred not to reveal my ignorance to girls I hardly knew.
Tegan answered for me, her voice sharp. “Deuce has better taste than that.”
Which made me bristle on Stalker’s behalf. I felt pulled in three directions, and as if I would wind up being disloyal, no matter whose side I chose. I understood why she hated him, but it was hard for me to blame him when he hadn’t been taught otherwise. The things I’d done on the elders’ orders filled me with hot shame now. I had killed an innocent man as a test of loyalty, and I’d let them murder a brat in cold blood. My own hands weren’t clean. Maybe Tegan’s were; and she’d never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t help what I’d done before I learned it was wrong. I could only do better in the future. And the same held true for Stalker, whether anybody else believed it or not. Whether he could rise above the person he’d been in the gangs, well, that rested squarely in his own hands.
Tegan had asked me not to tell anyone what she went through. These shallow girls would think she was damaged, unclean, and that was their mistake. What she had survived made her stronger, far tougher than they could imagine. But I understood why she wanted to fit in and keep her secrets. I’d guard them with my life.
“He looks scary,” Merry said then. She was shorter than me with straight red hair and a mess of freckles.
I nodded. “He can be.”
“I heard you gave my brother, Frank, a whipping.” That came from a girl who had just walked up. I recognized her because she looked like Frank, dark haired and slim, but we’d never spoken before. She giggled. “I wish I could have been there to see it. I’m sure he had it coming.”