Page 97 of Wilde's End
Her eyes narrow a little, but she doesn’t run off. I’ve never had much experience with twelve-year-olds, but I would have expected one as sheltered as her to be a lot more skittish than she is.
“Want me to grab my parents?”
“Actually …” I walk closer but keep a safe distance between us, conscious that while we’ve met, she doesn’t actually know me. “I came to see you.”
“Me?”
I nod, wishing I could turn around and leave this stupid idea behind me, but all it takes is the memory of Wilde saying he has a favorite pair of jeans to keep my feet planted to the ground. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Okay?”
“I broke something of Wilde’s. A vase. Pot. Thing.”
“Not following.”
“He said you gave it to him, and he was really upset that I wrecked it.”
She moves the bowl to the other hand as she thinks. “Wait, the clay bowl I made him when I was little?”
I don’t point out that she’s still little. “Yep. It was one of his favorite things.”
Shock fills her features. “It was?”
“Yeah, so I was hoping … could you make another one?”
She thinks for a moment. “No.”
“Oh.” I try to hide how my hopes crash out.
“Wecan.”
“We?”
“Yeah. Mom said Wilde was showing you around the other day because he wanted to stop you selling off Old End. Like if you knew us, it would soften you to us.”
“I assumed as much.”
“I don’t think it will work though.”
“You don’t?”
She shakes her head, long brown hair spilling over her shoulders. “An outsider will never understand what it’s like to livehere, but you can be taught the basics, and in Wilde’s End, if you want something, you work for it. Every Wender knows that.”
“If I make the pot—uh,bowl—you’ll help me?”
“Sure. And if you’re lucky, it might look as good as the one that you smashed.”
“You think I can’t do better than a six-year-old?”
“No way, man. You’re a city boy through and through. I’ll run these into the house and let Mom know where I’m going.”
“She won’t care that you’re walking off with a stranger?”
“Oh, no, I’ll be bringing my hunting gun. But I can handle myself.”
Given I think Gracie might be more mature than I’ve ever been, I don’t doubt it.
Wilde pulls out of me and flops onto his back on the mattress, trying to hide the way he stretches out his leg. My hole has taken a beating this week, and while it probably needs a few days to recover, I have absolutely no complaints.
