Page 36 of By the Orchid and the Owl
The rest of that first week passed by in a blur. We learned about the effects of farming in History, helped estuary otters line their dens with leaves in Predators & Prey, laid in the arboretum some more while Mrs. Wildenberg rambled about the meaning of different tunes, and tried to direct worms through mud mazes using different vibrations in our throats while Ms. Pincette frowned at us.
Jenia, Dazmine, and Fergus never looked our way a single time during any of those classes. Apparently, we heard through rippling whispers, they’d been spending each night in the sick bay next to the dining hall, where night medics tended to their ant bites—a relief for me, to not have to sleep five bunks down from Jenia.
An irrational part of me feared I’d wake up to her slitting my throat with my own knife still tucked firmly away under my bunk. The fire ants, after all, had marked her perfect face with oozing red bumps.
Despite the constant, loitering suspicion that I now needed to watch my back at all times, though, I felt a sense of… normalcy sink in. I ate every meal with Wren, Emelle, and Gileon. Rodhi mentioned Ms. Pincette’s stunning womanhood about once a day. And Lander stopped by every night to say hi.
A routine. That’s what I’d needed to feel at home, and that’s what was slowly developing now. Even if it had only been a week since I’d slept in a tree.
Finally, Friday night rolled around, which meant Coen’s next party. Lander said that he was going to play a game of pentaball with some of his friends, Wren was downstairs teaching Gileon how to swing a punch (we didn’t even ask), and Rodhi was off doing Rodhi things, so Emelle and I found ourselves alone together, contemplating which outfits to wear.
“I think I’m going for a skirt tonight,” Emelle said, pulling out a swath of black gauze. “Or should I wear a dress?”
“Hmm. I like the skirt.”
I laid out my own outfits from home, biting my lip at the stiffness of each of them. All I had were tunics and pants with collars and buttons and no flare. It had never bothered me until I’d arrived here and seen everyone else wearing so much… less.
Just for one night, I wanted to feel free in my own body.
Emelle glanced at my face.
“Do you want to wear my dress, then? It’s a little long for me anyway, but I think it would fit you perfectly. And I can help you refashion some of your own clothes this weekend.” I glanced back at her, surprised. “My mom is a seamstress,” she clarified. “A Shifter, if you can believe it or not. She grows or shrinks her fingers depending on what size she needs them to be in the moment. I used to help her all the time, even though I was slower at it.”
“I would… really like that, Emelle.” I smiled. “Thank you.”
Five minutes later, I stood in front of the bunkroom wall mirrors, discovering what I looked like in a dress for the first time.
My hair was tamer than usual, thanks to some curling gel Emelle had let me borrow and a fancy clip the shape of a heliconia that she had used to pin the top half of it back. Rather than wild, it merely looked… thick, with rippling waves flowing down to the small of my back. My eyes were outlined in smoky black, and my body—
I felt pleased and terrified at the same time, looking at my body.
Emelle’s dress hugged the swell of my breasts and the curve of my hips, flowing outward at my upper thighs. The neckline itself spilled halfway down my cleavage, where each side joined in a row of tiny, descending black pearls.
Pearls that reminded me of the pill I had swallowed five days ago.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing this?” I asked Emelle, gulping.
“I’mmorethan okay with it.” She cast me a sly look that I knew had everything to do with Coen’s cryptic words the other day. I’d refused to answer any of her questions about him, but she knew I was nervous about this party for a very particular reason. “You look beautiful.”
I turned to her, surveying her tight, form-fitting top and slitted skirt. “So do you. Okay, let’s go, I guess.”
We made our way downstairs, out onto Bascite Boulevard, and toward the Mind Manipulator mansion. There, lights flashed from all those little windows, and music, once again, pulsed against the gathering darkness. Up ahead, I could hear the shouts of Lander and his new Shifter friends as they played pentaball. Behind us, the shrieks and laughter of other parties joined the cacophony.
The birds, for once, were silent.
Reeling in a slow breath, I stepped up to the Mind Manipulator entrance, nodded at Emelle, and knocked.
CHAPTER
14
Awoman opened the door partway, breathless and stumbling.
“Sector?” she asked with a hiccup, only half her face visible through the crack.
“Whisperer,” I said.
“Okay.” She slammed the door shut.
