“She finds coincidence in everything,” Aidan says. “So here’s my ‘co-inky-dink.’ I figure I own nineteen of those miles, so for my nineteen there won’t be any voodoo talk.”
“That, on the other hand, is highly predictable from you—not a coincidence. But fair enough,” I answer. “We each get our own nineteen miles to rule the—”
Mira claps her hands. “Road Trip! Simple and to the point, don’t you think?”
“Fine, Mira,” I say, and then over my shoulder, “And by the way, Aidan, the first nineteen miles are mine.”
Seth looks at me for a moment, a moment longer than he should, then starts the car. I wonder what message he was trying to send, because there was definitely purpose to his sideways glance. Does he thinks I’m as crazy as Aidan does?
I don’t obsess about numbers or coincidence. In fact, math is my poorest subject. And I’m not a savant, if that’s what Seth is thinking. It’s just that I have vast opportunity to think of such things, and I do. It sustains me. It has since two boarding schools ago. I arrived at Parton Manor when I was twelve. It was in Georgia and was supposed to have a calming effect on me. I had finally started talking after years of refusing to do so, and the things I had to say weren’t considered proper parlor talk. What did they expect? But I would learn manners at Parton Manor, everyone was assured. And I suppose I did.
Or maybe that is when I learned that invisibility is a much less tiring way to get through the day. It means not talking too much or, more importantly, too little. Because too little talk frightens people and prompts questions. They’re afraid of what goes on in a silent mind.
As maybe they should be.
7
HEADING NORTH, THE HILLS DIP GENTLY. The lightness in my chest grows, and I imagine that the wind streaming through the car is streaming through me as well, blowing away unthinkable things. The October air is unseasonably warm, no hint of frost, though the birch, sweet gum, and maple have already burst into crimson and gold. The world before us is a postcard, and I imagine the story we are writing on it.
“A game!”
I knew the silence wouldn’t last. It is not within Mira’s power.
“A road trip always has games! What shall we play?”
No one answers, hoping she will tangle herself in her own thoughts for a while longer. But we’ve all eaten breakfast with Mira enough times to know that silence isn’t her strength. She is the one always patting out all the wrinkles between us.
“I know,” she says. “An icebreaker!”
“I know everyone here, Mira,” Aidan says. “I don’t need to break ice.”
“But this one is about knowing more! We all need to share one thing about ourselves that no one else knows. I’ll go first.”
Seth glances at me, doubtful. Of the game or me? I t
urn, sitting sideways in my seat, and look at Mira. She is concentrating, gazing into the sky, searching for the perfect nugget to share. I hope she makes it a good one, because it will have to count for mine too. I have no intention of sharing anything.
“All right,” she says, “but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Ever.” Her cheeks tinge pink, and Aidan sits up straighter. He has taken a sudden interest in this game.
“Promise,” he says, prompting her.
“Go,” Seth adds, looking in the rearview mirror, his curiosity obviously piqued as well.
She takes a deep breath. “On my right foot, two of my toes are webbed.”
“You mean like a duck?” Aidan asks.
The pink in Mira’s cheeks deepens to scarlet, and I marvel at her need to reveal something so private. Does she think it is like pricking our fingers and rubbing them together so we’ll be forever bonded?
“That’s amazing,” Seth says. His voice is enthusiastic, with no hint of revulsion, and I wonder if he is briefly stepping into Mira’s role to smooth out her embarrassment.
“Can we see?” Aidan asks.
Mira gingerly shrugs and pulls off her right shoe and sock. She raises her foot to the back of our seat and spreads her toes. A small flap of milky skin connects her small toe with the next.
Aidan’s eyes widen and he seems genuinely impressed. “Excellent swimmer, I bet.” His voice is not mocking, but reassuring. Mira smiles and replaces her sock and shoe.
“My secret isn’t that amazing,” Aidan offers. “But nobody knows it—except for my parents.”