vinegar.
“What do you want to do with your life?” Sean asks me unexpectedly. We’re on the bus. I can see the ocean as we rattle down the road. It’s a bluish gray, sparkling in the pale sunlight.
I have the answer ready, slotted in place in my memory. “I’m going to study archaeology,” I say. “My other’s father, Neil, is a historian, and she really loves that kind of thing. We could be the next Indiana Jones.”
“No,” says Sean. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m not supposed to think about that,” I say flatly.
“I’m asking.”
“I don’t really know,” I admit, “but I like not knowing. I could go to university when I’m eighteen, maybe, study art. I think I’d like that.”
It’s a nice thing to dream of. I look out at the sea and the sky, and then I look the other way at the passing street. And though I try not to, I see the laughing teenagers, the mothers and children, the families outside the restaurants and the pubs, and I think of how different I am from every single one of them.
Sean carefully touches my hand. I try to smile, and it’s easy to do with the sun in my eyes and the salty sea air blowing around us.
When we get there, the zoo is beautiful. Filled with brightly colored signs and little stalls and animals from the far-flung places of the world, it’s everything I ever imagined it would be. Sean has been here before, but he lets me take the lead and drag him every which way as signs and animals catch my eye. Many of the cages and enclosures have big signs with names on them: a chimpanzee is called Molly; a python is called Eduardo; the hippos are Daisy, Ju-ju, and Tom. Sean and I laugh over some of the names. He can’t believe anyone would name a hippo Tom.
“Clear lack of imagination, that,” he complains.
I try to remember the last time I was this excited, but the memory eludes me. Memories never elude me. Maybe this is the most excited I’ve ever been.
But I’m careful. I keep my eyes open; I glance over my shoulder. Once, I catch Sean with a tiny frown between his eyebrows, searching the crowds as though worried someone might be watching us. I let myself enjoy every minute, but the Weavers stay in the back of my mind. I can’t forget that I’m not like the happy, chattering crowds. I check my hair, making sure my Mark is covered.
“There,” says Sean, as we stop in front of a large enclosure. “That’s what I really wanted to show you.”
The elephants.
“Mina told me Amarra went to the zoo for the first time when she was seven,” he says, “and she wrote in the pages about seeing the elephants, but she didn’t put a picture in. And you cried and said you wanted to see them too.”
There’s a lump in my throat. “I can’t believe you know about that.”
“I know a lot of things,” he says. “You’re their favorite thing to talk about. Mina and Erik, I mean. You’re everything to them, you know.”
I wipe my eyes and watch the elephants. There are three adults and a couple of smaller ones nuzzling up to their mothers. They look happy, like they’re enjoying being out there in the sun with the grass to nibble on. One of the elephants uproots a tuft of grass with its trunk and dumps the grass and dirt on its back. They’re so beautiful.
I glance to the right and see a sixth elephant. This one is very young, smaller than the others, and seems to be in a separate enclosure. The sign at the front says she’s Eva.
“Why is she on her own?” I ask indignantly. “Won’t she be lonely?”
“Does seem weird, doesn’t it? There’s someone in a uniform right there. I’ll ask him.”
I watch Eva the elephant. She has a restless energy. She stomps at the grass beneath her feet, kicking up small mounds of dirt and soil. Occasionally she glances at the other elephants, and I imagine her expression is wistful. Then she lets out a defiant trumpeting sound and turns her back on them. I want to stroke her trunk, the short, bristly