Body of Stars Laura Walter (chrome ebook reader .txt) 📖

there were a few like me—girls whose mothers, aunts, or older sisters became humanitarians to raise the funds for tuition—most of my classmates on the mountain didn’t come from the same universe as I did. They had grown up with nannies, housekeepers, and tutors. They played piano and violin, and they competed in horse shows and tennis matches. I had nothing in common with them—until I was taken, just the same as they were.

I’d once believed it was mostly disadvantaged girls who were abducted, but the shine of money and privilege on the mountain told me otherwise. Our ruin was our equalizer, at least for these few years. After graduating, we could return to work on the mountain as teachers one day if we wished, but the majority of girls scattered out into the world, buoyed by family money. The mountain experience was a singular moment in time, a period of wonder to remember fondly but never repeat.

My friends led me to the large rock that hulked in the shadows behind the dormitory. We called it our lodestar. Bettina and Alicia pushed me to sit on it while everyone circled me. They clutched snarled handfuls of twigs and grass and leaves that they raised high above their heads. When they opened their hands, everything rained down like confetti.

“On this day, on this rock and in this forest, it happened,” Alicia said. She brushed her palms together, releasing the last bits of grass and dust. “You were born.”

I turned my face to the sky. I thought of those who really were born on the mountain, the daughters in the nursery. They would grow up with this place inside of them. I thought, too, of the other girls out there who were marked to be taken, and how they didn’t know. How I could use what I’d learned to find a way to help them.

“I miss it here already,” I said, but the other girls weren’t listening. Instead they flowed around me, circling, whispering, laughing. As free and whole as they’d ever be.

Humanitarian Global Alliance for Women

DEPARTMENT OF AMBASSADOR MANAGEMENT

MEMORANDUM

TO: Paulette Morton, Ambassador 186C

FROM: Officer Young

PRIORITY: Urgent

STATUS: Confidential

SUBJECT: New Assignment

ABSTRACT: Assistance needed in nation where local law requires detainment and quarantine of juvenile girls predicted to contract communicable disease.

DUTIES:

Conduct outreach and therapy services for affected girls.

Arrange goodwill meetings with local officials.

Attempt educational intervention with authorities, if receptive.

Foster and maintain diplomatic relations with government representatives.

Complete fact-finding to determine local policy for adult women marked with comparable communicable disease predictions.

Contact your commanding officer directly via secure line for travel details and in-depth assignment narrative.

24

The journey home lasted four days and three nights on a train that coiled through the highlands. We clung to the sides of mountains, took dizzying sidewinder turns, and crossed bridges that soared above crystalline water. We went through tunnels, six of them—pitch-black shoots of space that stole time. I spent those days on the train half remembering, half dreaming. Expecting, at the train’s every jostle and heave, a spectacular crash.

When we at last pulled into the station in my hometown, my father was waiting for me on the platform. He was alone.

“Where’s Miles?” I asked as we performed a stiff hug.

“At Julia’s. He wants you to meet him there.” My father swung my suitcase into the car. “Come on home and get settled first. I’ll make you lunch.”

At home, our front lawn was transformed into a vegetable garden. Kale and lettuce, plus a jumble of what I’d later learn were onions, garlic, beans, and squash, grew in raised beds. Tomato cages filled the northwest corner. I clutched my backpack to my chest and studied the garden in silence.

“You did all this?” I asked.

“Who else?” he said, and heaved my suitcase out of the car. “Not your brother. He’s barely home, and when he is, he doesn’t eat. I don’t know what he lives on.”

My father headed inside, and I followed. During the drive home, I’d been uneasy over how we’d spend our time together. I imagined him pouring a beer and sitting silently in the living room. Instead, he headed straight to the kitchen, where he sliced an acorn squash down the middle and rubbed a baking sheet with oil. I went upstairs to my old room to unpack, but within moments I lay down and closed my eyes. It should have been a comfort, to return to my childhood bed, but all I could think of was my dormitory back at the school.

After a while, I gave up trying to nap and went downstairs. The kitchen smelled like garlic and butter. The table was set for two. I eased into a chair and let my father serve me: salad, acorn squash, garlic bread, plus sparkling water poured into a wineglass.

“This is delicious.” I took another bite of squash, which was stuffed with wild rice, mushrooms, and spices. “I remember when you used to say you were fated to be a bad cook. Guess you were wrong.”

He laughed a little. “I suppose so.”

Our conversation drifted into silence. I observed my father as he ate. He looked thinner, and younger, somehow, even though nearly two years had passed since I’d seen him. We couldn’t afford train tickets for visits after my tuition.

After a few moments, he cleared his throat. “Your letters made it sound like you loved school.”

“I did.”

“An early graduation is unusual,” he said. “I thought maybe something happened.”

I avoided his gaze. “Professor Reed thought I was ready.”

My father put down his fork and stared down at the table, as if steeling himself. Then he pushed back his chair and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with the phone in hand, the cord uncoiling behind him.

“Here,” he said. “It’s your mother.”

I was holding my fork so tightly it hurt. “Please, Dad.”

He thrust the phone in front of me. “Talk.”

I took the phone and pressed it to my ear. The cord had to stretch so far from the kitchen that it pulled taut; I could feel