She shook her head. “Your reluctance proves my point.” Her tone hardened. “Do not allow fear to control you.”
I stroked the silk and peered out the window. A dense fog slunk closer and closer to the house, threatening to overwhelm us.
“Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then get rid of it. You’ll never be free so long as you wear it.”
We sat in agonizing silence. I studied her features for a flash of ambivalence—maybe I could change her mind. It was a foolish thought; she appeared more steadfast with every second.
“It only took Debbie a month to hand over her old engagement ring,” Teacher said. “Twelve years she was engaged to that abuser, yet she found the strength almost immediately to shed any reminders of him. You, on the other hand, have been here almost four months.”
I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so I knotted my hands in my lap and stared at them. Her eyes bored into me.
She sighed and looked away. “The rest of the staff knew you wouldn’t.”
I glanced up in surprise. They had all been so warm and encouraging. I remembered Debbie’s lumpy cake, how we’d all eventually come together, huddled and laughing, to eat it.
“I defended you, told them to give you a chance. Won’t I be the fool with egg on my face?”
When I found my voice, it was shaky. “What would you do with it?”
“Not to worry—I’ll keep it safe.” She extended a hand, waiting for me to acquiesce. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Maybe she was right—she had been about everything else so far. How could I be truly fearless if I had Mom wrapped around my neck every day? I’d be distracted from our mission until I apologized to Nat, set things straight, and put the mistakes I’d made around Mom’s death behind me. It was time to close that chapter.
I undid the scarf, and hesitated before dropping it in Teacher’s outstretched hand. She closed her fingers around it. I pushed down a spike of regret—more weakness I had to overcome.
“Good, Kitten,” she said, happy again. I let out a small sigh of relief. “How brave you are. You can share this progress with your class.”
I thought of one student in particular, a man who had lost custody of his daughter. Everything here reminded him of her: the way Sanderson ate his sandwich crust first, the shape of Orion in the night sky, a classmate’s flamingo-patterned socks. He’d flown six hundred miles for a reprieve but couldn’t outrun his memories. I tried to be an example for him, a light at the end of his tunnel of grief.
I nodded, staring at Mom’s scarf clenched in Teacher’s hand. I’d barely taken it off in two years. My neck felt exposed.
Teacher walked the scarf to her desk and tossed it in a drawer—I couldn’t see which one. She rested both palms on the desk, leaning over it, waiting for me to focus on her. When I did, she slid open the utensil drawer. “I have a reward for you.”
She pulled out a navy envelope, glided back toward me on the couch, and placed it in my hands. Written on the envelope in spidery handwriting was a single word: Kit. She gestured for me to open it.
Inside was a thick card filled with the same looping cursive.
Dear Kit, the letter began, you have come so far during your time here. Four months ago you never would have relinquished your mother’s scarf. I scanned the rest, picking up phrases like cordially invite you and exclusive opportunity and total secrecy. I felt Teacher’s laser beam glare on me. I read through it a second time, more slowly.
When I’d finished reading, I looked up. “What’s the Inner Circle?”
III
I must eliminate any obstacles that impede my path to freedom.
27
Natalie
JANUARY 8, 2020
KIT IS HERE, in my cabin, sitting on the bed. I freeze on the threshold. For most of our lives my sister has had chest-length, straight blond hair.
Now it’s buzzed close to her scalp.
Like everyone else on Wisewood’s staff.
The rest of her looks the same: round cheeks, bright eyes, a small star tattoo on her left temple. She wears jeans and a yellowing T-shirt, her coat slung over my desk chair. She appears healthy, content, not a scratch or bruise on her. No sleepy expression suggesting a drugged state. No tears to imply harm. Actually, she’s beaming.
She’s okay.
She’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay.
My shoulders drop. The weight lifts off my chest. An ache builds in the back of my throat. Part of me thought I’d never see my little sister again.