The Sphere

By Ediciones Fortuna and Martha Faë

Eurydice is about to head off to college, an exciting time when everything should be happy. Her life isn't perfect -not even close- but she has people who love her, including Axel, that strange guy she can't quite figure out. A twist of fate traps Eurydice in an eerie world much like the one she knew, but with very different rules. It takes her some time to realize that her new companions are famous literary characters: Shelock Holmes, Dracula, Frankenstein... Their lives, and Eurydice's own, hang in the balance. Her only chance is to find out who or what is devouring the Sphere of creation before it disappears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ediciones Fortuna
• Release date: Sep 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393676171

Book preview

Preface

MERCUTIO AND BENVOLIO had never seen anything like it. They weren’t allowed to go to the beach alone, especially not to the shore, where the water lapped at the sand and left a trace of foam. But the sight of such a magical object was worth the risk of a real scolding. Benvolio was the first to notice that the tide had dragged in something other than the shells and seaweed that turned up on the beach every day. He went over to Mercutio during breakfast and whispered in his ear:

Finish up quick, we’ve got something important to do.

The twins ran down the slope that led to East Sands and stared in fascination at their extraordinary discovery. Mercutio said confidently that the gift the sea had dragged in looked like a woman. But Benvolio thought it was just an oddly shaped branch.

It’s a girl! said Mercutio. See what long hair she has?

A gentle wind shifted the threads of seaweed that were clinging to the newcomer’s skull. In the background thick sheets of flattened clouds filled the sky, hanging over the two boys. The beach was deserted.

Look, said Benvolio, his voice small with fear. It’s not hair, stupid—it’s seaweed.

But she’s wearing a dress, see, said Mercutio, using a stick to touch what looked like frayed lace.

Benvolio snatched the stick away from his brother and poked at the rags covering the rounded end of the mysterious object. Its muddy eyelids rose slowly to reveal two sockets, empty and deep. The twins jumped back and froze. They were almost too terrified to breathe. On the strange face a small nose twitched, and a sneeze shook the seaweed, or the hair, or whatever it was.

It’s seaweed.

Benvolio’s murmur was almost inaudible.

It’s hair, insisted Mercutio, even more quietly.

The girl pushed the locks of hair out of her face with a hand so slender it seemed to be made of twigs, exposing a starfish stuck to her temple. She turned her empty sockets toward the twins, and it shouldn’t have been possible, but they knew she was looking right at them.

You have to help me—please!

The voice was sweet, but there was something terrifying and unearthly about it.

My situation is desperate, I’m begging you...

With a great effort the thing managed to stand up, the two branches she had for legs clicking and clacking the whole time. Benvolio had moved behind Mercutio and was watching with his eyes wide. Feeling safe behind the barricade of his brother’s shoulder, he stretched out a hand to touch the visitor, but as soon as his fingers brushed against the extraordinary creature she collapsed. The sand beneath her groaned.

The boys ran, their legs blurring with speed. When they reached the top of the hill they both stopped and looked back at the same time, their curls tousled from the wind, their hearts roaring like mad drums. The wooden girl lay there, motionless. It only took an instant for the sea to reach her and swallow her up, carrying her off as easily as it had brought her. The only thing left of her was a scrap of cloth that the next wave washed away.

The twins felt the sting of fascination and horror. They could not have said whether what they had just witnessed was more beautiful or more frightening. They had hardly dared to go near the terrifying treasure the sea had brought, but they were deeply sorry it was gone. They tasted, for the first time in their lives, the bittersweet flavor of melancholy. Something settled inside them and weighed down the words they might have used to talk about what had happened, so that they never mentioned it again.

It was a sort of an omen of what would happen a few hours later, of the dreadful event that stole away a great part of their young souls.

Part One

1

G ive it back! Give it to me!

I shout, but it doesn’t make any difference. The little music player sails across the living room of our summer house, flying through an imaginary sky, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The headphones flap in the air like the wings of an electronic bird, a sneaky little seagull with a square body of pistachio green. As soon as I see it on my right it’s over on the left again, disappearing like some kind of dream. The same face with the wicked smile, the same hands, the same furtive chuckle materializes in one corner and then another of the living room. I should be used to this sort of illusion, but I can’t get my eyes to focus on reality. I lift my hand. I try to take control. But all I do is graze the tip of one of the wings, interrupting its flight, and then everything happens the way accidents always happen—like a sigh in slow motion. The headphone cord tangles around my finger, and with one yank I strip the bird of its wings.

Nosedive to a piece of unclaimed ground. 

Freeze frame.

On the left side of the sofa one expressionless face, framed by blond curls. And on the other side, the exact same face.

I hate you! The shout wells up from deep inside me with all the force of years of imposed silence, of being practically invisible.

This time my voice at least breaks the stillness.

Leave your brothers alone.

My mother is behind an open book, like always.

Leave them alone? But they broke my iPod!

Since when does she have an iPod? asks my father, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper.

Ever since her boyfriend gave it to her, answers Mercutio, a smile crossing his face.

She has a boyfriend? my father asks with some surprise, though he still doesn’t put down the paper.

I don’t know, says my mother, without looking up from her book.

I watch my father’s hands slowly set the newspaper down on the table.

Yeah, she’s got a boyfriend and they kiss each other, Benvolio screws up his lips to blow mocking kisses into the air, and Mercutio copies him like a mirror.

Their voices are identical; it’s impossible to tell which one of the twins is talking if you’re not looking at them. Not even my parents could tell them apart if they didn’t dress them in different colors.

I can feel someone’s gaze on the back of my neck. When I look behind me I see my father giving me the fish-eye. I try to restrain myself, I make my best effort, I even remember that thing about counting in your head to three—or was it ten? It doesn’t matter. No one could stand being looked at like that. Come on, Dissie, hang in there, don’t give them the pleasure of arguing. Don’t call out your brothers. Just one more second and it’ll all be forgotten, just as long as it takes to put the pieces of the iPod in my jeans pocket. One... Two...

What?! Do you have a question?! I yell angrily.

Pathetic! I’ve done it again—let a couple of little kids get to me.

Nothing, dear. We haven’t asked anything, my father tries to defuse the situation. He lifts his hands and returns his gaze to the newspaper.

The twins keep on blowing kisses from the back of the living room but I go right past them and head for the door to the yard. This time I really won’t to rise to the bait.

They’re crazy! I say, spinning around to face the living room, no longer in control of my own reactions. Boyfriend?... It hasn’t even been two weeks since we got to St Andrews, and it’s not like I brought him with me from home...

We saw you in the cemetery, says Mercutio.

We did, Mom, adds Benvolio in his sharp childish voice. Eurydice was kissing a blond boy. Like this, like in the movies.

My parents look at me, astonished. What’s the big surprise? Is it so impossible that I might have a boyfriend?

Of course, I say, out of all the places in the world I chose the cemetery to kiss my imaginary boyfriend who I brought from Edinburgh in my suitcase. Yeah, you got it all exactly right. A prize for you both!

I clap sarcastically and turn to go out to the yard, but I’m not quick enough, and I can still hear my father:

Dissie doesn’t like blond boys, does she?

No, answers my mother. But she does like cemeteries.

After a few seconds of silence they both return to their respective reading material, and that’s it, it’s all settled. Like always, the way everything is settled in this house: without any consequences for the twins. The air makes my lungs ache; it’s hard for me to do something as simple as breathe. I sit down on the porch and try to think about something else. I don’t know why I’m surprised—the real surprise would have been if the twins had actually gotten into trouble for breaking the iPod. Some people are just born lucky, free to do or not do things without anything happening to them. I don’t think the twins will ever have to face the consequences of their actions, even when they’re grown up.

I look at the two pieces of the music player and then I close my eyes so I can paint a happy picture in my mind, a story where I’m the only child. Better yet, one where I was born into another family, any family, any normal family. The fantasy is so real I can nearly touch it. I can almost feel myself living a peaceful life. I’m starting to breathe more easily when a ball whacks my head and jolts me out of my daydream. Apparently reading time is over, at least reading in the house. Now we’re going to the beach, and yes, I am included in that we. I don’t get an opinion. I have to go because that’s why we’re a family, and that’s why my parents have rented this house in a place that should have been my place, mine alone, my place to go to college. At this point I’ve pretty much accepted it: I will never have a life that’s all my own.

I run up to my room, put on my bikini, and toss the essentials into my bag: a towel, my notebook, and a pencil. I put my jeans back on and grab a t-shirt from the dresser without looking. I haven’t even finished getting dressed when I hear my mother call from the foot of the stairs:

Dissie, we’ll be waiting for you at the beach. And don’t wear one of those huge t-shirts, please.

I look at myself in the mirror. I look like a deflated balloon, but I’ll never admit it to a single soul. It’s true that my t-shirts are two sizes too big, or else I’m two sizes too small. But it hardly matters—it’s my life, I can decide what to wear, can’t I? I look at the girl in the mirror and don’t recognize her as myself. Sometimes I feel like we’re two different people. Knowing that I’m about to go out with this t-shirt on makes me feel strong. I smile but right away my reflection turns serious again. I hate myself for being such a baby, for not daring to contradict my parents, for not being able to say that I don’t want to go to the beach with them, for not having the courage to stand firm and stay in Edinburgh instead of already being at St Andrews. Although, on the other hand... On the other hand nothing, I’d have found some way to stay with him. Well, I’d have found a way or I wouldn’t have. I don’t have the slightest idea what’s going to happen with him. Not after what happened yesterday... What I do know is that for the next few years I’m going to be living apart from my friends. I’m sure we’ll only see each other at Christmas. I should be in Edinburgh with Marion and Laura, making the most of our last summer together. There, not here. My parents should have realized that. It should have been their idea. Didn’t they complain for years that I didn’t have any friends? They should be supportive now that I’m finally a little... A little more the way they want me to be. Consistency is conspicuous by its absence in this family. Why aren’t you a little more normal? Well, they should encourage my social life. How is it possible that so much reading hasn’t taught them to see the obvious? Family vacations are not the best thing that can happen to you. Not at eighteen, not when you’re going to start college at the end of the summer, and above all NOT when out of all the beach towns on the planet they had to choose the exact place where you’re going to school. As if there weren’t other beaches in the world. As if I weren’t old enough to be left alone, for once.

I look into the gray eyes in the mirror, take a deep breath, and make a promise to that girl with the dull hair who gazes back at me with hardly any expression: from this moment on everything will be different. I will be strong, I will be myself, I will do only what I want to do. My actions will reflect my thoughts. I will not be like my parents; I will not be so horribly inconsistent. And above all—yes!—above all I will make things happen. This summer something extraordinary will finally happen to me. I will leave this dull life behind.

I’m not going to the beach.

My voice is barely audible, but to me it sounds like a triumphant shout. This must be how great captains feel when they win a battle.

Nothing can happen. My parents aren’t going to kill me if I don’t show up at the beach. At this very instant my new life begins, my real life. For once the girl in the mirror and I smile at the same time. I let myself fall backwards and sink into the mattress. My feet join the feet of the girl in the mirror, rising, kicking in the air with new joy. I shake my legs and enjoy the feeling of blood flowing through them. I like the way my shoelaces dance freely. I feel the touch of the quilt on my hands, on my bare arms. I turn over and bury my face in the pillow. Everything is going to be all right, starting now. They’ve all gone, the house is quiet, and I could not feel any better.

2

I t’s not fair, I tell myself as I walk down the hill toward East Sands with my bag bouncing against my back. It’s not fair to be born with this pathetic lack of courage. Not able to rebel even against my parents. Before I reach the sand I stop for a second to find my family. It’s not difficult, I just have to look for the most garish towels and a couple of rugrats running around like they’ve got fire ants in their swimsuits. Shakespeare’s face and the logo of a major bookstore chain stand out from the rest of the towels—and somehow my parents have the nerve to ask why I can’t be normal.

I put my towel down a little distance away, so it won’t be obvious to anyone who doesn’t know me whether I’m with these weirdos or not. My mother lets out a sort of little grunt that I take as a greeting. My father moves his head, but it doesn’t mean he’s noticed my presence. It could be his way of greeting me, but it could also just be that he approves of what he’s reading. He’s always had a lot more to say to his books than to me. It isn’t his fault, he says, it’s because I’m so quiet.

I lie down without taking off my clothes. That way at least I feel ready to run at any moment, if I get the chance. But I won’t get the chance—I know it, the whole universe knows it. Even those seagulls laughing at me right now know it. I can feel my bad mood boiling up inside of me, just like when you boil milk in a saucepan and it bubbles over. That out-of-control feeling—that’s how my temper spills out of me. It’s not that I like it, but I can’t help it, either.

The wind tugs at my t-shirt. I look at the passing clouds and amuse myself by looking for recognizable shapes. The thing about my bad moods is that—just like the milk—they bubble up quickly, but they settle down quickly, too. I wiggle my bare toes a little. The fresh air and the sea breeze are nice today. It’s a shame not to have my iPod; the clouds could use a little music as they dance. I slip my jeans off without getting up and glance over at my parents, both of them with their respective novels. Suddenly I get goose bumps. I’m not sure if it’s from the cool wind or the sight of my parents, but I’m pretty sure it’s the latter. I look around, like always, with the feeling that the rest of the world must be staring and pointing at us. I feel sick wen I see how eagerly they shove their faces into their books. It’s just warped. When I was little I had terrible nightmares where some book swallowed my parents up, starting with the nose. In an instant the head disappeared into the pages, and then the body turned into a kind of goo, and seeped into the paper. Sometimes the overzealous reader disappeared entirely, and sometimes the book snapped shut with the feet still outside, wiggling like the antennae of an insect.

I sense a movement to my right. My mother lifts her head. No, please—not now! You’ve already greeted me with a snort, that’s more than enough. I look fervently up at the sky, wishing some being from on high would beam me up. But there aren’t any beings around this time of day; they must be napping. I settle on prayer. It’s not that I believe in anything, but I send my prayer up anyway, just in case it has some effect: "Don’t let it happen now. Don’t let this be one of those moments chosen to share one of those beautiful sentences or oh-so-interesting ideas that would put a rock to sleep." My mother’s nose goes up and then down. I see her bookish profile disappear into the pages and then peek back out at the world. I feel it coming. I prepare for the worst: an entire passage that might take up two or three pages—it’s enough to make you laugh at water torture. I start to get up, determined to set off on a walk that will take me at least to Japan. I can understand that people might want to waste their lives behind a book, but there’s no reason to force everyone else to listen to stupid stories that don’t make any sense. I’m already on my feet when my mother closes the book and lies down. False alarm.

I sit down on my towel again and concentrate on the rocking of the waves, on the people passing by. With my eyes half-closed they’re nothing but little floating spots. I live in a world of little spots. I like the way everything loses its form and turns into something other than reality. I open my eyes wide. I can make out the twins from a distance—it’s them, unmistakable. I half-close my eyes again and their bodies blur until they disappear. I turn my head and do the same with my parents. They disappear. They all disappear and they don’t even know it. The perfect fantasy—though by the time I was eleven I had already learned that there are certain things you don’t share with other people. You can’t say that an ideal world would be one where your family disappeared. You can’t say that, much less write it down, if you don’t want to end up in the psychologist’s office after a visit to the principal. How sad, to learn at eleven years old that a free essay isn’t actually free at all! Utopia, an ideal world—from there you could write whatever you wanted... Damn school, nest of nasty, hypocritical rats...

Listen, listen, says my father, and the excitement in his voice startles me. I look at him as if he were speaking to someone else.

Yes, listen. Your mother’s asleep.

I deserve it. For letting my guard down—I should have walked all the way to Greenland. Seriously, what depraved being created literature? When? And above all, why? Out of all the useless things in life the most useless is inventing worlds with people who never existed and never will. My father has begun to read, so I nod as if I’m listening. I’ve had years to perfect this art. Suddenly a little whisper of pride sneaks into my heart, and I puff up like a balloon. My father’s voice as he goes on reading sounds farther and farther away. I’m not there anymore. I’m a great big hot-air balloon just starting to rise, buoyed up by the realization that I’ve gotten away with all of it. I give a little smile. I did it! I finished my mandatory education and got out of the rats’ nest and away from the hypocrites without being poisoned by uselessness. I don’t know how I did it, but I avoided every single reading. I can say with pride that not one classic has entered my system. And here I am—see, you can live perfectly well without the essentials. They even tested me on those books I was supposed to have read... I could call myself a genius. I really should call myself a genius.

Aaah!

The piercing cry isn’t part of my father’s reading. My brain doesn’t need even half a second to process the information, and before I realize it my parents and I are already on our feet, looking desperately for the twins. The beach has filled up—where on earth can all these people have come from? We make our way as best we can to the edge of the water. Right where the sand stays damp and soft I see five boys arguing heatedly. It looks like an older boy has just managed to pull them apart into two groups. Three little bullies on one side and on the other, the twins. Mercutio has his head thrown back. Bright red blood runs down his neck and stains his skin. Benvolio is crying and crying.

My heart is pounding in my ears from running—or is it from the sight of my brother covered in blood? I feel dizzy. I know it’s not a good time, but I feel dizzy. The people turn into little spots, but this time I’m not doing it on purpose. The world vanishes.

Are you all right?

I think it’s my father reading one of his passages, but his voice sounds different. And why would he be reading now? Something happened to my brothers—that should make him put his book down for once.

Hey, how are you feeling?

I wonder if I stayed in my room after all. Maybe I finally got hold of myself and got over my fear of contradicting my parents. I’m touching something soft, yes—it must be the quilt on my bed. I try to smile: I kept the promise I made to myself. I’m in my room. I open my eyes and the sun makes me close them again. Then I notice that something is casting a shadow over me. Whoever it is speaking to me has moved to block the light. My eyelashes feel heavy but I force myself to lift them. Hazel. Clear hazel. That’s all I can think. Hazel. Honey. No, hazel. The eyes looking down at me are hazel; my father’s are green. Now I know I’m lying on the sand. I felt it when the water wet my toes.

What happened? I ask.

You fainted.

Some fingers, which I suspect belong to the speaker, move my hair out of my face. It’s the most ridiculous thing, but it feels like a slight electrical shock passes through my body. Those hazel eyes go on gazing at me but a ray of sun passes between us, so I can’t make out the boy’s face. I turn my head gently and see my family: my parents are reading and the twins are playing cards. I can’t believe this! The only way they should be allowed to leave me lying here is if they had to go to the hospital. No, I correct myself—not even then. If they were in an ambulance speeding to the hospital I should be lying next to them and not here. There is no way this should be allowed to happen to me. There should be a parenting police—that’s right—and they should be arrested and never set free...

You’re pale. Do you feel all right?

I nod, which makes my head hurt a little. A familiar voice. I lean on my elbow and sit up. Everything is spinning. The outrage I’m feeling won’t even fit inside my body. I sit there, unable to take my eyes off my family. I see it, but I can’t believe it.

Don’t worry about the boy from before, his parents already took him away. He’s fine.

I see that, I answer, in a voice so soft I doubt it’s even audible. I clear my throat before going on. It’s incredible.

What really seems incredible is that right here on this beach, right now, right after what we talked about yesterday, I should find Axel.

Well, it wasn’t anything serious. They packed his nose with some tissue and it stopped bleeding right away. It seemed like a volcano, I know, but it wasn’t serious... Anyway, the important thing is that you’re all right.

Oh my God, Axel, why won’t you stop talking? If I weren’t so dazed I would look you right in the eye and ask. Of all the people in the world it had to be Axel who came to my aid.

He keeps on talking as he sits down next to me, without stopping even for a second. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them he’s still there—I know because I can hear him, but I can’t look away from my family. How can they be so calm? Oh, hey, I’m just sprawled out over here! Something happened to your invisible daughter.

Axel goes quiet. When I look at him it almost makes me jump. His eyes are shining, almost transparent, like a piece of hard candy... Why is he giving me such a worried look? I reach up and touch my head—am I bleeding or something? No, everything seems fine.

Were you really scared? It was because of the blood, wasn’t it? You fainted.

Brilliant. I fainted.

Yeah... I guess that was obvious.

Right away I feel bad for having said it. When will I finally manage to keep all these snarky things from coming out of my mouth? Sometimes I’m really a loose cannon. But Axel... well.

Blood doesn’t scare me, I say, trying to get Axel to pay attention to these words and forget my previous ones. Besides, it had to happen. Not that I fainted, I mean, well... it’s just obvious: sooner or later Mercutio had to pay.

Mercutio?

Beneath Axel’s calm, shining eyes is a smile I can’t identify—is it interest or amusement? No doubt it’s mockery, as usual.

Yeah, it sticks out like a sore thumb, I know, I say, with a sigh of resignation. Mercutio and Benvolio. Only my parents would come up with something like that. Some names.

"Your parents? So they’re your brothers?

What do you think?

Okay, so the sarcasm was unnecessary. I go to stand up but I’m still a little dizzy. I don’t want to be in view of my family. It’s not likely, but they could look out at the sea and find me in their line of sight. I don’t think they’d look at me, of course, but they might look out at the sea. If they happen to see me here, talking with him... I could end up being interviewed as tonight’s special guest at dinner, and I wouldn’t like that at all. I get up. I haven’t even finished brushing the sand off my legs when the twins run past me and splash into the ocean. Smiles spread across their faces when they see us, and they give an encore of this morning’s little kiss-throwing number.

Your brothers are so funny!

Do you really think so?

Axel doesn’t answer. This time I wasn’t trying to be sarcastic. The one time I ask something seriously... There’s an uncomfortable silence that lasts one or two seconds—eternal seconds, not regular ones. Axel and I avoid looking at each other. What’s weird is that something didn’t happen sooner with those two little brats, I say, in the most casual and relaxed tone I can manage. They think they can mess around with anybody without anything ever happening. I guess deep down it’s really my parents’ fault.

But it was the other three.

I look at Axel, incredulous. I can’t keep our eyes from locking onto each other.

How do you do it? he asks.

What?

Make your eyes change color. I’ve never understood how you do it.

They don’t change.

Of course they do. They went from gray to green and then to blue.

I feel really awkward. I know how much he likes the way my eyes change color.

I don’t do anything. They just change.

I look out at the ocean. Luckily my brothers are totally absorbed in their stupid splashing game. I start walking.

Good idea, let’s go for a walk.

Who said I wanted to go for a walk with you? I’m even a failure at this! I tried to do just the opposite, to show you that I wanted to be alone. Stand up. Walk off. It should be easy, right? Axel walks along beside me in silence. I realize I’m being too hard on myself, yet again. It’s not that I’m a failure at expressing what I want, it’s that Axel has a sixth sense. He doesn’t always use it, but he has it. He realizes everything. What I want, what I don’t want. Sometimes I suspect that when he doesn’t use his sixth sense it’s only because he doesn’t feel like it. Because it suits him.

They didn’t realize you’d fainted, he says after a while. You shouldn’t feel bad about it. How could you think they would just go off like that, calmly, if they knew you weren’t okay?

Like I said: he sees what I think. It hurts me more than you could imagine to be ignored like that by my own family. He touches my shoulder. It ought to just be a regular pat of encouragement, but no, Axel doesn’t know the first thing about pats—he caresses my shoulder. I’m not exaggerating, and I’m not mistaken—that was definitely a caress. I pick up the pace and keep my eyes glued to the sand.

They didn’t know you were sick.

Come on, Axel, I pronounce his name with a snort, How could they not know? They forgot about me like always. That’s just how it is.

Axel takes me by the shoulders so he can look at me. Shit! I love his eyes. I look away and start walking again.

I don’t think anyone realized what happened to you. Your brother had blood all down his chest, it was pretty shocking. Everyone was paying attention to him. Right when you fainted the parents of the other kids showed up and, well—there was kind of an uproar. Everybody was talking all at once, and you fainted so discreetly...

Next time I’ll clap before I fall down.

I’m sorry, you’re right—fainting discreetly doesn’t make much sense. But... that’s how it was. Everyone was yelling and arguing and you collapsed, just like that.

So how’d you realize what had happened to me?

Axel touches my hand. I know. I know how he realized. I look at him with a serious expression.

All right, he says, putting his hands up.

What was the fight about? I ask.

Because the other boys made fun of your brothers’ names, as far as I can tell.

How odd, to make fun of such normal names!

Mercutio and Benvolio!... Axel smiles so widely that for a moment I’m afraid he’ll get sand in his teeth. Your parents are really clever. Romeo...

"Yeah, Mercutio and Benvolio from Romeo and Juliet, I interrupt sharply. Time to find out if you’re a book freak, too... How do you know?"

I stop walking. I need to look him in the eye to hear his answer. I want the truth.

"Know what—what the names have to do with Romeo and Juliet? He shrugs and holds both hands out as if to say he couldn’t help knowing. Romeo’s friend and Romeo’s cousin. It’s brilliant for a set of twins."

Axel just let me down in the worst way possible. It feels like I caught him doing—I don’t even know, something horrific. I suspected he was a freak, him too, just like my parents. But it’s one thing to suspect it and another to prove it. What kind of cosmic joke is this? Why do they all have to be so close to me? The planet is huge, couldn’t they spread out a little? God of the misfits? Yes—you. It’s your number one underdog calling. Please don’t let me die right here and now. Not next to someone who got the literary reference of my brothers’ names right off the bat.

The wind makes so much noise in my ears that I’m cut off for a few seconds. For a moment I feel alone on the beach, alone in the world. I glance over at Axel. I hate him with everything in me for looking at me with that sweet expression. It always makes me feel so nervous. He’s noticed my loneliness. He’s a book freak, now I know it. I hate feeling so confused about him, but no—I can’t fall back in just because we walked along the beach for a little while. Just because he looks at me like that. Because he knows how lonely I feel. I remember suddenly what he said to me two days ago at the dorm. Dammit! Yesterday it was all clear, just this morning it was all clear. Even five minutes ago. Besides, we talked it over, right?

What is it?

Nothing, I answer, obviously surly, and start walking again.

This is how it is: there are things that put me in an indescribably bad mood in a fraction of a second. Sometimes I wonder if there are specific things that make me seethe like this, or if it’s just how I am. Maybe a bad mood is my natural state.

Is it because I’m walking with you? I look at him out of the corner of my eye. Well, Axel lowers his gaze, I don’t see why I can’t walk with you.

We talked about it.

You talked about it, Axel replies.

I know we could get tangled up in an argument about who said what yesterday, who decided that the best thing was for us to stop seeing each other. I really don’t feel like arguing. Not here. Not now that I’m feeling this hole of loneliness.

Your brothers seem fun to me, says Axel, changing the subject. I’ve seen them around here before. With those cute curls of theirs...

How could you not see them! It’s enough to make you cringe.

But why?

They’re embarrassing, I say without turning my head. I don’t feel like meeting his eyes again.

They’re not embarrassing, they’re just little, and... they’re active. That’s normal. They’re cool.

"I’ll give them to you. And I’ll give you my