Because It Is My Blood

XIX I GRADUATE; YET ANOTHER PROPOSAL

EARLY IN MAY, while Natty was studying for finals and my ex-peers were being fitted for caps and gowns, I took the New York State GED. The test was administered at the New York City Department of Education on West Fifty-Second Street. Out of sentimentality, I wore my old Trinity uniform. In the windowless testing room, I snuck glances at the faces of the other test-takers. They didn’t look particularly stupid or downtrodden or even old, so I could not help but wonder what in their lives had led them to this room. What mistakes had they made? Who had they trusted that they shouldn’t have? Or had they just been born to the wrong parents at the wrong time? Maybe I was being negative though. Maybe finishing high school in a classroom with no windows and a broken-down air conditioner wasn’t such a bad thing. At the very least, these people had survived whatever missteps they had taken and come out the other side.

Mr. Kipling had hired me a tutor, and though I’d only been semiconsistent in my studies, the test was easy enough. I wouldn’t find out for another three to four weeks if I had passed, but effectually and if all went well, this marked the end of high school for me. A bit anticlimactic, no? Then again … I had had plenty of climax in the past year and certainly more than my share of conflict and rising action. I could stand for a bit of denouement. No one tended to get shot during the denouement. (The GED had a section on literary terms, if you were wondering.)

At home, an e-mail was waiting for me. When I saw the domain mark was Mexico, I felt ashamed. As I was at least partially responsible for Theo’s injuries, I’d been too embarrassed to call or write the Marquezes. Still, a good person would have found some way to send word.

Dear Anya,

Hello. I hope you have not forgotten your very best pal, Theo. I am writing to you because you have not written to me. Why do you stand on circumstance? Do you not know that your good friend Theo misses you? Do you not care at all about him?

You will like to know how I am faring, I think. But maybe you are too ashamed to ask. Well, you should feel very guilty, Anya, because I have been very sick. I did almost die. And I was not allowed to go back to the orchards until just last week. I am almost better now. My sister and my mother and the abuelas are being unbearable as you can imagine. We did here learn that Cousin Sophia was responsible for the attempt on your and my lives. She has always been a strange woman and never a favorite in our family for a variety of reasons that I would be glad to detail for you in person. (This is an invitation if you choose to take it as one.) But the reason I am writing you today is because the abuelas feel responsible for the attempts on your life. They think that they did not love Sophia enough. (But then they do think that all the problems in the world can be attributed to lack of love.) To make amends, they have asked me to pass on the recipe for Casa Marquez Hot Chocolate. I translated it for you, but it is not a literal translation. I embellished it where I thought it might amuse you (see attachment). Abuela wants me to remind you that it is a very powerful and ancient recipe with many, many health and spiritual benefits. “Please, Theo,” she begs, “make sure she knows not to let it fall into the wrong hands.”

Anya, when we were together, I know I spent much time complaining about my responsibilities to the farm and the factories. How I longed for my freedom. It is strange because in all the months I was sick, the only thing I wanted was to get back to the factories and the farm. So, maybe it is a good thing that I was nearly fatally shot. (This is me, joking. I am still the funniest person you know, I bet.)

I hope you will come back to Chiapas someday. You’re a natural at cacao production, but I still have much I can teach you.

Besos,

Theobroma Marquez

I read the recipe, then I went into the kitchen. We didn’t have rose petals or chili pepper but it was Saturday market, so I decided to take the bus down to Union Square to shop for the ingredients. It was Daisy’s morning off, and Natty was occupied with her studies, so I decided to go by myself.

The roses were easy enough to come by, but I had trouble finding the chili pepper and I had just about given up when I spotted a stand selling, according to its sign: MEDICINAL HERBS, SPICES, TINCTURES, & MISCELLANY. I pulled back a striped curtain and went inside. The air smelled of incense. Rolling wooden shelves were lined with rows of hand-labeled glass jars.

The proprietor quickly located a small glass jar of chili peppers. “Is that all you need, girl?” the proprietor asked. “Have a look around. I have many other enticing products, and if you buy two, the third is free.” The proprietor had a glass eye and a velvet cloak and a walking stick, and he looked rather like a wizard. The glass eye was a very good one. The only hint that it wasn’t a real eye was that it didn’t track me around the store like the other eye did.

On the lowest shelf sat a small jar with cacao nibs. As I took the jar in my hand, I felt a rush of nostalgia for Granja Mañana. I held it up to the stall-keeper. “How are you able to sell these? Without getting arrested, I mean?”

“It’s perfectly legal, I assure you.” He paused to give me the evil eye. (Literally, just the one.) “Do you work for the authorities?”

I shook my head. “The opposite.”

He looked at me questioningly but I didn’t feel like telling him my entire life story. Instead, I told him I was a chocolate enthusiast, and he seemed to take me at my word.

The stall-keeper used his walking stick to point to the word medicinal on his sign. “Even in this corrupt country of ours, you can sell all the cacao you want as long as it’s for medicinal purposes.” He snatched the little glass jar from me. “But I’m afraid I can’t sell that particular product to you unless you have a prescription.”

“Oh,” I said. “Of course.” Out of curiosity, I asked him what kind of condition would get me a prescription.

The stall-keeper shrugged. “Depression, I suppose. Cacao is a mood enhancer. Osteoporosis. Anemia. I’m not a doctor, miss. I do have an acquaintance who uses it to make skin creams.”

I stood up from the squatting position I’d been in, and handed him the glass jar of chili peppers. “I guess I’ll just take this then.”

The stall-keeper nodded. As I was paying him, he said, “You’re the Balanchine girl, aren’t you?”

Paranoid mobster daughter that I was, I made sure to scan the store before answering. “I am.”

“Yes, I thought so. I’ve been following your case closely. It’s all been very unfair to you, hasn’t it?”

I told him that I tried not to dwell on it.

On the bus back home, the aroma of roses was pervasive. I looked in my bag and found that the not-a-wizard had slipped the cacao nibs in with the chili peppers.

Since the crash, I was still a bit on edge during bus rides, but the rose-scented air suffused me with a sense of calm and—dare I say—clarity. My mind relaxed. My brain became soft and empty and then it began to fill with a picture. First, I saw Our Lady of Guadalupe, and I knew it was her because of the roses that haloed around her and because her image had featured so prominently at Granja Mañana. But then I saw that she wasn’t a real person, but a painting on a wall and underneath the painting were the words, Do not fear any illness or vexation, anxiety or pain. Am I not your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the fountain of life? Is there anything else you need? And the wall was the back wall of a smallish store. And Balanchine chocolate was stacked on the dark-stained mahogany shelves. And the chocolate was right out in the open, even in the front display windows. And the sign on the store said:

Balanchine’s Medicinal Cacao Bar

Chocolate For Your Health—By Rx Only—Doctor On Premises

I sat up in my seat.

I was not my sister. No one had ever suggested sending me to genius camp nor should they have, and I was not given to brilliant ideas. If I had a genius, I’d say it was probably one for survival, nothing more. But this seemed like it could almost work. Cacao might never be legal, but what if there were legal ways around that? Things Daddy and Uncle Yuri and now Fats had never even considered.

The bus was about a block away from Win’s house. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to know what he would think. I pushed the tape to indicate that I wanted the bus to stop, and I got out.

Outside Win’s apartment, I rang the bell. Charles Delacroix answered. Win and Mrs. Delacroix were still out, but he expected them back any minute if I wanted to wait. Mr. Delacroix hadn’t shaved but at least he had dressed for the day.

Charles Delacroix led me into the living room. I was still thinking about my vision.

“How are you?” Charles Delacroix asked me.

“Mr. Delacroix, you’re a lawyer.”

“You’re very businesslike today, Anya. Yes, I am a lawyer. An unemployed one at present.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone selling medicinal cacao?” I asked.

Charles Delacroix laughed at me. “Anya Balanchine, what have you gotten yourself into now?”

“Nothing,” I insisted. I could feel myself blushing. “I only wondered if a person could sell medicinal cacao legally in the city. I’d heard that you could sell it with a prescription.”

Charles Delacroix studied me for a moment. “Yes, I suppose a theoretical person could.”

“And if that were true, could a proprietor sell a customer a chocolate health bar or, say, a hot-chocolate vitamin shake as long as there was a prescription?”

Mr. Delacroix nodded. “Yes. Though I’d have to research the matter in greater detail.”

“And if you were still acting as district attorney, would you have gone after a person who was selling medicinal cacao at a store in Manhattan?”

“I … Such a person might have aroused my interest, yes, but if they had a good lawyer who made sure everything was in order, and all the prescriptions were legitimate, I doubt we would have bothered with them. Anya, you’re looking terrifyingly bright-eyed at the moment. Don’t tell me you know such a hypothetical proprietor.”

“Mr. Delacroix…”

Win and his mother got home. “Aren’t you two looking chummy,” Mrs. Delacroix said.

Win kissed me. “Were we supposed to meet? I thought you’d still be at the GEDs.”

“I was at the market, and I thought I’d stop by to see if you were home.” I was still carrying my roses and the bag with the chili peppers and cacao nibs. I told him how my friend from Mexico had sent me a recipe that I’d been planning to try. Win’s mother wanted to know what it was. While it was one thing to pose hypothetical legal questions to Win’s father, it was another thing to admit to recreational cacao consumption in front of him. “An ancient family health drink from Chiapas,” I said.

Charles Delacroix raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t fooling him.

“It’s almost dark,” Win said. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way uptown.”

“Goodbye, Anya,” Charles Delacroix said.

Once we were outdoors, Win took my bag in one hand and I linked my arm through his.

“What were you and my father talking about?” Win asked.

I had stopped by Win’s house with the full intention of telling him my idea, but now that he was standing next to me, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to see his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse if he thought it was pure folly. I’d only been thinking of this for the last hour or so, but in that brief span, I’d already grown incredibly attached to the concept. It felt big to me, the kind of idea that might just change my life. I felt, for the first time in a very long time, hopeful.

“Annie?”

“It wasn’t anything.” I was emphatic. “I was waiting for you.”

He stopped walking and looked at me. “You’re lying. You’re awfully good at it, but you forget—I know what you look like when you’re being deceitful.”

What did I look like when I was lying? I’d have to ask him sometime. “I’m not lying, Win. It’s only an idea I had, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” I said. “While I was waiting for you, I thought I’d run a couple parts of it by your dad because it has a legal component to it.”

“Well, he certainly owes you the free advice.” He took my arm again, and we resumed walking. At some point, we got to talking about our plans for what was left of the weekend.

“Win,” I asked, “would you mind if we went to a legalize-cacao rally some time?”

“Sure … But why would you want to do that?”

“Mainly curiosity, I suppose. Maybe I’d like to see what it’s like on the other side.”

Win nodded. “Does this have anything to do with what you were talking to my dad about?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I admitted.

When I got home, I found out the next Cacao Now meeting was Thursday night.

The tough part was that I didn’t want to be recognized. I wanted to check it out without making a spectacle of myself. Noriko lent us wigs and dispensed makeup advice. I had a stick-straight blond wig and red lips. (I had abandoned my mustache in Mexico, of course, not that I would have wanted to unveil my mustachioed look in front of Win.) Win wore dreadlocks and a mesh cap, a modified version of what he’d worn to visit me at Liberty.

Win and I took the bus downtown to the abandoned library building where the meeting was being held.

We were a little bit late so we slipped in at the back.

About one hundred people were there. Standing behind a lectern in the front of the hall was Sylvio Freeman, who was in the middle of introducing a speaker. “Dr. Elizabeth Bergeron will speak about the health benefits of cacao.”

Dr. Bergeron was a pale, skinny woman with a high-pitched voice. She wore a long tie-dyed skirt down to her ankles. “I am a doctor,” she began. “And it is from this perspective that I will speak tonight.” Her lecture dealt with many of the same things Theo had said to me in Chiapas. I looked at Win to see if he was bored. He didn’t seem to be.

“So why,” she concluded, “if there is so much enrichment to be found in natural cacao, should it be illegal? Our government allows the sale of plenty of things that are completely toxic. We should be using common sense and not money to determine what we consume.”

The Cacao Now people did not overly impress me. They were disorganized, and their main plans seemed to involve standing outside government buildings and passing out leaflets.

On the way back uptown, Win started talking about next year. “I’ve been thinking I want to do premed,” he said.

“Premed?” I’d never heard anything about that before. “What about your band? You’re so talented!”

“Annie, I hate to tell you this, but I’m only okay.” He looked at me shyly. “The band still doesn’t have a name and, had you been around, you’d know that we’ve barely played this year. At first, because I was hurt, and then I just wasn’t all that interested. And, well, a lot of guys who have bands in high school would be better off not making a life of it. I’m into other things, too, you know. I’d never want to do what my dad does, but I would like to help people. That doctor at the rally. I was watching her and thinking how great it would be to do that.”

“Do what exactly?”

“Help people be less ignorant about their health, I guess.” He paused. “Plus, if I do stay with you, medical skills would probably come in pretty handy. Everyone’s always getting hurt when you’re around.”

“If…”

While the bus was stopped at a traffic light, I studied Win out of the corner of my eye. The streetlights lit up different parts of his face than I was used to seeing.

From two rows behind us, Daisy Gogol, who’d been trailing us the whole night, chimed in. “I thought I was going to be a singer, but I’m so glad I know Krav Maga.”

“Thanks for the support, Daisy,” Win said. “What should the pro-cacao people do instead?” he asked me.

“I know that they think too small. They need lawyers. And money, lots of it. Standing in front of a courthouse with dirty hair and pamphlets isn’t going to do anything. They need ads. They need to convince the public that they deserve chocolate and that there was never anything wrong with it to begin with.”

“Anya, you know I support you, but aren’t there bigger problems in the world than chocolate?” Win asked me.

“I’m not sure, Win. Just because something is a small problem doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be addressed. Small injustices conceal larger ones.”

“Is that something your father used to say?”

No, I told him. It was my own wisdom, and something I had learned through experience.

Sunday after church, I went to talk to Fats at the Pool. His stomach was distended and his eyes were red. I worried that he might have been poisoned. “You feeling all right?” I asked.

“I look that bad to you?” He chuckled, then patted his gut. “I’m an emotional eater.”

I asked him if anything specific was bothering him.

He shook his head. “Nothing to concern your pretty little head with. Been working nights at the speakeasy and here in the days. Let’s just say there’s a reason guys in my position don’t live that long.”

Fats punctuated that remark with a laugh so I suppose it was meant as a joke. I reminded him that my father had been “a guy in his position.”

“Didn’t mean any disrespect, Annie. So what’s on your mind?” Fats asked.

“I’ve got a proposition,” I said. “A business proposition.”

Fats nodded. “I’m all ears, kid.”

I took a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of medicinal cacao?”

Fats nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe.”

I described what I had learned from my discussions with Mr. Delacroix and the man at the market.

“So what’s the big idea?” Fats asked.

I took another deep breath. I had not wanted to admit to myself how invested I was in this idea. Before she whacked me over the head, Sophia Bitter had called me the “daughter of a cop and a criminal” who would always be at war with herself. It was a cruel thing to say, but it also happened to be true. It was cruel because it was true. I felt it in my every impulse, and I was incredibly tired of living that way. This idea, for me, was a way to end the war. “Well, I was thinking that instead of selling Balanchine chocolate on the black market, we could open a medicinal cacao dispensary.” I looked at Fats to see what he thought of the idea, but his face was blank. “Eventually, maybe even a chain of them,” I continued. “It would all be aboveboard. We’d hire doctors to write the prescriptions. And possibly even nutritionists to help us come up with recipes. And the only chocolate we’d use would be Balanchine, of course. We’d also need pure cacao, but I know a great place we could import that from. If the dispensaries were a success, maybe this could even go a long way toward changing public opinion and convincing the lawmakers that chocolate should never have been illegal in the first place.” I snuck another glance at Fats. He was nodding a little. “The reason I came to you is because you know all about the restaurant business and, of course, you’re the head of the Family now.”

Fats looked at me. “You’re a good kid, Annie. You’ve always been a good kid. And I can tell you put a heck of a lot of thought into this idea. And it’s definitely an interesting one. I’m glad you came to me. But I got to tell you, from the semya side of things, this will never work.”

I was not yet ready to let this go. “Why won’t it work?”

“It’s real simple, Annie. The machinery of Balanchine Chocolate is set up to service a market where chocolate is illegal. If chocolate became legal or there even became a popular way to get around its illegality—à la the medicinal dispensaries you propose—Balanchine Chocolate would be out of business. We exist to serve a black market, Anya. The only way I know how to run a restaurant, if you want to call it that, or any sort of business at all is under the conditions of illegality. Chocolate is legal, Fats is obsolete. Maybe someday chocolate will be legal again, but I honestly hope I’m dead by then.”

I didn’t say anything.

Fats looked at me with sad eyes. “When I was a kid, my senile old grandma used to read me vampire stories. You know what a vampire is, Anya?”

“Kind of. I’m not sure.”

“They’re like these superhuman beings that enjoy drinking human blood. I know, it doesn’t make any sense, but Grandma Olga was mad for them. So, okay, there’s this one vampire story I remember. Maybe the only reason I remember it is because it’s the longest. This human girl falls for this vampire boy, and he loves her, but he kind of wants to kill her, too. And this goes on for a really long time. You wouldn’t believe how long! Should he kiss her or kill her? Well, he ends up kissing her a lot—you wouldn’t believe how much! But ultimately, he kills her and turns her into a vampire anyway—”

I interrupted him. “What is your point, Fats?”

“My point is, a vampire is always a vampire. We Balanchines are vampires, Annie. We will always be vampires. We live in the night. In the dark.”

“No, I disagree. Balanchine Chocolate was around before the chocolate banning. Daddy wasn’t always a criminal. He was an honest businessman, dealing with obstacles.” I shook my head. “There has to be a better way.”

“You’re young. It’d be wrong for you not to think that,” Fats said. He reached out his hand across the table. “Come see me with your next big idea, kid.”

I walked home from the Pool. It was a long walk, past Holy Trinity and through the park. The park looked about the same as the last time I’d been there—sere, seedy. I jogged across the Great Lawn, and I had just about hit the south side of Little Egypt when I heard the sound of a little girl screaming. She was standing by a graffiti-covered bronze statue of a bear. She didn’t have shoes on and her only clothing was a T-shirt. I went up to her. “Are you okay? Can I help you?”

She shook her head and started to cry. That was when a man jumped me from behind. I felt his arm around my neck. “Gimme all your money,” he said. Obviously, he and the little girl were a team. It was a shakedown. I can only attribute my imprudence to the fact that I had been preoccupied and dejected because of Fats’s rejection of my idea.

I only had a little money on me, which I gave to the man. I did have my machete but I wasn’t going to kill someone over a small amount of money.

“Stop,” a brassy voice called. “I know her.”

I looked in the direction of the voice. A girl with mousy brown hair cut short looked at me. My old bunkmate, Mouse.

“She’s okay,” Mouse said. “We were at Liberty together.”

The man loosened his grip. “Really? Her?”

Mouse came up to me. “Yeah,” Mouse said to her colleague. “That’s Anya Balanchine. You don’t want to mess with her.” Mouse smelled foul and her hair was matted and dirty. I suspected that she had been sleeping outside.

“Mouse,” I said. “You talk now.”

“I do. I’m cured, thanks to you.”

I didn’t need to ask her what she’d been up to. She was obviously a member of some kind of band of juvenile criminals.

I asked her if she had ever called Simon Green.

“Yes,” she told me. “But he didn’t know who I was so he basically blew me off. I don’t blame you. You had a lot on your hands.”

“I’m sorry for that,” I said. “If there’s ever anything I can do to help…”

“How about that job?” Mouse asked.

I told her I was out of the family business, but maybe I could help her financially.

Mouse shook her head. “I don’t take handouts, Anya. Like I told you at Liberty, I work for my keep.”

I definitely owed her. “Maybe my cousin Fats could give you a job.”

“Yeah? I’d like that.”

I asked her how I could get in touch with her. “I’m here,” she said. “I sleep behind the statue of the bear.”

“It’s nice to talk to you at last, Kate,” I said.

“Shh,” she said. “The name’s classified.”

When I got home, the first thing I did was contact Fats at the Pool. He said he was surprised to hear from me so soon, but that he’d be happy to give my friend a job. Despite the fact that he’d abjectly rejected the idea I thought was going to save us all, Fats was a good guy.

Win came over that night. “You’re quiet,” he said.

“I thought I’d come up with something really smart,” I said. I described my idea to him, and then I told him the reasons Fats had said it wouldn’t work.

“So that’s what the cacao rally was about and why you’ve been so secretive,” Win said.

I nodded. “I really wanted it to work.”

Win took my hand. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way but I’m kind of glad that it didn’t work. Even if there were a legal way to justify selling chocolate, you’d end up in court all the time. You’d be fighting City Hall and public opinion and even your own family, it sounds like. Why would you want to take on all of that? Not having anything to do after high school is not a good enough reason.”

“Win! That’s not the reason! How stupid do you think I am?” I shook my head. “It might sound silly to you, but there’s some part of me that always wanted to be the person who returned Balanchine Chocolate to the right side of the law, I guess. For Daddy.”

“Look, Annie. You gave the business to Fats. Sophia and Mickey are gone. Yuji Ono, too. You really can be free of this now. It’s a gift, if you choose to see it that way.”

He kissed me, but I didn’t feel like being kissed.

“Are you angry at me?” Win asked.

“No.” I was.

“Let me see your eyes.”

I turned them on him.

“My father’s the same way.”

“Don’t compare me to him.”

“He’s done nothing for the past six months because he lost the election when really, losing the election was a gift to all of us. Me. You. My mother. And especially him, if the bastard could just open up his eyes and see it.”

I didn’t say anything for such a long time that Win finally changed the subject.

“Graduation is next Wednesday. Are you coming?” Win asked.

“Do you want me to?” I replied with a question of my own.

“I don’t care,” Win said.

But obviously he did want me to come if he was bringing it up.

“I’m giving the salutatorian speech if you’re interested,” Win continued.

“That’s right. You’re smart. I forget that sometimes.”

“Hey.” Win smiled.

I asked him if he knew what he planned to say.

“It’ll be a surprise,” he promised.

That was how Natty, Noriko, and I found ourselves at Trinity’s high school graduation.

Win’s speech was, I think, in part directed at me and in part directed at his father. It was about questioning what society tells you and standing up to authority and other things that have probably been said at countless other graduations. He had acquired his father’s gift for oration, so in terms of the crowd’s response, it barely mattered what he said. I clapped as much as anyone else.

Did I feel a twinge at the sight of my classmates walking across the stage? Yes, I did. More than just a twinge actually.

Scarlet waved to us as she accepted her diploma. After some amount of back-and-forth, the administration had allowed her to walk at graduation while pregnant. Cap-and-gown was basically like a maternity dress, so Scarlet didn’t stick out much anyway. And from the point of view of Trinity, it was far worse not to keep one’s baby than to keep it. Gable met her on the other side of the stage to help her down the steps.

When they reached the bottom, Gable got down on one knee.

“Oh no,” Natty said. “I think Gable’s proposing again.”

I dismissed her. “Gable wouldn’t do that here.”

“He is. Look, he’s taking a little jewelry box out of his pocket,” Natty said.

“Romantic,” Noriko said. “So romantic.” And I imagine it did look romantic if you didn’t know either of the parties involved.

“Poor Scarlet,” I said. “She must be so embarrassed.”

At that moment, a cheer went through the gymnasium. We were sitting toward the back, so I could no longer see Scarlet or Arsley. “What?” I asked. “What just happened?” I stood.

Scarlet and Arsley were kissing. He had his arms around her.

“Maybe she’s letting him down easy?” I said. But even as I said it, I knew that she wasn’t.

After graduation was over, I scrambled to the front to find Scarlet but she’d already left. I spotted Scarlet and her parents outside. They were standing in a coven with Gable Arsley’s parents. I grabbed Scarlet’s hand and pulled her away.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked as soon as I’d gotten her alone.

Scarlet shrugged. “I’m sorry, Annie. I knew how you’d feel but … with the baby coming, I just got worn down.” She sighed. “I’m worn out. I even wore flats to graduation. Can you imagine me—”

“I told you that you could stay with me!”

“Could I really? It’s a nice offer, Annie, but I don’t think I could. Leo’s wife is there. And Leo will be back. And there won’t be any room for me and a baby.”

“Yes there will, Scarlet! I’ll make room.”

She didn’t say anything. Even in flats, she was taller than me. She looked over my head. She didn’t seem to be looking at anything specific other than not at me. Her expression was even and the set of her mouth was firm.

“Scarlet, if you seriously marry Gable Arsley, you and I won’t be friends anymore.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Annie. We’ll always be friends.”

“We won’t,” I insisted. “I know Gable Arsley. If you marry him, your life will be ruined.”

“Well, then it’s ruined. It was already ruined,” she said calmly.

Gable came up to us. “I assume you’re here to congratulate us, Anya.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t know how you’ve fooled her, Gable. What you did to make her change her mind.”

“This isn’t about Scarlet. It’s about you, Anya. Like it always has to be,” Gable said calmly.

Not for the first time, I wanted to smack him across his face. Suddenly, I felt Natty’s hand in mine.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

“Goodbye,” Scarlet called.

My jaw wobbled like a three-legged stool, but I did not cry.

“Anya, we aren’t children anymore!” Scarlet said.

In that moment, I hated her—for implying that the reason I objected to her marrying that sociopath was because I was somehow stunted and pathetically suspended in childhood. As if I hadn’t been forced to do away with childish things years ago. “Do you mean because we graduated or because you’re knocked up?” Even as I said it, I knew it was cruel.

“We didn’t graduate!” Scarlet yelled back. “I graduated. And for the record, my job title is not Professional Best Friend to Anya Balanchine!”

“If it were, you’d be fired!”

“Okay,” Natty said. “You two really need to stop now. You’re both being awful.” Natty went up to Scarlet and embraced her. “Congratulations, Scarlet for … um … making a decision that you’re happy with, I guess. Come on, Annie. We need to get going.”

After graduation, Natty and I went to a celebratory brunch at Win’s parents’ place. I was still preoccupied from my argument with Scarlet, and I spent the whole meal brooding. Just before dessert, Win’s father tapped his knife against his glass and stood to make a speech. Charles Delacroix liked making speeches. I’d heard more than enough of them in my life so I didn’t feel the need to pay attention to this one. Finally, it seemed like we’d stayed long enough that it wouldn’t be rude to leave.

“Don’t leave yet,” Win said to me. “You’ll just go home and brood over Scarlet and Arsley.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t you think I know you a little bit?” He smoothed out the furrow that must have formed between my eyebrows.

“That’s not the only thing I’m brooding about, you know,” I objected. “I’m very deep and my problems are vast.”

“I know. At least one of them isn’t that your boyfriend is moving away to go to college.”

I asked him what he meant.

“Didn’t you pay any attention to my dad’s speech? I’ve decided to stay in New York for college. It means going to Dad’s alma mater, which pleases him. I’d rather not do anything to please him, but…” Win shrugged.

I took a step back. “You can’t mean that you’re staying here on my account?”

“Of course that’s what I mean. A school is a school.”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I fidgeted with my necklace.

“You seem less pleased than I’d hoped.”

“But Win, I didn’t ask you to stay here. I just don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. These past two years have taught me that it’s best not to make too many plans beyond the present moment.”

“That’s crap, Anya. You don’t think that. You’re always thinking about your next move. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

Of course he was right. The real reason I didn’t want him to stay was too hard to say aloud. Win was a decent guy—maybe the most decent one I’d ever known—and I didn’t want him to stay in New York because he felt sorry for me or out of some misplaced sense of obligation. If he did that, he’d only end up regretting it later.

Since I’d learned about Simon Green, I’d done a bit of reflecting over my parents’ marriage. My mother and father had fought constantly the year before she died. One of the major points of contention between them was that she resented leaving her job at the NYPD and had wanted to go back to work—which obviously was impossible, considering what Daddy did for a living. My point was, I didn’t want Win to end up resenting me that way.

“Win,” I said, “it’s been a good couple of months for us, but I can’t know what’s going to happen to me next week let alone a year from now. And neither can you.”

“Guess I’ll have to take my chances.” Win studied my face. “You’re a funny sort of girl,” he said, and then he laughed. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Anya. I’m just trying to put myself in your neighborhood.”

At the mention of marriage, I winced.

“And I’d done so well distracting you from the news of Scarlet’s nuptials.”

I rolled my eyes. “What is wrong with her?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Except that life is hard. And complex.”

I asked him if he was taking her side, and he said there were no sides. “The one thing I do know about Scarlet Barber is that she is your friend.”

Scarlet Barber may have been my friend but soon she would be Scarlet Arsley.

Win’s mother dragged him away to talk to some of the other guests at the brunch. He made me promise to stay a little longer. Natty seemed to be enjoying herself—she was talking to a cute cousin of Win’s—so I wandered up to the garden. The day was unseasonably hot so no one was out there. The last time I’d been in that garden was that long-ago spring day when I had ended things with Win.

I sat down on the bench. Mrs. Delacroix was using a trellis to grow peas, and the plants made little white flowers, which reminded me of the blooms on the cacao plants in Mexico. I was glad to be in New York—not to be in hiding—but I also missed Mexico. Maybe not the place itself, but my friends there and the feeling that I was part of something worthwhile. Theo and I had both been raised in chocolate yet his life had been totally different from mine. Because chocolate wasn’t illegal in Mexico, he had lived his whole life in the open whereas I had always been hiding and ashamed. I suppose that was why I had been so drawn to the idea of medicinal cacao.

I was about to leave when Charles Delacroix came out to the garden.

“How do you stand the heat?” he asked me.

“I like it,” I said.

“I would have guessed that about you,” he replied. Mr. Delacroix sat next to me on the bench. “How goes the medicinal-cacao business?”

I told him I’d run the idea by the powers that be at Balanchine Chocolate and that it had been roundly and unceremoniously rejected.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charles Delacroix said. “I thought it was a good concept.”

I looked at him. “You did?”

“I did.”

“I would have thought you’d think it was a cheat.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand much about lawyers. We live for the gray areas.” He nodded and stroked his beard. “We live in them actually.”

“You ever gonna shave that thing off? It makes you look like one of those park people.”

Charles Delacroix ignored me. “I imagine the idea was threatening to your cousin Sergei, or ‘Fats’—word on the street is that he’s the one running the semya now? I’m horribly out of touch, but I do try to keep up. And he probably said that the Balanchine business model was based on the idea of illegal supply which, of course, is true.”

“Something like that.” I paused. “You always think you know everything, don’t you?”

“I don’t, Anya. If I did, I’d be giving speeches downtown instead of at a graduation party. As for your cousin? I can predict his response because it’s thoroughly predictable. He’s a guy who was promoted through the ranks, a guy with his own speakeasy. Yes, I know about that. Of course I do. What you said would terrify a guy like that.”

None of it mattered much now.

“Do it anyway,” Charles Delacroix said.

“What?” I stood up from the bench.

“It’s a big idea, maybe even visionary, and those don’t come along every day. It’s a chance to really change things, and I believe it could make money, too. You’re young, which is a good thing. And thanks to me, you know a thing or two about chocolate. You’ll have to tell me all about that trip to Mexico someday.”

He knew about Mexico? I tried to keep my face expressionless, but I must not have succeeded. Charles Delacroix smiled at me.

“Anya, please. I practically put you on the boat, didn’t I?”

“Mr. Delacroix, I…”

“Make sure you hire a good security team—that wall of a woman is a fine start—and an even better lawyer. Mr. Kipling won’t do. You’ll need someone with an expertise in civil law and contracts and such—”

At that moment, Win came out to the garden. “Is Dad boring you again?”

“Anya was telling me about her plans for next year,” Charles Delacroix said.

Win looked at me. “What plans exactly?”

“Your dad’s kidding,” I said. “I don’t have any plans.”

Charles Delacroix nodded. “Well, that is a shame.”

Win defended me. “Not everyone goes to college right after high school, Dad. Some of the most interesting people don’t go to college at all.”

Charles Delacroix said he was aware of that fact and that there were many ways in life to get an education. “International travel, for instance.”

After Charles Delacroix went back inside, Win commented, “I’m amazed you can even be civil to him after everything he’d done to us last year.”

“He was just doing his job,” I said.

“You really think so? You’re more forgiving than I thought.”

“I do.” I stood on my tiptoes and leaned in to kiss him. “Worst mistake I ever made, falling for the acting DA’s kid.” I pulled away. “But you were wrong to pursue me.”

Win kissed me. “Very.”

“Why did you anyway? Pursue me, I mean. I’m pretty sure I kept telling you to go away.”

Win nodded. “Well, it’s simple really. The first time I saw you, you were dumping that tray of spaghetti—”

“It was lasagna,” I interjected.

“Lasagna. Over Gable Arsley’s head.”

“Not my finest hour.”

“From where I was sitting, I liked the looks of you. And I liked that you stood up for yourself.”

“That simple?”

“Yes, it was. These things usually are, Annie. It had become clear to me that you and your boyfriend had parted ways. I knew you’d be in Headmaster’s office at the end of the day so I contrived a reason to go there myself.”

“Admirably duplicitous of you.”

“I am my father’s son,” he said.

“Was it worth it? You did end up shot.” I put my arms around his waist.

“That was nothing. A flesh wound. Was it worth it for you? All the trouble I caused you. I feel almost”—he paused—“guilty sometimes.”

I thought about this.

Love.

There were so many kinds of love. And some of them were forever like the kind I had for Natty and for Leo. And other kinds? Well, you’d be a fool if you tried to guess how long they’d last. But even the ones that weren’t necessarily everlasting were not without meaning.

Because, when it came down to it, who and what and that you loved was your whole life. And when it came to love, it could not be denied that I’d received more than my portion: Nana, Daddy, my mother. Leo, Natty, Win, even Theo. Scarlet. Scarlet.

I furrowed my brow.

“You’re making a face,” Win said.

“I just realized that I’m going to have to forgive Scarlet.”

I looked at Win, and he looked at me.

“What I mean to say is, I’m going to have to ask her to forgive me.”

“I think that’s sensible.”

“I liked your speech today,” I said.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “You really don’t want me to stay in New York?”

“Of course I want you to stay … I just don’t want you to end up hating me.”

“I couldn’t end up hating you. It’s as impossible for me as slamming a revolving door. I’ll walk you and Natty home.” He picked a bloom from the trellis and then he tucked it into my hair. Summer was here.