The Evolution of Mara Dyer

56

AFTER MY PARENTS LEFT, I WAS GIVEN A TOUR of the compound; four buildings that connected with a Zen garden in the center. I wandered through the rooms without paying much attention; the layout didn’t matter, and I didn’t really care. I was here. Noah and my family were out there. Jude was out there. He could do whatever he wanted.

I prayed he already had.

Because my family was at his mercy. I had no idea what happened to John; how Jude was able to take me without him knowing. But I had to believe that somehow, Noah would make sure my family was safe. The alternative—

I couldn’t think it.

I was scheduled for intensive therapy immediately, and answered all of the new counselor’s questions by rote. Between my cognitive behavioral therapy sessions and a meeting with the Horizons nutritionist, I thumbed through the small self-help library in the common room while the rest of the Horizons “students”—the permanents, with sentences of three months or longer, like me—and the temporaries, like Jamie, Stella, and Phoebe, unfortunately—went about their indoor team-building activities or whatever. I was excused from most of them, thanks to my “suicide attempt.” Sweat and stitches don’t mix. Lucky me.

Barney, one of the residential staff counselors, watched me from a short distance away. He was big, like most of the male staff—easier to restrain us, perhaps?—but seemed friendly when he tried to engage me in conversation. He wasn’t condescending, like Robins, or inappropriately enthusiastic like Brooke. He was nice; I just didn’t want to talk.

I idly turned the pages of a bizarre book entitled What’s Normal? when my compatriots filtered in. They had come from some sort of game, it looked like, because they were split into three groups wearing differently colored T-shirts: white, black, and red. Megan was in red. Her pale cheeks were flushed, and wisps of blond hair curled up around her face, creating a messy halo. She begged for the bathroom and was sent with a buddy. Adam entered next and he was also wearing red. His bulging forearms were crossed over his puffed-out chest, looking like he’d just lost whatever game it was, and sorely.

Then Jamie waltzed in, dressed in black. He saw me and made a beeline.

“This is your fault.”

I closed the book. “Hi, Jamie. Nice to see you too.”

He shot me a glare. “It’s not nice to see you, actually, considering why you’re here.”

“Thanks for not sugarcoating anything. I’ve been really sick of everyone treating me with kid gloves.”

“The sarcasm, it burns!”

I rolled my eyes.

Jamie shrugged and said, “Look.” He leaned forward. “I refuse to acknowledge your suicide attempt because it screws with all of my preconceived notions about you, okay? Though I am happy to see that you still have your sense of humor, at least.”

I grinned—couldn’t help it. “There is that. So,” I said, glad to not have to talk about my fraudulent reason for being here, “what did I do this time?”

“Interesting choice of words,” Jamie said, and looked over his shoulder at the doorway. I followed the line of his gaze, and saw—

Noah.

Here.

He stood about twelve feet away, his gray T-shirt damp and clinging to his lean, muscular frame, droplets of rain falling from his guitar case onto the pristine tile floor.

When Noah met my eyes, I was without words.

He turned away. “Where should I put this?” he asked Barney, lifting the case slightly.

“This way,” Barney said. “I’ll show you your room.”

And then Noah walked right past me. Like I wasn’t even there.

I sat catatonically in the lounge. Seats filled up and good old Brooke sat down opposite me, her bangles jingling with every gesture. She straightened her head wrap and said, “We’ll be starting in five minutes, guys. If you want to get a drink of water or make a quick bathroom run, now’s the time.” Then she leaned forward to say a gentle hello to me and patted my arm with a pitying look before leaving to fetch some water herself.

Then Noah walked in. He ran his fingers through his still-wet hair and sat nowhere near me, his long legs languidly stretched out in front of him as he slouched in a too-small plastic chair. He didn’t say a word—to me, or anyone else. He seemed—different.

I studied him, trying to figure out why. He looked perfectly imperfect in destroyed jeans and a vintage T-shirt, his hair a beautiful mess above his unreadable face. Everything about him was the same, except—

His necklace. It was gone.

I rubbed my eyes. Noah was still there when I opened them.

Jamie acknowledged him. Barney did too. That normally would have been enough to convince me that he was real.

But when everyone tells you you’re crazy and no one believes you when you swear you aren’t, a small part of you will always wonder if they’re right.

So when Stella stood to get a drink, I stood with her. “Hey,” I said.

She brushed the hair back from her olive skin as she pulled the tap on the water cooler. “Hi.”

What is the appropriate way to ask someone if you’re hallucinating the appearance of your boyfriend in your glorified mental hospital?

“Do you see that guy over there?” I asked, nodding slightly at Noah, who had now crossed his arms behind his head.

Stella wound a curl around her finger as she looked back and forth, from him to me. “The hot one?”

That would be him, yes. “Yeah,” I said.

Her full lips split into a smile. “The really, really hot one?”

Indeed. I looked over at him, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “Yes.”

Stella looked, too. “Tall, with dark brown, perfect hair.” Someone said something to Noah, provoking an arrogant grin. “Unbelievable smile,” Stella said as he looked in our direction. “Blue eyes?”

“Yes,” I said, still staring at the inexpressibly gorgeous boy who told me he loved me a few days ago, and who didn’t acknowledge me now.

“Yeah, I see him,” Stella said, and took a sip of water. “I’m not sure I’d mind seeing more of him. Wait,” she said, cocking her head at me. “Do you know him?”

I considered my answer. Can you ever really know someone? “I don’t know,” I said.

She peered at me, then sat back down. I did too, still dazed. Jamie dropped down in the chair next to me and poked me in the arm.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing it.

“Oh, good, you’re alive. I was afraid I’d have to do CPR.” He cut his eyes at me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were surprised by this development.”

It took a monumental effort to answer Jamie when I still couldn’t take my eyes off of Noah. I thought I wouldn’t see him for months. That I’d have to wait to tell him what Jude did and about Lukumi in my hospital room and about the footage from Claire’s camera that Jude had left for me.

But now Noah was here. I wouldn’t have to wait at all, and I could have cried with relief.

“Surprised,” I finally said. “Yes.”

“As if you didn’t know he was joining us on the island of misfit children?”

“What?” I tore my eyes from Noah and met Jamie’s. “I didn’t.”

“Right,” Jamie said. “They’re making me room with him, Mara. I hate you.”

“You think I did this?”

“Please.” Jamie shot me a withering look. “As if he could resist a damsel in distress.”

“I didn’t tell him to come,” I said, but I had never been happier to see him in my life. “And before you complain about your roommate, I was informed by Mr. Robins that I have to sleep in the same room as Phoebe.”

Jamie looked appropriately horrified.

“Yeah,” I said. I complained about it immediately, of course, but was told I’d have to take it up with Dr. Kells. And she wasn’t at the retreat today—she only came a few times a week, they told me, to supervise the residential staff. So until I saw her again, I was stuck.

Brooke clapped her hands. “All right, everyone back? Great! Well, it looks like we have another new member of the Horizons family, everybody! Let’s give a big welcome to Noah Shaw.”

“Hi, Noah,” everyone said in chorus.

“Noah’s here for the retreat this weekend, to see if it suits. Why don’t you tell everyone about yourself, Noah?”

“I was born in London,” he said with complete disinterest. “My parents moved here from England two years ago.”

My mouth parted.

“I don’t have a favorite color, though I strongly dislike yellow.”

Unbelievable.

“I play the guitar, love dogs, and hate Florida.”

And then Noah finally met my eyes. I was expecting a trademark half-smile, but when he looked at me his eyes were empty. My heart cracked.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Noah. Would you feel comfortable telling us why you’re here?”

He grinned, but there was no warmth in it. “I’ve been told that I have an anger management problem.”

Everyone shared their fake feelings for an hour, and then we broke for lunch. Noah caught up with me in the hallway. He looked down at me.

He looked broken.

“You’re a hard girl to get a hold of,” he said quietly.

I barked out a laugh, but Noah covered my mouth with a gentle hand.

My lids dropped at his touch. I could feel him. He was real.

All I wanted in the world was to hold him and be held. But when I lifted my hands to his waist he said, “Don’t.”

I blinked, and then I thought I might cry, and Noah must have seen it because he rushed to speak. “They don’t know we’re together. If they find out, they’ll take care to separate us and I won’t be able to bear that.”

I nodded beneath his hand and he lifted it, looking over his shoulder. The hallway was clear, but who knew for how long?

“How did you get in?” I asked.

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “It’s a long story that involves copious quantities of alcohol and Lolita.”

My brows knitted in confusion. “The book?”

“The whale.”

He made me smile, despite everything. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he said tonelessly. He avoided my eyes.

Something was wrong. I wanted to ask what it was, but I was nervous so I asked where his necklace was instead.

Noah sighed. “I had to take it off during that delightful near-strip search they offer here. Hermencia quite enjoyed it, I think. I’ll be sending her a bill.”

I smiled again, but Noah didn’t. I didn’t know what had changed or why, but I needed to. Even if I might not like the answer. “What happened?” I asked him.

He lifted my hand, my wrist, and held it out in answer.

“They think I tried to kill myself,” I said.

Noah closed his eyes. For the first time ever, he looked like he was in pain.

“Do you?” I asked him.

The muscles in his throat worked. “No,” he said. “I saw—I saw everything. I saw Jude.”

When he opened his eyes, his expression was vacant again. A smooth, unreadable mask. I was reminded of a different conversation we shared under very different circumstances:

“And what if something happens and you’re not there?” I had asked him, miserable and guilty and horrified after we returned from the zoo.

“I’ll be there,” Noah had said, his voice clear and sure.

“But what if you’re not?”

“Then it would be my fault.”

Was that what this was? I looked up at him now and shook my head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Actually,” he said with unparalleled bitterness, “it is.”

But before Noah could say anything else, a counselor interrupted us, and we were ushered away.