crack.
“Okay. Well, I’ll get some new shades, if that’ll help. If we put in a work order, they won’t get around to it until graduation.”
“Can you do something about the closet, too?” she said. “You must have noticed the smell, standing over there.”
“I think it’s just the wood,” I said, turning on the small lamp by my bed and finding my basket of toiletries. “Smells kind of old and musty. I don’t mind it at all, but I grew up in an old house.”
“There’s old, and then there’s dead.”
I glanced back at the closet. She couldn’t be talking about the same smell I was. “Did you store all your bugs and bones and stuff in there? Maybe it’s them.”
“Those do not smell. Anyway, you said you didn’t want them in the bedroom. I put them across the hall. I’m telling you, Leena, there’s something in here. Something weird and gross. And unless the boys who lived here left behind a corpse, it has nothing to do with them.”
With that, she lay down and pulled the sheet back over her head. In a case of utterly perfect timing, a breeze swept through the room at the same time and the closet door slammed shut with a bang.
Celeste sat up straight. “Why did you do that?” she asked me, alarmed.
“I didn’t,” I said. “It blew shut.”
“Blew shut?”
She stared at the closet as if she couldn’t quite grasp the concept. Then lay back down, not taking her eyes off it, making sure it didn’t startle her with another sudden noise. Finally, she drew the sheet over her head again.
“’Night,” I said to her covered figure as I turned off the light and headed to the bathroom.
“I doubt it,” she said. “Not in here.”
Chapter 9
I STEADIED MY FEET ON THE CHAIR as I reached up, drill in hand, and repeated, “Many prokaryotes are able to take up nonviral DNA molecules,” in an accent like the Terminator’s.
It was Saturday morning after our first week of classes, and I was multitasking: switching the old, broken shades for new ones I’d bought at the mall, while listening to my recording of Friday’s unnervingly complicated lecture by my bio teacher, Mr. Baumschlager.
Not exactly how I wanted to spend a day without classes, but it needed to be done. Celeste had had insomnia all week, and continued to be paranoid that someone could be watching her through the windows. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t share her caution—it was true that a person in the backyard could have seen everything we were doing. To me, though, the garden felt like an extension of my space.
As for the bio lecture, after struggling in a couple of subjects at Barcroft, I’d figured out that the more a subject daunted me, the more trouble I had paying attention in class. Apparently, my brain left the room when it was confused. Ritalin hadn’t worked, so—at the suggestion of a tutor—I’d started recording and re-listening to classes last year, and had made honor roll for the first time.
“The genomes of eubacteria, archaea, and eukaryotes—”
A knock came at the door behind me. I turned. David stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his low-riding jeans, wearing an orange tee that said I LIKE PI on it.
“I expected you to be more muscular,” he said, smiling. “And male.”
“Herr Baumschlager.” I stepped down from the chair and moved over to my laptop to pause it. “Yesterday’s bio lecture. I enjoyed it so much the first time I had to listen again.” I figured I didn’t need to be embarrassed about my nerdiness in front of a guy with math humor on his shirt.
“My sister around?” he said. “She called me to help you guys do something. Hang these blinds, I guess?” He picked one up off the floor, still rolled and wrapped in plastic.
“Really?” This was my project. I hadn’t asked her to call him. “She’s not even here. Her wireless connection wasn’t working so she went to the library.”
“God, she’s such a twerp sometimes.” David shook his head, like he
“Okay. Well, I’ll get some new shades, if that’ll help. If we put in a work order, they won’t get around to it until graduation.”
“Can you do something about the closet, too?” she said. “You must have noticed the smell, standing over there.”
“I think it’s just the wood,” I said, turning on the small lamp by my bed and finding my basket of toiletries. “Smells kind of old and musty. I don’t mind it at all, but I grew up in an old house.”
“There’s old, and then there’s dead.”
I glanced back at the closet. She couldn’t be talking about the same smell I was. “Did you store all your bugs and bones and stuff in there? Maybe it’s them.”
“Those do not smell. Anyway, you said you didn’t want them in the bedroom. I put them across the hall. I’m telling you, Leena, there’s something in here. Something weird and gross. And unless the boys who lived here left behind a corpse, it has nothing to do with them.”
With that, she lay down and pulled the sheet back over her head. In a case of utterly perfect timing, a breeze swept through the room at the same time and the closet door slammed shut with a bang.
Celeste sat up straight. “Why did you do that?” she asked me, alarmed.
“I didn’t,” I said. “It blew shut.”
“Blew shut?”
She stared at the closet as if she couldn’t quite grasp the concept. Then lay back down, not taking her eyes off it, making sure it didn’t startle her with another sudden noise. Finally, she drew the sheet over her head again.
“’Night,” I said to her covered figure as I turned off the light and headed to the bathroom.
“I doubt it,” she said. “Not in here.”
Chapter 9
I STEADIED MY FEET ON THE CHAIR as I reached up, drill in hand, and repeated, “Many prokaryotes are able to take up nonviral DNA molecules,” in an accent like the Terminator’s.
It was Saturday morning after our first week of classes, and I was multitasking: switching the old, broken shades for new ones I’d bought at the mall, while listening to my recording of Friday’s unnervingly complicated lecture by my bio teacher, Mr. Baumschlager.
Not exactly how I wanted to spend a day without classes, but it needed to be done. Celeste had had insomnia all week, and continued to be paranoid that someone could be watching her through the windows. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t share her caution—it was true that a person in the backyard could have seen everything we were doing. To me, though, the garden felt like an extension of my space.
As for the bio lecture, after struggling in a couple of subjects at Barcroft, I’d figured out that the more a subject daunted me, the more trouble I had paying attention in class. Apparently, my brain left the room when it was confused. Ritalin hadn’t worked, so—at the suggestion of a tutor—I’d started recording and re-listening to classes last year, and had made honor roll for the first time.
“The genomes of eubacteria, archaea, and eukaryotes—”
A knock came at the door behind me. I turned. David stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his low-riding jeans, wearing an orange tee that said I LIKE PI on it.
“I expected you to be more muscular,” he said, smiling. “And male.”
“Herr Baumschlager.” I stepped down from the chair and moved over to my laptop to pause it. “Yesterday’s bio lecture. I enjoyed it so much the first time I had to listen again.” I figured I didn’t need to be embarrassed about my nerdiness in front of a guy with math humor on his shirt.
“My sister around?” he said. “She called me to help you guys do something. Hang these blinds, I guess?” He picked one up off the floor, still rolled and wrapped in plastic.
“Really?” This was my project. I hadn’t asked her to call him. “She’s not even here. Her wireless connection wasn’t working so she went to the library.”
“God, she’s such a twerp sometimes.” David shook his head, like he
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