When it clicks on, a chair scrapes against the floor and someone jumps up. I shriek, then stifle it with my hand.
It’s William.
He’s been sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, and there’s a partially eaten sandwich on the plate in front of him. His face looks more angled than it does in the daylight. His new haircut is a little short, but it suits him.
I freeze, realizing that my own hair is still in a bun on top of my head and there is no easy way for me to cover my ear. Not to mention that I’m wearing a nightgown so thin it probably barely conceals my chest. You utter dip, I tell myself, don’t look down, and I can feel my face lighting with fire. Of course I hadn’t thought to put on a bathrobe.
An endless moment goes by, and finally Will clears his throat.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asks politely. He fixes his gaze on the floor next to my feet.
“I was thirsty,” I lie. Then I do something awkward with my arms and end up crossing them over my chest.
“There’s some milk and soda there,” he says, smiling toward the refrigerator.
“Right,” I say, moving toward it as quickly as I can.
Will sits back down and gestures sheepishly at the sandwich on the table. “On the days I practice, I’m usually still hungry, even after dinner. Just promise not to tell Genevieve.” I can feel his eyes taking in my flushed face before he averts them back to the wall.
He takes another bite of sandwich. “Do you want to sit?” he asks, his mouth full. I pour a glass of milk and hesitate. He is wearing a white T-shirt and blue striped pajama pants, which makes me feel the slightest bit better.
I return the milk to the refrigerator and slide into the seat opposite him. When there is silence again, I drink my milk too quickly.
“We went into town today,” I finally say. “I met Mrs. Mackelroy.”
Will laughs, and I can glimpse his one slightly crooked incisor. “One of Sterling’s brightest gems,” he says.
“And your mother showed me the Looking Glass Variants.”
“Ah, the Variants.” He lets out a deep breath. “So now you know.”
“I guess,” I say. “I feel there’s still so much that I don’t know.” I hesitate. “Does Sterling have a Council?”
“Yes. They make decisions in the town’s best interests. Regulate the Variants, plan town events. My father’s part of it.”
“And they . . . had to vote to let us in?”
Will pushes the crusts of his sandwich around on his plate and won’t quite look at me.
“Listen,” he says finally. His eyes are blue and clear, and something in his voice makes my breath catch. “There are some people here who . . . didn’t always have the fondest feelings toward your mother,” he says. “Try not to let it get to you. My mother says she was a great person.”
This shouldn’t shock me, not after the note from town, but somehow it still does. “Oh,” I say. “Well. I know that. I know who she was.”
But really—?do I?
“If anyone says anything, you can let me know,” he says.
“Why . . .” My voice catches and betrays me. I clear my throat. “Why didn’t they like her?”
The crumbs left from his sandwich are spread out like a constellation between us. He plays with the edge of the plate.
“I heard that she was different than everyone else. You have to understand that people here do whatever they can to prove they’re not tied to the Disappearances. But your mother . . . She was the only one who could leave this place and be free,” he says. “She got out and never looked back. I guess that left a bad taste in some people’s mouths.”
I chew on my bottom lip and process this. My mother was the only one?
“And maybe . . .” He hesitates. “Maybe that made them a bit suspicious of her.”
He stands clumsily and carries his plate to the sink. “I go in early for practice tomorrow,” he says. “But I’ll probably see you in the halls.”
