standing on the brink of my own future.
I want him to give me
the weapons I need
to conquer the levels ahead.
I want him to have
the answer to Matilda Avalon Klein.
But I say nothing to Meer except “I’d like to meet him.”
“You will, of course!” he says brightly. “And then you’ll understand.”
We walk in silence for a moment. Meer bends down to pick up an unusual purple rock. “I have a collection of these.”
“You grew up here, right? So you must have a lot by now.”
He puts it in his pocket. “I’m homeschooled, in case you couldn’t tell. Well, mostly. I tried going to the island schools, but June had so much to teach me. And so did the ocean. And Kingsley. Plus I naturally sleep late. I’m a night person.”
“Homeschooled is cool,” I offer. “I’ve done that a bit.”
“Some people find me…socially weird or whatever. Kids from the high school.”
“Losers.”
Meer cracks a smile. “Institutions don’t suit me.”
“How old are you?” I ask him.
“Eighteen.”
“Me too.”
“Born in September.”
“October.”
We stand there silently for a minute.
Kingsley left my mother for Meer’s. Probably, he was sleeping with them both at the same time. We both know it, but maybe Meer has always known.
“I’m older!” says Meer. His face lights up. “I’m glad you’re here,Matilda.”
14
“Should we rinseour feet?” I ask. I am carrying my sneakers and we are heading in the castle’s back door. Outside it are multiple boogie boards, a number of sandy shoes, a couple buckets. Around one side I can see an outdoor shower.
“Don’t bother,” says Meer.
I gesture to a sign. In curling italics it saysWash Your Feet.
“That’s from ages ago,” he says, leading me into an enormous screened porch that functions as a mudroom. It’s lined waist-high with shelving. Row and rows of hooks hold summer things—towels and swimsuits, rash guards, a gardening apron. Rubber boots, a collection of flashlights, flip-flops, sneakers, citronella candles. Against the walls are beach and sports equipment.
Everywhere, labels.Towels. Flashlights. Boots.They’re worn and weathered, stained in some places. “June wrote those,” Meer explains. “Like, maybe when I was around ten? Tatum was here then, but with his parents, not with us. They all lived in the pool house. Anyway, he and I made the goofy ones.” Some of the labels are in childish print, and Meer flips the printedUnicorn Foodsign up to reveal a calligraphy label that saysWinter Hats.Other signs readMagical Devices. Toxic Waste. Lizard Teeth. Spoils of War.
Meer puts on a pair of flip-flops he’s pulled off the shelf that clearly have the nameTatum Cooper-Leewritten across the heel. “We were so many people back then. And now there’s just us four, andKingsley. And now you? Maybe? For a while, at least. We’re fewer people, but it’s more chaos.”
