“What would you call it?” I ask, feeling lighter than when I sat down. Less burdened. If possible, I want Celine’s kind friend to walk away from this conversation feeling the same.
“You first,” Imani says. “If you think hard about what a new word means to you specifically, you’ll be more likely to remember it.”
I raise my eyebrows. That’s a clever idea. Perhaps if I had employed the same rationale in my earlier language studies, I wouldn’t have found them so tedious.
“It sounds lonely.” I admit.
“Missing home is a universal experience... except when it isn’t.” Imani turns to look at Celine—she’s finishing her dance on stage—and forces a weak smile. “Some of us are jealous of those with the ability to miss home.”
If Imani is trying to warn me not to get my hopes up about returning to the celestial realm with Celine, she’s wasting her time. I gave up on that dream many years ago.
“That water won’t drink itself, Imani,” Luca says, appearing in front of us again and pushing his messy brown hair out of his face.
“You’re a nag,” she mutters, unscrewing the lid and chugging until the bottle is empty. She tosses it to Luca, and he smiles.
“What were you two talking about? Looked interesting.”
I raise my eyebrows. Is Luca checking on me?
“Peregrinate, pros and cons,” Imani says. “Go.”
Luca’s smile turns upside down at once. “Only cons, the seeds are weird looking—like alien eggs—and there are way too many of them.”
I stare at him blankly. That... doesn’t match the definition I read at all.
Imani throws her head back and laughs. “Oh gods, Luca. Peregrinate, not pomegranate.”
He shrugs. “Sounds the same. I stand by what I said.”
Imani laughs again, the sound carrying around the room. Twenty pairs of eyes stop what they’re doing to stare at her withglassy eyes, her siren song enough to draw their attention even when she’s not trying.
“I needed that,” she groans. “Even more than the water, so thanks.”
Luca shakes his head and salutes her good-naturedly before tossing the water bottle in the trash and returning to the growing line.
Imani glances at me, then down at her phone. “One second.”
I shift on my stool, hoping she plans to let me in on the joke without making me admit I didn’t get it. After typing for a while, she shows me a picture of a strange fruit.
“This is a pomegranate. Gods bless it, he’s kind of right about the seeds.”
“Do these grow around here?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I have no idea. We’d have to peregrinate and hope we stumble upon a pomegranate while we’re at it.”
I mutter both words under my breath, and she smiles. “Like I said, impressive. Keep your chin up, Malach, it gets easier.” I’m not sure if she means living here, the language, or all of it, but I nod anyway because I feel better already.
THIRTY
Enclave memo (internal)
Gather up as many fighters as possible. Lysander’s gang must be stopped.
CIPRIAN
My hands grip the steering wheel as leafy, tapered trees make way for patchy shrubs and tumbleweeds. Heat waffles off the road, making the yellow lines dance beneath the late summer sun.
Is it possible to be pulled in half without anyone laying a hand on you?
