Page 56 of Rebel Moon

Under the blanket, Madeleine let go of my hand. I glanced over at her, but she was still gazing up at the sky, an expression on her face I could only describe one way—she was sad.

She didn’t believe I would kiss her under the full moon? Or did she think I would? And which one did she hope for?

I found her hand again, drawing it close to my chest. “Say the word,” I whispered in her ear. “And I’ll take you to see the moon.”

“You will?” Madeleine whispered back.

“I’ve been waiting for the full moon to appear at just the right time,” I said, voice still low enough for only her to hear. “Most of my life.”

She didn’t say anything, but she pressed more firmly against me and kept her hand in mine. I would have to take that as her answer for now. The moon and Gramps might have to do the rest.

We sat for some time like that, gazing up at the sky as more stars danced across the purple horizon with no idea how long it would be before someone saw them. If only they knew we were here, finally ready to see them in all their glory.

15

MADELEINE

December 18

The Talent Show

High clouds · Snow on the way

Supper: Walking street tacos · Showtime snacks

The day I’d been dreading came despite my wishes otherwise. The Talent Show. My worst nightmare. It wasn’t the no music in any of the acts either. That was fine with me since I didn’t have an ounce of musical talent. However, I had no other artistic types of talents either. So what was I going to do?

Knox refused to tell me about his act, which was no help at all. I decided the morning of the thing that I would do what I do best. String some words together. Only this time, instead of a press release, I would deliver a bad poem. I spent a better part of a morning researching different poetic structures because I needed some kind of guidance. That led me to a tanka—a poem with a syllable count of: 5-7-5-7-7. Like Knox, I liked rules and boundaries. I could work within that structure.

It took me until three that afternoon to finalize my terrible poem. I didn’t know at first what I was really writing about, but when I saw it laid out on the page I knew exactly. Hopefully no one else would figure it out. Especially not the man it was really about.

At dinner the night before the talent show, everyone was complaining and grousing.

“It’s discrimination,” Grant said. “Against musicians.”

“Since I am one, and I made the rule, that cannot be true,” Ivy said sweetly. “You can all do this. I believe in you.”

I’d have found the whole thing hilarious if I weren’t quietly losing my own, talentless mind. I was made for standing outside the sightline to make others shine, not for standing in the spotlight.

“At least you’re all performers,” I said to the table.

“Not me,” Blake said. “I’m behind the camera, asking the questions.”

“But she’s going to participate because she’s a great sport,” Beck said.

Was that pride in his voice? Was there something going on between them? I’d been too concerned with my own situation to pay much attention to anyone else. Whatever it was, I hoped it didn’t wreck the film.

“Did you decide what to do?” Knox asked, leaning close, his leg pressed against mine.

“Yes, I wrote a bad poem,” I whispered back. “And you cannot make fun of it.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Knox said.

“You can steal if for a song, though, if you’re inspired to do so.” I let my eyes twinkle at him, forgetting that we were anything but alone.

I was reminded when I looked away from Knox to see the entire table looking at us. I flushed with heat and became very interested in what was on my plate.

I really needed to be more careful.