IX.

Summer returned with a vengeance the following morning.

An indiscriminate heat rolled through the neighborhood. Its humidity leaked through the windows. The sunrise beamed a fatal blood orange.

I woke up feeling sweat permeating my pretty pink shirt. I originally wanted to wear it to class as a change of pace, but now it was no good. I stripped down and reentered the shower. After I finished, I combed my dresser for any remaining white shirts. I was running short. I would need to do laundry soon.

I left the apartment as quickly as I could. The sooner I left, the better. I darted from street to street like a squirrel, taking cover beneath morning shadows. This early in the morning, the only ones outside were the runners accompanying their dogs and gardeners trimming hedges before the sun rose too high.

The university library sat several hundred paces to the right after one crossed the gated campus threshold. My apartment wasn’t equipped with functional air conditioning, so even though my classes weren’t until later that day, I preferred the library’s well ventilated interior. It opened early, and the main benefit of coming in the morning was receiving the first pick at which seat.

The seat I liked most was on the seventh floor. If you measured the distance, the wooden table sat furthest away from any of the golden perforated aluminum screens on every floor of the library. The runner up seat was on the third floor, but the seat on the seventh was propped right next to the window, where I had a clear view of the sky.

I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my textbooks and other readings. I set them on the table and pushed them to the far end such that they occupied the space where a theoretical second student might want to sit.

This was another trick I learned from my brother.

When he wanted to be left alone during exams, he would build a fortress of text on the table he wanted to monopolize. Anyone who came by would need to first, assume that it was his books and not an absent student taking a restroom break, and second, amass the necessary courage to break the concentration of someone so deeply immersed in their studying that to disturb them might risk costing them several percentage points from their valuable test scores.

I echoed this trick out of habit.

In truth, however, I was the first one in the library aside from the receptionist who had unlocked the building. By the time I had reached the seventh floor and looked behind me, I had spotted maybe one other student slinking into the building. What were the chances they would come sit here?

As usual, my attempts at studying proved rather fruitless. I glazed over half the text. With the other half I jotted down unresolved notes to feign understanding. I wasn’t a genius like my brother was. That was why he bore all the pressure, all the expectations.

Maybe that was how, that final spring, he sealed himself inside his room for months under the auspices of studying, and no one suspected a thing.

Me, on the other hand, I persevered only in the hopes that some shred of my brother and I’s shared genealogy might invoke in me a sliver of his talent and intellect.

After an hour, I took a break and turned to the sky for guidance.

I recalled what Destiny had said, about us being meant to return to the sky.

I didn’t know if I believed her, but regardless, what seemed more pertinent to know was the mechanism by which we were to return.

Were we building spaceships? No, that would be too simple.

What about a device that shifted the polarity of the Earth? Too indiscriminate.

Unless, of course, that was the whole point. Invert gravity and tear the golden library from its earthbound roots. Then, calibrate the device in such a way that those who resonated with the sky’s electromagnetic field would be lifted beyond the firmament to deskny, while those who failed would collide with the horizon formed by the end of the sky and earth.

That seemed too cruel.

Surely, Destiny was not in the business of dealing in life and death, but I would be remiss not to admit the possibility of others finding her words more than mere prophecy.

“Can I sit here?”

“...”

I knew before looking up that it was the girl with the faded magenta eye speaking to me. What I didn’t know was that today, those burgundy colors around her eye had faded yet again into a pale green. The mossy patch, fused with her deep blue iris, gleamed like tourmaline.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” the girl replied. “I couldn’t sleep. I decided to come here early. I thought at least I’d get some studying done. I saw you enter and followed you. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s okay. You can sit.”

I pulled the books back to my side of the table. The girl with the tourmaline eye sat.

“I didn’t get to thank you enough,” she said, “for yesterday.”

“It was nothing.”

“No. Don’t say that,” the girl said. “You don’t have to be so modest about it. No one’s stood up like that for me before, especially to Valerie of all people. She’s even got Professor Medea wrapped around her fingers, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said.

“They didn’t use to be so nasty,” the girl sighed. “It’s no wonder no one joins the film club anymore. I wonder what changed them… and now we have our reputation to deal with.”

“Reputation?”

“You mean you haven’t heard?” the girl gasped. “I’m surprised there’s still anyone who doesn’t know about the rumors. It’s all anyone ever talks about when we’re mentioned now.”

“I guess I just like to keep silent about the things I don’t know anything about.”

The girl reached over to hold my hand. Her fingers felt cold and dry with no trace of sweat. Faint ruby rings traced the outline of her wrists.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she beamed. “Just last week, I had to tell people in our class that they shouldn’t be talking about things they have no knowledge of.”

“I remember that. I thought that was very brave of you. I think that’s probably why I think you’re different from the others.”

“Different?”

“Like you can’t stand the way others behave.”

“I don’t know about that,” the girl replied. “That’s not the world that I see. I don’t see myself that way.”

“Is it because you’re still a part of the film club?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “If I don't do what they say, they say someone else will be punished for it. But I think that’s always been my excuse. I should’ve never joined in the first place. I should’ve left after I watched Apocalypse Anew, but I can’t. Not anymore. I have to bear with it. For my sake. For everyone.”

“Then what was all that yesterday?” I asked. “Weren’t you trying to avoid them?”

“If you’re pretending to run away from home, are you truly running away?”

“You don’t have to put up with them if you don’t have to,” I said. “I want to help. I’ll stand up to them.”

The girl with the tourmaline eye shook her head.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said. “Let’s… let’s pretend for a while. Let’s just pretend that I’ve become a part of your world. I’m the person you think I am. Let’s pretend that I’m free from Valerie and the others. What a world that would be!”

We studied in silence for the rest of that morning. At least, the girl with the tourmaline eye studied. She used a fountain pen for notetaking. Her handwriting was pretty.

When the clock struck noon, a distant tower tolled the beginning of the afternoon.

“I have class soon,” the girl said. “Thanks for studying here with me.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“I’d like that,” the girl giggled. “Let’s pretend for just a little bit longer.”

We descended the stairs together. The atrium below was flooded with sunlight. I felt like I was standing beneath a magnifying glass. I covered my face with my hands, but that only meant my palms and fingers were now the ones melting beneath the ceiling.

The girl with the tourmaline eye and I reached the entrance. We pushed each other out through the revolving door. Summer washed over us with a roar.

On a day with no clouds in sight, a small round shadow sat unevenly on the library steps.

Its contours and edges jittered.

Its outline sharpened until for a second, one could make out distinct appendages and joints and the once amorphous form became utterly unmistakable, at which point a crack split the stair steps open and the shadow that was once there vanished beneath a perspiring tennis shirt and cargo shorts.

I saw, for the very first time, the formation of a river.

It pooled atop the center steps until the new basin overflowed. It moved downwards, spreading along short-lived tributaries and irrigating crevices where thin weeds had burst through stone. I watched creeks with too little water evaporate while the main streams converged at the bottom of the stairs.

The grounds beyond the library were laid with concrete tiles. And so the water from this new source disappeared into the seams, into the grout lines between each tile. Humans had been masters of hydrology since ancient times; it was only natural that fresh springs of water be instantly subsumed by our every design.

Footsteps approached. A crowd assembled. A poisonous fume wormed into our collective bloodstream.

“Another one.”

“And it’s at the library again…”

“That’s crazy.”

Black mold sprouted along the riverbanks, overran the weeds, and bloomed beneath the feet of every bystander save for myself and the girl with the tourmaline eye. Spores clouded the air. I clapped a hand over my nostrils.

And yet, the river remained untouched by mold. Faultless and pure, it flowed only in the course dictated by natural events, the final right belonging to the inanimate and to the dead.

I swiftly reached for the girl’s hand behind me. My fingers, however, grasped at thin air.

The girl with the tourmaline eye had vanished again.