Chapter 4: The Grace

"I'm a sister," I said. "That's true."

"The one who wrecked the other one's speech."

"I wrote the speech. She wrecked it."

He looked at the photo of Amelie on his screen, then at me.

"Same face."

"Same face," I agreed. "Different handwriting."

He put the phone away and folded his arms over his chest.

"My little sister started at that campus Thursday," he said. "She sent me this last night. She said, Bo, look at this psycho."

"Your sister has good instincts. The psycho wrote the speech."

"The guy who wrote the post signed his name."

"That's what makes him dangerous."

He made a sound through his nose that wasn't quite a laugh.

Then he pointed at my ear.

"You've got oatmeal in your hair."

"I know."

"Is that a look?"

"It's a review."

That time he did laugh, one short bark, and looked annoyed about it.

He didn't speak again for three hundred miles.

Somewhere in the night, the conductor came through checking stops.

"Harbor town," the big man said, and showed his ticket.

"Harbor town," I said, and showed mine.

He turned all the way around in his seat.

"No."

"Far North Campus. I transferred."

"Nobody transfers to the Far North Campus. People get sent there."

"Then I'm the first."

He stared at me.

"I'm the mate on the Grace," he said. "The research boat. If you're a science major, you're going to be on my deck."

"Then I'll see you on your deck."

"I hate liars," he said. "Just so you know."

"So do I. That's why I left."

He looked at me a while longer.

Then he turned off his reading light and went to sleep with his arms crossed, and he snored.

I stayed awake with the screenshot open on my knee.

Five years, the date said.

I did the arithmetic anyway, the way I do when I'm scared: sixty months, one Thursday, one train.

Somewhere in those sixty months, a girl who looked like me was going to pick up a set of keys.

I turned the phone face down and watched the dark go by.

The lake came up on the right side at dawn.

I thought it was the ocean.

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