There is no sleeping late here. We’re all woken at seven, and there’s a protocol about who showers when. I manage to sneak a few minutes at the computer to read Rhiannon’s message and send her one of my own, saying we’ll have to see how the day plays out. Then, at eight, we’re promptly at our desks, and while our father works at the other end of the house, our mother teaches us.
By accessing, I learn that George has never been in a classroom besides this one, because of a fight his parents had with his older brother’s kindergarten teacher about her methods. I can’t imagine what kindergarten methods would be shocking enough to pull a whole family out of school forever, but there’s no way to access information about this event—George has no idea. He’s only dealt with the repercussions.
I have been homeschooled before, by parents who were engaged and engaging, who made sure their kids had room to explore and grow. This is not the case here. George’s mother is made of stern, unyielding material, and she also happens to be the slowest speaker I’ve ever heard.
“Boys … we’re going to talk … about … the events … leading up … to … the Civil … War.”
The brothers are all resigned to this. They stare forward at all times, a pantomime of paying perfect attention.
“The president … of the … South … was … a man … named … Jefferson … Davis.”
I refuse to be held hostage like this—not when Rhiannon will soon be waiting for me. So after an hour, I decide to take a page from Nathan’s playbook.
I start asking questions.
What was the name of Jefferson Davis’s wife?
Which states were in the Union?
How many people actually died at Gettysburg?
Did Lincoln write the Gettysburg Address all by himself?
And about three dozen more.
My brothers look at me like I’m on cocaine, and my mother gets flustered with each question, since she has to look up each answer.
“Jefferson Davis … was married … twice. His first wife … Sarah … was the daughter of … President … Zachary Taylor. But Sarah … died … of malaria … three months after … they … were … married. He remarried …”
This goes on for another hour. Then I ask her if I can go to the library, to get some books on the subject.
She tells me yes, and offers to drop me off herself.
It’s the middle of a school day, so I’m the only kid in the library. The librarian knows me, though, and knows where I’m coming from. She is nice to me but abrupt with my mother, leading me to believe that the kindergarten teacher isn’t the only person in town who my mother thinks is not doing her job right.
I find a computer and email my location to Rhiannon. Then I take a copy of Feed off the shelves and try to remember where I left off reading, a number of bodies ago. I sit at a carrel by a window and keep being drawn to the traffic, even though I know it’s still a couple of hours until Rhiannon will show up.
I shed my borrowed life for an hour and put on the borrowed life of the book I’m reading. Rhiannon finds me like that, in the selfless reading space that the mind loans out. I don’t even notice her standing there at first.
“Ahem,” she says. “I figured you were the only kid in the building, so it had to be you.”
It’s too easy—I can’t resist.
“Excuse me?” I say somewhat abruptly.
“It’s you, right?”
I make George look as confused as possible. “Do I know you?”
Now she starts to doubt herself. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just, uh, am supposed to meet somebody.”
“What does he look like?”
“I don’t, um, know. It’s, like, an online thing.”
I grunt. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I can’t. There’s this really amazing girl I’m supposed to meet.”
She looks at me hard. “You jerk.”
“Sorry, it was just—”
“You jerky … jerk.”
She’s seriously pissed; I’ve seriously messed up.
I stand up from my carrel.
“Rhiannon, I’m sorry.”
“You can’t do that. It’s not fair.” She is actually backing away from me.
“I will never do it again. I promise.”
“I can’t believe you just did that. Look me in the eyes and say it again. That you promise.”
I look her in the eyes. “I promise.”
It’s enough, but not really. “I believe you,” she says. “But you’re still a jerk until you prove otherwise.”
We wait until the librarian is distracted, then sneak out the door. I’m worried there’s some law about reporting homeschooled kids when they go AWOL. I know George’s mother is coming back in two hours, so we don’t have much time.
We head to a Chinese restaurant in town. If they think we should be in school, they keep it to themselves. Rhiannon tells me about her uneventful morning—Steve and Stephanie got into another fight, but then made up by second period—and I tell her about being in Vanessa’s body.
“I know so many girls like that,” Rhiannon says when I’m done. “The dangerous ones are the ones who are actually good at it.”
“I suspect she’s very good at it.”