The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant. Joanna Wiebe
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set in quickly. She’s on this side of the line and she’s friendly—so she’s probably not from Cania. Not to mention that I’m sure I didn’t see her at orientation today.
“Stop staring at me. You’re missing the whole show,” she whispers, her gaze fixed on the entertainment below. “That guy’s laying it on thick. He’s actually begging!”
“You’re from the village.”
Her black eyes flick in my direction. “Yep. I guess you’d better run away from me now. And I’ll run away from you.” She chuckles quietly. “Stupid rules.”
Even still, I back away. My dad gave up way too much for me to compromise things now. As I back away, the girl turns to me. I’m taller than she is, but she’s got a toughness about her that makes her seem larger.
“Come on. Be nice—I’m nice,” she says. “Do you even know why the rules are what they are?”
I shake my head. Something about keeping things exclusive, but I don’t say that.
“Exactly. You only know what Villie tells you. I’ve lived here my whole life. I know the rules. So trust me when I say that I know they’re worth breaking. I know what I’m doing when I’m breaking them.”
“Which you are,” I say.
“Which you are, too. Or, what, did you miss that bright red line on the road back there? You had to cross it to get here, right?”
“I live on the village side of it.”
Leaning against the spot I’ve given up on the tree, she fits her fingers into the same rivets I held in the bark and glances over her shoulder at me. Her eyes twinkle, and her skin is olive-toned, which makes her teeth, behind the metal, look very white. Unlike the kids at Cania, she’s got a few blemishes, and her eyebrows are untamed.
“Oh,” she says, “you’re you. You’re the new kid. The weird one.”
“The weird one?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Aren’t you?”
Surprisingly, she beams. “I know, right? It’s not just weird. It blows.”
Manish’s voice booms out suddenly, and I sidle next to the girl to watch the events unfolding below.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” Manish hollers.
“It’s imperative,” Dr. Zin quickly cautions Manish, “that you keep this quiet.”
“Impossible! Your policies are ageist and exclusionary. If my money can’t get her in here, my money will shut this place down.”
With that, Manish grabs his jacket and storms to a speedboat at the end of the dock. As he does, Villicus flicks his eyes up to exactly where the girl and I are standing—Oh, crap! Freaked, we both stumble backward, falling out of his sight to the mossy, crunchy earth. I hear her squeal, but I don’t make a peep—because my heart’s temporarily stopped.
Hushed, we wait motionlessly and soundlessly for the voices below to go away.
“He saw me,” I finally whisper.
“He saw me for sure,” she says, clutching her chest. “But I don’t think he saw you. The tree shielded you. And I’m allowed to be here.”
“Are you sure? If he saw us together, I think I could get in serious trouble.”
“We both could,” she adds, but it’s obvious she’s enjoying the excitement of the moment. She tears her hand away from her chest and sticks it out at me. Her white ceramic watch makes a clinking noise against her diamond tennis bracelet. “I’m Molly. Molly Watso.”
“Anne Merchant.” I take it and shake. A speedboat starts down at the dock. “So, what did you mean, I’m the weird one?”
“This is a small island, which is even worse than a small town.” Rolling toward me, Molly chuckles. “I’d heard there was a new girl who was supposed to be different from the others. But don’t worry. You’re the least weird one up at that place, trust me.”
“What makes them weird? That they’re all flawless? Or that they’re the evil offspring of, like, Rockefellers?”
“Both!” Molly laughs again. “So you go into the village when you’re not supposed to. And you live with Gigi. What’s your deal? Just a sucker for punishment?”
I get to my feet, dusting my hand-me-down jeans. Molly follows and hops on her bike.
“It gets worse,” I confess easily. There’s something calming and, well, normal about Molly Watso. “We’ve got these Guardians assigned to us. And mine—Teddy—is actually living with me at Gigi’s. It’s pretty close quarters. I had to get out for some air.”
“Damn. I figured maybe Gigi would be your Guardian, but she’s from the village, so that wouldn’t work. Not really cut out for critiquing you twenty-four-seven.” She arches her eyebrow. “But looks like your Teddy Bear isn’t doing a very good job with that either.”
We fall into a stroll through the woods. I’m heading back to the main road, and I imagine she’s going to one of those enormous homes on the hillside.
“Hey, you know what the punishment is for us even talking, right?” she asks.
“Is it bad?”
“I’ll take that as a no,” she says, grinning. “You could be expelled.”
“And what’d happen to you?”
“The worst.”
“The worst?” I repeat. “The only thing worse than getting expelled from Cania might be having to go there in the first place.” I expect her to laugh, but she doesn’t.
“Exactly.”
“I’m kidding,” I say. “So, what would your punishment be?”
“Exactly what you said.” She stops walking as we near the road. “I’d be forced to attend Cania.”
“Attending Cania is a punishment? So, what? Is this place some sort of reform school?” I guess. Then another thought pops into my head. “Or, like, a mental institution for rich kids? Everyone there seems slightly off.”
I don’t add my concern: that my dad, after I fell into my depression over my mom’s death, might have tricked me into coming here under the guise of starting fresh.
Suddenly, a gunshot—at least, I think that’s what it is—tears through the air, bolting from the marina, ricocheting its echo, and sending me and Molly jumping out of our skin.
Molly nearly falls off her bike.
Another gunshot.
“Holy jeez,” she stammers, balancing herself again. “This island is getting crazier every second.” She skids away and calls back over her shoulder. “You okay getting home?”
Stunned, I think I mumble a yes. In a flash, Molly races to the hillside, shaking her head and shouting that she’ll see me later. I can’t believe she has the capacity to move. I’m frozen in place. By the time I’m able to move again, I stumble out of the woods and duck just as a Harley holding Dr. Zin and Villicus zooms by on the road below. It’s not until they pass and I regain my composure that the sound Molly and I heard makes better sense.
“Not a gunshot,” I assure myself. “It was the bike backfiring. Had to be.”
That has to be it. Because the alternative is not something I can let enter my mind. Not if I’m going to keep my sanity here, in a place that, the more I think of it, could very well be a high-end asylum.
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