Eyes still closed, pretending to sleep, Wab turned her head slightly into the pillow so the tears would have somewhere to fall.

CHAPTER 6

CATALOG AND CRUCIFY

French

I WALKED IN, AND THE ESCORT STAYED BEHIND IN THE hallway. In the whole room there was only an empty desk and two chairs—one behind the desk and one in front. In the one behind the desk sat a young man in a brown suit. The room was too bright, and I winced. The young man stood up and pulled the blinds so that we were in a blue kind of half dark.

“There, that should be better.” He sat back down, his face in the new shadows, one hand on his tie so that it sat flat against his chest. He looked like he was wearing his grandfather’s suit; it fit him all wrong. His arms weren’t big enough and too long at the same time so that his bare wrists settled on the wood desk. He looked like he’s just hatched into this baby executive.

“You look like a bird, man,” I told him, and started giggling. He sat quiet until I settled down.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a small laptop, opening it in front of him, smoothing down his tie over and over as if it were a snake he was trying to charm. He typed for a moment, waited for another, then glanced up at me, fingers poised over the keys.

“Name?”

“What?”

“Your name, please.”

“Why in the hell would I give you my name?”

“Why would you not?” His voice was even, practiced.

I was cold. I rubbed my shaved head. “It’s breezy up top now. Hard to think.”

He looked down at the screen. “According to your file, you sustained a severe concussion and dehydration and required a dozen stitches, so hair removal was necessary.”

“Oh, so you were helping me? I mean, it’s not like your goons cracked my skull open to begin with, right?”

“Name?”

I sat back in the chair and felt every one of my bones rest on the frame. My vision was kind of zooming in and out, making me lightheaded, but I didn’t want to look like I felt. In the bush, you never show your underbelly.

“Not gonna happen, dude.” I smirked, trying to look sinister. I had the feeling I maybe just looked like I was in pain, which I was. But I did manage to lock eyes with him before he looked back down to his computer.

“Are you Nish?” I asked. Things were a bit blurry, and the sunlight had been blocked out, but there was something about his structure, about the way he held himself in his borrowed suit.

“Are you?” he countered without looking up.

“Why else would I be here? This is a school, right?”

“We prefer institute. And I don’t see how that detail matters right now,” he said, fingers steepled under his chin.