“A trade?” I asked warily. It was too close to what Louise had said. And it’s rarely a good thing for me when grandmother gets into one of her trickster moods.

“Yes. I will Reforge Meng’s pencil once you invite Louise over.”

I sputtered and could not think of a single reason to turn her down. After all, they were both things I wanted. I agreed.

Then there was another glint in her eye, and I was sure she was about to say something super embarrassing, like how she was excited to meet her future granddaughter-in-law. She said, “If Meng told Louise about Reforging, she must have seen something remarkable in her. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

After that, I was smiling too much, and grandmother rolled her eyes, gathered our forks onto the empty plate, and left.

So now I’m caught between feelings. I keep looking at my calendar and at the Princeton academic calendar. Replaying our conversations, wondering how I can ask her to visit. Wondering if I’ve been making life harder for myself this whole time because I’ve been too unwilling to share my feelings with the people around me—and what it might feel like to be pried open, to have my heart in the hands of another.

Chapter 12

From the Reforged pencil of Wong Yun

There are things they say you never forget, even with a disease like mine. The motions you went through the most can become ingrained. It is a terrifying thought that once all my other memories are gone, I might still Reforge a pencil, another person’s memories playing out before me, long after my own have left. I’ll have to ask Torou to keep all pencils away from me, the way others must hide their knives. I could never forget how to Reforge, not after all the years we spent working for Mr. Gao.

Mother insisted he not know that you and I could Reforge. She told him she was the only one so he would not assume it was genetic. But when there were too many messages, she recruited us. Mr. Gao, or someone posing as a customer with his seal, came almost every night to retrieve our work.

For three years, all we did was Reforge. I came to understand the rhythm of these messages. They were never obvious, never even interesting. Reports of names I did not know being sent to different cities, requests to move family members, some that didn’t make sense at all, probably part of a code. The outline of the phoenix on my arm, which used to nearly disappear after I had bled out the heart, was becoming a scar. You and I would compare, pressing our arms together, competing on who was giving more of themselves to the war effort and to the pencil company.