Body of Stars by Laura Walter (free ebook reader for iphone TXT) 📕

difference, but even the slightest change might be meaningful. We do have free will, after all. Think of it as wind moving through the leaves of a tree.”

Julia released one hand from mine and swept her arm up to conjure a tree in the air between us—her forearm the trunk, her fingers the branches, the thick frenzy of her hair transforming, in my mind, into a leafy canopy. “The tree itself remains the same, but the manipulation of leaves creates altered shapes, shadows, sound. The greater form is unchanged even as it is made anew. Do you see?”

I blinked at her.

“That’s all right,” she said. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll understand one day.”

Shaken, I rubbed my arms as if to shed my confusion. The entire point of interpretation was to submit to an irrevocable future. Depicting a future as fluid as wind rushing through leaves didn’t make sense. Our markings couldn’t reveal everything that would come to pass, but seeing even a glimpse was a relief. It was what drove people to interpreters, to study Mapping the Future, to plan their careers and marriages based on what was already fated.

If only our markings could reveal the full truth in vivid detail, like a vision. If only I could have seen even a single scene in its entirety—perhaps a day several years in the future, when Julia and I would spend an afternoon together as equals.

This was the future awaiting me, but that day in Julia’s townhouse, I couldn’t predict it. Maybe that was for the best. We spend too much time either imagining the future, that vast expanse of unborn possibility, or else wandering the past, the land of the dead. And yet I return there, again and again, as if watching it unfold in my memory can affect the outcome. As if the past could ever be as changeable as the future.

*   *   *

I was still holding my arm, still caught between the present and what was to come, when Miles stepped out of the classroom with Deirdre and I finally saw things clearly: Deirdre was radiant, searing, her skin alive with a faintly ethereal glow. She was changed, newly passed to her adult markings. Glorious.

I watched, mesmerized, as Deirdre crossed the room in a filmy indigo skirt that swirled around her ankles. At her throat, an opal dangled on a gold chain. I’d read a gemstone book not long before, so I knew something about opals. They were delicate, vulnerable stones that could crack if struck or exposed to extreme temperatures. Opals were changeable depending on how you looked at them—they were lightning, fire, the sheen in an oily puddle. With this stone shining against her skin, Deirdre moved as though the atmosphere was thinner around her. Like the rest of us were trudging through water while she breezed through a high, clear sky.

Without intending to, I leaned in Deirdre’s direction. I had the sense that if I touched her, I’d feel a welcoming spark.

“Miles, I hope you and Celeste are still able to walk Deirdre home,” Julia said. “My car is not yet in working order, I’m afraid.”

“Of course,” Miles said.

I looked at him, surprised that he’d made this plan without telling me. Later, I’d learn that Julia’s car sat in an alley behind the townhouse, its brakes hopelessly worn as she saved for repairs. It was an inconvenience that would come to have graver consequences than I could have imagined at the time.

“Maybe I should come with you, just in case.” Julia frowned. We all knew what she was thinking: if the hour grew too late, she couldn’t responsibly send a changeling out into the streets.

“It’s still light out,” Deirdre said.

“And we’ll walk fast,” Miles added. “We’ll stay together, all three of us. Celeste will be there the whole time.”

Was this the real reason Miles had invited me along, to act as a chaperone so he could spend a few more minutes with Deirdre? For the first time, I started to view my brother as the rest of the world did: a boy becoming a young man, and thus a possible threat to girls like Deirdre. It didn’t matter that I knew my brother wasn’t capable of harming anyone. It was the possibility, the chance of it, that counted.

Julia was looking at me, awaiting confirmation.

“Deirdre’s house is on our way,” I said. “It’s no problem.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Celeste. You’re really saving me.”

Deirdre and Miles were already heading toward the door. I followed them outside, down the front steps, and into the street, where Deirdre grew shy. She positioned herself between Miles and me as if to hide—a fruitless attempt, since changelings were destined to be noticed.

When we passed a group of men standing outside a corner market, their collective gaze shot over to Deirdre as if she’d hypnotized them. They didn’t approach her, didn’t whistle or call out, but the moment felt turned on its side regardless. Watching those men gaze at Deirdre was one of the rare times I let myself feel it: the fear of being a girl.

I didn’t linger in that anxiety for long. We turned a corner, the men disappeared, and I went back to my own world.

*   *   *

At dinner that evening, when my parents asked about the visit to Julia’s, I told them it was uneventful. That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth, either. No one pressed the issue. My father simply served casserole while my mother poured herself a glass of wine. The future was not on their minds.

I went upstairs after dinner to work on my geometry homework. It was getting dark, so I snapped on my desk lamp to illuminate the proof I was working on. Angles, arcs, the unending reach of a line. I was beginning to appreciate the reasoned methodology of geometry, its careful, step-by-step documentation outlining how to solve a problem.

I was halfway through the proof when Miles leaned into my room. He was holding Mapping the Future.

“Can I check