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

in geology class. What struck me was that despite the painfully slow movement of glaciers, they were heavy and forceful enough to change the face of the earth itself. It reminded me of Julia’s metaphor of the tree, how subtle movements and changes could affect the larger shape. Even on the mountain, I couldn’t escape Julia’s philosophy.

“The problem remains that word about your brother’s work is spreading. The Office of the Future won’t hesitate to shut it down, but there’s only so much we can do from here on the mountain. We can’t call attention to our curriculum. It’s too risky.”

I handed back the letter. Professor Reed never allowed me to keep those bits of evidence. She only showed me in the first place because she said no girl should accept something sight unseen. We were taught to observe, to question, to think for ourselves.

“Do you think he’s in danger?” I asked.

“The Office of the Future is mired in bureaucracy and inherently resistant to progress, but no, I wouldn’t say anything malicious is at play.”

Her words didn’t ease my worry. I could only think of my brother’s future, or lack thereof, and how surely his unsanctioned work was mixed up in it.

“What your brother has discovered is unprecedented,” Professor Reed went on. “The ability to predict abductions has the potential to change everything over time. If an abduction was viewed as another marker of fate, something no one could avoid, that would shift the blame away from girls. Perhaps the stigma would begin to dissolve.”

“In that case, men could use the same argument to say they were fated to take a girl,” I said. “They’d never be held accountable.”

“That’s true, but they’re not held accountable now. They never have been. Let me show you something.” She pushed back from her desk and went to the mahogany bookcase in the corner. From the bottom shelf, she selected a heavy photo album. Its faded cover bore the school seal embossed in gold. When she opened the album, its spine made a cracking sound.

“This is our history.” She pointed to the first photograph. It was black and white, its edges yellowed. A dozen solemn-looking teenage girls, flanked by a few women, stood before a cluster of pines.

“These were the first girls to come to the mountain.” Professor Reed flipped the page to another old photo, then another. “We have a class picture from every year. Go ahead. Look.”

I turned the page. Girls back then wore long dresses, their hair pulled back in simple buns or braids. No one smiled. I started flipping faster. With each passing year, the number of girls increased while their dresses and hair grew incrementally shorter. Every picture was different, and yet every picture was the same: a group of somber girls, and a set of women guarding them.

“There are so many,” I said quietly. And each girl was taken by a man who faced few to no consequences.

Professor Reed nodded. “It’s overwhelming, to think of how many girls have come to this place, and how many others needed us who couldn’t afford it. That is my biggest regret, that we haven’t yet found a more equitable way to operate. But everything we do here is so precarious, so close to being found out and shut down.” I breezed past more photographs while thinking of Deirdre, who could have had a different life had she been able to afford tuition on the mountain. Instead, the last I’d heard from Miles was that Deirdre had moved again, this time to another city farther away, where she worked as a seamstress in a factory.

“In the end,” Professor Reed continued, “our legacy is that of women helping girls. But this isn’t isolated to the mountain. This is a tradition one can find anywhere—across the country, and across the world, too. You’re part of it now.”

I kept my eyes trained on the album. The girls and women in the photos stared up at me, serious as ghosts. “You’re saying I need to leave.”

Professor Reed took hold of my hands. “I didn’t say that, Celeste.”

“You didn’t have to. I know it’s right—not just because Miles has so little time left, but because I need to help him and Julia.”

Professor Reed squeezed my hands and I turned my head away, blinking back tears. Out the window, I caught sight of a hummingbird approaching the feeder, its wings beating into a blur. Any other day I would have watched it feed, delighting in its luminescent throat and needled beak. But I no longer saw any point in lingering in the presence of such beauty.

“I never planned on this,” I went on. “I thought I’d become a psychologist. I thought I had no talent when it came to interpretation. But being here on the mountain has shown me otherwise. Miles has a gift, but so do I.” I gently pulled my hands away so I could wipe my eyes. “I’m scared, but I need to leave.”

“You can do this, Celeste,” my professor said. “You can. And don’t worry about graduation. You’ve proven yourself here. I’ll grant you an early graduation to ensure you leave with a diploma.”

I looked at Professor Reed. She’d taught me so much on the mountain, had shown me a world of the mind and the spirit and the heart. I’d always suspected she was too good to last, had always known that I’d have to leave her one day.

I just didn’t expect it would be so soon.

*   *   *

Later that night, once the news of my early graduation was out, my friends knocked on my door. They ushered me from our dormitory and into the night air, where more friends surrounded me. Each carried a wildflower garland to drape over my neck.

“You’re graduating,” someone kept saying, like this was a magical thing. The scent of flowers surrounded me. Above us, the moon was so bright it obscured the surrounding stars.

When I first came to the mountain, I felt detached from the others. While