Part 29 (2/2)

I got to school early the next morning and went to Mrs. Stone's room. She glanced up from her seat at her desk and put down the papers she had been reading.

”Hi, Ms. Beckett. What can I do for you?”

”Have you ever heard of the Daughters of Persephone?”

Mrs. Stone's brow crinkled. ”I'm not aware that she had any daughters.”

”I know, but have you heard of any groups by that name?” I laughed helplessly at how nuts I sounded. ”Not real blood daughters. More like ... a society.”

”No.” She c.o.c.ked her head at me. ”Why do you ask?”

”Someone mentioned it. She said she was a Daughter of Persephone, and I wondered what she meant by it.”

”Sorry. I don't know.” She watched me, waiting. ”Was there something else?”

”Yes. The Orpheus myth. Are there any other ... versions of it? Any different interpretations?”

”What do you mean?”

”Any little ways it could've been mixed up or something?”

Mrs. Stone took off her gla.s.ses and rubbed them with her handkerchief. ”I'm not sure what you're getting at. But if you're interested in reading more about it, take this.” Opening one of the drawers on her desk, she brought out a small paperback book about mythology's greatest love stories.

”Great.” I took the book and put it in my bag. I'd been reading about Orpheus and Eurydice on the internet, so I wasn't sure if the book could give me any new information. I wished Jack were here, and speaking to me. Maybe he would forgive me. But maybe when someone forgives someone else so many times, he reaches a point when he can't anymore.

Mrs. Stone leaned forward over her desk and put the gla.s.ses that were hanging around her neck back on the end of her nose. ”As you read it, take note of the value the Greeks placed on love. Every decision Orpheus makes is based on love. His unwavering love nearly saved Eurydice. Remember that for your paper.”

My paper. As if I'd ever finish it now.

”Thanks,” I said.

She waved in response, not looking up from her desk.

After I left her cla.s.sroom, I sat in my nook and flipped through the paperback. Much of the first half dealt with the great love story between Orpheus and Eurydice before she ever went to the Underworld. They were husband and wife, at the height of their romance when she was poisoned and went under.

And then, like me, Eurydice had survived.

What did she and I have in common? Cole had said I was different from the Daughters of Persephone because I had relations.h.i.+p ties to the Surface.

Eurydice had a tie to the Surface in Orpheus. I had Jack. Before Meredith had disappeared, she said she had a theory about anchors. What if an anchor was a tie to the Surface?

When I was in the Everneath, I thought about Jack every day. Every minute. Even after I'd forgotten his name, the image of his face made me feel whole again. Was Jack the reason I'd survived? Were our ties to the Surface what somehow kept us whole?

The one problem in the anchor theory was Meredith. She had a connection with her mom, yet she didn't survive. But then the more I thought about it, the more I realized Mrs. Jenkins didn't have a similar connection to Meredith. She forgot about Meredith the second the Feed began.

Then it hit me. Orpheus didn't forget about Eurydice. He loved her the entire time she was gone. Maybe the attachment between Forfeit and anchor worked only when it went both ways.

The drinking fountain next to me shuddered to life as a flash of intuition hit me.

I knew now that Jack never forgot about me. He'd never stopped loving me. He was the anchor that saved me.

And now he was gone.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

NOW.

Home. One week left.

When I got home, my dad had a ”Mayor Bonds with His Wayward Daughter” dinner waiting. Chinese food. He had a few more days until the primary election, and every spare moment was spent on the campaign trail, but his secretary told me he'd scheduled in these dinners.

I followed the smell into the kitchen, where my dad was spreading out the containers from Mountain City Mongolian. ”Tommy has Scouts tonight,” he said.

I peeked into a few boxes. ”You know there's only two of us, right?” He dished out a plate-one of everything-and handed it to me. ”There's no way I can eat all that,” I said.

”Nikki, I've noticed your appet.i.te isn't what it used to be. We need to work on that.”

”Sure, Dad.” I scooped a spoonful of rice into my mouth.

”Your mother used to eat like a horse.”

I nearly choked on my rice. He hadn't mentioned my mother in a very long time. His face told me he hadn't meant to. Ever since I'd been back, the topic of my mother remained unexplored territory for us. The last time we'd talked about her was the day I left. I wanted to show him he didn't have to avoid the subject anymore.

”She really did,” I agreed. ”Remember when she used to keep the gravy boat right next to her plate, even at family parties?”

My dad chuckled. ”Oh yeah. She did that when we were dating. At her first dinner with my family.”

”Grams must've been shocked.”

”She was.”

Dad let out a breath, and we ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying a level of comfort with each other that we hadn't experienced in a long time.

”How's the election coming?” I asked. I never watched the news or followed the numbers anymore. The first time he ran, I kept a chart hanging on the wall in my room, with a graph of his polling numbers. Back then he was running as a family man. This time he was a grieving widower, trying to reconnect with a rebel daughter. He was the inc.u.mbent, but the in-party challenger was putting up a fight.

”Strong. The numbers are back up.” He meant after the fiasco at the Christmas Dance.

As we sat together, the two of us alone, I realized that this might be my last chance to talk to him before the election. And I might not be here for very long after.

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