“You can’t what?”

“I can’t carry stuff when I fly. It gets me off balance.”

I don’t know whether to feel better because Jeffrey can’t do it either, or to feel worse because he’s evidently been watching me.

“You’ve tried?” I ask.

“Lots of times.” He reaches over and pulls a pinecone out of my hair. His eyes are friendly, sympathetic. Out of everybody I know, Jeffrey’s the one person who can really understand what I’m going through. He’s going through it, too. Or at least he will, when his purpose comes.

“Do you—” I hesitate. I look behind him to the hallway toward Mom’s office. He glances over his shoulder, then back at me curiously.

“What?”

“Do you want to try it together?”

He stares at me for a minute. “Sure,” he says finally. “Let’s do it.”

It’s so dark in the backyard that I can’t see much past the edge of the lawn.

“This would be so much easier during the day,” I say. “I’m starting to hate practicing at night.”

“Why not practice during the day?”

“Um—because people could see us?”

He smiles mischievously. “Who cares?” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“People don’t really see you. It’s not like they’re looking up.”

“What? That’s crazy,” I say, shaking my head.

“It’s true. If they notice you at all, they’ll think you’re a big bird or something. A pelican.”

“No way.” But I immediately flashed back to when I flew over Jenny Lake and my reflection was a streak of pure white, like a bird’s.

“It’s no big deal. Mom does it all the time.”

“She does?”

“She flies almost every morning. Just as the sun’s coming up.”

“How have I not noticed this?”

He shrugs. “I get up earlier.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know that!”

“So we can fly during the day. Problem solved. But now let’s get on with it, okay? I’ve got things to do.”

“Of course you do. All right, then. Watch this. Show yourself!” I yell.

His wings flash out.

“What was that?” he gasps.

“A trick I learned from Angela.”

His wings are a light gray color, several shades darker than mine. Probably nothing to worry about, though. Mom said we’re all varying shades of gray. And his don’t look dark so much as they look . . . dirty.

“Well, warn me next time, okay?” Jeffrey folds his wings slightly, makes them smaller, and turns his back to me as he walks over to the edge of the lawn where I left the duffel bag. He lifts it easily and jogs over to me. All those muscles from the wrestling team are a big advantage.

“Okay, let’s do this thing.” He holds the bag out, and I grab one of the handles. “On the count of three.”

I suddenly picture the two of us bashing our heads together as we lift off. I take a step back, putting as much space between us as I can while still holding the duffel bag. With him sharing half the weight, it isn’t too heavy at all.

“One,” he says.

“Wait, which direction should we go?”

“That way.” He tilts his head toward the northern end of our property, where the trees are thinner.

“Good plan.”

“Two.”

“How high?”

“We’ll figure that out,” he says in an exasperated tone.

“You know, your voice is starting to sound just like Dad’s. I don’t think I like it.”

“Three!” he exclaims, and then he bends his knees and flexes his wings and heaves upward while I do my best to do the same.

There’s no room for hesitation. We go up and up and up, timing the beats of our wings together, holding the duffel bag between us a bit shakily but in a way that we’re able to handle it. In about ten seconds we’re over the tree line. Then we start to move north. I look over at Jeffrey, and he shoots me a smug, self-satisfied smile, like he knew all along that this would be easy. I’m kind of shocked by how easy it is. We could have lifted twice as much. My mind races with all that this could mean. If I can’t lift Christian myself, am I meant to have help? Is it against the rules?

“Jeffrey, maybe this is it.”

“This is what?” he says a bit distractedly, trying to pull the duffel bag up to get a better grip on it.

“Your purpose. Maybe we do it together.”

He lets go. The bag jerks me down instantly, and then I let go, too. We watch it crash into the brush on the forest floor.

“It’s not my purpose,” he says in a flat voice. His gray eyes grow cold and distant.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Everything’s not about you, Clara.”

The same thing that Wendy said to me. Like a punch to the gut.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I guess I got excited at the idea of getting some help. I’m having a hard time doing this on my own.”

“We have to do it alone.” He turns away in the air, heading back toward the yard. “That’s just the way it is.”

I stare after him for a long time, then drop down to the ground to pick up the duffel bag. One of the gallons of water I put inside is broken, and the water leaks out in a slow trickle onto the dry earth.

Chapter 16

Bear Repellent

The next morning my cell phone rings at some ungodly hour. Under the covers, I groan and grope around for it on the nightstand, find it, pull it in with me, and answer cheerfully.

“What?”

“Oh good. You’re up.” Tucker.

“What time is it?”

“Five.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m on my way over,” he says. “I’ll be there in about a half hour. I thought I’d call so you had time to brush your hair and put on your face.”

“You think I’m going to wear makeup to go hiking with you?”

“See, that’s what I like about you, Carrots. You’re not fussy.”

I hang up on him. I throw the blankets off and lie for a minute gazing up at the ceiling. Outside it’s pitch-dark. I was dreaming about him, I realize, although I can’t remember the details. Something about the big red barn on the Lazy Dog Ranch. I yawn. Then I force myself to get up and get dressed.