The Different Girl

because I’d also been listening to them. “My idea was to make an awning for shade on the kitchen porch.”
    “That’s very good,” she said. “Caroline?”
    “My idea was about water.” Irene looked at her, as if she didn’t quite understand, so Caroline went on. “To stretch the canvas and catch water when it rains, to store it, to make tea.”
    “That’s very good, too. It’s already a good morning, with all of you being so smart.” We always wanted to make Irene happy, and she smiled as she sat down to eat. “Caroline, why don’t you go ask Robbert if he has anything we can use to cut the sailcloth. Be careful not to disturb anyone.”
    We all watched as Caroline walked out and carefully went down the steps and across the yard, though she was only partway across when Irene called us away from the door to plan the rest of the morning. We had so many ideas, and she had so many questions, that we barely noticed Caroline didn’t come back.
    • • •
    Eventually we took a nap—which was when we finally realized how long she’d been away—but when we woke up Caroline was there with the rest of us like always. Irene had eaten her lunch while we were sleeping, so we went straight into the yard. Irene explained our walk would be without minutes, with all of us walking together. The difference, she said, was that this time we wouldn’t be walking alone. She pointed and we saw May on the porch of Robbert’s building. The shape of her face had changed, because her hair was pulled behind her head. She had borrowed one of Irene’s clips. We never used Irene’s clips, because we needed our hair like it was, hanging down and wiped clean to catch the sun. Irene waved for May to join us.
    “We’re all going to walk together,” she said, and then to May, “We can show May our island.”
    Irene held out her hands to Eleanor and to Isobel. “And no pinching,” said Isobel.
    “That’s right,” said Irene, with a smile, still looking at May. Caroline and I stood with May. Usually the two not holding hands with Irene just waited to hold hands with her on the walk back. But now we were with May, who just looked down at her feet. Since I had done it before, I reached to touch May’s hand. She pulled back, surprised.
    “We hold hands with Irene,” said Caroline.
    “O,” said May, but nothing else.
    Caroline held out her hand. May looked at it, then over at Irene, who was watching everything.
    “Why did she say ‘no pinching’?”
    “Because we don’t pinch,” said Caroline.
    “That’s right,” I said, just like Irene. I held out my hand, too. May finally took it and then took Caroline’s.
    “We’re off then,” said Irene. “Isobel, where first?”
    “The cliffs,” said Isobel.
    “Why the cliffs? Eleanor?”
    “Because we’ll see more, since the tide is out.”
    “Very good.” Irene dipped her eyes once right at me, a hidden look, and then turned to lead the way.
    • • •
    May wasn’t as good at walking with us as Irene, so there was some stumbling, which meant that the three of us fell behind, just enough that—as May realized first—we could talk without the others hearing.
    “Are you . . . okay now?”
    May’s voice was still a little hoarse, scraped in her throat. She was looking at Caroline. Caroline didn’t answer, blinking, and it seemed like May wasn’t sure what to say next, or even what words to use, like she’d met a bird or a flower that didn’t have a name. She tried again.
    “He . . . Robbert . . . this morning . . . he was . . . working . . . on you—”
    “Robbert wanted to know about my dream,” said Caroline, just as softly as May. She looked ahead to see if Irene had heard—she hadn’t—then across to me. Caroline knew this walk was about our learning to see what May saw, another version of an island we already knew. That meant paying attention to May. But since now there were things Caroline wasn’t supposed to talk about—and maybe this morning’s dream was one of them, too—she had to decide which task was more important. The easiest thing, since I didn’t have the rules she had, was to do some deciding for her.
    “Caroline has dreams, May. None of the rest of us do.”
    “Why not?” asked May. Her voice was blunt. “And how can you have dreams?”
    “I don’t,” I said.
    “But how can one of you have them when you’re all the same?”
    “We aren’t the same. We have different hair.”
    May just made a face like hair