The Different Girl

centipede, I looked at May. She wore her shirt with the flowers, the bottom button undone and the shirttails pulled by the breeze so I could see her stomach, soft, brown, and round in a way our stomachs weren’t. The scab on her face had peeled away, leaving a pink shadow, shaped like the bones of coral. The bandages had come off her feet as well, and May no longer wore flip-flops, because she said she didn’t need them.
    “You can count them all together!” May snapped impatiently. “They’re all the same!”
    Eleanor had been listing the centipede’s legs one by one, which was a lot of legs. She looked at May and cocked her head. “But they do different things.”
    “No they don’t! They’re all legs!” May raised her hands and wiggled her fingers to imitate ten of the centipede’s legs in motion.
    “But each leg makes a different part of the centipede move,” said Caroline. “Doesn’t it?”
    She turned to Irene, but Irene was looking at the classroom. She realized we were waiting and spoke to me. “What do you think, Veronika?”
    “I think Eleanor is right because every leg is necessary. But May is also right because every leg is by itself the same as the others.”
    “Very good.”
    “But do we count them together or not?” asked Isobel.
    “You can do either,” Irene replied. “The important thing is that you know there’s another way. If it’s the very first time you’ve seen something, you should count like Eleanor. But after that, you can count like May, as long as you know the difference.”
    “The first way is useless,” muttered May.
    “No, it isn’t,” said Isobel.
    “No, it isn’t,” Irene echoed. May didn’t say anything. “All right,” Irene went on, “everyone keep looking. Don’t leave the courtyard. I’ll be right back.”
    She crossed to the classroom steps and went inside, the screen wheezing shut behind. We stood in a clump for a moment but finally nosed around in different directions. After a minute of this, I realized I was between Caroline, kicking at a tuft of grass, and May, still looking after Irene.
    “We found the plank,” I whispered. Caroline stood and cocked her head.
    “What plank?”
    “In the grass. Under the sand. The one you found.”
    “Found when?”
    “After the storm.”
    Caroline began to blink. “When?”
    “You found it on the beach and Robbert took it to bury. He told you not to tell. It had three holes in it.”
    “Bullet holes,” whispered May, who was listening.
    “What?” I asked. She hadn’t said anything about the holes before. “What is bullet?”
    May snorted and shook her head. “Bloody hell . . .”
    But Caroline just stood there, eyes fluttering like moth wings at a window. “I don’t remember.”
    “You have to remember. You told me where to look.”
    “Then how can I not remember?”
    “Because of him,” whispered May.
    “Was it a dream?” Caroline asked me. “Did I forget because of that?”
    “Didn’t you have a dream?” This was Isobel. She had come near with Eleanor. “When you had trouble with sand, Veronika? Is it something you remember?”
    “I did have a dream, but that was different.”
    “It’s not a dream ,” said May. “I saw it, too.”
    “Maybe you both dreamed together,” Isobel suggested.
    “That’s stupid,” said May. “Caroline told us. She told Veronika. He did something.” She pointed to the classroom. “He took her in there and he took it away. None of you know what’s real. You just know what they tell you!”
    Irene pushed open the screen. A lock of her hair had fallen loose, a dark line dropped across one eye. She saw us standing together and clapped her hands.
    “What is this? Back to work! I don’t know what’s come over you girls!”
    We hurried apart to find more bugs, except for May, who stayed. Irene saw that she hadn’t moved and frowned. She waved for May to come over. When May reached the porch Irene put a hand on each of May’s shoulders and whispered something none of us could hear. Then the two of them went inside.
    After our nap May wasn’t there. Robbert woke us, which wasn’t normal. Instead of going anywhere, even to the kitchen, he said we should have a talk.
    “Where is Irene?” asked Eleanor.
    “That’s part of the talk,” Robbert replied. “Irene is looking for May.”
    “Is May lost?” My voice was loud. “Did she fall off the cliff? Did she go in the water?”
    Robbert held out his hands. “No—no, it’s nothing