The Different Girl

like the tunnels in an anthill—”
    And this is part of what Eleanor said:
    “—counting waves, because the waves keep coming, even though each one is different—where it breaks, how high, how fast, how much it’s shaped like the waves before, or the waves after, or how far it comes in or comes out—today the tide was going out—and I looked at how the sand on the beach dried as the tide went away and thought about how long it would take to dry until I could walk on it—”
    But I was outside of everything they said, like I listened to their stories through a window. I could imagine everything they said—I understood the words, but the understanding happened in me by myself, not in me with them. We’d done things separately before—Caroline had dreams, or one of us would visit Robbert while the others napped—yet this was different, because we all seemed to enjoy our time alone, but then felt strange when the others talked about their times alone, which didn’t make sense.
    I also knew that even though Robbert had specifically told me not to, I was going to go back to the dock the very first chance I could.
    I couldn’t even say why. There were birds all over. There was water all over. Was it the dock itself—that there could be a boat? But I hadn’t seen any boat and hadn’t thought about one either. Boats were only a bit less dangerous than planes, and they were the last thing I needed to be playing with—just like I didn’t need to be too near the water.
    So I asked.
    “Why did we go to different places on our walk?”
    Irene and Robbert paused, like they hadn’t expected the question.
    “So you’d learn about paying attention,” said Irene.
    Then it was time for dinner—the day had gone very quickly because of the long nap—and Irene led us from the classroom back to the kitchen. I was last going down the steps. Robbert was behind me and put his hand on my shoulder again, and I stopped. This time the others didn’t notice and kept going. When they were inside the other building, Robbert let go.
    “That was a curious question, Veronika.”
    I told him I was sorry, but he stopped me. He knelt to look into my eyes, like he wanted to see something on the other side of them.
    “It was a good question. Why did you ask it?”
    “Because we’re paying attention to things we can’t see.”
    He stood up and patted me on the head, and told me to go help Irene. He walked back into the classroom. I thought about following him, but I didn’t.
    Irene had the others helping make rice and opening cans of meat, so no one even noticed when I came in. When she saw me, Irene shoved a plastic bottle of mineral water to me, and I unscrewed the cap and then helped get out the plates and napkins and spoons and chopsticks. Robbert came in just before everything was ready and sat down, rubbing his eyes. He rubbed his eyes whenever he took off his glasses. Everyone helped carry things to the table.
    After dinner Robbert went back to the classroom, and we sat with Irene on the porch, listening to the ocean and to the parrots, who were pretty loud. She asked us to sing. Eleanor asked what she would like to hear, and Irene told us to choose—she wanted to hear what we wanted to sing.
    No one could decide. Irene touched my arm.
    “Veronika, you asked a good question in school today, why don’t you choose what to sing?”
    She smiled. I started to sing, and the other three sang with me, happy to have it settled.

    The honeybee flies in a line
    That zigs from side to side.
    To make its honey nectar wine
    It journeys far and wide.

    No matter where it finds itself
    A bee can find its home.

    We knew many more verses, all about bees—finding flowers, drinking coconut milk, building hives, tending the queen—but all of them have the same chorus about bees finding their way home, no matter where they’ve gone. We kept singing until Irene said that was enough, and we watched the sunset until it was dark. Irene poured her last cup of tea and told us to get ready for sleep. We helped one another untie our smocks and fold them. We climbed onto our cots and waited for Irene to turn out the lights.
    After five minutes she still hadn’t come. Caroline turned to me and whispered. “What did Robbert say?”
    “He wanted to know why I asked why we went on different walks.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I said I was sorry.”
    “But you’re not sorry,” Eleanor whispered, from my other side. “Because I’m not