A Clatter of Jars (2 page)

Lily's Watermelon Limeade Float

a drink reminiscent of all the best birthday parties

FOR THE WATERMELON LIMEADE:

4 cups chopped watermelon, from half of one small watermelon

2 tbsp lime juice, from one lime

1
/
2
cup sugar

1 liter (4 cups) seltzer

FOR THE FLOAT:

vanilla ice cream

1. In a blender or food processor, blend the watermelon, lime juice, sugar, and seltzer for just a few seconds, until smooth. Carefully pour through a wire-mesh strainer into a 2-quart pitcher. Discard the solids.

2. To serve, scoop ice cream into the bottom of a short glass. Pour the watermelon limeade over the top, and enjoy!

[Serves 8]

Lily

L
ILY
STOOD OUTSID
E THE DOOR TO THE IN
FIRMARY,
winding the length of swampy green yarn around her right thumb. In every corner of the woods, campers were squealing, laughing, making friends, and generally kicking up a lot of dust. But Lily was focused on that length of yarn.

“Liliana Vera?”

In front of Lily stood a lanky counselor wearing a pine green Camp Atropos T-shirt, the name
Del
printed below the neckline.

“Are you Liliana?” Del asked. “I'm gathering Cabin Eight campers.”

Lily glanced past Del to the flag circle, where four campers stood amid their luggage. “I'm Lily,” she said.

“Great!” Del jerked his chin toward her duffel bag. “Need help with that?”

Lily shook her head, her wavy brown hair grazing her shoulders. “I got it,” she said. Del looked skeptical, probably because Lily was hardly taller than the duffel was long. But Lily focused her thoughts at the bridge of her nose and, darting her eyes to the duffel, the bag rose—one inch, then five—off the ground. Lily took a step forward in the dirt, and the bag took a step with her.

“No need to ask what
your
Talent is,” Del said, watching the bag drift forward. “Been a while since we had a Pinnacle here.” Lily swelled with the smallest inkling of pride. “Welcome to Camp Atropos for Singular Talents, Liliana Vera. A haven for the most remarkable children in the world.” As they neared the flag circle, Del pointed to each of the four campers, rattling off names. “Miles, Renny, Chuck, and Ellie.” Lily did a double take when Del named the last two. Chuck and Ellie were identical twin girls. “Your bunkmates for the next two weeks. Let's get you all to Cabin Eight, shall we?”

“Hi!” Ellie greeted Lily as they began their trek though the woods. Lily could tell the twins apart because, despite having identical faces and identical dark brown skin, Ellie had a headful of teeny braids pulled into a ponytail and was wearing pale blue sneakers, while Chuck's hair was styled into wavy cornrows, and she wore Kelly-green high-tops. “Do you like frogs?” Ellie asked. “Chuck and I can identify any species.”

“Uh,” Lily replied. “Cool.”

That's when one of the boys, Miles, piped up. “Singular Talents are understood as feats beyond standard human abilities and/or the laws of physics,” he said. His voice was flat, his gaze fixed on the dirt in front of him as he walked.

“Huh?” Ellie asked.

“I think what he means,” said the other boy, Renny, “is that identifying frogs isn't a Singular Talent. Either that or he just likes showing off how much of that textbook he memorized.”

Beside her sister, Chuck snorted. “Oh, man,” she said. “They're on to us now, Ellie. I guess we'll have to leave and go to regular person camp.”

Ellie poked her twin in the side. “Chuck,
please
,” she said.

They were deep in the shadows of the trees when Renny joined step beside Lily. He was tall and skinny, with pasty white legs. “Is this your brother?” Renny asked, his nose buried in a small photo book. He flipped a page. “Cute kid.”

“Hey!” Lily cried, realizing what Renny was holding. “Give me that!” Focusing her thoughts at the bridge of her nose, she tugged the photo book toward her through the air. With her concentration no longer upon it, her duffel thunked to the dirt. The front pocket had been zipped open.

Lily inspected the album for damage, wiping away a smudge from the photo of Max's fifth birthday party three years earlier. It was one of Lily's favorites. Her little brother was balancing a plate of chocolate cake on his pinkie, his other arm wrapped around Lily. Lily, meanwhile, was using her own Talent to push the cake toward Max's nose. It was the last birthday she and Max had celebrated before their mother remarried and their stepsister, Hannah, buzzed into their lives like a housefly. Hannah had to go and be born the same day as Max—same year and everything—so in every birthday photo after that, it was Hannah that Max had his arm around.

At least Hannah had been assigned to a different cabin for the two weeks of camp, Lily reminded herself, zipping the photo book back in its pocket. She hoisted the duffel to her shoulder, which immediately ached in protest.

“You should keep a better eye on your stuff,” Renny said. And when Lily scowled, he didn't even have the decency to look sorry. Instead, he stretched out his arm, like he wanted to shake hands. “Renwick Fennelbridge,” he told her. “You might have heard of me.”

Despite herself, Lily was impressed. She'd studied the Fennelbridges last year in her Singular Education elective, and she found them fascinating. Every family member was Singular, with some of the most fantastical Talents ever recorded.

“Can you really read minds?” she asked.

That's when the other boy, Miles, piped up again. “Renwick Chester Ulysses Fennelbridge,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the dirt. “Eleven years old as of his last birthday. The only living Scanner, according to
A Singular History
. Fun fact: Renwick Fennelbridge was once flown to Rome, Italy, to read the mind of the pope, but got food poisoning on the plane and had to go home.”

“
Please
find a new fun fact, Miles,” Renny grumbled.

“You really know your Talent history, huh?” Lily said to Miles. Singular Education had been Lily's favorite class last year. Her teacher had been so impressed with her report on Ekers and Coaxes that she'd had Lily read it during the opening ceremony of the Talent festival. “Do you know about Evrim Boz?”

Miles responded without hesitation. “Evrim Biber Boz. Born 1576, died 1602. Talent: Coax. Able to wheedle Talents from one person to another and back again, even transferring Talents into inanimate objects to create Artifacts. Fun fact: The Talent Library in Munich, Germany, has eight of Evrim Boz's Artifacts on display, including a cooking pot that makes anything boiled inside taste like lentil stew.”

“Did you know that later in her life, Evrim Boz said she wished she'd never created any Artifacts at all?” Lily asked, scurrying to keep up with him. Unlike Ekers, who could only steal Talents, Coaxes could pass Talents on—either to other people or to objects. “Because once you make an Artifact, you can't get the Talent back out. Evrim Boz tried once, with a pair of scissors that she'd Coaxed a beard-trimming Talent into, and instead she accidentally replaced the beard-trimming with her brother's Talent for cartography.” Lily had always had a particular interest in Artifacts and the people who used them. “Evrim Boz's brother never spoke to her after that.”

Miles didn't even glance at Lily before continuing his recitation. “Maevis Marion Marvallous. Sixty-seven years old as of her last birthday. Talent: Mimic. Able to duplicate the Talent of any person she comes in contact with for approximately one year.”

“Now you've set him off,” Renny muttered. “When Miles gets started on Talent history, good luck getting him to stop.”

“Fun fact,” Miles went on. “Maevis Marvallous alleges that she lost her Talent over three decades ago, although scholars debate the claim.”

Suddenly Lily noticed that Miles and Renny had the same sharp nose. Same auburn hair. Same pasty knees. Miles was a bit broader, but they were brothers, no question.

“I didn't know there were two Fennelbridge kids,” Lily said. She was sure
A Singular History
had mentioned only one. “What's his Talent?”

Renny halted midstride to tug at the top of his right sock. “Make enough Fennelbridges, and one of them's bound to be Fair.” He let out a sour laugh. “That's what our dad likes to say.”

“If you ask me,” Chuck chimed in, “there are two Fair kids in the Fennelbridge family.”

“What do you mean by that?” Renny snapped.

“You obviously stink at reading minds,” Chuck informed him. “I've been mentally threatening to pop you in the jaw for the past ten minutes, and you haven't flinched once.”

Lily couldn't help it. She laughed.

Oblivious to the awkwardness behind him, Del pointed to a sturdy building hewn from logs. “There's the lodge,” he called back. “Meals are served on the mess deck. All-camp slumber party's the second Friday of camp, and the Talent show's that Sunday, before your parents take you home.”

At the mention of the Talent show, Lily's heart snagged her chest. Maybe there was still time to come up with a new act to perform with Max.

A lot could happen in two weeks.

“The lodge also houses the office of our camp director, Jo,” Del continued. “She plays a mean harmonica.”

Miles broke from his Talent history just long enough to tell the dirt, “I play a nice harmonica. I learned last year in music. Cassandra Colby Donovan. Born 1851, died 1900. Talent: Quest. Fun fact: Cassandra Donovan was the Needle-in-a-Haystack champion of Baxley, Georgia, for forty years running, until they retired the competition.”

“Up ahead is the archery ring,” Del went on. “There's the fire pit, where we hold our campfire each Friday. And if you squint, you can make out the lake through the trees.”

At that, Miles stopped walking. “No water!” he squeaked.

Del offered Miles a friendly smile. “What's wrong with a little”—he spit into one hand and pressed his palms together before sprinkling miniature icicles in the dirt—“
water
?” He took in Miles's alarmed expression. “Not a fan of a classic Numbing Talent, huh?” Del cleared his throat. The ice-spit at his feet was already melting in the sun. “Uh . . . canoes are available every day after breakfast, and if you feel like swimming, Jo encourages you to grab your towel any time of day and hop right in the water.”

“
No water!
”

Miles shrieked it that time. And he began flicking his fingers, too—
flick-flick-flick-flick-flick!

Quick as lightning, Renny grabbed his brother's hand. “You guys sell Caramel Crème bars at the camp store, right?” Renny asked Del. Miles's fingers slowly ceased their flicking. “Miles loves Caramel Crème bars.”

“I want a Caramel Crème bar,” Miles said, pulling his hand free. If Lily hadn't witnessed the scene herself, she'd never have believed that Miles had been in a near panic thirty seconds earlier.

“Uh . . .” Del scratched a spot below his ear. “What was the question again?”

“Caramel Crème bars,” Renny reminded him.

“Oh. Right.”

As Del went over the store's hours, Lily wound the length of yarn around her thumb, watching Renny with his brother. Lily had tied the yarn around her thumb three weeks ago. Since then, the lime green strands had turned swampy, thinning and separating, and the skin underneath had grown raw from constant rubbing. It had stung for some time, like a blister—insistent, sharp, painful. But Lily hadn't untied it.

She tugged her duffel farther up her aching shoulder, her attention stolen by the music drifting through one of the lodge's windows. It was a song Lily was quite familiar with. This was an instrumental version, without lyrics, but Lily knew the words by heart.

Los golpes en la vida

preparan nuestros corazones

como el fuego forja al acero.

Lily and Max's father had sung them the melancholy lullaby countless times, on nights when he wasn't traveling for work. When he sang the tune, the notes swept you up and cradled you, made you feel safe.

(“Why do you always have to travel?” Lily had asked him last year, when he'd been in Prague instead of her school auditorium for the opening ceremony of the Talent festival. He'd responded as he always did. Not that it was his job—not that he
had
to be away so often, that he had no choice—but rather: “Oh, Liria. Traveling helps ease my heartache.” Which didn't explain why her father had begun his travels long before he and Lily's mother had been married.)

Lily let the words of the song sink in. Her father had translated the lyrics for her once, but she never felt she truly understood them in any language.

The blows of life

prepare our hearts

like fire forges iron.

Summer camp, Lily thought, pulling herself from the music to rejoin the tour, didn't seem like a place for melancholy songs.

When they reached Cabin Eight, Del creaked open the door and let them inside.

“Cordelia Fabius Sibson,” Miles said as he entered the cabin. “Eighty-two years old as of her last birthday. Talent: Scribe.”

Lily wound the length of yarn around her right thumb, staring at the three bunks that lined the cabin walls.

Three bunks.

Six beds.

“Are we waiting for another camper?” Chuck asked Del. “There are six beds, and only five of us.”

“The assignments for this cabin were a little odd,” Del admitted. “I don't know what Jo was thinking, but you don't question Jo. Anyway, you were supposed to have one more cabinmate, but at the last minute, he—”