A Clatter of Jars (5 page)

Renny paused midstride to tug at the top of his right sock, which hid his blue and green Talent bracelet. His deepest, darkest secret.

There was one disappointment in the Fennelbridge family, and it wasn't Miles.

• • •

Miles Patrick Francis Fennelbridge, the unknown Recollector, had tugged many memories from many minds in his thirteen years, some purposefully, most not. The majority he flicked away without direction, allowing Fate to guide them. Not five minutes earlier, he'd tugged a memory completely without trying, from someone standing in the camp director's office.

As Fate would have it, that someone was a cabinmate of his.

Chuck

A
S SHE STOOD JUST I
NSIDE THE DOOR OF
C
ABIN
E
IGHT,
clenching and unclenching her right hand, Chuck was painfully aware of her sister standing beside her, breathing the same air, waiting for her to make up her mind.

There were two empty bunks in Cabin Eight, which meant four empty beds. Only Miles and Renny had chosen sleeping spots so far. Four empty beds, and two girls, standing in the corner, staring at the floor. It shouldn't have been difficult for Chuck and Ellie to decide where they wanted to sleep. But it was.

“There's a frog outside the cabin,” Ellie said, kicking at the floor with the toe of her pale-blue sneaker. “It's not native to this area, which is weird.” She paused, as though waiting for Chuck to say something. Chuck did not. “You want to see it?” Ellie stretched out her hand, her left to Chuck's right.

Despite herself, Chuck took her sister's hand. And she could feel it, as soon as they touched—the icy spark that passed between them, like ice cream on a hot day. With the chill that crawled up her arm, into her chest, came the Talent.

Hdup-hdup!
went the frog outside.

It was a white-lipped tree frog, Chuck could tell that now. Male. Juvenile. Bright green on top and white at the throat, with bulby pads at the ends of his toes. Chuck knew all of that without even seeing the creature. Chuck knew, too, that the frog was squatting directly outside the door of their cabin, puffing his froggy throat as though waiting for something spectacular to happen.

“We could start practicing our act for the Talent show after we unpack,” Ellie said. “I have some really good ideas. I was thinking first I'll tell the frogs to hop to one side of the stage, and then you—”

Chuck pulled her hand away from Ellie's, only to offer it to her sister immediately afterward, palm up. “Stop pretending you can talk to frogs,” she said. There was no way Chuck would stand on the lodge stage in front of three hundred campers and their parents, and do anything having to do with frogs. She gripped Ellie's hand tight, passing the Talent back. It always felt different going the other way—warm instead of cold. Ellie had told her once that when she got the Talent, it felt like hot cocoa, working its way into her heart.

“You should pick a bed already,” Chuck said, letting her arm drop to her side.

“
You
pick.”

If Chuck picked a bed first, then the second she did—the very
second
—Ellie would plop her stuff down on that same bunk, and that would be it. They'd be stuck together for two long weeks. Sharing a bunk, just like they shared everything else—a face, a room, a Talent. So Chuck was waiting for Ellie to pick first, so she could choose a bed on the
other
bunk.

Ellie, clearly, was waiting for Chuck.

They were still standing in the doorway when Del popped his head into the cabin ten minutes later. “Nice shoes, Frog Twin!” he greeted Chuck, noticing her Kelly-green high-tops.

Chuck let out a growl. When she'd begged her parents for those shoes last week, she'd thought they were the most unique ones in the store. Somehow it hadn't occurred to her till later that bright green shoes would only make her look more froggy. She dumped her duffel on the floor, wrenching the zipper open. She was sure she'd stuffed a pair of ratty water shoes in there somewhere.

“Del?” Ellie said as Chuck tore through her bag. “At the slumber party, everyone sleeps next to their cabinmates, right? And they sit together at meals, too? And at the campfire, and arts and crafts, and—”

Chuck shot to her feet. She'd have time to change her shoes later. At the moment, there were more urgent matters to attend to.

“Where are you going?” Ellie shouted as Chuck darted out the door.

“Don't follow me!” Chuck called over her shoulder. She clenched and unclenched her right hand as she raced down the dirt path.

Charlotte and Eleanor Holloway had discovered their Talent when they were four, on the afternoon of their Adoption Day party at Miss Mallory's Home for Lost Girls. Everyone had taken a break from games and cake (a chocolate-hazelnut icebox cake for Chuck and a strawberry layer cake for Ellie) to stroll to the duck pond. And while their new parents were tearing up stale bread loaves not far away, Ellie had made an unusual announcement.

“Mink frogs!” she'd shouted. “Six of them, right there. Four boys and two girls.”

Chuck had peered down into the pond, at the thick patch of lily pads where Ellie was pointing. At four, Chuck had never heard of mink frogs, but sure enough, she spotted one, poking his sleepy face out of the water. After a bit of a search, she spied another. Bright nose and a dark body, with brown splotches all over. Several minutes later, she'd found three more. “There's only five frogs,” Chuck corrected her sister. “Not six.”

Which was exactly the moment when the sixth frog leapt from the water and landed at Ellie's feet.

“Six,” Ellie told her. “And there's a Fowler's toad in the bushes.”

Four-year-old Chuck had been impressed. “Ellie!” she'd squealed, squeezing her sister's left hand with her right one, and wishing she felt half as spectacular as her twin clearly was. The grip was chilly, Chuck remembered. “You're
Talented
!” And then Chuck had let go of her sister's hand to point to a brown speck in a tree above them. “What's that one?”

To which Ellie, surprisingly, had not had a response. “I don't know,” she'd admitted.

“You don't?” Chuck had asked. It was a spring peeper; Chuck was certain of it. She took Ellie's hand again, to help her remember how spectacular she was. This time the grip was warm.

“Spring peeper!” Ellie cried suddenly. “And a Northern leopard frog, in the bush!” The spotted creature raised himself on his front arms, puffing his throat silently, as though begging the twins not to reveal his hiding spot.

That's how Chuck and Ellie Holloway had discovered they shared a Talent. Only one sister could use it at a time, but together they had the most extraordinary ability to identify frogs. It was unusual, Chuck knew, to share a Talent. She'd never heard of two other people who had done it before—which was why, she suspected, they'd been allowed to attend Camp Atropos. Renny had been right earlier, about identifying frogs not being a Singular Talent. Chuck didn't mind not being Singular. But she'd give anything to be unique.

For years, it had been fun, sharing a Talent. But lately Chuck was beginning to get frog fatigue. Lately she'd begun wondering—with a sour sort of guilt in her stomach—how her life might have been different if Miss Mallory had matched her with another family, one that didn't have Ellie in it. Most times, Chuck felt her family was perfect. No complaints. But every once in a while, like when Ellie grabbed for her hand over and over and
over
, Chuck wondered if maybe she was meant for something else. If Chuck hadn't spent her whole life glued to her sister's side, how unique might she be?

Hdup-hdup!

Chuck stopped walking and turned slowly. There, squatting behind her on the path, was the white-lipped tree frog. He swelled his throat, the skin growing thin and translucent as it filled with air. And then he let out his call—remarkably loud for such a small creature.

Hdup-hdup!
went the frog.

Chuck blinked at him. “Did Ellie tell you to follow—?” she began. And then she realized she was talking to a
frog
. She spun on her heel and started for the lodge again.

The frog hopped up the steps behind her. He seemed to know his way around.

The door to the camp director's office was open, so Chuck figured it was okay to wait inside. Out the window, past the camp store where Renny and Miles were buying candy bars, Chuck made out the lake, sparkling in the sunshine. She'd go for a swim, she decided, after Jo assigned her to a new cabin. Swimming always made Chuck feel like the mess of the world was far, far away.

Hdup-hdup!
went the frog from the doorway. And then, his froggy legs splayed out behind him, he leapt straight for her. Chuck let out a squawk of surprise, but the creature hadn't aimed for her shoulder as she'd supposed. Instead, the frog landed—
thwop!
—on the shelf behind her. He puffed out his throat, watching her.
Hdup-hdup!

Chuck peered at the object the frog had planted himself in front of. A small glass jar, empty except for a thin bracelet woven from silver embroidery thread. Chuck picked up the jar to examine it.

“What are you doing?” boomed a voice from the door.

Chuck didn't mean to. She really didn't.

Chuck dropped the jar.

The glass broke, shards scattering across the toes of Chuck's Kelly-green high-tops, the bracelet plunking itself among the laces. And in that moment, the white-lipped tree frog leapt again, this time landing at Chuck's feet. Squatting on his four froggy legs, he stretched apart his white lips—wide, wider, widest—and shot out his long pink tongue. And before Chuck could so much as blink, the frog had swallowed the bracelet. Gulped it completely down.

There was a horrified screech. The woman in the doorway, Chuck saw now, with the wild black curls, was the camp director, Jo. And she did not look pleased.

Jo dropped to the floor, knees in the glass, grabbing for the frog. But the creature escaped, leaping at Chuck again. Before she even realized she'd caught him, the frog had settled onto Chuck's palm.

Through the thin skin of the frog's white throat, Chuck could see that woven silver bracelet. “Why'd you do
that
?” Chuck whispered at him. As if in response, the frog puffed out his throat.

The silver bracelet shifted inside the frog.

One twist.

Puff.

Two twists.

Puff.

Around and around and around and around.

Puff puff puff puff.

“That frog,” Jo said, rising to her feet, “stole my Talent.” Her voice was a terrifying rumble.

“Talent?” Chuck asked.

At that, the frog—
hdup-hdup!
—spit out the bracelet into Chuck's open hand and hopped right out the window.

Chuck plucked up the bracelet with two fingertips. Wet and slimy, it had been tied into the most intricate knot she'd ever seen. Quirky and complicated and beautiful.

And as unforgettable as the entire scene was, in that instant (“I want to eat my Caramel Crème bar,” came a voice from outside. “I can't
eat
it till I
pay
!”) . . .

Chuck forgot it.

“This is neat,” Chuck said, examining the knot between her fingertips. She looked up at the curly-haired woman. Jo, she thought her name was. Their camp director. Chuck scratched at an itch below her ear. “Did you make it?”

Jo narrowed her eyes at Chuck. “I don't think you're very funny, little girl.”

Chuck scratched harder. “I wasn't trying to be funny,” she said. She shook her head, trying to remember why she'd come. “I want to change cabins,” she said at last.

“No reassignments,” Jo snapped. She still had her eyes narrowed. “You're Charlotte, right? Chuck?” Chuck nodded. “I think it's best if you go now, Chuck.”

“But—”

“Good-bye, Chuck.”

The itch persisted, just below Chuck's ear, as she passed beneath the moose head keeping guard above the lodge's double doors. She slipped the curious silver knot into her pocket and looked down the path to the lake, sparkling in the afternoon sun. A good swim, she figured, ought to clear her head.

• • •

Memory is a curious thing. Some details stick in our minds like peanut butter on crackers, and refuse to budge, as much as we might wish they would. Other memories—heavy ones sometimes, ones that seem unbudgeable—can be plucked right out when we least expect it. Lost memories leave remnants, of course, flavors that linger in the mind, but it's difficult to taste things when you don't know they're there.

All memories have a flavor, although not everyone can taste them. Chuck's memory, of the Talent bracelet and the frog and the silver knot, tasted of crisp peaches. And it was currently whistling its way down the dirt path of Camp Atropos, flitting this way and that in the wind, searching for a new mind to settle into.