ANTITYPE

JULY ~ NOAH

Visiting day.

WTC guards patrol the perimeter wall, plasma pulse rifles angled down across chests padded with protective gear. HK pistols hang from thigh holsters, and black batons swing from loops.

Hannah sits alone at a table surrounded by more tables among a copse of trees meant to shade everyone from the noonday sun. Her long black waves catch on the wind and blow off her slim neck. A few strands stick to her forehead, damp with summer sweat.

I pause some distance away to study her. She leans on the table, running hands through her hair. She’s wearing a clean, pressed pant and shirt set that almost swallows her. Gray linen. Five black numbers stamped to a breast pocket. She’s lost weight since I last saw her.

My stillness must catch her attention, because she glances over and smiles. A dimple deepens in her left cheek and her eyes shine. She stands to hug me. “Hey, you.”

I kiss her cheek and inhale the sharp scent of eucalyptus and mint. “Hey, bugaboo.”

She reaches up and scratches both sides of my jaw with the stubs of short fingernails. “You need to shave. I itch just looking at you,” she says and laughs. Dark skin rings the underside of her pale blue eyes, stealing the brunt of glee she displays.

“You don’t like it?”

She scrunches her nose. “You have such a beautiful face.”

I grin. “‘Beautiful’ isn’t exactly the look I’m going for.”

She smiles back, her gaze steadily holding mine. “You just missed Aaron. He looks tired.”

“He studies hard,” I say of her older, full brother. “Wants to please Dad.”

Her eyes drop at the mention of our only mutual parent. “How are you? How’s Gabe? I haven’t seen him in a couple months.”

“Gabe is Gabe, and I’m doing all right. Dad sends his love.”

Her mouth slants downward on one side. “No, he doesn’t.” She shrugs. “It’s okay that he doesn’t.”

I decide against the usual lies. I’m tired of them, to be honest, and she’s smart enough to know better. Dad hasn’t been to visit her in well over a year despite the monthly visit policy.

We sit on opposite sides of the table. Names, shapes, and numbers are carved into the lined gray metal I’ve seen a million times. The etchings are familiar, and I don’t think anything new has been added since the last time we sat at this particular table.

I trace a finger over a pair of entwined hearts etched on the table. “Where are the girls? I asked—” I look over to find her smiling upward. Just how thin she is seems more pronounced now. Her neck stretched upward like that of a baby bird in search of food. Her bony shoulders could be her flightless wings. I follow her gaze to the leaves fluttering in the treetops.

“What girls?” she asks.

I don’t know what should concern me more at the moment. Her devoted attention to foliage, or forgetting she has three younger sisters. I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward, make my voice small and calm. “Hannah?”

Her gaze lowers to meet mine, but detachment lingers in the depths of her eyes. It takes longer than it should for her attention to untether from wherever her mind went so suddenly. “Sorry,” she finally says. “Did you say something?”

“The girls. Where are they?”

She blinks rapidly; then her eyes widen. “Oh. Um. Paige got into a fight with some other girls at breakfast. She won’t be here.” She drags her windblown hair over one shoulder and twists the black mane into submission. “Violet and Andrea have a new room mother who doesn’t pay much attention to the time. I’m sure they’ll be along soon.”