Page 86 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

It’s the day after the uprising. Black bands appear on arms in honor of those killed and hurt, even though it’s risky to wear one. I walk across camp to the hospital after stopping in to see Mama. A group of officials appear ahead of me. I stand stock-still.

“You, boy!” one of them shouts, spying me. “Come here.” Part of me wants to flee, but that’s the thing about this place. There’s nowhere to go. I head over to him, wary and unwilling. He looks me over. “Name?”

“Ren Hamada.”

He flips through a huge, alphabetized roster. Several names are underlined in red. He gets to my name.

“You turned eighteen last month,” he says. Taking a quick mental count of the months, I realize, with a start, that I have. I completely forgot about my birthday. “Where were you last night?”

Suspicion fills his voice. A lot of the rioters last night were my age.

“I was at the hospital with my niece,” I say, trying to sound calm and measured. “You can ask Dr. Suzuki and the others there.”

“Is that so?” the official asks, and doubt fills his voice. “We’ll need more proof than that.”

“I know him,” someone interjects. For a moment, I think maybe it’s a good thing—someone is going to vouch for me. Then I see who it is. Boser. “He’s clear.” The group moves on, but Boser remains. Normally, he doesn’t carry, but today he has a pistol strapped to his waist. “Come, Hamada,” he orders.

I’m reluctant to follow him, though I know I must. All he has to do is say the word and I’ll be rounded up with the rioters. He motions me between two barracks, where no one can see us. Blood already pounds in my ears.

“Everything is a little chaotic right now,” Boser says. I blink back at him, memories of our last conversation coming back to me in pieces. The spell. The threats. “But I haven’t forgotten.”

“Don’t you have bigger things to worry about?” I’m so keyed up from last night that I’m thrumming with rage. “This whole place went mad because your administration is crooked, and you still care about magic tricks?”

“You owe me a ritual,” Boser says, stepping close, crowding me against the wall.

The blood pounding in my ears must have spread to my eyes because my vision goes red. What the hell? Last night comes over me in a tide and I’m there, awash in the salt-slick sweat, the throat-burning tear gas, the heart-stopping fear as bullets buzzed by our heads when they tried to take us—living, breathing, goddamn Americans—and put us down like enemy dogs.

And this guy still wants to play at being a god? He wouldn’t recognize the divine if it spit in his face.

“Rot in hell,” I hiss.

“I swear to God, Hamada,” he snarls. His breath is hot on my face, his hand on his pistol. “You don’t deserve to be Japanese.”

With a start, I realize that the guy is jealous of me. A bitter, mocking laugh leaves my lips. He wants my heritage, my girlfriend, my existence. What the shit?

Boser gathers himself. He pats the gun on his belt one last time, and when he speaks, his voice is nearly monotone. “Once everything settles down, you better have something for me or your ass is out of here.”

With that, he charges away, leaving me shaking with rage.

After more infusions, Cosette is finally well enough to go home. Dr. Suzuki helps me wrap her up, and it reminds me of origami, calming me after my encounter with Boser. Across the way, Mr. Nomura sits up in bed. Dr. Suzuki wanted him to put on a hospital gown, but he still wears his uniform, even though it’s stained with his blood. Military police guard him. Once he’s well enough, he’s going to be sent away to a different camp for his safety.

Both men have never liked me. When I glance up, though, I realize neither regards me with disapproval. In fact, they look at me with…hell, what? I’m not even sure. I’m an ace at sniffing out judgment. But there’s none of that. Not right now.

“Thank you for finding Kai last night,” Dr. Suzuki says as he ties off Cosette’s swaddle. “I’m not sure he would’ve made it home to us if you hadn’t.” He hands me Cosette. Then he bows deeply to me. I don’t know what to do with that. Not at all. My mind swims and my face grows hot.

“Sure,” I mumble, and Mr. Nomura slightly shakes his head at me. It isn’t with the disapproval from before. It’s more like guidance. I straighten up and look Dr. Suzuki in the eye as he rises. “You’re welcome,” I amend. Dr. Suzuki reaches out and shakes my hand, and for a brief moment I think I’m a man, not the lost boy I’ve always been.

I carry Cosette home. No one else bothers me, but my head is on a swivel, and I keep a sharp eye out. When I get there, Mama takes Cosette and says, “She was here.”

Immediately, I know who she means. Violet. There’s a folded paper on my dresser. I open it, read it. A smile crosses my face, even as drained and angry as I am. I flip the note. I’m staring at…myself. Grainy, silvery pencil curves across it, catching the sunlight like trout scales. Uncannily, it’s me. Only not quite. She’s drawn me staring at the viewer, eyes alive, head straight. Waves form around my collar and hair. Usually, I hate seeing myself. This is different. It isn’t like looking in the mirror at all. In it, I’m everything I hope to be. Strong, brave…unashamed. Is this how Violet sees me?

I hold the edges tight. Unlike the pendant, I can’t grip the sketch. If I do, I’ll crush it. I’m forced to hold it gently, with care. With…love.

All I’ve ever known is a love that makes you hang on so tight that you bleed.

But not with Violet.

The thought surges in my mind, like some sort of hidden knowledge. I used to treasure the fox, but now I will treasure this. I’ll treasure the idea that I can be who she thinks I am. Even more, I’ll treasure it because Violet drew it and she loves me, just as I am.