Chapter 33 1958
Inside her room, Aria stares at the wall.
All the moments that have led to this one play out and, in each of them, she sees herself make different choices: she pretends to be sick the night her parents go dancing so they stay home with her and are never burned.
She throws the stiletto-heeled lamp at Bob’s head, and then she and Calliope run out of the library together.
She sets fire to the film she took that day so Bob forgets who she is.
That’s when she decides. She can’t rely on an aunt who might never hug her again, or even on Calliope, who would perhaps not have called out if it had been Aria standing in front of Bob that day. She can only rely on herself.
That means being like the tardigrade, which she read about in the “Sulfur to Tramways, Aerial” volume of her encyclopedias.
They’re the smallest creatures in the universe, and the most indestructible.
They can survive squashing, freezing, even the vacuum of space, which is something Aria hasn’t looked up because there are so many frightening things in her life that she can’t bear to contemplate anything as terrifying as nothingness.
The reason a tardigrade can’t be killed or broken or burned is because they shrivel up to one-third of their already tiny size when they’re threatened.
Aria will do the same—become invisible. For the next six years, she’ll be the ghost, floating silently along the corridors, helping starlets, but too inconspicuous for Bob to notice.
In this place where to be seen is the only thing people want, Aria will be the opposite.
That night she dreams she’s setting fire to the hotel, burning all its ghosts and secrets, so there’ll be no story left for anyone to tell.
What she doesn’t see is that one spark jumps out of the fire, higher than all the rest. So high that it lands in the sky, twinkling like a dark and mischievous star, waiting.