Moscow X by Moscow X (retail) (epub)

Author:Moscow X (retail) (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epub3
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company

CAPE TOWN. HORTENSIA ROSE FOX, GIRL OF FOURTEEN, SPREAD HERSELF flat in a dusty ditch, waiting for the headlights to pass overhead. Two weeks into the annual South Africa pilgrimage, and she was still, as Grandpa would say, in the adjustment phase. The city was laid back, too much like the Big Bend. She was also fighting with the language— like every summer—screwing up pronouns, the little roll of the r, the switching of tenses. She found the speech slow as the city, and when Sia practiced with Grandpa or Mama she’d go too fast and her language mistakes would pile up. She was tired, though she knew that in a few weeks she would again dream in her mother’s Afrikaans. She also knew she sounded foreign and dumb, which made her jumpy and angry, which made her impulsive. Which explained why she was alone, in this ditch, on a stranger’s farm in the dead of night.

The headlamps painted the vines above and jerked onto the road leading away from the farm’s main house. Sia crawled into the vines and stood, hunched so her head did not peek too far above. The night was clear; the moon was bright on her path; she wondered if anyone would see her. She crossed the vineyard, flushed with pride. She did not feel anxious, she did not sweat, her breathing was even. No moment in her life had ever been more vibrant or alive. She did not once ask why she was doing this insane thing; she knew already, and understood that no one would understand. The consequences were not unclear. They were merely irrelevant; a dim possibility at the end of a tunnel that would not be traveled. The peppery smell of Cape scrubland filled the air, the darkened peaks of the mountains rose above the gabled, thatched-roof farmhouse, the vines bristled against her arms in a gentle breeze. Light shone through a few of the farmhouse windows. That should have made Sia pause, but instead it contributed to the challenge and tweaked even higher the adrenaline that seemed to thicken in her veins and ball in the back of her mouth.

The vineyard’s edge shoved onto a rolling lawn in front of the house: the first place where things might go haywire. Though, she told herself, I do not much care if they do. There were sensors and lights here, she knew. She’d seen them while scouting the farm, which blessedly did not boast exterior fencing. Minor obstacles, she would outrun them.

She counted: One, two, three . . .

Then she was sprinting across the lawn toward a grove of trees, eyes darting between the ground and the trees and the house. A light on the farmhouse clicked on, painting her in white. She looked away. Clack— another cast light onto the lawn. She ran faster, dove into the grove, snuggled behind a tree, and realized she was smiling. She caught her breath, listening to the still night until the lights shut off.

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