The Line Read Free

in to check the orchids and inspect the greenhouse as she did at the start of every day, and soon discovered Rachel’s hiding place. Rachel saw Ms. Moore’s shoes first; highly polished, brown leather lace-ups of a style that looked like it came from another century. She realized with a growing sense of dread that she was exactly where she had been repeatedly told not to be. Ms. Moore, the person who kept food in their bellies, the person Vivian had warned her against upsetting in any way for as long as she could remember, was not looking too pleased. Rachel met her gaze speechlessly and a fresh round of sobs convulsed her.
    “I don’t have the money to finance your nonsense,” said Ms. Moore.
    It was the first time Rachel could remember Ms. Moore saying much more than a cursory “Good morning” to her. Rachel didn’t understand what she meant about finances, but she knew it couldn’t be good. She wiped her eyes and tried to figure out what she should do. She was in big trouble. Her mom would probably kill her. They might be thrown off The Property with no place to go; they might end up living on the street in Bensen. They might even get sent to the Pools. And it would all be Rachel’s fault.
    Rachel had seen a boy about her age begging for food the last time they went to Bensen. He had on clothes that looked like any other kid’s clothes: a jumpsuit and some cheap plastic moks on his feet. But he was so dirty—his face, his hair, even his socks had rings of dirt where they sagged around his ankles. When Rachel asked Vivian about the boy, she just shuddered and hurried Rachel into the vendor’s.
    “He’s still better off than if he was in the Pools,” Vivian whispered, once they were inside. “Hopefully he won’t get picked up. We’re just lucky we found Ms. Moore. At least we have a roof over our heads and the chance of a future.” Vivian bought some bread and an apple and gave them to the boy when they came out of the vendor’s. He grabbed them without even saying thank you and crammed the bread into his mouth, eyeing Vivian warily the whole time. Rachel remembered thinking that she never wanted to be that hungry.
    “You will have to earn the money to replace that window, young lady.”
    The words brought Rachel back to the present. Ms. Moore was still looking down at her, shaking her head. The tightly wound bun she always wore—its gray strands so smooth and perfect that they looked more like metal than hair—never moved.
    “You can start right now. Get up off your bottom and dry your face. Then go get the hoses from over there.” She tilted her head in the direction of the misting equipment hung on the far wall.
    Rachel just sat there, stunned into silence and too scared to move. After a moment Ms. Moore, who had begun moving some flowerpots off the main shelves onto the floor, realized Rachel was still crouched in the corner. “Well,” she barked, “move it!”
    That snapped Rachel out of her freeze, and she scurried up and over to the hoses faster than she had ever moved before. She brought them to Ms. Moore, who took one and hooked it up to a faucet.
    “Now, you take the rest and go hook them up to the faucets along that wall. I’ll have to go let Jonathan know we’ll need a replacement pane for the window you broke.” Ms. Moore glared at the floor, and for the first time Rachel noticed the shards of glass she had swept into a pile. Somehow, one of the greenhouse panes had broken. That must have been the shattering sound Rachel heard when she was trying to Cross.
    “I didn’t break anything.” Rachel clamped her mouth shut almost immediately. She didn’t want to make Ms. Moore even angrier.
    Ms. Moore studied her through narrowed eyes. “Perhaps not. But what you did do indicates to me that you need something to fill your time.” She nodded at Rachel’s shocked look. “That’s right. I saw you . Messing around out there like you’re playing some child’s game. That”—she