We stood there staring at the phone, which remained frustratingly silent.
“So . . .,” Red said eventually. “Tara, huh?”
Rainbow smiled reflexively. “Yeah. She’s my first girlfriend. It’s been a few months.”
I tensed at the topic change, both nervous and eager to hear more. Last time, I’d barely opened my mouth. If that happened again, they’d suspect. If I could trust anyone in this world, it had to be the three of them, but the thought still made me shaky. I didn’t even know for sure yet what I’d be trusting them with.
“She’s really pretty,” Four offered. “From what I saw during the fight. Which I guess wasn’t much.”
It was so noncommittal I wished I’d been the one to say it.
“What about you?” Rainbow asked us. “Ever have a girlfriend?”
“No.” Red shrugged one shoulder, as if wasn’t a big deal and she didn’t care, but every part of her said it was, and she did. “Still, at least you’re not the token lesbian?”
“At this rate, Four might be the token straight girl.” Rainbow glanced at me, the only one to have stayed silent.
I almost said it then.
Almost.
“I never said I was straight,” Four said quietly. “I think I like girls, but then I notice boys like Marcus . . . Maybe I’m bi. Or nothing at all. I don’t know. Can’t—I can’t believe I’m talking about this.” She laughed a high-pitched laugh, and looked so uncomfortable I felt both pity and relief. Because at least it wasn’t me in her place.
Red jumped in to rescue her. “What about braces? Since we’re talking about our differences. None of you have braces. Am I the only one . . .?”
Four looked quietly relieved.
“I had them when I was thirteen,” Rainbow said.
“Fourteen,” Four and I said in unison.
“And endo?” Red asked. “Does anyone else have endometriosis?”
“What’s that?” Rainbow asked.
“A medical condition.” No one responded. “Tissue from your, um, uterus, starts growing in other places. The pain can get really bad. Bad enough so I can’t even walk or sit.”
“Huh,” Rainbow said. “I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“It’s mostly under control. Treatment and painkillers helped. It’s actually really common. A lot of people don’t even know they have it, ’cause they just think it’s period pain, but . . .” She shrugged. “I guess it’s just me, then.”
“Neven’s back.” Four pointed at the sky. The late-afternoon sun outlined Neven’s shape. The grass rippled from her wing beats as she approached. Moments later, she landed.
“We’re texting Hazel Five,” I told Neven, before she could get the wrong impression about all of us gathered around a phone. She looked normal—neutral. Like nothing had happened.
I didn’t know whether to be angry that she’d waited so long to tell us the truth, or glad that she’d told us at all. Defying the Powers That Be couldn’t be easy.
I cleared my throat. “No response yet. Maybe she thinks we’re MGA. I would.”
“Let’s try again,” Red said. She took the phone from Rainbow. A minute later, we passed around the next message for everyone’s approval:
Hazel—we’re not with government. We can answer your questions, and we have some of our own. We tried to approach Tara’s house to talk to you. Didn’t go well. You might’ve heard the fight on the street. Can we call? -x-Friends.
“Should I add that we have a dragon?” Rainbow wondered.
“You don’t have me.” Neven settled into a sitting position, her tail curved around her paws. “We are temporary associates. I could eat you, you know.”
“We’ll skip the dragon part,” Rainbow decided. “All right. Going once, going twice, sent.”
Silence.
This is pointless, a nagging thought said. And Neven’s right there, watching you waste time with panic attacks and texts . . .
If four Hazels couldn’t save the world, what could a fifth offer? Instead of going after Five, we should be figuring out how to defeat those damn trolls and complete this fake destiny—no: this assignment. I didn’t know where to start, though. I’d screw it up. I’d fail, like Neven’s first charge had. I felt the same panic every time I thought of it, like I was falling and falling, clawing all around me for something to hold on to only to find nothingness.
(I was just. Some. Girl.)
I inhaled a shuddery breath. Five had been inside that house for hours, trapped or barricaded or injured or who knew what. We couldn’t abandon her.
The phone buzzed. As one, we looked at Red, who squinted at the newly arrived text. “Prove it,” she read aloud. “That’s all. Two words.”
I ought to have been frustrated at the extra hurdle, but—Five had texted back. She was OK. It was like someone snapped their fingers by my face, yanking me from my spiraling thoughts, and I was grateful for the reprieve.
“Man,” Rainbow said, “how are we supposed to prove we’re not MGA when she won’t call and when approaching that house means getting mauled by trolls?”
“I think . . .,” I started.
It felt wrong to make suggestions after we’d all heard in vivid detail how unqualified I was. They were looking at me now, though. I gathered my breath and turned to Neven.
“Yes?” she said, the very picture of patience.
“Can you hold a phone?”
She tilted her head. It might’ve been the first time I’d caught her by surprise.
“Let’s find out,” I said.
“Are you saying . . .?” Rainbow started. “No way.” Was that excitement or incredulity?
“I think it could work.” Four smiled encouragingly.
Red offered me the phone.
Neven studied me as I poked around the camera settings. Front-facing camera, check. Timer, check. Burst mode, check. After a look upward—the sun was edging toward the horizon, casting the sky in shades of muted pink-gray—I turned on the flash.
“OK,” I told Neven. “We’ll gather around you, and then you hold the phone like this, aimed at us. Careful. You might block the lens or touch the screen by accident.” Did that sound didactic? I added, “Though maybe the touchscreen doesn’t respond to scales. Or claws.”
Neven took the phone between thick, clumsy toes. Her scales rubbed my hand.
“And I couldn’t simply photograph
