Page 34 of Hollow

After we spend a little more time with her horse, we continue on our walk, making our way around the back of the school and back down to the lake. She tells me more about her childhood, then about the other classes she’s taking here.

“Must be a strange feeling to go home every night and not remember what you learn,” I say as we find ourselves standing on the shore of the dark lake again.

“It is,” she says. “But I always remember you.”

I get the queerest feeling in my chest, a tightness. I swallow hard, staring at her. “You do?”

A faint patch of pink paints her cheeks again. “I don’t know why. But I’ll remember this interaction with you later. I remember everything you’ve taught me.”

“That shouldn’t be possible…”

“That’s what my mother said.”

“Huh,” I comment. “Well, I must say, what you just told me is the greatest thing that I could ever hear as a teacher. That what I teach you goes beyond whatever spells or veils they’ve put up around your memories. That I break through somehow.”

She gives me a shy glance, her hands clasped at her front, before turning her attention to the lake. “I can see why that would boost your ego. But I don’t think it’s about what you’ve been teaching me. I think it’s just you in general. There’s something about you that makes you impossible to forget.”

That boosts my ego too. I’m struck with this sudden, hungry urge to kiss her.

But given that we are in broad daylight, on campus, I manage to hold myself back. My sexual impulses have gotten me in trouble in the past. It’s something I always have to remain in control of.

“That’s kind of you say,” I offer.

“I’m not being kind,” she says, looking back at me. “Just honest.” Then, her attention goes to the edge of the lakeshore where blue butterflies have gathered, their long tongues licking up the water.

“You see those butterflies?” I ask.

She nods. “Vlinders.”

“What?”

She laughs, her eyes sparkling. “Vlinders! That’s Dutch for butterfly. It’s what my father used to call them.”

“I see. Let’s do a little magic, shall we? Can you call those vlinders over to you, make them land on you?”

She rubs her lips together as she mulls that over. “I suppose…”

“You’re not being graded on this, Kat,” I tell her. “It’s not a test.”

“Feels like a test,” she says under her breath.

“I’m merely curious, that’s all.”

“When aren’t you?” she counters. But then she takes in a deep breath and holds out one hand, pointing it at them. She closes her eyes in concentration, and her mouth starts moving soundlessly.

At first, nothing happens. I don’t have the ability to talk to animals, so it’s not as if I can give her any coaching or pointers, so I can only stand there and watch.

A line between her brows forms as she concentrates harder, her mouth moving faster, and I want to tell her to not give up. Even from where I am, I can feel the energy inside her, ready to go.

And then it happens. One by one, the blue butterflies lift off the shore and start gathering together in a swarm. They bump into each other, the metallic glint of their wings catching the faint sunlight, and then they start flying toward Kat.

“You’re doing it,” I whisper, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice.

Kat opens her eyes and gasps as the butterflies fly toward her and circle her head. She looks like a goddess or a queen, with them her moving crown.

Then they delicately land on her head, her shoulders, her arms, their wings occasionally opening but content to stay in place.

“Look at you,” I say in awe. “Queen of the butterflies.”