Twenty
Gaius and I sit in comfortable silence in the mountain’s living room. He’s making notes in his lab book about his most recent experiment—the one involving mirror berries—and I’ve got a sketchbook open on my lap. Flames crackle in the fireplace on one side of the room. It’s nice. It’s quiet. So much quieter than the desperate screaming uncertainty in my head.
With a wordless groan, I throw the sketchbook onto the floor. “I don’t know what to do, Gaius. I don’t know what to do!”
Startled, he looks up. “Uh … do you mean you don’t know what to draw?”
“I have to make a decision about what to do with my life. I can’t simply do nothing, and I can’t stay here forever, but my brain feels paralyzed. So paralyzed I can’t even draw.” I stand up and retrieve the sketchbook so I can show him
