That evening, as the sky grew dark, Zada and Daphne sat with the rest of the townspeople in the village green, waitingfor the play to begin. There was no stage, but the actors had hung a screen from a clothesline strung between two ancient, weathered-looking trees.
“Did I say sorry about the chickens yet?” whispered Daphne.
Zada laughed. “I think you had more pressing matters on your mind this afternoon.”
“Maybe a little,” said Daphne quietly.
Iphigenia strode out behind the makeshift curtain. Her gaze swept the crowd, lingering a moment on Daphne.
“Hello, Beluga Town!” she yelled, and the town cheered. “Welcome,” she continued. “Tonight, we bring you a play I’ve been working on for—well, my whole life, really. It’s the story of a girl who tried and failed to play by the rules and, in the process, lost what mattered most to her.” Iphigenia’s gaze returned to Daphne. “But it’s also the story of how she survived, and how we’ve all survived. This isThe Ballad of Iphigenia Baker. I hope you like it.”
As the actors scurried to their places, Zada wrapped an arm around Daphne’s waist. It was still a wonderful shock that she was allowed to do this. Every touch between them still felt like a gift, like a secret.
Daphne ducked in and kissed her on the cheek. “I still owe you for the chickens,” said Daphne under her breath.
Zada grinned. “It’s all right.”
“No, let me make it up to you,” Daphne murmured. Zada was glad the sun was almost down. It hid the absolutely ridiculous expression on her face.
“Shhh!” whispered Carine.
A slight breeze ruffled Zada’s hair. It could’ve been her imagination,but even the wind outside New Ionia felt fresher.
Zada tucked her head onto Daphne’s shoulder, and they sat there together in the dark as the lights went up and the story began.
