Dindi
The golden light of the Vision faded. Dindi found herself back in the real world. The corncob doll hit the dirt and rolled to a stop at Gwenika's feet. Gwenika stood with her arms crossed, watching Dindi. She looked so much like her mother.
"I saw everything, Dindi," Gwenika said. "And I've seen a Vision like that before. In the cave under the Stone Hedge. I can't believe my mother was right about you. She said you lied during Initiation. She said you'd do anything to steal power that doesn't belong to you. Even pretend to be my friend."
That hurt. It was all wrong, but Dindi didn't know how to explain. All she could say was, "That's not true!"
Even to her own ears, it sounded weak.
"Prove it," Gwenika said. She bent down and picked up the doll. "Come with me to my mother. Give her this cursed doll."
Something wild and fierce rose inside Dindi when she saw Gwenika holding the doll. She didn't even think. She leapt across the room and snatched it back.
"Don't touch it!" she said. She didn't know if she was trying to protect Gwenika—or the doll.
She took a shaky breath. "Please don't tell your mother about this."
"If you were ever really my friend," said Gwenika, "you'd tell her yourself. So I wouldn't have to."
Dindi knew Gwenika was right.
She should tell Brena. She really should.
But she wouldn't.
A ray of sun shone through the doorway. It lit up the gold bangles on Gwenika's beautiful Tavaedi dress. Dindi felt a stab of jealousy. Gwenika hadn't even wanted to be a Tavaedi, and yet it had come so easily for her. She had taken the dream Dindi had wanted so badly.
Dindi hated herself for feeling jealous.
But it wasn't envy that made her hold the corncob doll close. She didn't know why she needed to protect it, but she couldn't let it go. Not even if she tried. It felt like the doll was a part of her—like a mother refusing to give up her baby.
She didn't say this out loud. She knew she would sound crazy.
She just clutched the doll tighter.
Gwenika looked at her one last time. Her face was hard. Her lips pressed into a straight, tight line—just like her mother's.
"Fine," Gwenika said. "I guess I can't say we're not friends anymore. Because we never were."
She turned and walked away.
Dindi stood there, frozen.
A shadow filled the doorway.
It was Zavaedi Brena, hands on her hips.
Here it comes, Dindi thought. Gwenika must have already told her.
"Are you planning to make everyone wait for you?" Brena snapped.
When Brena used that tone, Dindi always felt like a worm crawling in flour.
But… Brena didn't say anything about the doll.
Gwenika must not have told her yet.
"No, Auntie," Dindi said. She quickly tucked the doll into her clothes.
She made a decision right then.
From now on, she would keep the doll with her—always.