Furthermore (Furthermore, #1)

by Tahereh Mafi

The people of Ferenwood were excited for spring, but this was to be expected; they had always been fond of predictable, reliable sorts of changes, like night turning into day and rain turning into snow. They didn’t much care for night turning into cake or rain turning into shoelaces, because that wouldn’t make sense, and making sense was terribly important to these people who’d built their lives around magic.

Suddenly she understood that it is a very hard thing, to be afraid of things, and that it takes up so much time.

Alice was beginning to realize that while she didn’t much like Mother, Mother didn’t much like her, either. Mother didn’t care for the oddness of Alice; she wasn’t a parent who was predisposed to liking her children. She didn’t find their quirks endearing. She thought Alice was a perfectly functional, occasionally absurd child, but on an honest afternoon Mother would tell you that she didn’t care for children, never had, not really, but here they were. (There were plenty of nice things Mother had said about Alice, too, but Mother was never very good at making sure she said those things out loud.)

Alice liked truth: on her lips and in her mouth.

Alice and Mother did their best in the wake of Father’s absence, but some evenings all the unspoken hurts piled high on their plates and they ate sorrow with their syrup without saying a word about it.

But Mother could not unbecome herself, so Alice was resigned to loving and disliking her just as she was, for as long as she could bear it.

But then Alice was kicked out of school because apparently what she did was worse than what he said, which seemed awful-cruel because mean words tasted so much worse than his stupid ears and anyway, Mother has had to hometeach her ever since. Alice was starting to understand why Mother might not like her very much.

Sometimes Alice wanted to say unkind things to Mother. Still, Alice loved her mother. Really, she did. Alice had made peace with her parental lot in life long ago. But let us put this plainly: Alice had always preferred Father and she had no trouble saying so. Father was more than a parent to Alice; he was her friend and confidant. Life with Father had made all hard things bearable; he’d seen to it that his daughter was so thoroughly loved that she’d never known the depth of her own insecurities. In fact, he took up so much room in her heart that she’d seldom noticed she had no other friends to name.

Being alive, she realized, was very tiresome.

She could hear his heart again and she was immediately thrown by the beauty of it. The songs of his soul; the harmony within him: It was incredible.

He was a pretty kind of person, she supposed, but she thought he’d look much prettier if he traded in his personality for something better.

Alice lived in a time before proper maps, before street signs and numbered homes. She lived in a time when leaving home meant saying good-bye and hoping you’d be able to find your way back. Hope, you see, was all she had, and she would hold on to it, come hills or high water.

Finding Father meant trusting Oliver. It meant sacrificing her own future to help him with his, and even then there was no guarantee of anything. Besides, just because she could see through a lie did not mean she had any reason to trust Oliver Newbanks.

“What if I have to leave Ferenwood?” Alice said, feeling unexpectedly emotional. “Will you be alright without me? How will you get by?” “Oh, we’ll find a way to manage,” Mother said, staring at her hands as she smoothed out her apron. “I’ve been stowing away the berries for some time now.” Alice wondered whether Mother would ever realize how deeply those words hurt her that night. Mother had answered a question Alice did not ask. Alice wanted Mother to tell her she’d be missed, that she’d be sorry to see her go. Alice wasn’t asking about the ferenberries at all. It was only then that Alice saw how little Mother needed her.

Mother often said that she could never be bothered to understand why Alice did the things she did, and now, more than ever, Alice thought never being bothered was a very lazy way to love someone.

It was odd, but for a girl born and bred in magic, Alice could be disappointingly unimaginative. But then I suppose there was good reason for her reaction. After all, the people of Ferenwood had always used magic in the same steady, reliable ways, and Alice had never known magic to be manipulated frivolously; she’d no idea what a little recklessness could do. The magic of Furthermore was entirely foreign to her.

Oliver had gone white. He was milk and paper and ghostly fright. He’d taken her hand and was squeezing so tight Alice had no choice but to shake him off.

“What is your name?” Seldom asked. “Alice, don’t tell him!” Oliver said, reaching out as if to stop her. Alice didn’t even have time to roll her eyes at Oliver. “Your name is Alice?” Seldom asked. She nodded, pausing just long enough to shoot a dirty look at Oliver, who had now turned a very unflattering shade of puce.

Love had made her fearless, and wasn’t it strange? It was so much easier to fight for another than it was to fight for oneself.)

Oliver lifted her chin with one finger, and when their eyes met, they both apologized. Regrets and reconciliations, all at once. Oliver almost smiled. Alice almost did, too.

Alice had dreamed of a reunion with Father the way some people dreamt of fame and glory; she’d acted out the motions hundreds of times; she’d imagined every smile, every tear, every clinging hug. And yet, somehow, it was much easier to dream of Father from afar, because being this close to him now only filled her with fear. What if their journey went terribly wrong? What if she ruined everything with a simple mistake and Father stayed gone for good? It would be infinitely more difficult to live with loss if Alice had herself to blame for the lack.

She wore her worries like a cloak clasped tight around her throat but, come fear or failure, Alice would tread cautiously into the night. There would be no turning back.

Furthermore let visitors take as much time as they wanted, but so much of it was spent on thinking and wondering and deciding that it’s now very strictly regulated.” And then, seeing the look on Alice’s face, he added, “Studies have shown that thinking and wondering lead to thoughtful decision-making. It’s an epidemic.” Alice’s mouth popped open in surprise. “You

“Stupid people are much easier to eat.” “I beg your pardon?”

Alice was so tired and so full of fears and worries that she could almost understand what it was like to be a real grown-up. In any case, she desperately needed a break and she was grateful for the chance to let her guard down for just a moment longer.

They hugged, he and she, for a very long time, just clinging to each other, happy to be alive; grateful to have survived yet another stage of Furthermore. It was starting to wear on them now, nearly dying all the time.