Revolutionary

Alex Myers, Simon & Schuster, 2014

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They brought their buckets to a cook and joined the group. As the men exchanged information about hometowns and potential family ties, some part of her wished to stay aloof, on the margins; this part counseled: Don’t draw attention to yourself, that is the safest course. But another part said: Safety comes from belonging to the group. She would need those men, and they would need her. So she stood close to the flames, next to James, and followed the ebb and flow of the conversation.

What she really wanted to know was how others saw her, and no lake or mirror could tell her that. Did she really look like a molly? She picked up a rock and tossed it in; a hollow splash answered. She paused to see if anyone heard and would approach. Nothing stirred. Across the lake, flickers of orange flame, the small fires of camp, darted through the trees. She thought—fleetingly, like a cloud moving across the sun—of running away. But her life could not be one long escape.

Shaking out the coat, she admired the white lining and the sharp, white facing on the lapels, and she wished that simply donning the uniform would make her a soldier. The uniform would make her blend in: one more blue coat in a field of blue coats. But what really mattered was not blending in, but belonging. And that—as she’d felt in her first days as a recruit and even more so as she now sat next to Tobias—had nothing to do with what she wore on the outside and everything to do with what lay within herself.