by B. B. Alston
Jayden takes a seat next to me on the bench. He looks like he’s grown another six inches since I last saw him up close like this. Still seems way too young for all that height. His gold chain sparkles in the sunlight and those Jordans are brand-new. “Looking good, ’Mari. I’m feelin’ the curly fro.”
“Thanks,” I say with a smile. “Feels like forever since anybody called me that.”
He shrugs. “You don’t hang with us anymore. Not since Quinton . . . you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Truth is, even though we’re in the same grade, I only know Jayden through the tutoring program at the rec center where Quinton used to volunteer. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but all my old friends were kids my brother knew first.
Jayden laughs suddenly. “So I gotta ask. What’s up with this suit? Is this how them rich folks dress?”
“Ha ha,” I say. “No, this is for an interview. It’s . . . well, it’s hard to explain.”
“Oh, so you trying to get a summer job or something?”
I nod. “Something like that.”
Jayden’s expression turns serious. He glances around before meeting my gaze again. “If you need some cash, I can loan you some.” He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a roll of twenty-dollar bills. “Pay you back for all the times you and your brother looked out for me.”
Jayden doesn’t look it now, but he’s had it worse than a lot of kids living out here. Me and Quinton always had Mama to support us. I can remember going to visit Jayden and him not even knowing where his mom was that day. Or what he was going to eat that night. Me looking out for him was just me sharing whatever I had at the time. Sometimes it was just half my candy bar. He was always so grateful.
I search Jayden’s eyes for a joke, but he seems totally serious. That is so much money. Enough that Mama wouldn’t have to worry over bills for a good while. But there’s no way I can take it. “I know whose money that is. Those boys are into some bad stuff. They’re always getting arrested.”
Jayden shoves the money back into his pocket. “Man, you don’t know anything about them. At least they care what happens to me.”
Quinton’s old warning to me comes flashing through my head. You’re not going to change the world unless you hang with people who want to change the world too. Fast money and selling stuff that hurts other people ain’t good. Be better than that.
“My brother cares,” I say. “And I know those boys don’t give you all these nice things without wanting something in return. Tell me you didn’t drop out of school to run with them.”
“I do what I gotta do.” Jayden frowns as he meets my eyes. “Getting good grades don’t help me eat. And even if it did, there ain’t nobody to help me study no more. Them people they got tutoring now don’t understand. Always lookin’ down on me, tellin’ me what I should already know. Quinton wasn’t like that. He could explain things in a way that made it all make sense.”
Those words hit hard. It’s a reminder that me and Mama aren’t the only people who depended on Quinton. That tutoring program is one more thing on a long list of stuff that’s gotten worse since his disappearance.
I lean in closer to Jayden. “What if there’s a way to get Quinton back here? Would you give the tutoring program another try?”
Jayden gives me a puzzled look. “You saying you know where he is?”
The bus turns the corner.
“Not exactly . . .” I say. “But I might’ve figured out a way to find him. Just promise me you won’t do anything that could mess up your future. He’d be really disappointed.”
I pause a second before getting on the bus, but Jayden doesn’t give me an answer.
Once I’ve taken my seat, I meet his eyes again through the window.
Jayden shakes his head but gives me the biggest smile. “Okay, ’Mari,” he mouths.
5
WHEN I GET OFF THE BUS, I’M SURPRISED TO FIND that 1440 North Main Street is a busy office building. It’s a small skyscraper, all dark glass and metal. For a place guarding so many “well-kept secrets,” I would’ve thought it’d be somewhere more . . . secret.
This place is packed even on a Saturday. I climb the stairs to the front entrance, doing my best to ignore all the eyes my suit attracts. And then nearly panic when I notice the security desk just inside the doors, but strangely the guard just smiles and waves me through, no questions asked. I spot the elevators at the back of the lobby and make my way through the crowd of adults. It’s just my luck that I’ve come on the day of some business conference.
The instructions said I have to wait for the leftmost elevator to be empty. That’s way easier said than done—it’s the elevator that gets used the most. I get so tired of standing around waiting that I take a seat on a small bench. After around fifteen minutes, the traffic in the lobby begins to die down and I finally get my chance. But just when I think I’m home free, a frowning, bald guy slips into the elevator with me.
I reach out and hold the doors.
The man spins around to face me. “Stop that! I’ve got a meeting I’m already late for.”
If I don’t think of something quick, I’ll never get where I’m going. “I’ve got a really bad cold.” I throw in a sniffle and a couple fake coughs. “I don’t want you to catch it.”
The man scoots away from me, his frown deepening. “Yes, well, maybe I can wait on the next one.” He dashes out the elevator so fast you’d think I had the plague.
Finally, I’m alone. The elevators doors shut. I take one more glance at the nomination form. Press the basement button twenty-six times.
On the last press, the lights dim and a red beam scans the elevator. “Nomination form detected,” says a robotic voice. “Please proceed.” A loud click sounds, and the back of the elevator opens up to a winding hallway with metal walls.
No way. How is any of this real?
I lean forward, hoping to get a peek at where this thing leads, but it twists out of sight. No turning back now, I guess. Shaking off my nerves, I follow the hall to a small waiting room—six chairs with a magazine rack in the corner.
At the counter, a plump blonde lady smiles at me. “How can I help you?”
“My brother nominated me for . . .” What did he nominate me for, exactly?
“Of course,” the lady says politely. “Unfortunately, our recruiter isn’t in right now—”
A loud crash sounds from far off. “Ah,” she says. “Seems he’s just arrived. Use the door on the left and go on back. It’s the last office on the right.”
I do as she says and pop my head into the half-open doorway. Inside, a desk lays in pieces on the floor. Standing over the mess is a really strange-looking guy. He’s taller than I am but just as skinny, with streaks of gray in his shaggy, brown hair. But it’s not really him that’s the problem. It’s his clothes.
He’s got on bright orange pants—traffic cone bright. His shirt is orange too. I’ve seen orange shirts before, but this guy’s shirt has the nerve to be covered in orange and brown feathers.
“Come, come.” The man waves me inside without looking up. “I’m just cleaning up a bit. I told the transporter to put me at my desk, not in my desk.” He strokes his chin. “But then again, I was chewing a rather splendid steak sandwich when I gave the command.”
I take one nervous step inside. Did he say transporter?
“My name is Amari—”
“And mine is Mr. Barnabus Ware, but full introductions won’t be necessary, I’m afraid.” He still hasn’t looked up at me once. “This year’s summer program has already begun. The kids’ll already be assigned to rooms by now.”
It’s already begun? My heart sinks. “Does that mean I’m too late? I only just got my nomination.”
“Rules are rules. Whoever nominated you should’ve filled out the proper waiver if your school year runs long. There’s always next summer—” He finally looks up at me and his eyes go wide. “Many pardons, but if you don’t mind me asking, is that suit a genuine
Duboise?”
I glance down at the ugly green-and-purple stripes and shrug. “What’s a Duboise?”
The man gasps. “Only the most brilliant clothing and accessories designer in the world!” He comes closer, stepping over the shattered pieces of his desk, then picks up the end of my right sleeve and rubs the fabric in his hand. “Very good. Yes. Very good, indeed. Would you mind removing the jacket? I’d love to try it on.”
“Oh, um, sure.” It’s strange that anyone would be interested in this ugly thing except for maybe wanting to burn it and dance on the ashes. But then, this guy is comfortable wearing orange and brown feathers. I slide off the jacket and hand it to him.
He actually tries to put it on. He’s almost a foot taller than I am! No way it’ll fit.
But it does. Perfectly. My jaw drops. “How—?”
“Ah yes, it’s certainly authentic. Never can tell with so many knockoffs going around. But only genuine Duboises have the ‘one size fits all’ feature. Only way to be sure. The wife and I swear by them.” Mr. Ware gestures toward his own outfit. “My ensemble is from the tropical collection, ‘Essence of a Sandy Parrot.’ Now, you might be wondering why it is I have on vacation attire. I’ll explain. You see, we were on vacation, naturally, and having quite the time I should add, when I received an urgent message from my supervisor that a child had been added to the list and no one was in the office! You’re supposed to be able to count on your coworkers to pick up the slack when you’re on vacation—you’d expect that, wouldn’t you?”
“I—I guess. Can we get back to how my jacket—”
Mr. Ware throws up his hands. “Exactly! It’s a reasonable thing to expect! But not when Thesda Greengrass is your partner. Always going to pieces whenever one of her bloody cats gets taken away. Can’t understand why her neighbors might object to a tiger in the neighborhood. No use, though, she’ll have another by the end of the month. Can’t imagine where she gets them—”
“MR. WARE!” I interrupt. My ears are ready to explode.
“Yes?”
“My jacket,” I say. “How did it grow to fit you like that?”
“Why, a patented enchantment, of course. How else?”
“An enchantment?” I lift an eyebrow. “As in magic?”
“Yes.” Mr. Ware crosses his arms. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come by that suit, exactly?”
“It was in a briefcase,” I say. “My brother left it for me.”
“Ah,” says Mr. Ware. “I understand now. I take it this brother of yours is the first in the family to go into this line of work?”
“Probably. But I don’t really know what line of work this is.”
He strokes his chin again. “Normally I’m not one to bend the rules, but how can I turn away a child with such splendid taste in clothing? However unintentional.” He sighs. “Very well, have a seat.”
I do what he says. It’s pretty strange to be sitting across from someone over a pile of shattered desk pieces.
“It’s my job,” says Mr. Ware, “to offer you a spot in our rather unique summer camp. However, I can’t tell you very much about said summer camp until I get an answer as to whether or not you’ll take it. Think carefully. If you decide you’re not interested, then our meeting will end right here, and you can go back to doing whatever it was you planned to do with your life. It’s why we meet here in this office and not at the actual Bureau. But if you say yes, be warned that you will be obligated to attend this summer. Understand?”
I swallow and nod. “So the interview is just you asking if I’ll take the spot?”
“Indeed it is,” he says with a nod. “Would you rather it be more difficult? I can cook up some algebraic equations if you’d like.”
I shake my head quickly.
Mr. Ware chuckles. “And your answer?”
As much as I want to say yes, I can’t help thinking of Quinton right now. “My brother said what he was doing was dangerous. Is that true?”
At first, I think he won’t answer. But eventually he says, “It very well can be.”
I’m suddenly super nervous. Visions of disarming bombs and wrestling alligators sweep through my mind. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve said far too much already. I’m afraid I can offer nothing more until you’ve decided.”
Even if it is dangerous, Quinton wanted me to experience all the things that he did. When has he ever wanted anything but the best for me? Just the memory of those glittering trains lighting up the ocean sends a rush of excitement through me I can’t explain. And more than anything, this could be my only shot to find out what happened to him.
I meet Mr. Ware’s stare and say, “I accept.” And then hold my breath for whatever comes next.
6
MR. WARE LEAPS OUT OF HIS CHAIR AND SHAKES MY hand fiercely. “Congratulations! A fantastic decision. Always a pleasure to bring a fresh face into the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.”
My hand is half numb by the time Mr. Ware releases it. But I have a much bigger worry. “Bureau of Supernatural Affairs?”
Mr. Ware grins. “Go to any corner of the world and you’ll find tales of beings and creatures that only seem possible in our imaginations. What if I told you that living among us are all the beings we’ve come to pass off as myth? Trolls and sphinxes, mermaids and oddities you could see with your own eyes and still not believe—these and countless more dwell in our towns and walk our streets. One might be your neighbor or even your favorite teacher. And not only that, many supernaturals have vast cities of their own hidden just off the beaten path. The Bureau of Supernatural Affairs is the link between the known world and what is hidden. We are charged with keeping the secret.”
I’m not totally sure I buy all that. An odd suit is one thing—hearing that creatures from books and movies might actually be real is something else. “Okay . . . so if that’s true, don’t people have the right to know if a werewolf is sitting next to them on the bus?”
“Thankfully, werewolves tend to be train people. But, yes, there is much in the supernatural world that is dangerous, and we do our very best to protect the innocent. As to your point about why, the supernatural world is kept secret for one very good reason. Peace of mind. People tend to fear what they don’t understand. And fear can far too easily become hatred. Why, the Great Bug Conflict of ’69 comes to mind. The Society of Sentient Insects had gone and invented ‘people repellent’ spray. You’d think a reasonable person would understand that turnabout is fair play, but you’d be surprised how quickly reason goes out the window when the bugs start spraying back. A particularly rough year for the Bureau, that one.”
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “That’s not in any history book I’ve ever read.”
“We’re very good at what we do.” Mr. Ware smiles. “And we have been for a very long time.”
I’ll see for myself soon enough. Right now, there’s something that interests me more than myths or magic. “My brother is missing. Is there anything you can tell me about him? His name is—”
My recruiter jabs a finger into each ear. “The Bureau is not always the safest place to work. It’s likely that your brother worked in one of the more dangerous fields. I can’t say I know of anyone that’s died or gone missing. I very purposefully keep away from that sort of news. I’m the one who brings them in, you see. I’d take the news too hard.”
“I understand.” I remind myself there are probably lots more people I can ask about Quinton.
Mr. Ware reaches behind him and pulls a briefcase out of thin air. “An Invisi-Tote,” he says with a wink. “Never leave home without it.” Inside the briefcase is a stack of books. He tosses one onto my lap. I try to read the long title on the cover, but the words are some other language. French maybe? But then the letters flicker and fade, reappearing as One Thousand and One Careers.
Mr. Ware reaches over and starts flipping through the pages. “You’ll train in the summers until
you’re eighteen, at which point you’ll become a full adult member of the Bureau. So long as you pass the tryouts, you’ll receive a scholarship to any school in the country, no matter how exclusive, and no matter the cost. If you wish, you can change your specialty at the start of next summer’s session, but you’ll have to go through the tryout process again to keep the scholarship.” He finally settles on a page. “This is my job during nomination season. This publication lists every job classification the Bureau has to offer. What positions you are allowed to pursue depends on both your potential and your ability.”
I nod and look down at the page he’s selected.
DEPARTMENT OF SUPERNATURAL LICENSES AND RECORDS
Recruiter
Minimum badge allowed to perform this job: Wooden
Chief Responsibilities: Meets with nominated children to offer a spot in the summer training sessions in preparation for a career at the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.
“What’s it mean by ‘minimum badge’?” I ask.
“That would be our next order of business—badge testing. Badges, you see, represent your current potential—intelligence, bravery, curiosity, all those kinds of things. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re a cardboard badge. There’s a chart on the very first page.”
Cardboard? I frown and flip back to the opening page.
Badges
Gold
Silver
Bronze
Iron
Copper
Stone
Glass
Wood
Plastic
Cardboard
Aluminum Foil
Notebook Paper
My shoulders sag. Cardboard is all the way at the bottom, just above aluminum foil and notebook paper. Of course the Black girl from the projects would have an awful badge. Why would I think the supernatural world is any different from my own?
“I suppose you know how to use one of these?” Mr. Ware hands me a long, very thin plastic tube. “Works like a thermometer.”
Except I notice there aren’t any numbers. Welp, here goes nothing. . . . I blow off a piece of lint and stick the thing into my mouth. It’s only under my tongue for a second before Mr. Ware asks for it back.
