“Not a good idea,” he said. “Destructive without demonstrating anything new.”
“But it would look cool,” protested a guy whose name Sophie couldn’t recall.
“Looking cool is not part of our mission. Only actions that further the cause.”
After them came a hippie white girl who was either on speed or one too many cups of coffee.
“Flagpole sitting,” she said. “It was a fad in the 1920s. Good publicity stunt. People did hunger strikes on top of flagpoles, like, for days at a time. I’ve been practicing. I could totally do it.”
Gabe cocked his head. “Believe it or not, I’m not entirely opposed to the idea. Nobody gets hurt and it’d be so weird you’d probably get coverage. Have you been through our media training?”
The girl shook her head.
“Chat with Lucinda over there”—he pointed to Lucinda Scott, their media guru, doling out bowls of chili—“and tell her you want in on the next training. If you’re trained, if you show us you can speak eloquently on topic and stick to the talking points, I think we could support it.”
The girl smiled and walked off in the direction he had pointed. He turned back to the other group, still gathered nearby. “Did you hear her? That’s how we get things done.”
They variously nodded and shrugged. Sophie hoped they weren’t one of those subgroups so hopped up on the idea of action that they went ahead with their silly plan. They’d get arrested for vandalism and give the cause a bad name.
The crowd finally dwindled around eleven, though a few people lingered. Lucinda was on her computer, Dominic swept, and others were variously washing dishes or wiping counters or playing some handheld game all in a circle.
“We’re going to need to figure out a plan for the ID soon,” she said to Gabe, glad to finally have a chance to chat.
“Didn’t they tell you?” He frowned, clearly surprised. “The plan’s in action already.”
The surprise was mutual. “Didn’t who tell me?”
“Lana Robinson.”
Lana Robinson was their contact at national headquarters. “Why the hell would Lana Robinson tell you something she didn’t tell me? Co-leaders.”
“Co-leaders, yeah, but she called and I was here and you weren’t, and she said she’d try to reach you, too. I would have told you if she hadn’t said she was going to.”
Sophie fought back angry tears. “Tell me what?”
“She sent someone by to get your brother’s ID.”
“What? What are they doing with it? I need to be involved. He’s my brother.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with your brother anymore, I don’t think.”
“It does. What if they botch it and he gets blamed?”
“They won’t botch it. We’d mess up, not them. We’re not spies; we’re community activists. We do legal stuff and civil disobedience.”
“But I thought—” She stopped.
“You thought you’d get to play James Bond?”
“Well, yeah, that it’d be us. BNL headquarters are right here. I thought we’d be the ones to take them down, not National.”
“How far do you think your brother’s ID gets us? He’s not exactly high-ranking. They have some bigger plan, probably. Your brother’s ID will be part of it, but it’s not the whole plan. We couldn’t have done this, Soph.”
He put a hand on her arm, and she told herself he was her friend and the gesture wasn’t meant to be condescending. She forced her face into a smile. “You’re right.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
DAVID
No, David did not want to go to a party. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted less than to go to a party. It was a terrible idea.
Sure, he said in the return text. When and where?
And then he was at Karina and Milo’s apartment, standing on the landing outside their third-floor walk-up, standing on the edge of the city, standing outside a door that was the only barrier between him and more noise more noise it was already spilling out under the door and through the windows. Noise to add to his noise noise on noise on noise. If it was locked and nobody heard him knock he could walk away and say he’d tried to come and maybe Milo wouldn’t point out that he could’ve texted to say he was there and open the goddamn door.
A car door slammed, voices on the stairs below him, a couple arriving at the landing where he still stood outside the door, both white-appearing and tan in an outdoorsy way, not a tanning bed way, the girl with freckles under light makeup and a scab down one shin, the guy with a slight sunburn on his nose, and maybe they did those tough mud races together or played beach volleyball on a fake beach in some pickup league and that was how they’d met. Karina did those races and had been trying to get Milo to do them, but he said he’d had enough obstacle courses already for his life, thank you very much. The girl looked more like she might be Karina’s friend than the guy looked like he might be Milo’s, which stood to reason since Karina had way more friends than Milo did. The guy carried two cases of cheap beer, one in each hand. The girl carried two bags of ice. One bag had leaked a trail of water up the stairs behind them.
The guy nodded at the door. “Locked?”
David shook his head and made an ineffectual gesture with his empty hands that nobody in the history of humanity had ever made, seriously, how would it even translate, making that gesture at a guy with two cases of beer in his hands, when clearly the unspoken question was Can you take care of this problem?
David turned the handle again and the noise got louder. Pushed the door wide so the guy and girl could walk past him into the apartment. He needed another minute or two.
“David! You came!” Milo threw his arms around David like he’d been stalking the door waiting for David to arrive, and David returned the hug.
“You think I’d miss this?”
“Actually, yeah. I didn’t think you’d come. Here, let me introduce you to people.”
It was mostly Karina’s friends, as he’d guessed it would be, her party, her birthday, et cetera, or anyway, the first few people Milo introduced him to were introduced with their connection to her, a work friend, a high school friend, someone from her obstacle race training group. They seemed nice enough and he memorized their names their faces took in their clothes their drink choices the way they positioned themselves like they didn’t even care that their backs were to the windows their backs were to the doors they were shouting to be heard over other people shouting to be heard over a song he’d hated in high school. They leaned in and shook his hand or nodded or clinked their beer bottles to his and said nice to meet you how do you know Milo and he said they’d been friends forever no lie but didn’t say they’d served together nobody needed to know that except almost every one of them then said oh, wait! you’re that guy from the ad! “The best me I can be” and then some sang an old razor ad and some sang an old Army recruitment jingle and some asked if he and Milo served together and no matter how he phrased it they knew they knew they always knew they asked stuff he didn’t want to answer he smiled and drained his drink and said he needed another and made his escape and all the time his eyes were on the door the window the patterns of the crowd the songs the slight rattle in the bass notes from the speaker by the kitchen where he shoved his hands into the ice in the red cooler looking for another beer but also looking for the numbing cold for a moment numbing cold to numb his brain, too.
Someone came into the kitchen while he had both arms elbow-deep in the ice and he knew it looked weird nobody looked for beer with two arms in the cooler and the person said you look familiar and it was possible he knew her from high school but he didn’t want to be there while she figured it out and recited his commercial back at him, so he pulled a bottle out with each hand like he was going to bring one to someone in another room and raised them over his head like twin victories and icy water ran down his
arms and into the arms of his shirt and over his chest and it did not feel bad at all but now it looked like it was sweat and maybe some of it was because there were so many people in this tiny apartment and it was legit hot outside even before you factored that in. The woman looked at him oddly and he popped both caps and made his exit.
There were more people in the narrow hallway with the picture frames on the walls showing Milo and Karina and Milo and a beagle and Karina and a cat and Milo’s family members whom David recognized even if he hadn’t seen Milo’s brother in how many years and Karina with her family that David didn’t know. The hallway bathroom door was locked, but there was another off the bedroom, he was pretty sure. He didn’t even need to piss he needed two minutes alone.
He expected the bedroom to be as loud as every other room. The door was closed, and he debated knocking wondered if he’d open it to find it in use like a high school party some couple taking advantage of a bedroom away from parents the way most adults of their age didn’t need to do now unless maybe they had just hooked up at the party but he pushed the door open anyway and was surprised to discover an oasis.
Two people sitting on the bed, sandals and wedges kicked off haphazardly, three others on the floor, two with backs against the dressers one against the one bare wall. Four looked relaxed, the fifth, on the floor with back to the wall, looked more alert, like she was taking in everything, fingers tapping on thighs. Floor-to-ceiling windows, no, a sliding door, there was a narrow balcony beyond, he hadn’t ever been in their bedroom before. It looked less than cozy, generic edge-of-city, beige-carpeted generic apartment, but maybe they’d cleaned it for guests, hidden everything that made it homey. Air conditioner pumping out through a vent in the wall working on only this room far more successfully than in the rest of the apartment because of the door he closed the door behind him the closed door blessed cool blessed quiet nobody here was shouting and the music was far away.
“Join us?” One of the two people on the bed held out a small candy bowl. Two colors, yellow and teal, same size and shape, the yellow unmarked and the teal with a stylized lowercase q on them. Not candy. Pills. Pills had never been his scene he’d never really had a scene but pills wasn’t it.
“Nah, I’m okay,” he said.
“If you’re in here, you’ve got to play,” said someone from the floor. “It’s a good game.”
“What’s the game?” David asked, out of curiosity. He didn’t buy “If you’re in here, you’ve got to play.” In his experience, people offered drugs and you took or you didn’t and nobody cared either way sort of a suit yourself more for me attitude and anyway if they held the line they couldn’t force him and he could walk out again into the noise but it was so much nicer in here.
The person holding the bowl smiled it was a friendly smile. They were cute.
A floor sitter said, “One pill makes you larger . . .” but the cute one shook their head and dug a hand into the bowl, coming out with a yellow pill. “This is Superman. It enhances the effects of your Pilot.”
Hand back into the bowl for the teal pill, a perfect teal caplet against a smooth white palm. Too smooth to be the hands of one of Karina’s tough-mudder race buddies. “And this is the Fortress of Solitude.”
“Fortress of Solitude?” He repeated it when they didn’t explain further, though he thought he understood.
“It dampens the effect of your Pilot. Tamps it down. Mild euphoria.”
The floor sitter said something again about one pill making you larger, like it was a reference to something, oh yeah, Alice in Wonderland. Calm, smiling. Fortress of Solitude.
He wasn’t a drug person never had a chance he had gotten his Pilot so early and everything he tried had just made it louder louder who would have thought even weed would make it louder but it had so there had never been a point he got paranoid and he was still on guard and he got stoned and he was still aware and he had tried one thing after another just once just to see before he stopped bothering because it was always the same so aware amped hyped noise everywhere same as always. If he was smart he’d take a minute and look these up see what they really were if he was responsible and not five beers in and having a lousy night even though he’d barely been there how long maybe an hour.
He opened his hand, palm up.
“That’s not how it works,” said the cute one.
He waited again, and this time they explained without his prompting. “You close your eyes and reach in. It chooses you, not the other way around. You swallow it without looking. Ride whichever wave hits you.”
“That’s why it’s a game,” said someone from the floor.
There was a crash from the living room, then quiet, then a smattering of applause.
David crossed to the bed. Closed his eyes just for a second he hated closing his eyes around strangers in a strange place hated closing his eyes ever really when there was nobody on watch but he closed his eyes he heard everyone breathing he heard the murmurs that were noise when the door was open he closed his eyes and put his hand in the bowl and took a pill. Put it on his tongue and stuck his tongue out so they saw what he got even if he didn’t. It had a sweet coating. He swallowed.
When he opened his eyes, the others in the room nodded approvingly. He put his beers on the nightstand and lowered himself to the floor next to the bed, not the worst place in the room to be situated, he faced the door if anyone came through it anything that came through the window at least the bed would be in the way. For whatever reason nobody in this room asked his name or said they recognized him and he took that as a part of the experience whatever the experience would be.
He waited. Now that the novelty of his appearance had worn off there were two conversations going in the room, the two on the bed chatting about a show he had never heard of and the people against the dressers chatting about a mutual friend he didn’t know. Only the alert person against the wall was silent, and she was closest to him.
“How long does it take?” He thought that was the way to go, stay on the topic at hand.
She shrugged, eyes wide. “Fifteen minutes to start feeling it, usually. Half an hour for full effect.”
“How far behind you am I?”
“We’re all at half an hour.”
He looked around. It wasn’t that different from a room full of stoned people when you were the sober one.
“You got Superman,” he said. “And they all got the other.”
She nodded. He tried to imagine an amped-up version of the Pilot an even more aware awareness molecules moving through space dust through the air. He couldn’t picture it.
“Friend of Milo or friend of Karina?” David asked.
“Karina’s big sister,” she said. “Alyssa.”
“Oh, cool,” he said. “I didn’t know she had a sister. I’ve been friends with Milo forever.”
“Are you David?”
“Yeah.” He waited for the inevitable questions about the war or the commercial.
“Karina thinks you’re great.”
He was completely surprised by that. “Really? I always figured I’m the guy making Milo drink too much and dragging him away from her to sort out my problems.”
“Nah. The way she sees it you’re a practical influence with a good job also you have amazing curls.” Her sentence ran on but he had no problem following.
“Thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair, still short but already ignoring orders. “I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with the curls. This is the first time in ages I’ve let it get this long.”
She looked like she was maybe going to reach out a hand to touch his hair, and she was cute and he would let her if she did, but he turned and straightened the two haphazard pairs of shoes that had been kicked off by the people on the bed, to interrupt any move she might have made before it had a chance to happen. Karina’s big sister. Cute but a bad idea unless he
checked with Karina and Milo first. If Karina actually liked him he wanted to keep it that way, since he needed Milo. Milo was the closest thing to a person who understood him, who believed him about the noise.
“Do you want to step out on the balcony? I want to go outside.”
The balcony, in full view of the people in the room, seemed like a better plan than this intimate corner of the floor. Alyssa sprang to her feet like someone who thought she was moving like a cat. David followed, watching the others watch them go.
The balcony was two feet wide, not big enough for furniture, just a couple of potted plants, one flowering one green, neither of which he recognized. What was the point of a balcony this narrow? You couldn’t sit, and the Plexiglas barrier was too high for anyone not as tall as him to lean on. It was comfortable enough for him, but wouldn’t you want a balcony where you could have a meal or sit and watch the sunset, but this was south facing he was pretty sure so no sunset anyway.
Outside, the music and conversation spilled from the apartment but the sound was baffled buffered diffused except for somebody shouting something a joke an anecdote something endless above it all. There were sirens far off but they didn’t get closer. He had a feeling an inevitability in his stomach a knowledge this was a party where the cops were going to get called. Mixed-race mixed-class city-suburb neighborhood same for the party probably the kind where the police knock politely and say everyone has to leave not the kind where people end up arrested but it could go either way any night always depending on who came and what mood they were in and the response when they opened the door and what the neighbors had said and of course all of this was hypothetical. The air smelled like the flower he didn’t recognize, drippy white and yellow blooms.
“What are you feeling?” He asked because he was curious and she was clearly altered and he still didn’t know which way he was going and this was all a terrible idea but information would be good at this point.
“It’s pretty cool.” The barrier he leaned on at chest height was at her shoulders, so she lifted her forearms onto it and put her chin on her hands. “Actually, describing it would be cool. I’ll try. It’s like even more input. Like, that honeysuckle is overwhelming, heady, sweet, and I’ve never seen somebody pot honeysuckle before, but it looks healthy so I guess it’s working, and I wonder if it could grow big enough to sort of flow over the balcony’s edge and if that’s allowed here—Karina says there are rules against everything in this complex. And I keep counting the cars in the parking lot and I know exactly where everyone is in that bedroom and they’re all watching us and Justin—the guy in the corner—keeps picking between his toes which is disgusting in company but he clearly doesn’t care or doesn’t think anyone is noticing and Alex on the bed is looking at you like you’re a snack and they’re trying to decide if I’m hitting on you or not and I can pick out at least six different voices of people I know in the living room and I can almost kind of follow all their conversations at once but it’s a little confusing and there’s a black cat slinking at the edge of the parking lot and it’s a rush like a rush of information a rush of stimulation it’s like I can follow all of it at once and it would be overwhelming if I didn’t also have this feeling of competence, like I can keep up, this is just me. Why are you staring at me?”
We Are Satellites Page 21
