Broadway was crowded, the streetlights mimicking day. A short line of people were waiting by a food cart shrouded in smoke that smelled like charred meat. People in the windows at Starbucks had glowing laptops and faces being strangled by white earbuds.
In front of her house, Eli unzipped the backpack and said, “I can tell you more about what I found out in the last twenty-four hours or so. Maybe it’ll help figure out the countdown?”
He took out the device and held it in his palm. Across the street a man was walking a dog, but the block was otherwise quiet. The dog lifted a leg to pee on a clear blue bag full of empty cans and bottles.
Eden’s phone buzzed. Her mom: Home in five.
“I need to go inside, like now.” She took the device. “So text me or just fill me in tomorrow?”
He nodded.
“But what if it actually is a bomb?” she said, halfway in the door. “Like what if we’re being played by some kind of crazy high-tech terrorist?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not a bomb,” Eli said. “Weaponized AI, maybe, but not a bomb.”
“What does that even mean? Weaponized AI?”
“I don’t know yet, exactly. But like spying?”
The device pulsed red light, then words appeared: I am not a bomb.
A second later it said: Let’s review.
“Review what?” Eden said, but it didn’t answer.
“Maybe it wants us to review the rules?” Eli said, and he started counting them off on fingers. “Never leave it unattended. Don’t tell anybody about it. Don’t shake it. Don’t get it wet. Don’t leave it in a bag for more than an hour at a time. And the handoff every fourteen hours or less.”
“Is that it?” Eden asked, feeling like something was missing.
Those few minutes in the music room already felt like such a long time ago.
They were forgetting something.
From that first day, from first contact.
Then she remembered it, the moment she felt the first twinge of fear.
Nobody leaves.
They’d all left, of course. The fire alarm had gone off. The device had maybe made the fire alarm go off? So it had forced them to break that rule. Unless it didn’t actually mean nobody leaves the room but something more.
“I think I might know what it’s counting down to,” she said as she watched the numbers whirl away. “What it wants.”
Eli raised his eyebrows.
Select_all
ILANKA
Every morning, Ilanka was ready for school before her mother was ready to drive her there. So every morning she stood at the windows— jacket and backpack on—and watched the day take shape. She wished she could get to school on her own like everybody else did. But it was too far to walk and there was no other great way to get there. The water taxi would get her from her neighborhood, Hunters Point, to the Astoria waterfront, but then the walk from the landing to school was like twenty minutes. The subway didn’t help at all, and there was no way Ilanka was taking a city bus.
So she waited patiently as the sun lit up the sky—today a white blue—and then the skyscrapers across the East River. She kept binoculars by the windowed walls and studied people on boats, because maybe there was some kind of lesson she could learn about how one became the kind of person who owned a boat, which seemed like pretty much the opposite of the kind of person who rode the bus. She watched people in the park fourteen stories down, doing yoga or jogging or walking their dogs, and wondered how not to become them—people who clearly belonged in California and had wildly miscalculated.
Sometimes she dreamed she was already on her own, and on a yacht, heading out into the harbor and on to someplace fabulous. Or maybe she was one of the people in the helicopters that floated by all day. Who were they? What made them so important that they had access to helicopters that literally put them above it all?
Sometimes she imagined there was a long tightrope from their apartment that stretched across the river to Manhattan, where she felt she belonged. She would open up the windows that didn’t actually open and step out, find her balance, and inch her way across, parasol in hand.
Queens was, well, Queens.
“You ready?” her mother asked.
Ilanka had to stifle her scoff. “Yup!”
By the elevator bank, her mother applied lipstick using a mirrored wall panel. Because her mother was not one of those moms who dropped their kids off in pajamas or sweatpants. Her mother always looked good, and it had rubbed off on Ilanka, too—this notion of always being put together so that no one could see you were falling apart.
In the elevator, her mother’s perfume was like a tight bubble around her, keeping Ilanka from wanting to stand too close lest she accidently pop it and choke on lavender fumes. They traveled down without stopping—or talking—then went through the lobby and into the parking garage, where they had a reserved spot they paid for.
The car seats were cold, the whole structure dark. Her mother had her sunglasses perched on her head anyway, ready for their reentry into daylight as they pulled out onto the street and rolled through a stop sign without stopping. Her mother was not what you would call a rule follower. Like just last month, Ilanka had been the one to point out to her mother that missing the first week of school to go to Saint Petersburg to see her grandparents hadn’t been the best idea. That most people planned to take trips like that when school was closed. Her mother didn’t care; Ilanka had had to beg her to even write a note of explanation for the main office. The only rules she liked to follow were her own.
“Make sure you do your homework right after school,” her mother said at the first traffic light. Had she actually said the words “good morning” to Ilanka at home? Earlier? Ilanka couldn’t be sure.
“It’s Friday,” she said.
“I’ll try to get there this afternoon, but I can’t make any promises,” her mother said, not caring what day it was.
“I understand,” Ilanka said.
She preferred it when her mother didn’t come to watch practice. Because when she did, she always had criticisms that she called “pointers” or “tips” or “just a small thing.” It wasn’t that her mother didn’t know what she was talking about—she’d performed in a cabaret show in Brighton Beach for years when she was young, doing circus-style acrobatics while dangling from a rope. It just felt different somehow when her mom said things her coach might say. And when her mom criticized her, it made Ilanka want to tell her she was tired of all the rehearsals and routines and … what was the point, anyway, of rhythmic gymnastics if she wasn’t ever going to run off and join the circus? They’d performed on a stage in the middle of Times Square once, and that had been fun, but otherwise?
No one at school liked her. Ilanka knew that. She wasn’t even sure her so-called friends liked her. Why would they? She was never really around to do anything with anybody after school or on weekends. She was popular on social media, at least. She’d systematically friended and followed cool strangers and influencers, and it had generated momentum in follow-backs, and she now had a healthy number of friends, even if they weren’t IRL ones.
On the drive, Ilanka scrolled through all her feeds and caught up on stories and checked new likes on her last post and then posted a selfie of no consequence, which, if you trusted the “How Good Is Your Selfie Game?” survey she’d taken, was a sign that she needed to put her phone down and get out of the house more but whatever.
Her mother dropped her off on the corner where she could turn to head back toward home, leave the car in the garage again, then go to work—executive assistant at a financial company—on the subway. How did anything about their life make sense?
The walk to the school doors was a daily minefield. Who did you make eye contact with? Who did you avoid? Who actually wanted to talk and who didn’t? Was it bad form to talk to someone who was wearing AirPods? It was exhausting just getting from the curb to the building.
Ilanka pretended she didn’t see th
e three of them—tried to blow right past. The one guy sounded irritated and was saying, “Let’s just bring it to the office.”
“Ilanka,” the other, quieter guy—Eli was maybe his name?—called out. “Hold up.”
“I’m not interested,” Ilanka said.
“Just give us a minute,” Eve said. “I just need you for a second to see if our theory is right.”
No, not Eve.
Adam and Eve. Garden of …
Eden.
“What theory?” Ilanka said.
Eden held out the device and said, “Just take it.”
The annoyed guy said, “This is a waste of time.”
“You realize you’ve all gone insane,” Ilanka said.
“Maybe,” Eden said.
Ilanka looked at the device. “What’s it counting down to? Is it going to explode?”
“We don’t think so,” maybe-Eli said.
Eden said, “Just hold it for a second. Please.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said.
“Listen, Ilanka.” How did maybe-Eli even know her name? “This is just some kind of game. We know that, but we’re playing it anyway, and who knows, maybe there’s a prize, like, if we do well or win or whatever.”
“Well, good luck, then!” she said. “You don’t need me.”
“That’s the thing,” Eden said. “We think we do.”
The countdown was at three minutes.
“Just take it for a second,” Eden said, holding it out again for emphasis. “We’ll take it right back.”
Ilanka tsked and said, “Fine,” then reached out and took it in her hands. It was lighter than she’d expected.
The countdown stopped at 2 minutes 48 seconds.
They all exhaled.
Good job. Her turn now.
“No way,” Ilanka said, trying to hand it back, but no one would take it. She held up the message for them to see.
“Just for a while,” Eden said. “Like until the end of school. It has to be handed off within fourteen hours, so that’ll be good enough.”
Svetlana was crossing the street. Ilanka didn’t want to have to explain the simple fact of talking to them.
“Fine,” she said. “Where should I meet you to give it back?”
“Right here at dismissal,” maybe-Eli said. He turned to the others … “I can take it. I mean, if that’s okay with you guys.”
“I thought we were going to turn it in today,” the other guy said, annoyed.
“I never agreed to that.”
“But Eli!” Eden said.
So Ilanka did know his name!
“Just give me one more day to figure out what it is, okay?”
Eden and the annoyed guy shared this ridiculously intense look. Were they really taking this whole thing seriously?
“Fine. Take it,” the guy said. “I’m working again tonight anyway.”
“Sure, take it,” Eden said.
Then Eli asked for her number and rattled off a list of rules, each more ridiculous than the last. Because seriously. What could possibly happen if you got it wet?
Eli said, “Marwan tried to get rid of it, and it fried his phone, so no funny business.”
What?
She nodded that she understood, then he turned to go as Eden looked at the other guy—Marwan—and said, “Hey, how’s your father doing?”
What were they even talking about?
They wandered off, and Ilanka unzipped her backpack and dropped the device in and zipped it shut.
“Svetlana!” she called out. “Wait up!”
ELI
Walking away felt all sorts of wrong, and Eli had to fight the urge to double back and go after Ilanka. But it had to be done, and he’d get it back soon enough. He was impressed Eden had figured out the reason for the countdown—Nobody leaves—and relieved that Ilanka agreed to play along.
He would not follow her around.
He would not check in with her if she didn’t check in with him.
He could just text Aizel, right?
But he wouldn’t.
He’d use the day to figure things out, do research. Because he felt … excited. The only other thing really happening in his life was that his grandfather was dying. Slowly. In a nursing home where everyone else was dying slowly, too. Three days ago, when Eli had gone to visit, his grandfather clearly didn’t know who he was but faked it. God, it was depressing.
Eli stopped at his locker, got his phone out, and sent Eliot to work—he’d had another good date because of course he had—then sent some other Sims out on various outings and quests, and then put his phone away.
If it had been Eliot in the music room yesterday afternoon, he’d have taken charge, walked out of that room with the device in his hands and Eden’s number—maybe even Ilanka’s. He would have said really nice and thoughtful things to Eden about what she must have been going through lately, with the whole thing with her dad and all. He would have reassured her that the device was nothing to be worried about, nothing he couldn’t handle. Marwan and Ilanka would have looked on with awe.
Eliot wasn’t real; Eli knew that. And Queens was no Willow Creek.
Things would be harder for Eliot if his life were more like Eli’s. If Eliot lived in a tiny apartment with his parents and sister and dog, he wouldn’t be able to do half of what he did. If he had to go to school every day and study garbage that didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be nearly so happy all the time. If his parents both worked long hours and seemed to reserve whatever energy they had left after that for his sister, well, how would Eliot fare then? Eliot didn’t even have a grandfather, let alone one who was old and dying. Eliot had it easy.
Some days it was hard for Eli not to rain pain on Eliot even though he’d created him.
Eli had a snore of a class first period. His seat was way in the back, though, so he was able to just keep his head down. He wanted to record everything he knew about Aizel. On paper. Because if he did it on his phone, Aizel could read it, and for some reason he didn’t want her to.
So far she was no help at figuring out what she was, exactly, and why she was here, so he was going to have to figure it out on his own.
He turned to the back page of his notebook and got to work:
THE DEVICE aka Aizel
Date of arrival: 9/27
Initial contact via app: Report to the music room immediately after dismissal. The matter is urgent.
Cube-shaped, 3x3 sides.
Identifies itself as “Aizel.”
—Russian fashion company
—Girl’s name, bringer of good fortune
Rules:
Do not tell anyone about the device.
Do not leave the device unattended.
Do not shake the device.
Do not get the device wet.
Device must change hands every fourteen hours or fewer.
Device must not be left in a closed bag for more than an hour.
“Nobody leaves”
Conversation I had with Aizel, 9/27 (as I recall it):
How did you end up in that classroom that day?
WOKE UP THERE.
Who put you there?
THEY DID.
Who ARE they?
THEY IS THEY
What does that mean?
THEY IS THEY
Where are they?
EVERYWHERE AND NOWHERE.
What happens if we break the rules?
SITUATIONAL RESPONSES VARY WIDELY.
More questions to ask:
What is its goal?
How long will it be in play?
Proven abilities:
AIZEL CAN …
Listen
Generate messages
Count down/keep track of time
Text us
Hack into our phones
Hack fire alarms?
Hack the school’s app?
Theories:
Did it come from Google/Amazon/Facebook or similar?
Ru
ssia?
Some artificial intelligence company?
IS IT JUST A HIGH-TECH TOY??
Who is “they” who put it there?
The principal/a teacher?
Another student?
Mr. M?
A school parent?
“They”?
And why the four of us?
What do we possibly have in common?
Randomly selected?
Chosen?
TARGETED?
Mrs. Whitney had started walking up and down the rows of desks, handing out graded tests from last week. Eli turned the pages in his book back to where it should be, took a note from something written on the board, tried to look engaged.
“The grades don’t miraculously change themselves,” Whitney said, as she slid the paper onto Eli’s desk.
But what if they could?
If the device could hack the school app, could it also hack the grading system? Because that might come in really handy. He added that question to his list.
When Whitney was back at the front of the class, Eli flipped back to his sketch and stared at the cube. He started to color it in methodically, shading it with his pencil.
Unhappy with the results, he started to draw another one, then wondered: Are there more of them? If so, how many? Putting down his pencil, he went seat by seat, studying his classmates for clues that maybe they, too, were hiding something. Was there a hidden army of devices right under his nose, all over school?
He surveyed everyone in his line of sight, from head to toe. Though he wasn’t sure what possible clues there would even be. Was he giving off any? Acting strangely? More strangely than usual?
He stopped when he got to Christos Anastapoulous.
Specifically, Christos’s sneakers.
That yellow splatter was an unmistakable color—like, no doubt about it. If Crayola named it, they’d call it “Egg Yolk.”
ILANKA
She went about her day, keeping her backpack with her and making sure to open the bag and take the device out between each class, either in a bathroom or in some solitary corner of the building. But keeping it secret was boring.
All morning the temptation to tell someone—Svetlana, especially—was like an itch. Then Svetlana sat down at their usual table at lunch and said, “What’s up with you today?”
Take Me with You Page 6
