Crow Flight

by Susan Cunningham

  Late in the day, in one long, steady arc, Catherine moved into the city. Clearly, she was driven there—her path stuck to highways and roads, and her speed hit seventy miles per hour.

  Gin enlarged the portion of the map that showed Catherine’s time in the city. The first few hours, Catherine’s flight pattern seemed almost erratic. She’d stay in one city block for a few minutes, then take off for another area. It was interesting, but it didn’t seem odd—the movements mirrored what she did in the aviary.

  But at 9 p.m., Catherine stopped moving. She was almost perfectly still, staying exactly in one spot. Almost like she had gone to sleep.

  Finally, at 11:00, Catherine flew a few blocks, then must have been collected in the car and driven home.

  Gin focused in on the address where Catherine had stopped. It turned out to be a large office building—an entire compound, really. So she googled it.

  And the result made her gasp.

  She was looking at an image of a satellite office of InTech, one of the biggest high-tech companies in the world. It couldn’t be a coincidence that a crow owned by the CEO of Odin was hanging out at an InTech office.

  And Gin realized one scenario that could help make sense of everything: perhaps the crows were spies.

  Maybe Catherine had a tiny microphone to record conversations, or a video camera to take images of people entering passwords. In some ways, the idea was ludicrous: surely it’d be hard for Catherine to get any information by sitting outside an InTech window. But on the other hand, it would explain everything.

  Gin’s heart beat fast as her fingers flew over her keyboard, pulling up more data on the other crows’ movements. She needed more than one crow stopping at one location: she needed a trend, something that showed lots of crows stopping at the same spot over time. Maybe she was on to something. Maybe her gut had actually led her to a truth. She held her breath while the equations ran.

  And that’s where the link dissolved.

  In thousands of other flights, the birds stopped at hundreds of other places around the city. Not only at InTech’s office. They stopped near houses and parks and warehouses and other office buildings. The InTech office was one of the least frequent stops.

  Whatever complex training scheme Mr. Gartner had set up, it was not focused on InTech.

  She rubbed her eyes and turned off her computer. Nothing was clearer, nothing was answered. She’d been waiting so long for Felix to reach out, but now that he had, she didn’t know much more, besides that he was alive. It felt like information purgatory. And she needed to get out.

  She tried to call Hannah, but Hannah’s phone went straight to voicemail. And so Gin called the one person she knew she’d be able to get a hold of: Lucas.

  It didn’t take long for Lucas to get to her house. He was surprised she had called, then ecstatic when she asked if he knew of any gaming events she could attend, because—just her luck—there was one that night. He insisted on picking her up and bringing her to it. Before she had time to rethink the soundness of this plan to distract herself, he was at her house, opening the door to his blue Volvo.

  “You know, it’s fortunate you called when you did,” he said. “Because this is one of those nights that you wait for all year. And look, you decide to get into it, and this is what’s going on. Pretty cool, right? I think it’s a sign.”

  The car smelled like vanilla air freshener and was meticulously clean. And Lucas drove slow. To his credit, he didn’t drive below the speed limit, but unlike everyone else in the greater-DC area, he held steady right at it. Gin wanted to move fast—that was the whole point of getting out—and now she was stuck, inching along, having to think.

  That’s when she saw it: Lucas’s cell phone.

  “Lucas, could I borrow your phone for a quick call? My battery’s almost dead.”

  “Sure, no problem.” He handed her the phone without a question.

  Her hands shook as she dialed Felix’s number and pressed the phone against her ear. Street lamps flashed by, and she bit her lip as she listened to one ring. Then another.

  She didn’t know what she’d do if Felix picked up. But maybe it was just her number that he wasn’t answering.

  A third ring. A fourth. Her whole body was tense, her heart racing in her chest as though it would squeeze out from behind her ribs to get closer to the phone, closer to possibly hearing Felix’s voice.

  Then an automated message. The mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this time. Goodbye.

  There was a beep. And silence. Gin listened for a few seconds longer and hung up.

  She put the phone back and looked out the window, pressing under her eyes to keep any tears from spilling out. “How far away is this place again?” she asked.

  “Not that far. A few more miles. We’ll be there in T-minus ten minutes. Hey, did I ever tell you about that time I clunked the goblin?”

  “No.” She did her best to steady her voice. “But I’d love to hear about it.”

  When they got to the bar, Gin found herself wishing Hannah was there. Hannah, at least, would’ve gotten Gin a drink. And this time, Gin wouldn’t have turned one down.

  People and computers were jammed into the bar so tight, Gin and Lucas had to push through bodies to find a table. As they walked, Lucas gave her an apologetic look and grabbed her hand. “I don’t want to lose you,” he shouted. “I’d never find you in here.”

  She didn’t mind holding his hand but hoped it didn’t give him the wrong idea. She felt her body tighten, the dread building in her chest, when she realized maybe that’s what Felix had done with her—given her the wrong idea.

  And then, in the middle of the flashing lights and focused gamers, she was thinking about him. Again. Which was so frustrating that for a second, she wished she had never met Felix. If only they hadn’t had modeling class together. If only he hadn’t transferred to her school.

  Maybe she could start over. Right then, she could pretend they’d never even met. She’d just have to find a way to make her brain believe it. And if she couldn’t trick her brain, she would busy it.

  They finally sat down—Lucas must have been somewhat important in the gaming realm, because there was a console reserved for him—and Gin immersed herself in the imaginary world of castles and goblins and machine guns and moons.

  “Oh, that’s a gunderlick,” she said, pointing.

  Lucas smiled, obviously pleased. “That’s right. You’re a quick study. Now watch what I do here.”

  And she did.

  // Thirty-One

  By the end of the weekend, even the smallest decisions were too much—Gin stood at her closet trying to get dressed, and when she saw a shirt Felix had complimented, she actually started to cry. She didn’t feel like doing or eating anything. So she did the only thing she could—she used her models.

  She reviewed all of the logic, made a few tweaks, and ran each of them throughout the day. TimeKeeper gave her a schedule and provided things to do during any downtime. Outfitter ensured she got dressed. HungerStriker confirmed she was eating somewhat balanced meals—or at least eating, period.

  She even ran Decider.

  Scenario: Your so-called boyfriend disappears and doesn’t call. Recommended course of action: Sounds like a good time to move on.

  Hannah came over Sunday afternoon—a good time to be social, according to TimeKeeper. Gin still hadn’t told her about Felix’s text. Maybe if she’d been able to reach Hannah on Friday, Gin would’ve said something. But the more time that went by, the harder it was to bring up. In a way, she felt stupid. If Felix had actually liked her, he would’ve done more than sent a nebulous text.

  Hannah asked how Gin was doing. But Gin just shrugged. And soon Hannah couldn’t help talking about Noah. How they were really good together—similar, but different in the right ways. Hannah was toning down her excitement, Gin could tell, but it still bubbled through.

  Gin got ready for work w
hile Hannah talked. Finally, when Gin glanced in the mirror—Outfitter had recommended gray slacks and a gray blouse, as though it knew how Gin was feeling—Hannah sat up and looked at her.

  “Wait,” Hannah said. “Something happened. I can tell. Are you okay?”

  Gin looked away.

  “No, really.” Hannah stood next to Gin, looking closer. “Did something happen with Felix?”

  Gin could see Hannah was worried. And she imagined a scenario in which she broke down and cried. And Hannah would hug her and say that it would be okay. Maybe even that Felix was stupid, and Gin could do better. That there were dozens of other guys—better guys—out there. But then she realized that telling Hannah wouldn’t fix anything.

  “Felix texted.” Gin bit her lip. “He said he was sorry about everything, but that he couldn’t talk about it. I mean, he was nice, but it didn’t sound like he really missed me or anything. And if he did, he would’ve found a way to come by, or call, or something. Maybe we’re officially broken up. If we were ever dating in the first place.”

  “What?” Hannah looked alarmed. It was exactly how Gin had felt, but it was worse seeing it on Hannah’s face. “Even if he does have to go to another school, you could still see him, right? Why wouldn’t he be able to call or email or something? He likes you. This doesn’t make sense at—”

  “Well, it’s the reality.” The words came out all wrong—too fast, too harsh. But Hannah’s concern was making Gin feel worse. Like Gin had to feel everything all over again. And she was suddenly sick of it. “Sometimes reality doesn’t make sense. But it’s reality. So by default, it has more weight than any other imagined scenario.”

  Hannah held up her hands. “Okay, sorry. I just, I think it’d be good to talk about. Maybe we can figure something out.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out.” That was an understatement. Hannah could hardly figure out her own love life, much less help Gin with a situation like this. Gin was shoving things in her bag now—cell phone, water bottle, granola bar. “I’ve considered all the scenarios, and they’re all dead ends. I’m not that girl who will go running and crying after him. I tried that, and I can’t even get through to him. So, obviously, it wasn’t meant to be. Anyway, Love Fractal never even put us vaguely together.”

  Hannah chewed her lip. “Gin, it’s okay to be upset,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “I know that.” Gin paused, checking her bag for the third time.

  “I mean, you don’t have to be logical. Love Fractal—it’s good, but it’s not everything. It can’t predict life. And Felix, that was real.”

  It was easy for Hannah to say. She’d had dozens of boyfriends, and if things didn’t work out with whomever she was dating, there’d always be another one. Gin hadn’t found anyone who liked her. It was stupid to think a good-looking, popular boy in school would. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that the best thing she could do was to move on.

  “Anyway.” Hannah put a hand on Gin’s arm. “You don’t have to rely on computers for everything. It’s not like you’re Steve Jobs.”

  Gin looked down at her bag, her face burning. Hannah knew better than to say something like that. Because Hannah remembered when, at the beginning of sixth grade, Gin answered the teacher’s question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with two words: “Steve Jobs.” It was a truthful answer, but it had come across as immature and silly. Even worse was that she’d been teased about it all year. And now, Hannah made it sound like a joke. Maybe everything about Gin’s life was a joke.

  “I know I’m not Steve Jobs. I’m not trying to be Steve Jobs.” She pulled her bag over her shoulder and looked straight ahead, anywhere but at Hannah. “I better go.”

  “Wait, Gin—don’t be upset.”

  Gin paused at her doorway. And without another word, she left.

  At work, Lucas was slumped over in his chair, asleep. A first for Lucas. The gaming competitions must’ve done him in. Friday’s winners had gone on to a second round Saturday night that could last for hours. Apparently, he’d been a winner.

  Gin sat at her computer, trying not to think about what Hannah had said, wondering if maybe it had been true. Maybe she’d been trying to make herself something she wasn’t, something she’d never be.

  Hannah texted. I’m sorry, Gin. Let’s go see a movie or something. Screw Felix.

  But Gin didn’t text back. Instead, she stared out her window at the damp, gray city.

  Lucas sat up, startled. “What? Where am . . .” He looked around, worried. “I must have drifted off. It gets so quiet on Sundays, you know?” He started typing fast, pausing to rub his face as if to be sure he was awake. “Got to make up for lost time,” he mumbled.

  After a few hours of work, the code was swimming through Gin’s mind. Every now and then, she’d glance at her phone, thinking that she should text Hannah back. But Hannah was the last person she wanted to talk to.

  Suddenly, like a dark wind, a crow fluttered onto her windowsill. Shiny beak. Clawed feet, legs free of tracking bands. Not one of the Gartners’ crows, but a wild one. Its head tilted, so it was staring right at her, its round black eye tracking her own.

  It felt too close. As though crows would be following her for the rest of her life.

  She hit the window with the heel of her hand, hard. The thump scared the crow away. She watched it, wings smoothly paddling through the air, and turned back to her work.

  “Those birds,” Lucas said.

  She turned, surprised to see he’d been watching her.

  He shook his head. “They seem like such a nuisance. But you know, they’re actually quite smart.”

  On Monday, Gin steered clear of all the places she’d usually see Hannah. Instead of going to the cafeteria for lunch, she headed to the library, sneaking bites of her granola bar while looking through her modeling notes, ignoring the worry in her stomach. She knew that Felix shouldn’t disappear. It wasn’t normal for someone to be in school one day and pulled out the next.

  But her logic took over, reminding her of the facts: she barely knew Felix, she still didn’t understand why he liked her, there was a chance he regretted everything and was letting her down easily. The best thing to do was to give it a little time—another week, maybe. Anyway, she had enough to think about: she had to create a new model, one that was worthy of a good grade, and quickly.

  Maybe Ms. Sandlin would let her team up with another group or give her a ready-made model idea that would be easy to do. Maybe it’d work out to Gin’s advantage. The only way to find out was to ask.

  With ten minutes left in lunch, Gin headed to the computer simulations classroom. Only Ms. Sandlin was there, working at her laptop. Gin cleared her throat. Ms. Sandlin glanced up and waved Gin over.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting you,” Gin said.

  “Oh, not at all.” Ms. Sandlin tucked her hair behind her ears and closed her laptop. “I was just working through the logic for a new airport security system. I’ll show you sometime. But I’m glad you stopped by.” Ms. Sandlin patted a chair near her desk, and Gin sat down.

  “As you may already know, the Gartners have informed the school that Felix won’t be returning.” Ms. Sandlin paused, as if to gauge Gin’s reaction.

  Gin closed her eyes for just a moment, steadying her breath. Then it was final. She may never see Felix again. She squeezed her hands together and stared straight ahead, just past Ms. Sandlin to the empty white smartboard

  “Final projects are due in less than three months. This work is the majority of your grade and is critical in determining who will be a part of my summer internship program.”

  Gin gave a small nod.

  “And with Felix gone, I’m afraid you’ll have to finish on your own. But the work you and Felix have already done is so intriguing, I know you’ll be able to finish well.”

  Gin grimaced, trying to collect her thoughts. She had to set aside the part about Felix no
t coming back and deal with that later. For now, she had to focus on her final project. Or rather, her lack of a final project. If only she had emailed Ms. Sandlin first. She could have laid out her points neatly, logically, instead of trying to stumble through them now.

  “Well . . .” Gin started, taking a deep breath. “About the model—I think there’s a problem with the data. Not that it’s bad. Just that, it’s data the Gartners don’t want us—or me—to use.”

  Ms. Sandlin furrowed her eyebrows. “The data on crow behavior?”

  Gin nodded.

  “Why wouldn’t they want you to use it? I wouldn’t think data on crows would be sensitive.” She leaned back. “Would you?”

  Gin shook her head.

  “And you have this data?”

  Gin bit her lip, trying to decide how best to answer. “Yes, I still have it. But it’s proprietary. Or at least, that’s what Mr. Gartner said.”

  Ms. Sandlin tapped her nails on her desk. “Well, that is disappointing. I had high hopes for your model. Do you have other ideas?”

  The truth was, Gin had zero other ideas. Unless she could use Love Fractal. “I have one I started over the summer. A dating program.”

  “I saw that in your application for this class. But you wouldn’t be able to use it for this project. This has to be something new. Look, it’s always hard to shift from working as a group to working as an individual. But it happens. Not only in academic settings, but in the work world as well. For some, it becomes an excuse; for others, it’s an opportunity to shine. I hope you will be one of the latter.”

  Gin wanted to be exactly that. But she had no idea how.

  “I believe you’re talented, Gin. You have skills that good modelers need, all of which I highlighted in your college recommendation letters. And I would still like for you to be a part of my summer internship program. But I need to see your commitment. Your ability to think outside the box and make something happen when the road blocks go up. To be honest, this could be a perfect opportunity. Don’t you agree?”