Crow Flight

by Susan Cunningham

  “That is good.” She took a deep breath. “And the bad news?”

  He rubbed his hand through his short hair, making the strands stick up in peaks. “Well, the charges are pretty stiff. And while Agent Finney is doing everything he can to help, his hands are a bit tied. But we have someone on it. He’s an excellent lawyer. And he thinks, given your background and your spotless record, there’s a good chance we can come to an understanding.”

  “Okay.” Gin’s head felt like it was being pressed in on all sides. She felt the urge to explain everything, to make sure he understood. “I didn’t know. I should’ve. I just didn’t think it was wrong. Much less a federal offense. I mean—”

  Her mom squeezed her hand. “We know, Gin. We know you. Look, plenty of really smart people make mistakes. And as far as mistakes go, this is a minor one.”

  It was a nice thing to say. Only, it wasn’t true.

  “But Harvard will never take me now,” Gin said, her eyes welling with tears. “And there’s no way I’ll get to do the internship with Ms. Sandlin. It’s like everything I’ve worked for is . . . gone.” She wiped her eyes, hating that she was crying again.

  “If Harvard won’t take you, there will be other options, I’m sure of it.” Her mom tucked Gin’s hair back behind her ears. “You’re smart, Gin. Colleges will see that. Let’s get you home. That’s the first step, right?”

  Gin followed them out the door without a second look back.

  Home was better, but not much. Gin lay on the couch in the living room and let an endless stream of crappy shows play on the television. Her mom brought her hot tea and vanilla milkshakes and sliced fruit, none of which Gin touched, while her dad sat in his office, talking on his phone.

  When it was late afternoon, her dad left to get Chinese carryout and her mom joined her on the couch. The television was playing some show about people surviving in the backwoods of Arkansas with nothing but a box of matches and a fishing hook.

  They watched for a while, silently, and Gin’s mom shifted so she was looking at Gin.

  “Honey, I want to tell you, I’m so sorry.”

  Gin shook her head. “You didn’t do anything. I did.”

  “But I’ve been gone so much this year. Your senior year. I didn’t mean for that to happen. It seemed like a good opportunity, but I wish I would’ve been here.” Her mom clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap.

  “Really, Mom. It’s not your fault. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  Her mom put her arm around Gin’s shoulders in a half-hug. “Well, even so, I’m going to change my schedule now. I need a break from work anyway. I’ll be here more, at least through the summer. How’s that sound?”

  Gin let out a breath. It honestly would be nice.

  “That sounds good.” Gin leaned against her mom’s shoulder. “And I’m kind of sick of pizza.”

  Her mom laughed, and they watched as the middle-aged man on the screen used his second-to-last match.

  When Gin’s dad got back with the food, he was in good spirits. He had talked again with the attorney, who was confident that he could get Gin cleared of the charges.

  “Ninety-nine percent sure was his exact estimate,” her dad said. “Which is pretty good, considering we don’t know anything with 100 percent certainty. Not even that we exist.”

  The news, plus the smell of hot Chinese food, made Gin feel more awake. Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the day before.

  Gin had just started on the Moo Goo Gai Pan when there was a knock at the door. Likely the FBI agents again, holding up another dozen charges that were guaranteed to ruin her life. Or worse, maybe Mr. Gartner himself.

  Instead, when her mom opened the door, Gin saw it was Hannah.

  Before Gin could say a word, her mom was motioning Hannah inside.

  “Hannah, I’m so glad you came,” she said. “She’s right in the living room. I know she’ll be happy to see you.”

  Hannah stepped in, slowly, looking awkward. Their eyes met, and Gin felt nervous and tired all at once.

  Gin’s mom glanced at Gin, then Hannah. “It’s been a rough day—a long twenty-four hours. But it’s looking better.”

  “That’s great, Mrs. Hartson.” Hannah walked in, closer to the couch, closer to Gin.

  “Well, I’ll let you two catch up,” Gin’s mom said and left.

  It was too quiet. Gin knew she should say something, but she couldn’t make her mouth work.

  Hannah gave a half smile. “Hey,” she said.

  Just the word made Gin want to cry. It had been so long since she had heard Hannah’s voice.

  “Hey.” It was the best she could do.

  Hannah folded her arms. Another long pause. “Can I sit down?”

  Gin slid to one side of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chin.

  “That looks good.” Hannah motioned to the food.

  “You want some?” Gin asked.

  “Well, maybe. You know me—always hungry, right? And somehow, you always seem to be a good source of food.”

  It was enough to break the ice, and the girls laughed nervously. Hannah grabbed chopsticks and took a bite of chicken.

  Suddenly, everything welled up in Gin. The tiredness and fear and sadness. And as hard as it would be, she knew she had to apologize. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words practically bursting out.

  “Oh, Gin, no.” Hannah dropped the chopsticks. “I should’ve—”

  “No. It was my fault. I should have called and texted you back. I was just so upset about Felix. And now, it all seems silly. It all seems so little. Compared to this other stuff.”

  Hannah slid closer. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve called more. Or come here sooner.”

  Gin started crying, the tears dripping down her cheeks. She had been sure she couldn’t make any more tears, but there they were. Hannah was crying, too.

  The girls looked at each other, their faces red and teary. Gin sniffed loudly, more of a congested snort, and they started to laugh.

  “So, we’re okay?” Gin asked.

  Hannah scooted closer to Gin and leaned her head on Gin’s shoulder. “Definitely okay.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Even if you end up in prison, I promise I’ll write. And do whatever I can to break you out. Metal files in cakes and all that.”

  Gin was laughing again. “Can you believe it?” she finally said. “I mean, I’m in trouble. Like, big trouble.”

  “I think it’ll be okay. These things can blow over. And you do have a good track record.”

  “That’s what my dad said.”

  “It’s not like you’re some crazy hacker or anything.” Hannah picked up her chopsticks and leaned forward to take another piece of chicken. “If anything, it shows you have skills. Maybe the FBI will want you to work for them.”

  “But this stuff with Mr. Gartner. I mean, if I really did find something, and he gets in trouble, he’ll—”

  “Do what? He couldn’t hurt you. Not now. He’s got bigger issues than a high schooler who knows how to use a computer. He’s the one who might actually be spying on other companies.” Hannah popped the chicken in her mouth and waved her chopsticks in the air for emphasis. “You want to know what I think?”

  Gin sniffled, then nodded.

  “Okay, first for the Love Fractal stuff, don’t volunteer any information. You don’t get in trouble for not telling them stuff if they don’t ask, you know?”

  It was exactly what her lawyer had been telling her: no need to say a single word until they had more insight.

  “If there’s going to be a settlement, it should happen fast, okay? I’ve seen enough crime shows to know that,” Hannah continued. “And you can figure it out from there. I’ll help, and we can ask Noah if you want. His dad’s a lawyer.”

  “He could help?”

  Hannah smiled wide. “He’d love to help. So, you have a team.”

&nb
sp; Gin sighed, long and deep. It felt like some of her fear was letting itself out, making room for another feeling. It tingled in her chest, her throat. The sort of thing she never would’ve noticed a few months earlier. The sort of thing she could have written off as her stomach telling her it was time for dinner or her body fighting off a cold. Only this time, she knew it wasn’t those things at all. This feeling was real.

  “And the stuff with Grant Gartner—you have to let it go.” Hannah tossed her hair as though letting it go would be easy. “You’re like the whistle-blower, and the whistle-blower is always 100 percent protected.”

  “As my dad pointed out just before you came, nothing’s 100 percent.”

  “You know what I mean. Anyway, you have to decide what to do now. What’s Decider say?”

  Gin shook her head. The inputs would be laughable: What to do when you discover your boyfriend’s dad might be stealing high-tech secrets and you’re charged with a felony for accessing data on school websites?

  “Wait a minute—Decider can’t help?” Hannah looked surprised.

  “Let’s just say, even if I did try to make it work, there’s no way it could tell me anything real.”

  “Oh.” Hannah was silent for a second. “You know, maybe it’s a good thing.”

  Gin sighed. Her eyes were damp, her body exhausted, and suddenly, everything felt ridiculous.

  “Gin, are you okay?” Hannah scooted closer.

  Gin looked up so Hannah could see her face. Because for some inexplicable reason, Gin was smiling. Not crying. But nearly laughing.

  Hannah started laughing. Her deep, rumbling laugh, which made Gin laugh harder. There were tears in both girls’ eyes, and Gin was shaking her head, wondering if she’d gone crazy.

  Once the laughter had settled, Gin held up one hand.

  “What’s the sound of one hand clapping?” she asked.

  Hannah raised her eyebrows.

  Then Gin opened and closed her hand.

  The girls were laughing again. And Gin knew that she definitely wasn’t crazy. Maybe she was saner than she’d ever been before.

  // Forty-Seven

  Being arrested made everything different. It was as though something had broken in Gin, split apart inside her. Freed her.

  Maybe she wouldn’t end up at Harvard. Or any top-notch college. Or with a summer internship. But maybe those things didn’t matter as much as she had thought.

  She wasn’t in jail. And she was friends with Hannah again. And her mom was home, really home, boiling chickens and baking blueberry muffins and humming around the house. Her mom would still finish her nurse practitioner’s program—she’d just take a little more time to do it.

  While Gin didn’t have a boyfriend, there was time for that later. Of course, she missed Felix—her chest ached every time she thought of him. Even after their last conversation, with his strange words and cool tone, she wanted to see him or hear from him. But all things considered, she was okay.

  She took a whole week off of school after the arrest. And though there were a few looks and whispers her first day back, it was mostly uneventful. Like high school should be.

  She nearly made it through the whole week feeling like that. But on Friday, as modeling class was ending, Ms. Sandlin asked her to stay after.

  The class emptied, and Ms. Sandlin closed the door. “I wanted to give you an update. First on the internship.”

  Gin steeled herself, purposefully breathing slowly so she wouldn’t start crying. She reminded herself that whatever happened, she’d be okay. Even if, in that moment, it didn’t feel true.

  Ms. Sandlin leaned against her desk. “I’m sure this has been a difficult time. But I have good news. You’ll still be able to join my internship program as planned.”

  Gin looked at her, hard, to see if she was joking. “Wait. What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’ll be one of my interns this summer. And we have a compelling lineup of projects to work on. I know you’ll be an important part of the team.” Her mouth was set, face serious. Definitely not a joke.

  “Wow.” The word came out shaky and Gin shook her head slightly, in disbelief. “I mean, thank you. I just didn’t expect that it’d be okay.”

  “It never bothered me that you had accessed some data from the schools. It was public information, after all. I considered it . . . clever.” Ms. Sandlin held a finger up for emphasis. “But there are lots of policies, and we wanted to be sure to review everything in the proper way. I’m still waiting for the final, official go-ahead, but for all intents and purposes, the intern spot is yours.”

  Gin let out a big breath and touched her hand to her mouth. This was better than she had imagined.

  Ms. Sandlin crossed her arms and shifted forward. “Now, for the other matter. The crow model.”

  Gin’s stomach twisted around itself again. She looked around for a chair in case she needed to sit down.

  “Great work on that as well. At all levels. You made an exemplary model, with some incredible findings. For science and for justice.”

  Gin felt another breath work its way through her chest. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, either.

  “Now, of course, the consequences that Mr. Gartner likely deserves may not pan out. There’s a certain level of proof required to bring charges. Right now, there are lots of connections. But proof is a different story. So I suppose time will tell.”

  Ms. Sandlin waited, as though she expected Gin to say she was disappointed. But the truth was, Gin didn’t even know what she wanted for Mr. Gartner. She just wanted it all to be over.

  Maybe, like Ms. Sandlin said, time would reveal the truth. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

  Maybe time would tell nothing.

  She was laying on her bed that night, reading The Lord of the Rings when her phone buzzed.

  Are you home? I need to see you.

  Felix. She stared at the text. She shouldn’t see him—it was the last thing she was supposed to do.

  But before she knew what she was doing, her fingers were typing one word: Yes.

  Meet me outside? On your front porch?

  So he was there. Now. Maybe it was dangerous: after all, the police had stopped monitoring the house days ago. But police could be back in minutes if needed. Her parents were right inside. And it was Felix.

  She shouldn’t even want to see him. He hadn’t texted, emailed, called—anything—for weeks, during which time she’d been threatened, booked into jail, and more or less disenrolled from Harvard.

  But still . . . it was Felix. Just thinking his name made her heart beat faster, her hands turn damp.

  Coming now.

  With each step downstairs, she felt the nerves shake inside of her. Her parents were in the living room, watching a movie. “I’ll be outside for a second,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “Okay, sweetheart,” her mom answered.

  Gin opened the door and stepped out into the darkness. Fireflies blinked near the old pine tree. A half moon was rising, and the street lights were on.

  There was nothing at first. She didn’t see him or even his car. Just the quiet street. It smelled like warm pavement and cut grass. Crickets chirped.

  But then, near the side of the porch, something moved.

  He walked towards her, wearing jeans and an old t-shirt. His face seemed too pale, his eyes dark underneath.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  “Hey.” It was such a small word. It didn’t capture anything. How angry she was with him. Disappointed. Devastated. But how she still wanted to tell him everything. Still wanted to touch his face, to kiss him.

  “I won’t be long.” He stood there, hands in his pockets. “I came to drop something off.”

  Her body pulsed with that statement. She knew exactly what she wanted, what she’d always want: him. But instead of saying that, she just nodded. “Okay.”

  He stepped closer. The air between them fel
t charged.

  “I hope you know that I didn’t want any of this to happen.” He whispered the words, but they were so full—of regret and sadness and pain—it made her catch her breath.

  “See, I thought the worst thing was for my dad to get in trouble. That they’d take him away, then take the crows, shutting them up in some research place where they’d sit in cages.” He reached forward, tentative, and took her hand. “But, I understand now that wasn’t the worst thing.”

  The touch was explosive. But he was opening up her hand, not holding it. He placed two tiny silver circles in her palm.

  “What are these?” she asked.

  “It’s what they need to show that my dad did what you think.”

  “I haven’t thought any—” she started to protest.

  But he closed her hand over the circles and shook his head. “No, wait. That’s not what I meant. I know you weren’t looking for anything bad. The problem with truth is that it has a habit of finding you, whether you look for it or not. These trackers have data on them. And the data shows that my dad did something. I can’t turn them in myself. I mean, as much as I hate him, I just . . . can’t. He’s still my dad. You know?” The glow from the living room windows shone in his eyes, which looked damp from tears.

  He blinked hard and held her hands tighter. “It all comes down to one choice. Help my dad or help you. And I choose you.”

  It hit her with a shudder. “But . . . will you be okay? With your dad?”

  He shrugged, his face sad. “Probably not. But I don’t think I ever was.”

  They stood there, close, the night quiet around them.

  “Gin, are you okay?” her mom’s voice called from inside.

  “Yes, Mom. I’m coming.”

  Felix squeezed her hands once more. “Give those to the FBI, okay? And tell them I have more.”

  “I will.”

  Before she could say anything else, he had slipped back into the shadows. And then he was gone.

  // Forty-Eight

  It was early in the evening on a school night. Gin had finished her final Monday of high school, then gone to her internship and now was riding the Metro home. But instead of taking the orange line all the way, she got off at the Foggy Bottom station and started walking.