by Scott McEwen
“How ’bout the Presidio Yacht Club?” Hi Kyto said, then turned to Jalen. “Wanna show you something.”
“Okay,” Morg said, a lilt of surprise in his tone. “You got it.”
* * *
“I know it’s nice now, but the weather might change and you’re a long way away.” Morg eased into the marina at the Presidio Yacht Club, which was on the opposite side of the Golden Gate Bridge from downtown San Francisco. “You sure, guys? I mean, at rush hour, it’ll be a nightmare getting home.”
“We’re sure,” said Jalen, who couldn’t wait to be rid of the Kid Captain.
After Morg had said goodbye and pulled away, Hi Kyto led Jalen down to the clubhouse. “What are we doing here?” Jalen asked, looking down at his T-shirt, unsure if it was tainted with pigs’ blood. “I’m not sure if I’m dressed for the yacht club.”
“Yacht club is a misnomer. It’s a little restaurant. And I needed to get off that boat.”
“Wanna get a table?” Jalen asked as servers bustled by.
“Sure,” Hi Kyto said, almost shyly. This felt strange, like a date. And he’d never really been on a proper date. I mean, there was prom and all at St. Mary’s, but a date for no reason. He’d never had the courage for that.
They took a seat, the cold air-conditioning worsening their chills in their wet clothes.
“So, Morg,” Jalen said, tracing the sweat beads on his water glass. “He’s a real good friend of yours, huh?”
“Yeah, he is … and he can be a nice enough guy. Sometimes I admire him and think he’s so amazing, but when he gets on his high horse it can get a little … annoying.”
“You said it, I didn’t.”
Hi Kyto laughed. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re thinking why would I hang out with a guy like that?”
Jalen took a sip of his water.
“I’m right, aren’t I? The truth is, I’m also kind of an asshole myself. And beyond that—”
The maître d’ came to the table and dropped a basket of bread. “Are you good with that menu?” the man asked Hi Kyto. “We also have a kid’s—”
She jerked the tall menu off the table and scowled.
“Sorry,” the maître d’ said. “I’ll just go…”
“Yeah, go do that.” Hi Kyto shook her head as he scurried away. “It’s like the two things I’m sick of—one: when people think I’m ten, because I’m Asian.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen … almost. Next Saturday.”
“Big plans?”
“Yeah, think I’ll use my EVO money to throw a party.” Hi Kyto looked out across the water, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I’ll rent a party boat … Would you come?”
“Depends if you’re going chumming for sharks…” Jalen smiled. “What’s the second thing you hate?”
“When people think I’m a guy, because I’m an Asian girl.”
Jalen cleared his throat. “Don’t think anyone’s mistaking you for a dude.”
“Trust me. I put on a baseball cap and you’d guess I was in a Korean boy band.” She laughed. “But the thing with me and Morg … we have a special relationship. He actually used to be a helluva gamer and he’s smart. I think I like smart people.”
For the first time in a long while, Jalen started to feel suddenly, inexplicably out of his depth. This notion of smart people. Of course he knew he wasn’t dumb. In fact, he’d always scored well when he even slightly applied himself. But he wasn’t a child prodigy. He didn’t have a photographic memory, and he couldn’t build a freakin’ Venice-like floating recycling system to save the ocean. But he was a tough kid. He’d learned how to survive by himself. He learned at Valor that above all, he was resilient. But being around Hi Kyto—who was, by all measures, a genius, and who was feeling insecure herself around a genius—made him feel almost like a Neanderthal.
“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” she said, twisting her long hair into a knot.
“What?”
“That look on your face. You just went off somewhere.”
“Guess I’m wondering,” Jalen said. “I’m not like your other friends, I’m not brilliant or saving the planet. So I’m just wondering what happens when you figure that out. Will you still want to hang out with me?”
The words had come out of Jalen’s mouth surprisingly without thought. Here he was, trying to find out if she was a murderer, a terrorist, and he felt insecure, shy, asking why she liked him.
“I like you,” she said. “Because you’re kind and safe. I mean, there are all these macho guys in San Francisco, all these ‘bros’ trying to outsmart each other. All these Type As. And you’re normal … sweet.”
Jalen didn’t know whether to laugh or be truly offended. Here she was, calling a bunch of computer nerds Alphas, while he was her sensitive buddy. Soft, Darsie had said.
“Yeah,” he said, biting his tongue for the hundredth time that day. “Guess I’m just not like them.”
“And that’s okay.” She reached out and put her hand on his. “You know what I also see in you?”
“What’s that?” Jalen said, trying not to be distracted by the warmth of her hand.
The maître d’ again approached the table, and she slid her arms to her lap.
“Ready to order?”
“Yeah,” Julie said dryly. “Kid’s chicken fingers.”
“And for you, sir?”
Jalen nodded at his glass. “Good with water.”
“It’s okay,” Hi Kyto said to Jalen. “I’ll pay.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not hungry.”
“But you didn’t eat on the boat.”
Jalen looked out over the water. The boats coming and going. He should be hungry. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Another kid’s chicken fingers,” the maître d’ repeated the order, not bothering to hide his irritation.
“With fries and a cherry Coke. Jay, you?”
“The same.”
“Guess you won’t be needing these after all.” The maître d’ snapped up the adult menus.
“Actually, make those Shirley Temples,” she called out. “What was I saying?” she asked Jalen.
“Well,” Jalen said. “You were psychoanalyzing me. I’m not really sure what was coming next.”
“Oh, sensitive,” she said, smiling. “But for real, what I was saying is that as sensitive as you are, there’s also something dark.” She looked into Jalen’s eyes. “Something happened to you.”
Jalen suddenly found himself pushing back from the table. “What if we get those chicken fingers to go? I feel like moving.”
“Okayyy. Where to?”
“I saw a bike rental stand. Why don’t we get a little exercise?” Jalen signaled for the check.
Hi Kyto went to the bathroom and again Jalen pulled out his phone, which was still turned off. He thought for a moment. He knew he should check in with Wyatt. But he slipped it back into his pocket, still off.
With doggie bags dangling from the handlebars and sweatshirts wrapped around their waists, Jalen and Hi Kyto jumped on mountain bikes and rode up into the Marin Headlands. It was a steep series of cliffs and hills that looked west, out into the Pacific. The trails were great for mountain bike riding, especially for Hi Kyto, who was clearly new to the sport, and the rides, while challenging, were not too much of a strain. Not that Jalen was all that experienced, but unlike Hi Kyto, he’d at least grown up riding a bike around his neighborhood. They rode, talked a little, ate their lunch on a park bench, found a trash can, and were riding some more, up and down the hills and along the cliffs, when, as often happens in Northern California in the summer, the fog came rolling in like an offshore cloud and completely enveloped them. The air, which had been bright and clear, now swirled with moisture, beading on their skin. Like they were in a steam shower in a cold steam room. The sky grew dark, and they could hear thunder in the distance.
“I can
’t see.” Hi Kyto stopped pedaling. “I’m not sure about this.”
Jalen heard something for the first time in her soft voice: fear.
“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “Let’s just get out of the way, in case someone else comes riding through.”
He helped her take her bike off the path, and they sat on some rocks.
“I’m cold,” she said. “Could you scoot closer?”
She pulled her hoodie up, and Jalen slipped his arm around her, feeling her breath on his cheek. She took his other arm and wrapped it across her, pulling herself into a hug, using his body as a barrier.
What am I doing? Jalen’s whole chest felt flushed and heavy, as though he were under the influence of a drug. This girl might be a mass murderer. Probably she killed scores of people, Wyatt had told him. He sat there in intense silence and intense closeness. He thought about the theory of relativity and how a few minutes in a park next to a girl could feel like an eternity. He was stuck in a time warp, somehow endless, yet instant.
But then, as Morg predicted, the weather suddenly changed. The sky opened up and a light shone down. The fog lifted, and he almost felt angry when again they were under a clear, blue sky.
“Guess we can go now,” she said, turning to him, her nose almost brushing his lips.
“Yeah,” was all he could manage before she slipped from his arms.
“Think this is the way to get out,” she called out, rolling her bike toward the path. She mounted and took off down the mountain, with Jalen following all the way to the bottom, where they came out, somewhere near Sausalito.
“Ready to go back?” she asked. “It’s not that I haven’t had fun. I just need to get home. Can’t believe I’ve been gone the entire day.” She looked down at her phone, distracted.
Jalen was still trying to process his own thoughts. He didn’t want to go back. Not at all. “Yeah, me too,” he said.
They rode back to the yacht club, returned the bikes, and took a water taxi to downtown San Francisco. On the ride over, Hi Kyto seemed to be lost in her phone, texting someone rapidly in Chinese, her smooth brow growing increasingly furrowed.
Jalen also pulled out his phone. He turned it on, but did not put in his earpiece. He was gonna get an earful from Wyatt, but that could wait.
“What’s wrong?” Jalen asked her once they got in line to deboard the ferry.
“My parents … they’re just so nosy, always wanting to know where I am…”
“Yeah,” Jalen said, switching his own phone to silent. “I get it.”
“I mean, they’re following my location, asking what I’m doing away from my internship, spending the day with you.”
“They know who I am?”
“They remember you from Vegas,” she said. “But let’s just say they don’t refer to you as Jay.”
“What do they call me?”
She smirked. “Wàiguó rén. It’s Chinese. It’s like the Japanese word—gaijin.”
“Which means … handsome?”
“Foreigner.” She flashed a quick smile and went back to her phone. “Someone must have told them I was with you.”
“Morgan?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“So your parents don’t like the idea of me, huh?” Wondering if it was because he was African American or just American. “I understand the cultural difference, but I’m not a bad guy.”
“It’s not a matter of good or bad,” she said. “There’s a Douglas Coupland book. Do you know him?”
“No idea.”
“I’m such a nerd.” Hi Kyto laughed. “He wrote a book called All Families Are Psychotic. And it’s true. They are.”
Jalen’s own family flashed through his head: his mother, Ronnie, the years of au pairs who’d practically raised him. Yes, he could relate. “But your family seems pretty … I mean, your parents are professors and diplomats. They’re respectable.”
She laughed. “Respect has nothing to do with it. I’ve got secrets, too.” Her eyes piercing him, and in them, a flicker of anger. “Everyone does, and if I’ve learned anything at Red Trident, anything from John Darsie, it’s that everything’s a conspiracy. And I don’t want to live in a world like that.”
“He sees people as pawns in his master chess game.” Jalen changed his voice to mimic how he’d heard Darsie say it: “And the pieces don’t need to know what the master is thinking.”
“Oh my gosh.” Hi Kyto laughed. “That’s exactly what he says … how did you know that?”
“Uhhh, I’ve seen him on TV and in the news,” Jalen lied, realizing his slip. “Who hasn’t?”
“Well, anyway, my parents … they don’t like the idea of anyone who isn’t Chinese, female, and has already aced their PSAT.”
“Bet they like Morgan.”
“Funny, they actually do.”
Jalen grunted. “Well, you better get home.”
She started to walk away and then turned. “You know what,” she said. “I want you to steal me again tomorrow.”
Jalen smiled. “What do you mean, ‘steal you’?”
“Get me out of there tomorrow. Please. Out of Red Trident. Mountain biking, water, I’ve never done any of that before. Let’s not practice tomorrow … no video games … I just can’t be inside.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“What about Muir Woods? I’ve haven’t been since my parents took me as a kid.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
“You’re awesome.” She leaned forward and gave him a hug, then a slow kiss on the cheek. “I need to put in at least an hour. Meet me at Red Trident offices at 10 a.m. We can leave from there.”
“All right,” Jalen fumbled. “I’ll see ya.”
She waved and bounded to the curb as an Uber pulled up and stopped. “See ya, Jay,” she said as she jumped in and drove away.
CHAPTER 45
As soon as Hi Kyto was gone, Jalen pulled out the phone that was already vibrating in his pocket. “Hey, dude,” Jalen said, wincing for what he knew was coming.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Wyatt yelled on the other end.
“Yeah, the yacht club was a little stuffy, so after the boat, we biked, and—”
“I told you to take me with you,” Wyatt fumed. “And not only did you hop into a boat and head out to open water with a potential serial killer, you kept your phone off—for hours—so I couldn’t even track you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not ready to go off by yourself, dude.”
“It was a split-second decision. And Morgan was there. She wasn’t going to do anything with that blowhard around. By the way, that dude is a little crazy. He started asking about how long I’d been playing video games, and I nearly freaked. You think Darsie—”
“Yes. It’s covered. He gave you a fake game history.”
Jalen looked out over the city, the inky night blinking with headlights and buildings. He felt invigorated—less boy, more man. “I’m sorry, okay? Come pick me up?”
Just then, Wyatt pulled up in the truck Darsie had left them. He leaned out the driver’s window. “On this mission,” he said calmly, “you do what I say.”
“Got it,” Jalen said, reaching for the door handle, but Wyatt slowly eased the truck away.
“Seriously, dude?” Jalen threw his hands up.
“Seriously. Follow orders. You can think about that on your jog back.” Wyatt checked his watch. “Our apartment is four miles away. I’ll see you in thirty-five minutes. Don’t be late.”
“Jerk,” Jalen muttered as the blue truck sped away.
CHAPTER 46
Leigh Ann and Grieving_Dad12 began exchanging messages using Wickr, an encrypted messaging service. Their bond was instant. Her friend, who she met on the darknet, shared two of her greatest passions: their country and gun control. And also like Leigh Ann, Grieving_Dad12 had lost someone—his only daughter, who’d been born with a muscular disorder that had left her paralyzed from the waist down
and been killed in a school shooting years before. On that sunny day, he dropped her off at school like always, and in a few short hours, Grieving_Dad12 lost his very reason for breathing.
Although they kept conversations mostly to broad ideologies, Leigh Ann—or 4Ava as she was called on the darknet—had learned a bit about her new best friend. He was a software developer, independently wealthy. Leigh Ann was not only moved by his dedication to his daughter’s memory but also by his productivity. He wasn’t just going to talk about the relentless gun violence in schools and other safe zones; he was going to do something. The vision they’d collectively arrived at was that they needed to change the thinking of the gun lobby. Talk, talk, talk, what they needed was some action, something to open their eyes.
They need to really feel this, Grieving_Dad12 said. This is war and there will be casualties. And it’s got to start at the top. And after months of philosophizing, they came to one conclusion and it was certain: the bastards had to pay.
@4Ava don’t you think that if a child of NFA leadership was to be the victim in a school shooting, perhaps then the forces behind the gun lobby might feel what so many others have felt? the senselessness of loss?
Her answer, an unequivocal, unspeakable YES. Who couldn’t? Who wouldn’t change their mind when one of their own was a victim?
Leigh Ann made it her day’s work to familiarize herself with the organization and its leaders. She learned that the NFA president himself had twins—a daughter and a son who were fifteen years old. Details of his private life, due to security threats, were hard to discover, but with the help of Grieving_Dad12’s software skills, they learned that although the twins attended an elite private boarding school in New Hampshire, the twins, Frank Jr. and Coleen Henryson, were signed up for the Fairfax Band Camp, a summer program focused on music hosted at a public school in Northern Virginia—Fairfax Middle School. And as fate would have it, Fairfax Middle School was just across town from where Leigh Ann lived and seethed.
Though she’d been marginally mentally ill her whole life, Leigh Ann didn’t realize just how ill she had become. She knew she was depressed. She rarely left the house, relishing hours at her desktop, chatting with Grieving_Dad12. That could not be healthy. Crying all day long could not be healthy. Her fits of anger were not healthy. She knew all of that, but the more time passed, the less she cared about her own health. What parts of her mind were sound were shrouded in an angry fog, and she could think of nothing but executing the plan.
