by B. C. Tweedt
“Can I get in, please?”
“Stay clear of the windows.”
“Sure.”
He opened the door for her and closed it behind. And there was Greyson, sitting inside of the window’s nook, holding a pillow. His red hat was tipped upwards as if he had been laying his head down on the pillow. Creases had formed on his cheek and temple, but he smiled at her. Perhaps it was his best ‘I’m okay’ smile.
“Agent Gavin said to stay away from the windows,” Sydney whispered.
“Agent Murray said to stay away from the Security Building.”
Sydney sighed, remembering Secret Service Agent Murray’s sincere face as he lied to them, telling them that there was nothing going on at the State Fair. It turned out he was a Plurb and a traitor. No wonder Greyson didn’t trust anyone.
“You okay?” She sat down on her own bed, suddenly glad she had decided to make her bed this morning, and then even more suddenly afraid that she was alone in her room with a boy. Her nighttime clothes had been put away – thankfully.
“Yeah,” he said, still clutching a pink pillow – her pillow. “You?”
“I’m alright.”
“Really?” he asked with piercing eyes, examining her face.
The question caught her off guard. Sydney didn’t know how to respond, taking in a deep breath.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again.
He’s asking for real. You can tell him! But she couldn’t. She was supposed to be comforting him. I haven’t really lost anything but a house and some friends. He’s the one who lost his mom. “No, really, I’m fine,” she lied.
For a moment, they stared into space or searched the room for something interesting to look at. Greyson eventually found his shoes and chose to examine them. Sydney’s eyes had landed on her nightstand, where a picture of Greyson had been framed where she could see it each night. She casually got up and set it facedown.
“Why are you up here?” she asked as nicely as she could.
A glimmer of amusement nipped near his eyes, and he glanced out the window. Pulling a notebook from underneath the pillow, he wrote something down and hid it again. “Timing the guard dressed as a gardener outside. Makes a round every ten minutes. Takes him anywhere from ninety seconds to a hundred and ten to make it around.”
“Gotcha.”
He was planning his escape. Always. He was always thinking of it, bouncing ideas off of her and obsessing on the details. She hated it, but it was the only thing that animated him. If she crushed it, she was afraid he’d think there was nothing else to keep him going.
Get him to laugh.
“Hey. Forget about the plan for a sec. Let’s do something normal kids do.”
Greyson’s stare was blank. “What?”
“You know. Something fun.”
“They won’t let us leave.”
“We can do something fun in here.” As soon as she heard herself she wanted to take back the words. “Or, somewhere else in the house.”
“Like what?”
They’d forgotten how to be normal. “Umm…” She looked around her room and found what she was looking for. “There!” She raced to a box she had yet to unpack and came out with a hunky, black device.
“What’s that?” Greyson asked.
“It’s an old Polaroid camera my mother had when she was a kid. She gave it to me.”
“Polaroid?”
“It prints the picture as soon as you take it. They don’t make them anymore, I don’t think.”
“Okay…”
“Let’s take a selfie!”
He made a face. “No, thanks.”
She pumped her eyebrows at him. “I dare you.”
“Oh, come on. That’s not fair.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t just dare me to do anything you want.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not your slave. And dares are for hard things.”
Sighing and hanging her arms loose, she walked to the nook and sat next to him. “Isn’t it hard for you to smile? I know it is for me.”
Greyson avoided eye contact, plucking at the fringes of one of her pink pillows. “I guess.”
“Then I dare you to smile.”
He bobbed backward with a contemplative sigh.
“Don’t make me tickle you.”
He stiffened and fought back the smile as he imagined it. He hated tickling, but he’d never been tickled by a girl – other than his mom. Maybe girl tickles wouldn’t be as annoying.
“One smile. Then we get back to the plan.”
She shrugged. “If it’s a good one.”
They shook on it and she held the camera up in the air, clumsily pointing the lens at Greyson. She scooted closer to him. He felt her ribcage touch his and the smile came a little more naturally.
“Three…two…one…”
He poked her ribcage just as she snapped the picture. In an instant she retaliated with a barrage of pink pillows and pokes of her own. He fought back and found himself laughing as his pillow punches found her face. She laughed, too, tackling him on to the nook and pressing her fingernails into his sides.
The door creaked open and Agent Gavin stood dumbfounded. The kids stopped mid-wrestle, and Greyson peeked out from under Sydney’s body. “Privacy – geez!”
Agent Gavin raised his brow, glanced around the room, and slowly closed the door.
Sydney held herself up, hovering over Greyson with the hair from her ponytail falling around her face. They stared at each other for a moment, but the awkwardness soon won out.
“Let’s see the picture.”
“Good idea.”
They sat up and straightened their clothes. Sydney grabbed the picture from the camera’s printer and shook it. “Hey! It’s great! Well, you look good. Just ignore the half with the ugly girl on it.”
She showed Greyson. He couldn’t help but smile at Sydney’s smile. The picture had caught her just as she had reacted to his poke. It was an unfiltered, un-posed smile like the one he knew and loved. She was far from ugly. She was naturally beautiful. He knew she wanted him to tell her so, but something held him back. His own smile made him feel guilty.
“Can we get back to the plan now?”
The disappointment in his reaction settled in Sydney’s eyes. “Fine. I guess it’s better than this other one.” She walked to her dresser and slid the Polaroid into a silver frame, covering the picture of her and her old friend, Melinda, who she’d probably never see again.
“What have you got so far?” Greyson asked.
Taking one last look at the Polaroid, she spun around and reached into her pocket. “These.” She held out a handful of ball-bearings.
“Whoa! Nice,” Greyson exclaimed, happy to see more slingshot ammo. He was especially grateful since they weren’t allowed to go to the store. “Where’d you get ‘em?”
Sydney hesitated for a moment. The plan was distracting him. She had to keep it up for his sake. “The skateboard wheels and a yo-yo,” she said, walking toward her closet. “Just where that site said we could find them. Apparently my childhood toys are still worth something.” She didn’t want to mention that she had still liked the skateboard – and the yo-yo. It was tough being a single child.
“Good work. You’re the best.”
The best?
Sydney tried to not smile too big, but her heart was suddenly set racing. If her mom had said that, she’d have groaned. But when Greyson said it, she felt warm and giddy. By the way, you’ve got to be more careful on the computer. Mom saw you looking at the Bahamas. Did you delete the history at least?”
Greyson shook his head, dismayed at his lack of foresight. He should have closed the door. “Yeah. But I should’ve been more careful.”
“You never know how much she might snoop.”
When his family had lived on the farm, Greyson had thought computers were boring compared to playing outside – but when he had needed the Hansens’ compute
r for research and discovered what he could find out in a short amount of time, he had been hooked. Still, though, he thought of his mom, constantly staring at the screen, into the night. And her research hadn’t gotten her any closer to finding their dad.
“Do they…”
“No,” she answered before he could ask. “For now they just think you’re dreaming of possibilities or whatever.”
He nodded, thankful her mom hadn’t been peeking over his shoulder when he was researching how to make homemade bombs using household cleaners.
Sydney took the time to reflect as well. “You know this is crazy, right?” she blurted as she swung a heavy backpack out of her closet and hid it behind her bed, just in case Agent Gavin snuck a peek inside. “We have my parents and the FBI here to protect us. Why leave? They could help.”
“Syd…” he sighed, disappointed. “We’ve been over this.”
“So?”
“The FBI won’t let me go. I’m theirs now until I’m adopted or in foster care. And I already have a real family. And your parents wouldn’t let me go. What would they be able to do? About as much as my mom could do when she was trying to help. I can’t waste another year or another day. Who knows how long he’ll be there? I have to go.”
She shook her head, failing to find some way to convince him to stay. “Fine. Look what else I’ve got.”
He nodded and left the nook for her bed. Crawling over the side, he plopped stomach-first on the bed and peeked into the bag.
Trying to ignore the fact that he was now lying on her bed, Sydney unzipped it and showed him what she had collected during the last few days.
“First of all – you’ve got tons of cash. Thank my parents later. Your mom’s research papers. Box of granola bars, beef jerky, a blanket, a raincoat. Um…some Skittles, all your clothes.”
“Don’t look too closely at those.” The last thing he wanted was her examining his boxer briefs for size and stains.
“Don’t worry. Nothing’s worse than my dad’s whitey tighties. You only had one pair of mesh shorts, so I also threw in one of mine.”
“I’m not wearing girl clothes.”
“Really? Come on.”
“Girl shorts are just….short…you know?”
Sydney smiled. “True. But don’t you fear – my parents don’t let me get the super short kind, even for dance. These are my basketball shorts. You could try them on.”
“Nope. Not happening. If they happen to be too big on me, you would think you’re fat. If they happen to be too small on me, you’d get an eyeful of my buns.”
“Your buns?”
Trying to hide his red face, Greyson began rummaging through the bag as a diversion. He’d used the word his mom had used for his butt. A memory flashed of his mom buying him a pair of jeans, telling him they made his buns look good – he shook it away. “What else you got?”
Sydney shrugged, also trying to shake off the images in her head. His cute, embarrassed smile didn’t help.
“Creamed corn? Really?” he asked, grabbing a can from the bag. “That’s like a cat ate a corn cob and vomited it out.”
“That’s why my parents won’t miss it.”
“And it’s heavy.”
“So? Too hard to carry on and off the bus, huh?”
Greyson shrugged. “I think I’ll be eating enough fast food that I won’t need to eat cat vomit.”
“It’s good for you.”
“Healthy stuff is usually gross.”
“No, it’s not. Not always.”
“Yeah? Give me an example,” Greyson demanded.
“Granola bars.”
“If they’re coated in chocolate.”
“Strawberries.”
“Coated in chocolate.”
“Milk.”
“Chocolate milk.”
Sydney growled in frustration. “Ugh…you…”
“I’m good for you?”
Sydney nearly choked, trying to hold in her laughter and embarrassment.
Greyson laughed, too, thankful for the levity. “I think I proved my point.”
Sydney shook her head, surrendering, and they locked eyes for a moment – but the look lasted a bit too long. Breaking it off, Greyson pushed the creamed corn back into the bag, snatched the jerky, and pushed himself off the bed.
“Got to keep this handy,” he said, putting the jerky in his pack. It was now nearly full of food and the homemade device he’d need if he were ever chased again.
He also swiped the ball-bearings and dropped them in their own side pouch. “These, too.”
Sydney sighed. “Let’s hope you don’t have to use those.”
Chapter 5
“I’ve seen enough.” Greyson retreated to the nook and re-clutched the same pillow. Why should he be forced to rub more guilt in his face by watching Liam’s entire funeral? He’d already watched hours of endless TV coverage, listened to visiting pastors pray, and suffered through counselors telling him how to grieve. And when thousands had gathered at the edge of the radiation zone by the Des Moines River to light floating candles, he’d been miles upstream adding one for his mom and one for Liam in his own private vigil.
He’d had enough.
Sydney didn’t push him. “That’s fine. I’ll keep it on over here if you change your mind.” She sat cross-legged on her bed with the laptop on another pillow.
Once her parents had video-called in from the back of the church and put them on mute, they’d been able to see and hear the funeral’s opening minutes without worrying about disrupting the service – and without being seen. Just to make sure, Sydney readjusted the piece of tape the FBI had placed over their laptop’s webcam long ago.
Judging by the video, she could already tell that the church was full and that her parents were awful with technology. The camera was jumping up and down or wandering off toward the ceiling when her mother forgot about it. Every now and then her mother pressed a wrong button and switched from her phone’s front camera to the back so that they’d be looking at her black dress rather than the funeral. Still, it was better than nothing.
Greyson’s phone buzzed in his pack and he fished it out. It was Nick.
“The call’s been cleared,” came Agent Gavin’s voice.
Greyson glanced up to see Agent Gavin looking at him from a crack in the door to Sydney’s room. He didn’t know how it worked, but somehow the FBI could intercept any calls going in and out. Perhaps they were even monitoring them. Security was important. Privacy was not.
“Thanks.”
Agent Gavin closed the door and Greyson answered the call. Nick’s face appeared and he knew Nick could see his. Suddenly he was self-conscious. Could Nick see something in his eyes? Would he see how he fought back the tears?
“Hey, man. How you holding up?” Nick asked.
“Fine. You?”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Got the funeral on?”
“Yeah. Wanna watch?”
“Yeah. I got Jarryd and Sammy here, too.”
“Cool. I’ll hand you off to Sydney. Just a sec.”
When Greyson held the phone out to her, she couldn’t help but to shake her head in amusement. How could they talk about the funeral as if it were a football game? Were guys not allowed to talk seriously to one another?
“What?” Greyson asked. “What did I do?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, grabbing the phone. “Hey, Nick.”
Greyson watched as Sydney held the phone up to the computer so that Nick could see what her parents were seeing. For a moment Greyson was lost in thought, amazed at the situation. He had to wonder, had someone ever watched a funeral that was being transferred from phone to computer to phone? If not, they were making history.
But then his mind darted back to reality and he averted his eyes out the window. Half of him wanted to think about Liam, to remember him, to memorialize him, but the other half had to fight against it. He didn’t want to remember. Every time he did
was like a stab to his heart. Liam’s eyes would stare at him through the water, disappointed, afraid, and accusing. But if he didn’t remember, if he fought back the memories by distracting himself, he could forget – at least for a little while.
“Greyson?”
He shot a look at Sydney, startled.
She was watching him from the edge of her bed. She had propped the phone against a pillow, allowing the twins to watch the laptop. “It’s okay to cry, you know? Boys can cry, too. It’s manly.”
Manly? To cry? “No, it’s not. Then chicks would be more manly than men. And that’d be weird.”
Sydney smiled and moved to sit by him in the nook. He scooted over and hoped the moisture in his eyes would not overflow to his cheeks. Even if she thought it was manly.
“So, what’s a man then? Someone who doesn’t cry?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“You don’t know?”
“I mean, of course I do. Duh. It’s just…”
“Dad says manliness isn’t just about not being a girl. It’s about being something. Not not being something, you know?”
Greyson made a face and shrugged. He knew what she meant, but he couldn’t give her an impression that she knew more about being a man than he did.
When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Stuff like being responsible and humble and strong.”
“Okay, okay. I know that already. And I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Come on. Why are you lying? You’re not fine, and that’s okay. That’s what’s great about you – you love people so much, you’re willing to do anything for them! You loved Liam and still do. Who wouldn’t cry after losing someone they love?”
Greyson’s lip was quivering again. He had to fight it. And anger always worked. He wanted to yell, but held that back as well. He couldn’t take it out on her. “If I cry, I’d have to cry for 8,000 people, not just Liam. Eight thousand! I’d never stop crying – and that’s definitely not manly.”
Sydney stifled a laugh. “True. You’d eventually have to stop blubbering.”
Greyson smiled. “I wouldn’t get anything done.”
