Shake

by Chris Mandeville

  Hold your dogs? I don’t ask.

  After another couple of minutes, she stops and banks her personal again. This time, we step into an actual hallway and a chemical smell envelops me, clearing the sewer from my nostrils. Hair color.

  “You brought me to the mall?”

  “I thought you might want to get that butterfly tattoo now,” she says.

  I’m totally mature and stick my tongue out, though in reality the idea of a tattoo is growing on me. I wouldn’t get one on my forehead, and it probably wouldn’t be a butterfly, but having something colorful that reminds me I can be who I want to be? That has some appeal. Especially if I lived in this time.

  Bel taps her personal. “Tag Sharrow to meet me in the club.”

  “It’s barely afternoon. Will anyone be there?” I ask.

  “What’s it matter? It’s not like you know anyone.”

  When we get there it’s nearly empty, as I suspected. It doesn’t even seem like the same place in the cold overhead lighting. Bel strides toward the back like she’s on a mission. Sharrow’s there, sitting in a booth.

  “What’s up?” Sharrow asks. I try to read her, but her face is a blank.

  “She convinced Mom to let her go dancing,” Bel says. “Can you keep an eye? There’s something I need to do.”

  Sharrow shrugs. “Sure.”

  “Don’t go anywhere else, and don’t let her out of your sight, even in the lav.”

  “Why, what’s she going to do?”

  “Just comply, okay?” Bel says. “I’ll be back at 11:30.” She turns and hurries out.

  I’d love to see what she’s up to, but right now I need to find out whose side Sharrow’s on. Plus I seriously need a break from Bel.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I slide into the booth beside Sharrow and stop a little closer than social norm. It’s time to get to work and see what she’s about.

  I angle my mouth toward her ear. “I need to ask you something,” I say, voice low. Without the music and crowd cover, I don’t think it’s paranoid to assume someone might be listening.

  “What are you doing?” she says, edging away.

  “Can anyone hear us?” I whisper.

  “Hang on.” She keys something on her personal, then synth music with a deep beat starts playing from it.

  “How’d you do that? Are there games and stuff, too?”

  “Of course,” she says, like I’m from another planet.

  “Will you show me how to access it?”

  “Sure. But what did you want to ask me? Seems serious.”

  I lower my voice, despite the counter measures. “Did you know your mom was going to recycle me?” I watch her face carefully.

  Her eyes widen. “No! What happened?”

  Phew. She didn’t know. She wasn’t in on it. “She said I failed the tests.”

  “Oh my gods. Oh no. No, no, no.” She leans back, shaking her head. “She’s going to tell me to do it, and I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say, feeling bad I doubted her. “We’ll get the wormhole machine working, and I’ll leave.”

  “There’s no time. Once my mom makes up her mind—”

  “She won’t recycle me until after the president’s visit.”

  She looks confused. “What? Why?”

  “I’ll explain, but right now let’s get hold of Flyx. If he fixed the machine, maybe I can leave tonight.”

  We decided it was safer to talk with Flyx in a cube, despite Bel’s order to stay in the club. On the way, I told Sharrow about the ASPs, and she agreed that I’m only safe temporarily. I have to get out of here before her mom has the chance to recycle me.

  While we wait for Flyx, Sharrow shows me how to access all kinds of entertainment on the personal, then she settles in to watch a “vid.” But I’m too antsy to do anything but pace, my anxiety rising with every lap.

  Finally, Flyx shows up with Daum.

  “Did you look at the machine?” I blurt.

  “Hi?” Flyx says.

  “Sorry. I just need to know—did you see it? Can you fix it?”

  “It was genius,” Daum says, flopping down beside Sharrow. “He managed to get us alone in Detention during the lockdown yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” I look at Flyx. “Last night, you said you didn’t know anything.”

  “Because I didn’t,” he says, propping himself on the arm of the couch. “Nothing that would help. I can’t fix it. There’s a part missing.”

  “What about the other machine?” I ask. “The one where you work.”

  Flyx shakes his head. “I looked at it again today to be sure. It’s a dead end.”

  I refuse to accept the resignation on his face. “But you can find the part for the main machine.”

  No one’s looking at me. They’re all staring at the ground.

  “Come on, you guys,” I say. “Whoever removed the part knows where it is.”

  “My mom,” Sharrow says. “And there’s no way she’ll give it to us.”

  “But she wouldn’t have removed it herself,” Daum says. “There should be records showing who she assigned to do it.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Sharrow says. “Even if you find out, no one will go against my mom.”

  “We have to try,” I say. “Find out who it is and let me talk to them. I can be very persuasive.”

  “It won’t work. No one wants to risk getting recycled,” Sharrow says.

  “Including me!” I shout.

  Sharrow recoils, but I’m beyond apologizing. My life is on the line.

  “What about you?” I turn on Flyx. “Are you too afraid to go against Dietrich? Are you giving up?”

  “No, but I don’t know what else to do.” He crosses his arms.

  Everyone is silent. I turn away, pacing again. There’s got to be a solution. Something we’re missing.

  “It keeps coming back to Dietrich,” Flyx says, breaking the silence. “Unless she allows time travel, you’re docked.”

  “So we get her to allow it,” I say.

  “She’s dead-set,” Sharrow says.

  “We have to change her mind,” I insist.

  “I told you,” Sharrow says. “She doesn’t change her mind.”

  “I don’t accept that.” I pace faster. There’s something itching my brain, just out of reach. How do we convince Dietrich to change her mind when she never changes her mind? If it’s absolutely against her nature, then— “Wait! Dietrich did change her mind. About Bel.”

  “That’s right,” Daum says. “She didn’t believe Bel was her daughter, then suddenly bang-oh.”

  “What changed her mind?” I ask, wishing I’d remembered to ask Bel.

  “She saw a report from herself. She makes them in case of history-changes,” Flyx says.

  “There, that’s our solution!” I’m practically giddy. “We make a report where Dietrich tells herself that time travel is allowed.”

  “Okay, but why?” Sharrow says. “She’d still have to have a good reason to allow it.”

  “Okay….” I pace more, thinking. What does Dietrich want? She’s in the Resistance—her goal is to stop the Nazis…. Bel said Beck’s mission in 1906 was related to stopping the Nazi’s…. “I’ve got it,” I exclaim. “Dietrich wants to stop the ASPs, right? So the report says that an operative in 1906 has the solution, but he can’t travel. The only way to get the information is for someone to go back.” I feel a grin stretching my face. “And that someone is me.”

  “Then she’ll have to fix the machine,” Daum says, mirroring my grin.

  “That’s all good, but…” Flyx isn’t smiling. “There’s still one major problem, and I have no idea how to get around it.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I have lots of experience with cons and forgeries. With samples of Dietrich’s writing, and Sharrow’s help with style, we can definitely create a report she’ll believe.”

  “That’s not it,” Flyx says. “The problem is Bel.”


  “What do you mean?”

  “Even if the report convinces Dietrich that history changed and she doesn’t remember…Bel will know we’re lying.”

  “Oh, shit.” He’s right.

  “What?” Daum asks. “You have to spell it out for me.”

  “Bel’s a Jenny,” I say. “She keeps her memories, and the minute something is different from what she remembers, the con is blown.”

  “Rot,” Sharrow says.

  “Total rot,” Daum says.

  “Hang on…” Maybe I can fix this. “Besides Bel, are there other Jennys who could blow our plan?”

  “There are other Jennys and loggies,” Flyx says. “But none close enough to Dietrich to realize—they’d assume she changed her mind.”

  “So…” I say, looking from Flyx to Daum to Sharrow. “What if I convince Bel to go along with us?”

  “A sally if,” Sharrow says.

  Flyx sucks in a breath. “Affirm. But if Allie can get Bel on side, this plan could actually work.”

  “Right?” My heart’s beating fast. “We do the report tonight….”

  “And I upload it tomorrow during shift,” Flyx says.

  “Not tomorrow,” Sharrow says. “Everything’s on lockdown for the president’s visit.”

  “That’s right,” Daum says. “You won’t be able to get into the TIC until the following morning.”

  “We might not have till then,” I say. “Dietrich could recycle me as soon as the president leaves.”

  “Don’t worry, I have a workaround. I’ll get it in the system,” Flyx says, locking eyes with me. “You focus on Bel.”

  I have no idea how I’m going to recruit Bel, so for now, I focus on something I know how to accomplish. “Let’s get that report written now, while we’re together. I’ll work on Bel later tonight.”

  “Is anyone else hungry?” Daum asks.

  I think he and I are kindred spirits. “Always.”

  “I’ll get food,” Daum says. “You like tacos, right?”

  “More than life itself,” I reply.

  It only took an hour to create the report. Turns out we didn’t need my forgery skills because everything’s electronic, but we really needed Sharrow’s knack for the way her mother phrases things. I think we nailed it, and I’d be over the moon, except I still have no angle on Bel.

  “We should get back to the club,” Sharrow says.

  “You guys go ahead,” Daum says. “I can’t handle the noise tonight. I’m going to Middies.”

  “I wish I could go with,” Sharrow says, stifling a yawn.

  “Why don’t you?” Flyx says. “I can stay with Allie until Bel shows.”

  Butterflies whirl in my stomach at the thought of being alone with Flyx.

  “Negative,” Sharrow says. “Bel said to keep my eye on her. I can’t pass that off without incurring her wrath.”

  I’m a little disappointed, but mostly relieved. Being alone with Flyx would be a bad idea.

  Back in the club, we sit around a table sipping fizzy drinks that taste vaguely like raspberry. The place is full now, and the lights strobe to the wild music.

  I should be tired, but I’m buzzing with nervous energy. I have a plan to go back and save my parents and the crew. But it all hinges on me winning Bel over, and I don’t have the first idea how.

  “You okay?” Sharrow asks me.

  “Fine, why?”

  “You’re jiggling your leg enough to rock the club.”

  “And holding your drink so tight I’m afraid you’ll crush it,” Flyx says.

  “I guess I’m a little tense,” I say with a nervous laugh.

  “I know what you need,” Sharrow says. “Dancing.”

  “No way. I don’t dance.”

  “Come on,” Flyx says. “There’s nothing to it.”

  “It’s like what you’re doing with your leg, but with your whole body,” Sharrow says.

  Flyx reaches his hand across the table. “Consent.”

  Sharrow extends her hand, too. “You told my mom you needed to dance. You have to consent.”

  I shake my head. But I put my hand out anyway. Our three hands touch, making a pyramid. “Okay, I consent.”

  Sharrow grabs my hand and drags me into the middle of the dancing mob. I look back at Flyx behind me. He smiles, and I go all warm in the middle. I’m seriously glad we’re not alone.

  Sharrow turns to me, her eyes bright. “Dance,” she shouts over the music. She bounces on the balls of her feet and bobs her head.

  Flyx is bouncing too, face tipped toward the ceiling—he’s not looking at me, and neither is Sharrow. I can do this.

  I feel the music vibrate through me. I bend my knees. Just a little. And I don’t die.

  I do it again.

  Still here.

  I bounce a few times and have to admit—it feels amazing.

  No one is watching me. No one cares, so why should I?

  But I still feel a bit self-conscious, so I shut my eyes and focus on what the music feels like, letting my body go with it. It’s like when I was dancing inside my mind back in Med when I was drugged.

  Before long, I’m bopping around, eyes wide open.

  Three songs later and we’re all laughing while we flail like Animal on The Muppets.

  Dancing, where have you been my whole life?

  Sharrow motions for me to come closer and says in my ear, “I have to go to the lav. Stay with Flyx.”

  Before I can object, she’s gone.

  I look at Flyx. He’s staring at me. My confidence evaporates, and I’m all awkward and self-conscious. I feel like I’m moving like a robot now, and not in a good way. I should have gone to the bathroom with Sharrow.

  Flyx quirks his mouth in a smile, and it makes me tingle. Or maybe it’s a cramp. Or maybe I’m going to barf. I don’t think this could be any worse.

  Then it gets worse.

  The song changes.

  It’s a slow song.

  All around us, people are coupling up.

  I don’t want to look at Flyx, but I have to. He’s not smiling anymore. His eyes look all dreamy. He steps closer.

  “Consent?” he says, touching my right hand gently with his.

  I gulp. Nod. Then remember I have to say it out loud. “Y-yeah, I consent.”

  His arms encircle my waist. I slip mine around his shoulders. I expected it to feel strange, but the strange thing is, it doesn’t feel strange at all. It’s comfortable, even.

  Then he snugs me in tight, our bodies touching. And it’s not comfortable, in the best way.

  Which is the worst. Sharrow is going to come back and see us. I can’t do that to her. I won’t.

  I push back to say I need to go. But our eyes lock. Then his mouth is on mine. Warm and soft.

  And I don’t want to say no.

  I kiss him back.

  After a moment, he pulls away and looks at me. He smiles, then goes in for another kiss. This one makes me all warm and buzzy.

  The song ends way too soon. Then I remember—Sharrow. She should have been back by now. Did she see us kissing?

  “You hear that?” Flyx stretches up on his toes, craning his neck to see over the crowd. “Come on.” He grabs my hand and whisks me toward our table.

  The minute I see Sharrow, I know what Flyx heard. Bel.

  Bel is shouting at Sharrow. “I told you—”

  “There she is.” Sharrow points at me. “See? It’s fine.”

  Bel swivels her rage to me. “We’re going. Now.”

  I check the time on my personal. It’s barely after eleven. But the look on Sharrow’s face begs me not to argue. So I don’t. Even though the look on Bel’s face begs me to push her buttons.

  Flyx leans close. “Good luck tomorrow,” he says in my ear, so close his breath tickles. He gives my hand a squeeze then lets go. “See you soon.”

  I nod, then look over at Sharrow. Crap. She’s staring right at us.

  I’m in a bed in “my room” adjacent to Bel�
��s, staring at the dark ceiling, stewing in guilt. I need to figure out how to win Bel over so I can save my family, but I can’t think with all these feelings.

  This is ridiculous. I need to focus.

  I’ll tell Flyx I can’t kiss him anymore. That we can’t do that to Sharrow.

  Or to Jake.

  God, how long has it been since I even thought about Jake?

  I’m a terrible person.

  I should message Flyx right now and tell him we’re done.

  I try to make myself. But I can’t.

  Instead, I get up and pace, forcing myself to focus on the plan. Even if it takes all night, I’m damn well going to figure out how to bring Bel in on the con.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Flyx

  Sleep’s impossible. My mind keeps replaying tonight.

  When Allie and I kissed, the rest of the uni disappeared.

  But the song ended. And Bel happened. That’s when I saw it in Allie’s eyes—the guilt. The regret.

  I felt it, too. I still do. But I can’t help that I don’t know Sharrow. Her reality, her memories, her feelings, are not mine.

  The logical side of my brain says I don’t know Allie either. Not really.

  So why do I feel like I’ve known her forever? Like there’s been an empty place inside me my entire life waiting to be filled by her?

  I think…I think I love her.

  My wrist buzzes. I want it to be Allie. I need to tell her—

  It’s Dietrich.

  I climb out of bed. Duty calls.

  “The president arrives in the morning,” Dietrich says. “I need to know what Allie’s planning—that’s why I orchestrated your little meet-up tonight.”

  I should have realized she’d facilitated it.

  Dietrich leans forward, eyes hungry. “Tell me.”

  The betrayal’s putrid in my gut. “She’s planning to go back to 1906 to change things back to the way they used to be. She wants me to rig one of the wormhole machines, either the main one in Detention, or the one in the TIC.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I’d try.”

  “Good. Stall her until after the president’s visit. Tell her you’re missing a part.”