Shake

by Chris Mandeville

  I glance at the exit. Sharrow’s standing in the doorway. With Flyx. My heart leaps into my throat. Was he there the whole time?

  He turns and meets my gaze.

  Oh no. He saw everything.

  I need to explain, to him and to Sharrow. They’ll understand I had no choice, that it’s part of the con.

  Flyx and Sharrow leave, together. I stare after them, sick to my stomach.

  “Hello?” Bel waves her hand in front of my face. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, I’m fine.” I have to look past the fact that I’m a complete and total asshat and get my head back in the game, or all this will have been for nothing. I fall back on a universal excuse. “Just tired, I guess.”

  “What’s the story with you and that Flyx character? If you ask me, you could do a whole lot better.”

  “Yeah, no. I’m not interested in him.”

  “Good, because ew.”

  “Seriously ew,” I force myself to say.

  Bel pushes away the plate of nachos. “I need to go for a run.”

  That’s the last thing I want to do, but the clock is ticking. “I could go for a run.”

  Bel looks at me knowingly. “Right.”

  “Unless you’d rather do a movie binge,” I suggest. It would be much more conducive to bringing her in on the plan. Plus, popcorn.

  “A vid? Negative. I need to work off these k-cals.” She pushes the nachos further away. “I’ll take you to Middies so you can take a nap.”

  Crap, she’s getting rid of me. I can’t let that happen.

  “No, I want to hang out. I’ll go for a run,” I say, hating the edge of desperation in my voice. So uncool.

  “Ease out,” Bel says. “I’ll only be an hour or so. Then we can watch some vids.”

  Phew. She’s not trying to get rid of me. “Sounds good.”

  If I’m lucky, I can use this hour to make things right with Sharrow.

  I curl up on Bed 13 looking sleepy while Bel changes into a jumper at her locker.

  “Better be here when I get back,” Bel calls from the door. “No slipping out when someone opens the door.”

  Good—she still has no idea I have a personal.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I yawn and snuggle my pillow. When I hear the door shut, I peek to make sure she’s gone, then push up my sleeve. My first instinct is to message Flyx, but I catch myself.

  “Message Sharrow.” The window displays a blinking cursor. “I’m sorry about before. It was just part of the con—getting Bel on board. I didn’t mean it.”

  The words appear on the screen, then send.

  I get up and pace in the aisle between rows of beds, waiting for her reply. Five minutes pass like five hours. I can’t stand this! Should I message Flyx?

  No, I definitely shouldn’t message Flyx.

  Why hasn’t Sharrow messaged back? I told her it’s just part of the con.

  But maybe she’s never pulled a con. Maybe I blindsided her. Maybe she’s hurt and crying. Maybe Flyx is comforting her.

  Ugh! I hate that that idea hurts so much.

  The walls are closing in. I need to get out of here, go somewhere, anywhere but inside my own head.

  I check the time. I have plenty of time before Bel’s back.

  I bank my personal to the door and it slides open. The coast is clear—but where should I go?

  I need air, sun, sky. The roof.

  Immediately I think of Flyx—his piercing eyes, that grin, those lips…

  But I’m not going to message him. I’ll go alone and clear my head. I’ll look out in the daylight and see what’s become of my city.

  When I get to the roof, the sky blazes orange with sunset, and I drink it in, only now truly feeling how much I’ve missed daylight.

  I stand there, staring. Stalling.

  I need to see my city. But I don’t want to.

  Enough. Time to get it over with.

  I pull back my shoulders, then march to the wall.

  I gasp.

  I’d tried to prepare myself, but how can you really prepare for something like this?

  It’s so much worse than the 1906 quake. It looks like something heavy came down and smashed everything. The buildings are crushed and crumbling, the roads are rubble. It’s barely recognizable as my city at all—no bridges, no Transamerica building, no Coit Tower. The only thing familiar is the clock on the Ferry Building. Cracked and broken as it is, I would know it anywhere.

  I can’t change this.

  I can—hopefully—go back and save the crew and my parents. I could even stop myself from killing Beck. But just like I can never un-know that I once killed him, I can never un-see this devastation. I’ll always know that this is coming, and that nothing I do can stop it.

  My shoulders slump as I look out at the ruins. I feel deflated, defeated.

  But…maybe knowing this destruction is coming will make me appreciate my city even more when I have it back. I hope so. Because the alternative is living in a world shadowed by ghosts of the future. Or worse, living in that future, not ever getting back to my own time.

  The sun’s down now, and still nothing from Sharrow. The wind gusts and I hug my arms to my chest, feeling cold inside and out. There’s that sleeping bag in Flyx’s shelter. I’ll wrap up in it and then…I’ll message him.

  I crawl inside and sling the sleeping bag around my shoulders. I’m about to message Flyx when I hear something outside.

  Voices—one male, one female.

  Is it Flyx? Did he bring Sharrow here?

  I can’t even think about the trouble I’m in if it’s not Flyx. I lean back into the shadows. Hopefully whoever it is won’t look in here.

  The voices get louder.

  “So how do you know about this place?” That’s definitely Flyx.

  “You showed me.” Sharrow. “We used to come here. It was our special hideaway from the world.” The pain in her voice couldn’t be more obvious if she were sobbing.

  “I’m sorry,” Flyx says, and he does sound sorry. “I wish I could remember.”

  “Me, too.”

  They go silent. I imagine them standing at the wall, looking out over the darkening city. In my mind’s eye, there’s a tear sliding down Sharrow’s cheek, and Flyx wipes it away. Does he draw her to him, hugging her to comfort her? Or something more? Are they looking into each other’s eyes? Does he kiss her?

  My chest aches.

  Stop it. It’s not like Flyx and I belong together. If anything, he belongs with Sharrow. And if they’re drawn together because of how I hurt Sharrow, then I have only myself to blame.

  Sharrow breaks the silence. “I came up here tonight to remember how it used to be.”

  “How it used to be with us?” I hear the pain in Flyx’s voice as clearly as Sharrow’s.

  “Yes and no.” Sharrow sounds shy. Embarrassed. “Before this morning—before we spent lockdown together—I still hoped I could win you back, that we could be like before.”

  They spent the morning together? I have no right to be jealous, but I am.

  “But now,” Sharrow continues, “I realize it can’t ever be that way again. I know you like Allie. I accept that. I mean, I’m trying.”

  “How can you say that after how Allie treated you?” Flyx says.

  Oh God, I really am a monster.

  “She messaged me that she didn’t mean it,” Sharrow says. “It’s part of her plan to get Bel on our side.”

  This should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.

  “I came up here,” Sharrow says, “to remember who I was before. To try to be that person again.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I was different before. Happy.”

  “And you’re not now…because of me.” Flyx sounds so wounded.

  “Not just because of you. It’s my mom…she’s different. Even though she shouldn’t have changed. With Bel here, it’s…my mom’s not the same.”

  “I’m sorry,” Flyx says
.

  But I’m the one who’s sorry. If it weren’t for Bel and me changing the past and coming here, Sharrow would still be her mother’s only child and Flyx’s girlfriend.

  Hopefully after I leave, Flyx can fall in love with her again. It won’t change how I’ve hurt her, but it might make amends, at least a little.

  “I wish I knew what to do, how to make it better,” Flyx tells her. I imagine him taking her hand, giving it a little squeeze. My heart squeezes a little too, despite my resolve.

  “I rationed coming here would help,” Sharrow says. “I always felt like I could think better up here. Then I saw you, and for a second it was like old times.”

  “Sharrow, I’m sor—”

  “Don’t. Don’t apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. It just is.”

  It’s my fault, I want to scream.

  “I don’t know what to say, if not ‘I’m sorry.’ I am sorry,” Flyx says.

  “I know.” Sharrow sighs, her grief palpable. “Let’s agree to keep the past in the past and go forward as friends, okay?”

  I feel tears on my face. This is so unfair.

  “Rot!” Sharrow exclaims.

  “What is it?”

  “Tag from Bel. Allie’s not where she’s supposed to be.”

  I check the time—it hasn’t been an hour yet. Why would Bel be looking for me?

  “Did she check her tracker?” Flyx asks.

  Tracker? My hand goes to my neck where the bump is. I totally forgot about it—I’m such an idiot!

  “No access—my mom’s off-site. Can you hack it?” Sharrow asks.

  “Affirm. Tell Bel to stand down—she can’t tell your mom about this. I’ll find Allie and bring her to the Donut Shoppe.”

  “Okay, please hurry.”

  I hear gravel crunching as Sharrow leaves.

  Then Flyx sticks his head in the lean-to.

  I grimace. “Busted.”

  He shakes his head. He’s not smiling.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  He looks away, then back again. “You shouldn’t have come up here without telling me first. I could have covered your tracks in the system.”

  “I didn’t think. I forgot about the tracker.” My cheeks are burning.

  “We’d better go.”

  Flyx sends me into the Donut Shoppe without him. Since Bel hates him, he figures going in would make a bad situation worse.

  I see Bel and Sharrow—Sharrow’s sitting, Bel’s pacing.

  “Where have you been?” Bel says.

  “I wasn’t feeling well. I was in the bathroom.”

  “I looked in the bathroom.”

  “I thought a walk would help, but it made it worse.” I wrap my arms around my stomach. “Too many jalapeños, I guess.”

  “I told you not to leave Middies. Now we have no time to get ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “We have to go to that dinner thing after all,” Bel says.

  “Can’t you tell your mom I’m sick?”

  “I could go instead,” Sharrow offers.

  I don’t deserve her kindness.

  “The colonel asked for Allie personally,” Bel says.

  “Me? As in only me?”

  “Affirm. But I’m coming, too. The colonel won’t dare turn me away.”

  “What does he want with me? Is he a creeper?”

  “He’s definitely a creep,” Sharrow says.

  Bel dismisses her comment with a huff. “My mom and I suspect he’s gotten a whiff of something that made him suspicious.”

  “Like…?” I prompt.

  “Most likely it’s merely a few things that don’t add up,” she says. “If he knew anything for sure he’d be storming with his troops. So we think he’s info-questing. And we—you—have to make sure he doesn’t find out anything.”

  This is serious. “Can’t your mom get me out of this?”

  “Negative. If she tries any harder, it will fuel his suspicions. You have to go.”

  “I can help with your hair and stuff,” Sharrow says.

  “We can manage,” Bel snaps.

  Sharrow looks crushed.

  “Thank you, though,” I tell her before I can stop myself.

  Sharrow hangs her head as Bel ushers me out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Bel strides across the Atrium in her slinky iridescent pink gown, having zero trouble in her orange platform shoes. Meanwhile, I’m struggling to keep up without breaking an ankle in the strappy bronze wedges she made me wear. They match the patent leather corset Bel laced over my white dress. I vehemently objected to both the shoes and the corset, but I did it silently. It was more important to let Bel win. Thank goodness this corset is more comfortable than ones in 1906, or I’d have had to rethink that decision.

  We enter an office building and hurry across the lobby to an outer door. As soon as Bel opens it, I’m hit by a gust of wind and a loud whirring—a helicopter.

  “Get in,” Bel says, motioning me forward.

  My hair whips in my face as I crouch-jog to the helicopter. A man drops out of the open doorway. I’m about to ask him how I climb up, when he grips my waist and lifts me. Another man grabs me under the armpits and hoists me in. They do the same to Bel.

  She sits in one of the passenger seats, crossing her legs artfully. Her hair is still perfect in a sleek bun, her makeup pristine like she’s ready for a photoshoot. Meanwhile, I sit beside her with hair stuck to my lip gloss.

  We buckle in as the men close the door and take their seats in the cockpit. Without warning, the helicopter lifts straight up, leaving my stomach behind. I watch out the window as we rise above the ruined buildings of downtown until the buildings are swallowed by darkness, then I sit back feeling queasy and completely out of my comfort zone.

  “How long till we get there?” I shout at Bel.

  She points to her ear and shakes her head.

  I go back to looking out the window. After a few minutes, I see lights in the distance. As we get closer, they take the shapes of buildings, including a pointy one that looks like the Transamerica Pyramid. But of course it can’t be. Then I see the unmistakable silhouette of the Golden Gate Bridge. Is New Francisco an exact replica of San Francisco?

  I turn to ask Bel but she’s staring out the other window. She wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway.

  The sound of the motor changes, then there’s a jolt. I think we landed.

  One of the men comes back and motions for us to unbuckle, then opens the door and jumps out. A second later, he reaches back inside and lifts us each down.

  We’re on a roof overlooking dozens of rooftops all around us, like we’re on the top of the world.

  The man shoos us away. I crouch after Bel, across the helipad and down a few steps to the main part of the roof where there’s a man in a black suit, his dark hair flapping. He motions us inside, then ushers us into an elevator, and pushes the “1” button.

  I have that weird stomach-floating feeling as we descend, the digital display counting down from sixty.

  I expect the man to say something, but he stares at the countdown. Bel’s doing the same. I run my fingers through my tangled hair and wipe the makeup from under my eyes, trying to salvage my appearance.

  When the doors open, we follow the man into a lobby that looks like the set of a futuristic movie. The walls are polished metal and extend up three stories to a ceiling lit with zig-zagging white lights. The floor glows blue, like we’re walking on glass over neon water. There are no other people in sight, and our footfalls echo in the vast space.

  “This place is crazy,” I whisper to Bel.

  She shoots me a shut up look.

  We approach a set of double doors that look like they’re for giraffes. The man pushes one open and steps aside for us to enter.

  Inside’s a dome with purple lights that snake up the sides and come together in a swirl pattern above. Half the room is e
mpty, the other has a dozen round tables filled with people staring at us. It’s completely silent, like all conversation stopped when we entered.

  Dietrich walks elegantly over to us, presenting a toothy, fake smile. “You’re late,” she says through her teeth.

  Bel smiles back and doesn’t say anything.

  “Follow me. Act natural.” Dietrich makes a sweeping turn and leads us past people in fancy clothes.

  No one takes a drink, no one says a word. They just stare at us. I force myself to smile like this is totally normal.

  We arrive at a table with three empty chairs. Dietrich steps up to one of them. “Everyone, this is Bel and Allison.”

  Bel curtsies. “My apologies for our tardiness.”

  All faces turn to me, so I attempt a curtsy, too. “Hi,” I say with an awkward wave.

  “So glad you could make it, Allison,” the colonel says. “Please, sit beside me.”

  Crap. “Of course.” It’s not like I can decline.

  He stands and pulls out the chair for me. As I sit, I hear sounds returning to the room—talking and laughing and clanking of dishes—like everything had been paused until that moment.

  Bel sits in the chair beside mine, with Dietrich on her other side.

  “Allison, this is Robert Lawrence, Minister of Finance.” The colonel gestures to the middle-aged man seated on his left. “Beside him, his lovely wife Colleen. Then Vice President Tuolome and her husband Pierre.”

  I nod at each, processing the fact that the VP is female.

  “Pleased to meet you,” the VP says. “I’m afraid we’ve already eaten, but I can have plates brought for you.”

  “That’s kind but not necessary,” Dietrich replies on our behalf.

  I haven’t eaten since the nachos, but I don’t say anything.

  “Bel and Allison took the first daughters on a tour of their facilities today,” the colonel announces to the table. “Allison, why don’t you tell us about it?”

  He pins me with his beady eyes, and my gut says this is a trap.

  I look to Bel for help.

  “The girls were lovely, weren’t they, Allie?” Bel says, coming to the rescue. “We showed them the facilities, and they were so gracious—I’d expect nothing less—but in all honesty, they were most impressed by the kitten the receptionist brought in.”