Germ elbows me and points. He says something I can’t hear and walks toward the far wall. As we move through the crowd, bodies slide up against me, slowing me down. If I lose Germ, I’ll never find him again.
He approaches three guys. I’ve never seen them before, but when I finally catch up, they talk to me like we go way back.
“Mastermind is on fire tonight!” one shouts. He bounces his head with the beat and his stringy hair swishes over his eyes. Mastermind must be the DJ.
“So many people!” Germ shouts.
“Security was cake,” a guy in a skull sweatshirt says. He must be dying. It’s a gazillion degrees.
“Too easy,” Stringy Hair Guy says.
Skull Guy bumps Germ with the back of his hand and points toward the corner by the DJ stage. A guy in a black coat leans against the wall.
Germ thumps me on the arm. “Okay?”
I missed whatever he said. “Yeah. Sure.”
He walks through the crowd toward the guy. I try to follow, but he slips through an opening too quick and I lose him. I can’t catch up. It’s like walking in the ocean with waves crashing against me, pushing me back.
Just when I think I’m totally stuck, there’s a break in the crowd. I step through and find myself face to face with her.
The girl from the grocery store.
How?
A smile spreads across her face, a dangerous look in her eye. She slides up to me, puts one hand around my neck and raises the other in the air. Her body is warm against mine. Everything falls away until it’s just the two of us, swallowed up in the moment.
The music shifts and the droning bass buzzes through my chest like a swarm of bees. Pressure builds inside. This isn’t the music anymore. It feels like there’s a weight pressing down. Static takes over the beat. My eyes cloud and I blink against the darkness. Lungs burning, I open my mouth in an empty scream.
Then stars. I see stars. Cold air whispers against my skin. Grass blades press into my hands. Everything is silent and I’m staring at the stars.
A face moves into view, hovering over me. Dark eyes peer into mine and long hair brushes against my arm. My name is on her lips but her voice is drowned out as the static swells and the darkness returns.
Falling fast, I land again—wham!—my feet hard on the castle floor, the strobes blinding my eyes. I cough and try to blink the crowd into focus.
She holds on to my arms. I watch her lips. You okay? They’re the same lips I just saw—the same face but on another person in another world. I hang on to this beautiful girl like she’s an anchor. Where was I? Why was she there with me?
Bodies press in, crash against us, break us apart. There’s angry shouting, then fists flying. More fighting erupts as people get jostled and punches land. Holding her hand tight, I turn into the crowd, dodging fists and elbows, letting the force push us along toward the exit. Across the way, I see Germ deck a dark-haired guy in the face. The guy stumbles back before tackling Germ. Germ swings and hits a girl by accident. More people jump in to defend her. It’s insane. The place is a shit show and I can’t get close enough to help. The dark-haired guy staggers up the steps to the archway, Germ right on his tail. The crowd spills into the outer courtyard. I pull the girl close and we step into the stream of people surging toward the exit. In no time we’re pushed out into the courtyard, too.
There’s more room out here, not to mention air. People walk around dazed, blinking like they don’t know how they got here. Some continue to fight; others fall down. Across the courtyard, Germ shoves the dark-haired guy to the ground. I run toward them, my hand still holding tight to hers.
“Admit it!” Germ yells. “You set us up!”
The guy rolls to dodge Germ’s foot. “Wait!” Germ doesn’t wait. He kicks him in the side and the guy curls into a ball. Whoever he is, he’s got information, which means he won’t be of any use if he’s dead. I grab Germ’s arms and hold him back.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” He tries to wrestle free but he’s no match for me. “This asshole planned to have us killed!”
Surprised, I loosen my grip. The guy’s almost to his feet when Germ knocks him down again. He shouts, “It wasn’t us!” I catch a glimpse of his face before he holds up his hands to shield himself from another blow.
I know him.
Germ stops short. “Who was it, then?” His shoulders heave.
When he’s sure Germ isn’t going to hit him again, he pushes himself up and holds his side.
“Neil?” I step forward to get a clearer view.
“What?” He glares at me and touches his tongue to where his lip bleeds.
Neil Pratt. Palo Brea dropout. Sells drugs to people like me. In my old life.
He turns back to Germ. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t us.”
“The directive sent us to the mall,” Germ says.
“I know.” Neil wipes the blood away. “I wrote it.”
Germ clenches his fists. “But you didn’t try to blow us up.”
“You know how it works. Orders come from higher up. Friday was just supposed to be a message. Paint. That’s all.”
“Then who set off the bombs?”
Neil gives a weak smile and more blood oozes from his lip. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Germ scoffs. “It wasn’t us.”
“Yeah, well”—he touches his lip again—“it wasn’t Red December either.” He moves his tongue around in his mouth. “I think you broke my tooth.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t break your face.”
Neil sneers. “Oooh.”
The roar of engines echoes across the courtyard and someone shouts, “Raid!” Light breaks over the wall. Armed guards in riot gear storm into the courtyard.
The girl grabs my arm and pulls me away. I look back to see Germ following us toward the dark of the mountain. When we reach the wall, she climbs up and over. The stones make for easy footholds. Before I know it, I’m over, too, running after her, with Germ behind. The ground rises as we approach the foothills. She stumbles, her shoes catching on the uneven gravel, and I grab her elbow to keep her from falling. The three of us slip into an alcove in the rock. Shouts carry up the slope from the castle below. Other ravers creep up the mountain and keep going. We watch them until they’re swallowed by the night.
“Let’s follow the Bounders,” Germ whispers. “They’ll know how to get out.”
The girl pulls a phone from her pocket and dials, shielding the light of the screen. Footsteps approach. I take her hand, ready to bolt, but it isn’t a guard who finds us. It’s a skinny guy in a striped shirt and goggles.
“M,” Germ whispers, waving him over.
This is M? He ducks down and crouches beside us. When he sees the girl, he smiles.
“Jonas?” Her voice is shaky. She covers her free ear and listens, then creeps forward to peek out of the alcove. “Yeah, I see you.” She looks down the mountain. “I think so. Okay.” She hangs up and continues to watch what the rest of us can’t see. No one says anything. Finally, she motions us forward, whispering, “Come on.”
We slink across the mountain. Below, the guards load the unluckies into vans and trucks. Looks like most of the revelers escaped. Our path takes us around the side, where the brush grows thicker. The girl leads the way, looking back now and then with wide eyes to make sure we’re still with her. Soon the action is behind us.
When we get close to the flat of the foothills again, headlights blink. We break into an all-out run for the car, not stopping until we’re inside with the doors closed. The car eases forward, lights off, turning away from the castle. The locks clamp down with a heavy click. No one says a word.
The driver is an older guy, balding. Wears a button-down shirt with a tie. He looks at the three of us—me, Germ and M—in the rearview. The girl sits in the passenger seat, rubbing her hands again and again on her jeans. Who is she? What kind of girl has her own driver?
“I’m assuming we’re not heading to t
he Executive Tower?” the driver asks.
“No,” she says. “School, please.”
When the bumpy off-road becomes pavement, the driver turns the headlights on and drives on nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just picked up four outlaw kids. Everyone relaxes a little.
Until we reach the roadblock.
As the car slows, I look out the windows, thinking up an escape plan. Our odds are better if we jump out the passenger side, but none of us can outrun the bullets. I realize I’m holding my breath.
For some reason, though, when the car is almost at a stop, the guard waves us on. The driver continues forward unfazed, accelerating at a normal rate even as my brain screams for him to gun it.
The girl glances back at me, then turns around again, not saying a word.
It isn’t until we enter the school gates and we’re past security that I feel myself breathe again. “Thanks,” I whisper. Jonas doesn’t answer. The guys in the backseat are so silent it’s hard to believe they’re there. How do they know each other? I puzzle over possible connections as I watch the trees lining the drive tick by.
Jonas pulls over in front of McConnell Hall and comes around to open my door. This isn’t how I want the night to end, with so many unanswered questions. I turn in my seat to face Museum Boy.
“We keep meeting,” he whispers. “Why?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
The door opens and I start to get out. “Wait,” he says. “What’s your name?”
“Oh.” I smile. “Eevee. What’s yours?”
“Danny.”
“Mine’s Germ.” His friend sticks his hand out between us. Danny pushes him back.
“That’s an interesting name,” I say, aware of Jonas waiting at my door. “Well, good night.” I give a small wave to Warren, and a last look at Danny—hoping it really isn’t the last—then exit the car.
I don’t know what to say to Jonas except another “Thanks.” He nods and walks back around to the driver’s side. The car pulls from the curb and drives away.
When the taillights are out of view, I walk inside and take the stairs to the third floor. The hallway is so still. I try to move without making a sound as I pass my neighbors’ doors. My key slips easily into the lock. Standing silent in the dark, I feel exhaustion begin to creep in. I flip on my desk light, half expecting my room to look different.
But it doesn’t. All the safe paintings hang on the walls. My book bag and art smock lie where I left them. I exhale and sit on the edge of the bed.
Nothing has changed.
Everything has changed.
Jonas drives to another building on campus, not far from where he dropped off Eevee, and stops at the curb. Germ and I get out, followed a moment later by M. “Thanks,” he says, leaning in the passenger window. Jonas responds with a relaxed salute and drives away.
It’s got to be at least 2 a.m. We walk in silence toward the building. M punches a code into a keypad and opens the door. Halfway down the hall, there’s a staircase. We take it up three flights, our feet tapping on the concrete slabs, and make a left toward the far end of the building. His is the last room on the right.
He turns a key in the lock and holds up a hand for us to wait. The door opens a crack and there’s a beeping sound. He slips his hand through the opening five times in a specific sequence—high, low, high, middle, high—and the beeping stops. Then he pushes the door open and we follow him inside.
Under his breath, Germ says, “Dude.”
I don’t know what I was expecting. Something so amazing it needs serious security, I guess. But it’s just a dorm room. Blueprints cover the walls. Huge diagrams. Can’t tell what they’re of. Cars? Computers? A bed crouches low to the floor against the far wall. Above it hangs a framed picture of a blue phone booth. A long countertop with a built-in desk runs along the opposite side. Computer books and gaming manuals crowd the shelves above. On the desk sits a fishbowl. Everything is sleek and smooth and clean. Maybe the guy is just really paranoid someone’s going to come in and muss up his sheets.
He opens a cabinet, pulls out a brown bag and tosses it to Germ. Then he moves his goggles up onto his forehead and rubs his eyes. “Two uniforms, as requested.” He sees me staring at him, so I study a blueprint on the wall instead. The words are in another language. Looks like it’s for some kind of safe.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Germ says. M holds out his hands like it’s no big deal.
Walking over to the desk, I try to get a good look at M before leaning over the fishbowl. Beside it is a photo of a girl with braids. It’s signed MISSY, with a heart. The fish darts away when I tap the glass. I stare into the water as a memory plays out in my mind.
Sixth-grade gym class. He was the scrawniest of the scrawny kids. My buddies and I pounced on him in the locker room when he had his back turned. Kept one hand on his mouth to cover his squealing. Took his clothes and stuffed him in an empty locker. Outside there was a girl with braids. I’m guessing she was the one who ratted us out. I got suspended, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I wanted to be at school anyway.
Warren something. Can’t remember his last name. Not sure I ever knew it, actually.
I look at his face. There’s something different about him here. He’s still scrawny, but there’s something sharp about his eyes. He’s smart and he knows it. But it’s not just brains and ego.
Guts.
This Warren’s gutsy.
“Cool fish,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, even though my brain is tripping out. Why did we do that to him? I don’t even remember whose idea it was. I never really thought about it again. Until now.
“That’s Betty,” he says. “I tell her all my secrets.”
Okay. Not sure how to respond to that.
“What do we owe you?” Germ asks.
Warren—do I call him Warren or M?—crosses his arms. “Your help.”
Germ and I exchange glances. “Doing what?” he asks.
“Changing the world.”
A sound wakes me. I’m lying on the bed, my legs still dangling off the end. I don’t remember falling asleep. My clothes are dusty and my mouth feels like I’ve been eating socks. The sound comes again, a sharp bang at my window. I stumble over and pull back the curtain.
There, standing in the grass, is Danny. He waves and motions for me to come down.
This feels like a Moment. A pivot point. I have a decision to make: stay where I am, or leap into the unknown.
I leap.
“I’ll be right down,” I say, holding up my hand, knowing he can’t hear me.
My reflection in the mirror is a train wreck. Sleep lines. Mascara-smudged bags under my eyes. And I’m still wearing last night’s clothes. Not good. I quickly change and wash my face before slipping on my flip-flops and tiptoeing downstairs.
Outside, the cold air shocks my lungs. Morning tinges the horizon, but streetlights still cast pale circles on the sidewalk. My feet move quickly, silently, as my heart pounds in my ears. My eyes search the shadowed lawn. He can’t be far. There’s my window.
I see him leaning against a tree. He steps onto the sidewalk. My feet hesitate, then move faster until we’re standing face to face.
“Hi.” His hands are tucked into his pockets. His hair sticks up a bit and his eyes look tired, but he’s smiling.
None of this feels real.
“Hi.” Looking at him, I feel a sense of calm wrestling with my nervousness. “You found me.”
“I found you.”
A light blinks on in the dorm room window next to where we’re standing. “Want to walk?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking around. “Sure.”
We stroll side by side down the sidewalk along McConnell Hall. He keeps his hands in his pockets, and I keep my arms wrapped around me, but we walk close to each other and our arms brush now and then.
“So, this is where you go to school?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yeah. Do you go her
e, too?”
“I wish.” He stops suddenly and looks at me. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but he closes it again.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says, still looking at me. “I just…remembered something.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“Arcadia Tech.” He says it like a question.
“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to me that the Education Panels might have assigned him to a trade school.
When the sidewalk ends, we continue on into the grass. It’s spongy, and bits of cold dew flick onto my toes. Eucalyptuses and cottonwoods surround us, their trunks so large two people together can’t get their arms around them. I pick up a leaf and twirl the stem in my fingers. We walk slowly, like the sun isn’t rising on a new day. Like we have all the time in the world.
“So, last night…” I let the thought trail off, hanging in the space between us.
“Last night,” he says, filling that space by taking my hand.
“That was—”
“Amazing,” he says at the same time I say, “Weird.” We stop and look at each other.
“I mean…” I try to backpedal. “Totally amazing. But also…weird.”
“Oh.”
I shake my head. I’m doing this wrong. “No, I don’t mean you. Seeing you again is great. But millions of people in Phoenix and we find each other in that crowd?” I count on my fingers. “Last night. Abbot’s. The museum. Three random meetings. That’s pretty weird, don’t you think?”
“Museum?” His eyebrows furrow, then relax. “Oh. Right. Yeah, that’s weird.”
“You don’t remember?”
He doesn’t say anything, but his face is totally deer-in-the-headlights.
“Really?”
“I…It’s just…” He closes his eyes and exhales. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, maybe this will jog your memory.” I lean forward and kiss him, and it’s every bit as good as the first time.
No.
It’s better.
I jog across the lawn, still feeling her lips on mine, and find Germ sitting on a railing, waiting for me. He sees my face and rolls his eyes. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”
While You Were Gone Page 9
