“What’s the date of salvation?” Eli asked.
Graham stopped the playback and smiled. “I didn’t want it to be too obvious, but I figured at least you would put it together.”
“The anniversary.”
“Uh-huh. October twenty-sixth. There’s even some assembly that morning for the whole junior class, I think. Sheep in a pen. Speaking of which, that got me thinking.”
Eli swam in his head, the outside world beyond thick glass. “Gabriel was wrong.”
“Oh, dude, I know.” Graham sat down beside him, searching on his phone. Eli moved his forearm across his lap, over the gun. “What he did to you was vile. But he’s not the only person who knows something needs to be done. All those people watching the Alpha videos online too. The only way to stop being powerless is to use power. I mean, that part makes sense, right?”
“Yeah.” A shadow by the window. Just a cat, sliding by. “But…what would you do?”
Graham’s eyes got wide. “I don’t know, I mean…” He held out his phone. “Check this out.”
Eli saw a diagram on the screen. How to Make a Pipe Bomb.
“Did Gabriel teach you how to make those?”
“He never taught me anything.”
Except the Purpose. I taught you that so well that you’ve recruited another.
“Well, that is the beauty of the modern age,” said Graham, tapping more. “You can literally get a bomb-making book on fucking Amazon. And the supplies are totally easy to find. I mean, my dad just so happens to have some of the right-sized pipes out in the shed. And I’ve gotten a couple other supplies too. We could make one of these like it was nothing.”
Not nothing. “It’s not…”
“Not that easy, I know. But we could practice in my garage.”
“No, I mean”—Eli hesitated—“you can’t just…kill people.”
Graham frowned. “You were going to.”
“I…I was trying to escape.”
“By killing a bunch of people.”
“You’d go to jail for like the rest of your life.”
“But see, that’s the same old bullshit.” Graham stood up and pointed at Eli. “Those rules only apply if you’re not the one in charge. Our leaders kill thousands a day and go unpunished. They drop bombs and poison water and enslave workers. It’s all a scam, and there’s no bigger symbol of it than school. Honestly, the world would be better off if it were more like my story, but since there’s no alien race coming, we have to take charge ourselves. Besides, you only go to jail if they catch you.”
“I don’t know,” said Eli. What could he say? “There are problems. But also the world is kinda—”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me!”
“It’s beautiful,” Eli mumbled. “Sort of.”
“Pffw.” Graham rolled his eyes. “Says the one who got raped in a red room for three years. Who told you that, your girlfriend?”
I—
“This world is cruel, and lonely, and toxic.” Graham’s face darkened. “Some part of you must have wanted to do it. When you were walking into that mall, with all those soulless zombies around you. You must have felt powerful.”
Had he? “I think I was scared.” But the gun was power. He felt that now.
“Well, of course you were scared. Fear is a sign that you’re doing something brave. And you were about to sacrifice yourself. But that’s the thing: what if you didn’t have to die, or even get caught? Can you just imagine it? One well-placed explosion and we wouldn’t have to go to school. We’d have our days to ourselves. And if we did it right, others would be emboldened, like copycat attacks. It could change everything. Revolutions always start with a single act. The shot heard round the world.”
The sheep are begging for it.
Eli shifted. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
Graham looked straight at him. “Do you want me to be?”
Yes, you do. Life has sucked this last year. You’re broken. The only thing you’ve ever been good at is the Purpose. Look how you followed it without even knowing it, and it led you right here. Now is your chance to finish what we started. Before I come back and make you.
Shut up. No.
The outline of the gun.
Graham slapped Eli’s shoulder, making him flinch. “Okay, I get it, sorry. I fried your brain. Look, relax. Let’s just call it wishful thinking for now. Just an idea randomly shared between two friends on a Monday afternoon, one of whom happens to be an infamous online revolutionary and the other a former soldier.”
It was MY fault that trigger didn’t work. You were perfect and you can be again.
SHUT UP. FUCK YOU.
Graham chugged the rest of his Coke. “Want to play Colony 17?”
“Sure.” Eli could barely breathe.
Graham ducked out and returned with a second Coke. Got the rum bottle. “Want some Captain for courage?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t even open your soda.” He grabbed it from the couch beside Eli and spiked it.
They played with the volume at max, shrouded in explosions and screams and gunfire. Eli managed to sink into the game now and then—the rum helped—and two hours passed and it was time to go.
“Gotta use the bathroom again,” Eli said as they walked upstairs. He brought his backpack with him and transferred the gun, sliding it between his books.
“I totally forgot something I had to tell you,” said Graham as Eli reached the front door. “Sideshow Fantasy is playing Friday night down at the Crocodile! It’s all ages. My dad said he would take us. Can you go? It would be amazing and also kinda perfect, because the music is like the soundtrack to what we talked about.”
Eli stared at the ground. Friday night. Don’t tell him….“I can’t. I already told Maya I’d go to her jazz concert.”
Graham looked at him for a second, then turned away and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, sure. Forget it.”
“Will they come around again?”
Graham shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re not on tour all the time. This is like a once-in-a-lifetime chance and it was supposed to be our thing, but I guess I was wrong about that.”
“No, I like them. It sounds fun, I—”
“It’s cool. I just showed you, like, this huge, special thing, but, hey, blows before bros, I get it.” Graham started down the hallway, head hung.
“I’m sorry,” said Eli. “I didn’t think—”
“Whatever, man.”
“Hey, are you really going to post that video?”
Graham paused. “Why? You gonna rat on me if I do?”
“What? No. I wouldn’t….”
“See you later.” He disappeared down the stairs without looking back.
Eli stood there, his mind blank. He felt blindsided by everything. What had he just done? Why didn’t he ever know what to expect?
The officers’ car idled at the curb. Eli walked stiffly toward it. He slid into the backseat, his backpack in his lap, breath held until they pulled away.
On the way home, he found a message from Maya: Heading out to dinner with Dad. I’ll write later!
Eli messaged Graham: I’m sorry about the concert.
No response.
A mile later, he realized the tiny roll of paper from Maya was missing from his finger. He checked his pockets, the seat around him, the floor. Gone. If Graham found it, he’d be even more pissed.
Everything felt like too much! But maybe now a little less. Eli rubbed his hand over the backpack, feeling the faint outline of the gun. Better than a good-luck note. Now he could keep them both safe, for real.
October 19
A polished wooden floor. An edge of burgundy curtain.
The brushst
rokes of red and blue and green lights fanned across the gleaming cymbals and pearlescent finish. The architecture of drums arranged on a frayed oriental rug. Two rows of black folding chairs. Music stands with papers clipped.
The river babble of a crowd, the red seats filling up.
Maya stood just behind the open curtain. Sticks in one hand. The other—
Get back here! Her hand skittered away from her French braid, which hung from beneath her black hat. Ms. Reid had frowned at the hat but allowed it. Maya pressed her hand against her black wool skirt, itchy even through white stockings. Tucked-in white shirt also uncomfortable, the seams digging into her armpits. Black tie too tight at her collar.
Her stomach tingled with adrenaline. Head ballooning. This isn’t exploding. This is just nerves. More than a year since she’d been on a stage. She studied the drum set. Everything was set up just like she liked it. She slipped a coiled scrap of paper from her index finger. Eli had left it today:
YOU GOT THIS!! :)
Made her smile. But there were a lot of people out there. A lot of people who would see her, hear her, no hiding, no excuses. A lot of people who knew what her hat was hiding. She’d managed to never respond to Janice’s post. Managed to survive a week of smirks and snickers in hallways. This was her chance to reply.
Dad was ten rows back with Kendall, who wore a low-cut shirt like they were at a Belltown club. Mom was in the third row with an empty seat beside her.
Maybe Eli had trouble getting here. Maybe something had gone wrong.
“Ready?” Trevor appeared beside her.
“I think so. You?”
Trevor swallowed hard. “Uh-huh.” He wore a similar white and black outfit, his hair slicked back, making him look like his own younger brother. He’d shaved but left a mustache so questionable it almost crossed over to rebellious. “You’ll be awesome,” he said. “You’ve been so good in practice.”
“Thanks. You’ll do great too.”
Trevor peered around the curtain and sighed. “Lot of people came.”
Maya leaned into him and looked too. Didn’t mind how Trevor sort of stiffened as her shoulder brushed against his. Nor his millisecond glance at her chest—Settle down, Trevor—and yet it wasn’t terrible, knowing there was interest.
But still no Eli. She should text him—
“Showtime.” Trevor gave her shoulder the world’s most desperately tentative pat.
She tried to muster a smile as the rest of the band filed past them onto the stage.
Maya waited until Jory passed, carrying his bass. Followed him out, Trevor behind her. Applause crescendoed, then died away as they sat down. She placed her feet on the pedals, double-checked her seat height and distance. Her stomach knotted. All those eyes. How many of them knew who she was, for good reasons, bad reasons, both?
The seat beside Mom was still empty.
Three…two…one…
She uncurled Eli’s note, read it again, and slipped it into her stick bag, which hung from the floor tom. Put her sticks under her arm, checked to make sure the snares were on. Reached around and twisted the knobs on the hi-hat, the ride cymbal stand, the legs of the floor tom. Took the shiny drum key from its perch on the music stand and tapped lightly around the edges of the snare. Tightened two lugs. Everything ready.
Sweat on her neck…that braid had to go. A chain saw, a steak knife. Her skin revolting at wool, at stockings, at the constricting pull of her shirt. She should have taken Serenitab, found some vodka—but no. All week she’d been taking less, and not drinking at all.
She was going to be here. Be this. No distractions.
Metallic tapping. Ms. Reid hitting her music stand with her baton. She started to swing her arms. Maya moved her head to the tempo, muscles tensing, checked the audience one more time as the houselights dimmed—
Eli coming down the aisle, sliding into the seat by her mom. Maya smiled at him. Could he see it?
He held a hand up just in front of him, a little wave.
Ms. Reid was counting: “Five-six-seven-eight—”
Maya gathered the bugs and the white energy in one deep breath—
Bap-BAM!
She lashed out and tagged the eighth-note hits at the top of the tune so loud, so hard, so THERE that she rushed the beat and Jory flinched and Ms. Reid’s eyes darted back to her.
It’s okay, I got it—Maya closed her eyes, reining it in and relaxing against the quarter note, her arm swinging and tapping the cymbal, her foot bounding bass-drum beats like carefree hops across a meadow. The song flowed, and she dipped and dived, slapped accents that echoed to the rafters, sneaked through quiet sections, rumbled crescendos that shook the whole stage, and she was sweating all over and she could she could she could.
To be the moment. That’s what music was. To feel something that was just now, like sitting in a waterfall as it poured over you, or maybe more like being a fish in that flow.
The list she could make for Eli right now: bass thud, snare head sizzle, slap of horn stabs, ache of calf muscle, the daring tumble of a drum fill over the bar. But she had to concentrate: bobbing her head, the count a quiet whisper at her lips. And for moments, and then minutes, she was an explosion carefully released, like a star. She played and smiled at the applause and no one blew up and she nailed it.
“You sounded really good,” said Eli after. He met her in the aisle after she’d gotten hugs from her dad and Kendall. They’d brought her flowers—she’d noticed Mom noticing—and had already left. Her plan with Eli was to talk in the parking lot, but Maya paused anyway. Everyone was either filing out or grouping around the other players, taking pictures.
“Thanks,” she said. “It went pretty well. Can you still hang out?”
Eli nodded, secret-agent-style. “Where should we go?”
“I was thinking—” Maya flinched. Had something just tapped her on the head? She looked up, but there was only the distant ceiling. Nobody nearby either. Down at the floor…lots of feet busying around and she didn’t see anything.
“Did something just hit you?” Eli asked.
“It felt like it.”
Eli peered up at the ceiling. “We should go outside. Do you want to go to Molly Moon’s?”
“That’s where the band kids are going.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I had another idea anyway. Let me finish packing the drums and then meet me by our car, okay? Just follow my mom.”
“Okay.” Eli looked at the ceiling again, his brow wrinkling.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. I’ll be outside.”
* * *
***
“So what did you think of the concert?” Maya asked as they drove across the city.
“It was pretty interesting,” said Eli. “I’ve never listened to that kind of music before.”
“But did you like it?”
“It didn’t really have a beat, but it was cool.”
“Of course it had a beat, just not, like, a beat.” She made a little dance motion. “Here: go like this.” She tapped her fingers against the seat between them. “This is the basic swing pattern. Ding ding-da-ding ding-da-ding. Try it, just with one hand.” Maya took his hand and moved it with hers. “Like this. Got it?”
“I think so.”
“Now stomp your foot on each quarter note. Like this.” Eli copied her. “That’s basically it. Keep doing that.” Maya started improvising snare beats on her leg. Eli kept the beat going for twenty seconds before it fell apart. “Yeah, like that! Not bad.”
Eli slid his hands back into his sweatshirt. “I’ll work on it.”
“Come on, try again now.” Maya reached for his wrist, just inside his sweatshirt pocket—
Eli jerked his hand out, brushing her away. “Let’s try it another time.”
>
Maya recoiled. “Everything okay?”
“It’s been a weird week.”
“Weird like you want to tell me?”
Eli stared at the back of the seat in front of him, his lips moving like he was going to say something. “It’s your night,” he said. “It’s stuff I can tell you another time.”
“You sure?”
Eli nodded.
“Okay, well, I think you’re going to like where we’re going.” Maya grinned at him, but he just looked out the window.
Why had he brushed her hand away like that? Maybe he thinks you’re trying to make it a date. Was she? She didn’t think so. At least not in a romantic way. But maybe more than a friend date?
He might not be able to be what you want him to be.
She tore a thin strip of cuticle from her index finger. Ugh, just chill! But also Eli was still looking away, so she popped it in her mouth.
Her mom pulled to the curb a few quiet minutes later. “When should I pick you up?” she asked.
“It lasts like an hour,” said Maya. “But I thought maybe we’d get gelato after? It’s right around the corner.”
“How about if I go to Elliott Bay and get you at ten, right back here?”
“Thanks, Mom.” She should probably remember this moment of Mom coolness the next time she was annoyed.
They got out of the car on a street lined with gnarled old trees, their giant yellow leaves papering the sidewalks. Capitol Hill was one of the older parts of Seattle, big houses with sagging roofs. The night air was cool, blue-tasting, with that dry smell of decay. The highway hummed from down the hill.
Before them was a giant old cathedral unlike any other in town: no spires, ornate carvings, or gargoyles, just a great stone square, broad and heavy, illuminated in yellow lights.
“Cool, right?” said Maya.
“What is it?”
“St. Mark’s Cathedral. They do this monk singing every week. Renee has been telling me to come for a while. Have you ever heard them?”
Eli just shook his head. Was he still mad, or whatever that had been in the car? She had a feeling like she had no idea where he was. Maybe this was what Melissa had been talking about.
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