by Carrie Jones
So, when Lyle says that he’s going to make the plan, it takes a tiny bit of trust on my part to let him go with this. I remember the Lyle who made the human catapult that was supposed to send me up into the trees, but it only sent me six feet off the ground, backward and into the wading pool. I remember the Lyle who thought that it would be funny to post WHAT DOES IDK MEAN? and then when people responded, I DON’T KNOW, he was all, AGH! WHY DOES NOBODY KNOW WHAT IDK MEANS? That wasn’t really a plan, though. Or how once he was trying to mess with Grayson and he Photoshopped pieces of sky out of the picture of the Boston skyline and said, BOSTON TURNS OFF SUNLIGHT FOR LOW-INCOME RESIDENTS. Grayson did not fall for that.
Those are the kinds of plans Lyle is used to creating, not the kind of plan that involves tricking the equivalent of a federal agent so that we can talk to the students that agent is training. Not the kind where you have to lie to a person’s face. Not the kind where—
“Hey!” He breaks into my thoughts, all happy-faced and alert. “Done. Let’s go.”
“What did you do?”
“I pretended I found you and locked you in the panic room, brought them down there, and locked them in. Classic old television show move. Learned it in a million places. Can’t believe they fell for it.” He’s hopping up and down he’s so excited. “I feel a bit bad about it because there’s no toilet in there. Hopefully nobody needs an early-morning pee or anything.”
“Lyle!”
“It’s not cool to have to pee in the morning and not be able to.”
“Maybe they’ll just go on the floor or something?”
“Who knows?”
There are certain things you can’t believe you’re discussing until you are in the middle of discussing them. This is true at the moment.
“So, we can just go in there and talk to the kids?” I ask, trying not to think about the poor locked-up agents in charge.
“Yep.” He’s still bouncing on his toes in a happy way. I think he’s pretty proud of himself.
“How long do we have to convince them?”
“I would say we have to convince them pretty quickly or risk not convincing them at all.”
“No. I meant until the agents get out of the panic room.”
“Oh, those guys? They’re stuck in there forever until someone pushes the button and lets them out.”
Relief fills me.
“That is awesome.” I jump up and hug him. “Lyle, you are awesome.”
“It’s my middle name, Lyle Awesome Stephenson,” he kids, but when I let go of him he’s got a super-huge smile on his face and I can tell he’s stoked. He quickly brushes some hair out of my face, his fingertips just grazing my cheek, and says, “So, let’s go.”
“Where are they?”
“In the mess hall, waiting for food.”
“Cool,” I say.
“Cool,” he repeats. “We can do this, Mana. I know we can. I’ll make everything up to you and we’ll get Seppie and we’ll all do everything together. Okay?”
For a second I believe it is possible. “Okay.”
* * *
They are all sitting in chairs at tables that are lined up in rows. Nobody looks up when we enter the room, which is all wooden inside, but warm, at least. It’s very retro camp, with long logs making up the walls, a giant fire in an immense fireplace at one end. It’s toasty and quaint and not exactly how I imagine a training camp for people who fight aliens and the government and, well … anything. It’s more like a ritzy hotel breakfast room that people who are really white-collar would hang out in to pretend they are deer hunters or something. There are giant bowls of scrambled eggs, hash brown potatoes, platters of sausage, and toast at the center of each table, along with pitchers of orange juice and water. There’s a contented buzz of conversation. None of them knows that Lyle’s basically kidnapped and abducted their instructors. All of them just think that they are special, handpicked and important, ready to be agents.
This is what I wanted to be. This is why I texted China and hounded him. This is why I felt so heartbroken when that woman denied me what I felt was my freaking birthright. Julia Bloomsbury. I don’t even want to think her name.
It seems so sweet and innocent now, so straightforward, to believe in an agency’s goodness. Nothing is ever so simple. Isn’t that why Mom and China stopped working for the government? It wasn’t simple and pure and good. Neither is the agency they work for now, the agency that is training these kids.
There are probably about fifty young adults in here, all happily eating. They look like they range in age from sixteen to thirty. They are all genders and races. It’s pretty nice, actually.
“I feel bad for interrupting their breakfast,” I whisper to Lyle.
“We’re going to need their help.”
“I know.” I swallow hard. “I feel bad because we’re going to put them in danger.”
“That’s why they are here, Mana. We all have signed up for this.”
My nerves flare up. We can never guess at what might be coming, at what we might be leading these people into. And we aren’t leaders. We are just kids or young adults or whatever it is fashionable to call us.
“Lyle.” I tug at his sleeve.
He’s already gearing himself up for a big speech, rubbing his hands together. Both he and Seppie love making speeches. Me? Not so much.
“What is it?”
“I just … I want them to know what they are getting into. I want them to have a choice.”
He stares at me blankly for a moment. “These are people at an alien-fighting training camp, Mana. Just by being here, they know what they’re getting into.”
I give a tiny shudder, imagining all the things that could go wrong. Last time, we had to rescue someone (my mother), people died.
“I just don’t want to be responsible for their deaths,” I admit. “They are … They’re young … And they have moms and dads and dogs, I bet.”
Enoch wags her tail.
Lyle does the Shatner, which is a reference we have to the first Star Trek captain, actor William Shatner. He played Captain Kirk on television when the series/franchise first began. “The Shatner” means that you face another person and grab them by the sides of their shoulders, sort of cupping that place where the shoulders meet the arms with your hands. You then talk slowly and empathically and emphatically. Lyle has not Shatnered me since eighth grade, when he insisted that I shouldn’t go to the dance with Nova Levesque because all she wanted to do was feel me up because she had a fetish for Asian girls. Lyle was right. He uses the Shatner sparingly, so I pay attention.
“We are going to use them to rescue Seppie. Seppie has been kidnapped. She is one of them, one of us. They are going to want to save one of their own.”
He pauses.
“And?” I ask.
“And you can’t feel guilty about it, Mana. Everyone dies. That’s just a fact.”
“But—”
“There’s a possibility that nobody will die. There’s a possibility this will be simple.”
“But—”
“Yes, there is a possibility that they will, but the moment we sign up for this, we realize that.”
“So you and Seppie realized that, too?” I ask. “That means—”
“It means that no matter what else we did with our lives, Dartmouth or MIT or wherever … it means that the rest of our lives would be a cover for this. Come on, Mana. You know it, too. There is no better cause, no better life purpose than saving the world and humanity.”
“You aren’t even human,” I whisper.
“Don’t remind me.” He sighs. “I’m not some self-hating alien, don’t get me wrong. But humanity with all its troubles and sicknesses is where I was raised. My heart belongs to it. I’m not going to let you and Seppie and everyone else die because some power-hungry, psychotic aliens want us gone from this world.”
I rush into his chest, overcome, and just hug him hard and true. He smells of goodness and snow, cold night a
ir and wool sweaters.
“Please don’t lie to me anymore,” I say, “even if you’re trying to protect me.”
“Even if you buy an ugly sweater?” He laughs.
“Even then,” I say.
“Deal.” His word is a whisper into my hair, soft and husky. And all of a sudden, I want to lean into him even closer, say that I want to know if we’ve taken a step closer to officially being boyfriend/girlfriend or not. His hand comes up to cup the back of my head and I think he might kiss me. I tilt my head up just in case.
“Ahem. Get a room,” someone yells.
I let go and turn around as Lyle clears his throat. Fifty or so future alien hunters stare up at us. Some have their mouths open. Some keep eating. Some have turned around to get a better look.
One particular girl who is built a bit like a wall stands up and roars in a deep throaty voice that reminds me of bullfrogs, “Little Lyley has returned! Who’d you bring, Lyle? Where’s Seppie?”
“Lyley?” I whisper.
“Shut up,” Lyle mutters back and everyone starts hooting and teasing him. He grimaces. “This is how they show their love.”
“Seriously?” I survey the crowd. Many are dressed in those drab-colored T-shirts that you expect the United States military to be wearing. Cargo pants with multiple pockets and dark running shoes are the stand out winners. Their hair is in various states of fashion and there is no uniform buzz-cut thing going on. I guess that’s so they don’t look too soldiery when they get back home.
“Will you all shut up so I can speak?” Lyle yells. He points at the wall-built girl. “Especially you, Janeice.”
I have never heard him say shut up before.
Everyone sort of quiets down and Lyle clears his throat again.
Janeice shouts, “You nervous, Lyley? You got your girlfriend here to impress.”
“Girlfriend?” I blurt.
“Well … yeah…” He looks away.
“You told them we were going out?”
“We are.”
“We’ve barely kissed, Lyle.” I say this even though inside my heart is doing happy fluttery front tucks in my chest.
“Whatever.” He coughs. His cheeks redden. “Not important now, Mana.” Raising his voice so that everyone can hear him, he shouts, “Janeice, why don’t you shut up and post a biblical quote on Tumblr or something.”
“Why don’t you go get a prison tattoo?” she shouts back.
“That’s not much of a rejoinder,” Lyle counters.
“Oh … look at Dartmouth and his big words.” The guy next to Janeice gives her a high five.
“Are you sure these people like you?” I ask. “It doesn’t seem like they like you.”
“They’re like cops or firefighters. Being mean is how they show their affection,” he explains.
“Lovely,” I mutter as he clears his throat again.
“People,” he begins. “I need your help.”
Janeice coughs.
Lyle carries on, “As you know, we have all been recruited here for one thing—to save this world for humankind. We are not here for glory. We are not here for power. We are here for the good of the entire species. And in the last twenty-four hours one of our own has been kidnapped.”
There are some gasps. I look at the crowd. Lyle has everyone’s attention.
“Seppie has been taken. I was taken, too. And we have reason to believe that Seppie is being held against her will in a facility in Maine. What I’m asking for you guys to do is join us and rescue her. When we came here, we were recruited to make a difference. When we came here, we were recruited to take care of each other and the world. When we came here, we were recruited to put our lives on the line for humanity, so that we could live without enslavement by aliens, so we could live on a planet that was safe. When we go up there to rescue Seppie, we aren’t just rescuing Seppie; we are giving each other hope. This is our first battle, people, and it’s a battle for one person, because one person matters. Every human being matters.” He pauses, looks around. “Will you help us?”
* * *
Lyle’s speech is actually pretty good and everyone is quickly on board, which seems both magical and amazing to me. Then they start hammering out questions about what is going on, and who I am exactly, and whether or not I can be 100 percent sure where Seppie is.
It is obvious to me that I need to pull out the crystal again even though I don’t want to. The alien girl said not to trust anyone. She said … But trust is important. Trust allows us to have relationships, to work together, to save the world.
“Guys, okay…” I use my loudest, most commanding voice. “I have something to show you. But we can’t talk about it outside of this room, okay?”
Janeice goes downstairs to feed the counselors locked in the room since they are going to be in there for a while, and the rest of us close all the doors and windows. This is a big deal for me, showing them this, but how can I expect them to help me save Seppie if I don’t give them the whole truth? This crystal, whatever it is, is part of the whole truth.
“It will be fine,” says a guy with slightly pointy ears and a frowning face. He smells like sausage. “We’re all right here with you.”
I appreciate that he’s trying to be nurturing even though we just met. Lyle rolls his eyes because I guess he might be having a jealous Lyle moment. I also appreciate this. But I push it all out of my head as I touch the crystal and think about Seppie.
“Show me Seppie,” I whisper and let it go. “This is how we knew she was at the YMCA in Bar Harbor.”
The crystal whirls away from me and into the center of the room. There are a couple of appreciative gasps, but not too many. These soon-to-be soldiers are used to weird stuff already, I guess.
The crystal flickers around and shows us woods. Lots of woods. Snow covers the ground between the trees, which are mostly pine and thick with boughs. There’s a dark building that’s built into the ground.
“That’s not the Mount Desert Island YMCA located on Park Street in Bar Harbor, Maine, across from the ball field,” Lyle says, sounding a bit like the automated voice on a GPS mapping app. “It looks nothing like the YMCA building we saw before.”
“It’s probably near the original location,” a girl named Abony says. Her dark hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail and she commands all four feet five inches of her body with the confidence of an athlete. She should cheer. “They’ve obviously moved her.”
Moving closer to the projection that covers the central dining room tables, I try to glean something: some detail, some characteristic.
“It’s on a hill,” I say. “It’s … There are trees everywhere.”
Nobody says duh, but they should.
I point to the right-hand edge of the image. In the distance, something reflects light. The green is more man-made than natural. “Over there.”
The crystal zooms in. There’s a street sign. Spring Street.
“Seppie,” I whisper. “Where are you?”
“Someone check and see if there is a Spring Street in Bar Harbor, Maine,” Lyle orders. I’m impressed by this new take-action, give-orders Lyle. I side-eye him. His profile is looking strong.
“There is!” Abony says, pretty triumphantly. “It’s right near that Y, too, less than a mile away.”
“Bingo!” Lyle gives me a fist bump and then slaps everyone nearby. “Road trip?”
People start clamoring and getting all excited, but I’m all like, “It isn’t showing me Seppie. I can’t actually see Seppie in there. Why is that?”
I move directly beneath the crystal as everyone else starts gathering supplies and shouting orders.
“Where is Seppie?” I demand.
The crystal whirls and shows me the front of the building and then comes back. It shows the front door and then pulls back.
I’m still demanding a real image of Seppie, the actual person, as Lyle starts barking orders and plans about our attack. Abony has pulled up the Google Earth app
lication on her computer so that they can scout out the layout of the compound and the land. It’s definitely a hill, someone says. There is a blur on the top of the Google Earth picture, though, like it’s hiding something. We zoom out and check the area: little mountains; mostly straight roads in the small town of Bar Harbor, then curving, federal government–owned roads that run through the nearby national park. I appreciate all that, but I’m still confused. Why isn’t it showing me Seppie? How do we even know she’s there? Snatching the crystal out of the air, I resist the urge to throw it against the wall. Every time I use it, it feels like a piece of me goes missing, like someone is seeing me the way I am seeing them. But this time? This time it feels the worst—like doom and destruction. I feel like I’m being used by the crystal just as much as I am using it.
Enoch rubs her nose against my shin and I crouch down while I pocket the crystal. “What is it, honey? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
She wags her tail and we make our way toward the kitchen area, which is separated from the dining room by a long counter. There are vast yellow tubs of sugar in the open wooden cabinets. A plate of bacon, cooked but uneaten, rests on the counter. I figure this is safe for dogs and drop her a couple of pieces. She wags her tail enthusiastically as some of the trainees scurry about, packing supplies into coolers.
