by Tim Floreen
Nico continued stroking my hair at that same steady pace. “Keep going.”
I swallowed. The constriction in my throat had loosened a little. The words were coming more easily now. “So one night, a little more than two years ago, I decided to do it for real. School started in three weeks. It was going to be my first year at Inverness Prep. The presidential election was just a few months away. I gave my Secret Service detail the slip for the first time that night—went to a movie by myself, sneaked out through a side exit, walked the mile or so to the Arlington Memorial Bridge. It’s pretty high up. I’d found myself staring down from there before. But this time I did more than stare. I waited until all the foot traffic had passed, and then I climbed onto the stone railing and swung my legs over the side.”
Staring at the black curtain, I could still picture it: the river far below, the city lights glittering on the water like stars, so jumping would feel like launching myself into outer space.
“My plan was to make it look like an accident,” I said. “I hadn’t left a note. I’d sit there on the railing and lean out over the river, pretending I was trying to get a better look at the water. Then I’d slip. That way, my dad wouldn’t have to deal with the scandal of a son who’d killed himself. I’d even convinced myself my death would give him a sympathy boost and help him win the presidency. My heart must’ve been pounding, because Gremlin started purring in my pocket. I pulled him out of my hoodie and set him on the railing and told him good-bye. I remember he kept trying to crawl back up my arm and I kept putting him back on the railing. It seemed wrong to take him with me for some reason. Finally I got him to stay. And then, without even really deciding to, I slid off the railing and fell.”
Nico’s hand paused. “What happened?”
“Well, I didn’t die. I never got to experience that feeling of freedom I’d imagined, because a half second after I jumped, my body jerked, and I wasn’t falling anymore. My hoodie had caught on a bolt sticking out from the side of the bridge. Needless to say, I felt pretty stupid. And what made it even worse was the tourist boat passing under the bridge at that very moment, with a crowd of tourists on the deck looking up and pointing and taking pictures. I was only a few blocks away from the Capitol and the White House, so I knew the area must be swarming with police and military too. I figured I had only a few seconds before a SWAT team swooped down on me.
“I started squirming and flailing, trying to climb back onto the bridge, but I couldn’t find anything to grab on to. I tugged at my zipper, but it was jammed, so I couldn’t even go through with killing myself—which I didn’t really want to do anymore, because by then the impulse had sort of passed. In the meantime, big crowds had gathered on both sides of the river, and a swarm of pucks and cameras was hovering around me. I probably only hung there a few minutes, but it felt like a year. Then a bunch of police showed up with sirens blaring and rescued me. They asked me what the hell happened. I mumbled my lie about wanting to get a better look at the water and accidentally falling. I could tell they didn’t believe me—which made me realize how dumb my plan had been in the first place—but they didn’t challenge me either. I gave the same explanation to Trumbull when he showed up, and then to my dad when I got home, and I got the same reaction from them.”
Another image seemed to superimpose itself on the black curtain in front of me: Dad. The horizontal line of his mouth. The vertical line between his eyebrows.
“The next morning the story was all over the Supernet. The more upstanding news sites stuck to the official version—that I’d fallen accidentally, just like I’d claimed—but lots of the trashier ones said I’d tried to kill myself. I’d had a reputation for being quiet and gloomy ever since my mom’s death, and the suicide theory fit right in with that. The gossip sites started calling me Leap Fisher. Saying I had mental problems. Totally bashing me. Just take a look. You’ll see.”
“But why would they bash you for trying to kill yourself?”
“Why do you think? Human Values. Remember I told you they’re big believers in free will, and the idea that we can choose exactly what kind of people we become, and that’s why they’re against being gay? It turns out they feel the same way about going psycho and jumping off a bridge.”
“That’s crazy!”
The outrage in Nico’s voice made me want to kiss him even more than usual. He hauled himself onto his elbows. I sat up too.
“What about your dad?” he asked. “What did he say during all this? He must’ve suspected what really happened on that bridge, the same way everyone else did.”
“Sure, but like I told you, he hates talking about that kind of thing. About a week after my big jump, he sat me down and told me he knew times had been hard since losing Mom, and even more so now, with the presidential campaign under way, and he just wanted to know if I needed help of any kind. That was how he put it. Without ever once mentioning the bridge. The whole conversation was excruciating. I’m not even sure what kind of help he meant, since I know he doesn’t believe in therapy, and anyway, he would’ve been terrified that news of me seeing a shrink would get back to the press. I said no, I was fine. He looked so relieved when I said that. He told me things would get better once I started at Inverness. The structure and discipline would help. That’s his answer for everything: structure and discipline.
“So I arrived at Inverness Prep, and guess what happened my very first day.”
“The Freshman Stand.”
“The upperclassmen forced me onto the wall and wouldn’t let me down. They chanted that nickname, Leap, over and over. By then I felt completely freaked by what I’d almost done three weeks earlier. I imagined there was a bug in my programming—something inside my brain, but out of my control—that could make me act not like me. Standing on that wall, I broke out in a cold sweat. I couldn’t breathe. My whole body shook. Like I said, it wasn’t that I was scared of the drop exactly. I was scared of what I might do. In a way, the Freshman Stand rattled me even more than jumping off the bridge.
“Ever since then, I have that same reaction when I’m in a high place. I panic. And I still hear those voices in my head: Leap. Leap. Leap.”
The thought of the voices chilled me even now. I felt an urge to press myself against Nico’s chest again and soak in his warmth.
“But there’s a happy ending to the story,” I said, “for my dad at least.”
“What’s that?”
“His numbers slipped after my jump, but then there was that attack on the New York Subway, and everybody got scared about Charlotte again, so my dad still clinched the election.”
“You really think that’s all he cared about? The election?”
“Doesn’t it seem like that to you? Look at what he did when my mom got killed—rode her death all the way to the White House. Now he’s trying to create a world where robots don’t exist and all women are housewives, even though that’s exactly what she would’ve hated.”
“He’s trying to create a world where she’d still be alive, Lee. He’s just dealing with her death in a different way than you are. You love machines because she loved them. He hates machines because a machine killed her. That doesn’t mean he misses her any less than you do. And who knows, maybe he really did think coming here would help you feel better.”
“Stop trying to understand him like he’s a character in one of your plays,” I grumbled.
Nico lay back down, pulling me with him. He started stroking my hair again.
My eyes went back to the curtain. It was a deep, deep black, like the chasm we’d stood next to yesterday. “I looked it up on the Supernet,” I said, “and I’m pretty sure I’m depressed. I have most of the symptoms. I think I have been for years.” I stared at the curtain and waited for him to tell me he really liked me as a friend, but he had a strict policy against dating depressed people. When he didn’t say anything, I let out a lame laugh. “Do I have you completely terrified yet?”
“Not even close.”
“You
should be. Nico, I’m the son of a homophobic president, a closet case, and depressed.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Actually, I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘melancholy.’ ”
18
I could’ve stayed there with Nico for hours, just the two of us on our own secret tropical island, but I knew the longer we stayed, the more we risked Ray catching on to Nico’s trick. After a few more minutes we shook out Nico’s towel, switched off the sun, and made our way back into the gloom of Inverness Prep.
When we got to the third-floor corridor, I peeked around the corner to check on Ray. He stood right where we’d last seen him, outside Nico’s door. It looked like he’d fallen asleep standing up—something I’d seen him do a couple of times before. We returned to the boys’ washroom—deserted this time—and peered out through the shower stall window. Outside, the downpour continued.
“We’ll be soaked by the time we get back to your room,” I said. “What’s Ray going to say when he sees me?”
“I have towels we can use to dry off. You can borrow some of my clothes.”
I liked the idea of wearing Nico’s clothes. I imagined they’d carry some of his warmth with them.
“On the other hand,” Nico said, “climbing back won’t be easy. Are you sure you’re up for this? We can try to think of something else, Lee.”
I shook my head. “No way. Climbing over here—it was scary, but it felt good, too. Like I’d really done something, you know?” I slid open the window. “Let’s go.”
We couldn’t use our pucks to light our way this time—they couldn’t fly reliably in rain this heavy—so we stuffed them into our pockets. We could still see by the school’s exterior lights, although not as well. Nico crawled onto the branch. I scrabbled after him. My glasses filmed over with rain right away. I yanked them off and stowed them in my hoodie. Without them, everything farther than a few feet away became a blur, but at least I could make out the branch in front of me well enough. A gust of wind bustled through the tree. The limb underneath me shifted and tossed like a boat on rough water. My stomach dropped out of my body. Why had I insisted on doing this again?
“You okay?” Nico yelled.
I nodded. We made our way toward the trunk. The rain hissed down through the branches even harder now. I forced myself to keep my eyes on the tree limb in front of me and copy Nico’s movements, like I had before. That helped.
Then something appeared in my peripheral vision: a black shape, moving fast, straight at me. Along with that, a rushing sound, like the rain but louder. The thing rammed into my shoulder. I lost my balance and toppled forward, my chest and chin smashing against the rough, wet bark, my teeth clacking together. I flung my arms around the branch so I didn’t slide off.
“You all right? What was that?”
Whatever it was had vanished. A falling tree branch? A bat? Or else . . . I didn’t even want to think it.
“I don’t know,” I shouted. I pushed myself up again. “But I’m okay.”
“We’re almost to the trunk. Let’s keep moving.”
It came at me again, from the other direction. Black, silky wings. Beady, glinting eyes. Nevermore. An image flashed through my mind: the watch Stroud had given me, sitting in my nightstand drawer. But I wouldn’t have had time to use it anyway, because the next instant the raven cannoned into me. My fingers fumbled for something to hold on to. The slimy bark crumbled underneath them. I pitched to one side and fell.
“Lee!” Nico roared.
Another branch a few feet below caught me, slamming me in the belly and knocking the air out of my lungs. My body curled around it, but the thin branch couldn’t support my weight. It snapped with a loud crack and collapsed. It didn’t detach from the tree, though. I managed to hold on with both hands, feet kicking, fingers already slipping.
“Hang on, Lee!”
Nevermore had disappeared into the blackness again, but the sound of her wings pounded through the pulse of the rain. I tried to claw my way up the branch, but I only ended up slipping farther down. My fingers burned. My arms ached.
“I’m coming!”
A blurry shape appeared above me, straining to reach me with one blurry hand.
Nevermore got to me first. This time she stayed on me, her talons digging into my chest, piercing my skin. I shook my head from side to side—the best I could do since I couldn’t knock her away with my hands—but she didn’t budge.
“I’ve almost got you!” Nico shouted.
Nevermore’s sharp beak drove into my shoulder. Pain knifed through my body. The branch slid through my fingers.
But I didn’t fall. Something else barreled into me, something warm and strong. Nevermore disappeared. My face buried itself in wet, curly hair that smelled like rain and coconuts. Holding me tight with one arm, Nico bounced back and forth between the stone wall of the school and the trunk of the bare, black tree until he landed with a jolt on the grass. It all happened too fast for my brain to keep up.
“How did you—?”
Without waiting for me to finish, he tipped me against the tree and whirled away, his hair spraying raindrops. Nevermore was coming back: I still couldn’t see her without my glasses, but I could hear the relentless pounding of her wings. Nico launched himself into the air. He must’ve jumped at least ten feet. When his flip-flops smacked the ground again, he had the raven in his hands. For a second he crouched like a wolf over its dinner. Then he spun around and smashed the robot against the wall three times. Her outspread wings went limp. He dropped her to the ground. She released a few pops and crackles. Her wet feathers twitched.
All the strength drained from my legs. I sagged to the ground, my back still propped against the trunk. “How did you do that?” I finished, my voice shrunk to a whisper.
“I don’t know,” he panted. “Adrenaline, I guess.”
“You jumped ten feet in the air, Nico.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I saw.”
“You don’t have your glasses on. Maybe you saw wrong.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe all the excitement had left me confused. My brain felt sluggish, like an overloaded computer. Nico made some other excuse, but I stopped listening, because at that point I realized something else wasn’t right. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding yet, but I couldn’t feel the familiar purr that should’ve been coming from my hoodie pocket. I reached inside, and my fingers closed around Gremlin’s body. It felt heavier than usual. I grabbed my glasses from my hoodie’s other pocket. Those had somehow survived the fall. I wiped them on my hoodie sleeve and put them on. The downpour had slackened by then, so the lenses didn’t immediately film over. In my palm, Gremlin lay on his back, his damp orange fur clinging to him, his head lolling to one side, his torso crushed.
“It’s okay, Lee. We can fix him.” Nico squatted next to me and reached for Gremlin. A bright red gash sliced across his right palm.
“Nico, you hurt your—”
I stopped. Inside the cut, something glinted in the low light.
He glanced down and then started to snatch his hand away, but I’d already grabbed his wrist. Our eyes met. He twisted his hand against my grip. “Please don’t, Lee.”
But I didn’t let go. His eyes held mine a second longer, pleading, and then dropped to the ground. His arm relaxed. I pulled his hand closer.
The gash extended diagonally across Nico’s palm, from the base of the index finger all the way to the wrist. Blood oozed from the wound, mixing with the rain that continued to fall.
“Look at that. Right along the life line.” He laughed, but it sounded flat and joyless, like no laugh I’d ever heard from him before.
Still holding his wrist with one hand, I put Gremlin back in my pocket and tugged the cut further open. Nico winced but didn’t resist. Inside, his hand looked a lot like the innards of Nevermore: a rubbery, translucent material where the muscle of his thumb should’ve been, attached to a slender bone made of some bronze-colored metal
alloy. My hands started to shake. My body felt empty, hollowed out. I let go of his wrist and slumped against the tree.
“You’re not real,” I whispered. “You’re a robot.”
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his yellow windbreaker, his broad shoulders hunched, his wet hair twisting down his forehead. “I am real. And I’m a robot.”
“A 2B?”
He nodded.
I heaved myself back to my feet, still clutching the trunk for balance. My hands hadn’t stopped trembling. My breathing had grown shaky too. It was like the rest of my body already understood something my brain hadn’t finished computing yet.
“I wasn’t sent here to do you harm.”
I just shook my head. No words would come.
“Let me explain, Lee.”
He took a step toward me, reaching out again with his injured hand, and an image flared in my head: Charlotte grabbing Mom and snapping her neck. “Don’t touch me,” I snarled. I lunged away from him and took off running across the muddy lawn, throwing glances over my shoulder, half expecting him to chase me down. But he just stood there watching me go.
My feet pounded down the steps to the canal. Hands still shaking, I picked the lock to the gate. It took me about three times longer than usual. Once I’d made it underneath the school and pulled the gate shut behind me, I slowed down. The thunder of the river bouncing off the stone walls seemed to match the roaring chaos inside my head. I slouched sideways against the wall, slid to the floor, and pressed my head against the damp stone, feeling the vibration of the school in my skull. I stayed like that for a while, not thinking, just letting the flood of despair and confusion and anger boil and churn through me.
When I got back to my room, I dragged off my wet clothes, pausing only to draw Gremlin from my hoodie pocket and set him on the nightstand. Once I’d pulled on a dry T-shirt and boxers, I made a voice call to Ray on my puck. He sounded groggy when he answered. “Lee? What is it, buddy?”
