Despite Yolly’s enthusiasm, only five of the nine other qualified spinners are in the room. Jack is sorting through a pile of CDs, avoiding everyone under a pair of headphones. Aidan and Raul are playing the card game War. Yuki is lying on a sofa, flipping through a dog-eared copy of Glamour magazine while simultaneously tracking the dubious hilarity of a TV sitcom. She must have been on a mission today, too, because she’s sipping from a giant mug of Center coffee.
Shannon sits on the second sofa surrounded by four of the Youngers. She’s got them all playing one of those writing games where each person adds a line to a story and then passes it on, an exercise that seems to involve more giggling than concentration. When Shannon isn’t on a mission or doing her main Center job as Amy’s nursing assistant, she tutors groups of Youngers in reading and math. I suspect half the kids fail their tests on purpose in order to spend time with her. My Center job is training the Youngers on time skills. None of them shows particular interest in spending extra time with me.
Yuki sees me come in and waves her magazine in my direction. Yuki adores clothes or, as she would call it, fashion, and can’t quite comprehend that other people don’t share her fascination. I shake my head at her and slink across the room to curl into one of the armchairs facing the TV.
“Look who’s here,” Aidan calls when I pass him. “Our very own celebrity. Think I could get your autograph later?”
Raul chuckles, which he does every time Aidan says anything even vaguely resembling a joke. I scrunch lower in the chair and pretend not to hear them.
The common room door opens and KJ walks in with Calvin. The sight of Calvin’s anxious face floods my brain with second thoughts about not telling Barnard I was sick. KJ and Calvin are almost the same height, but where KJ’s limbs are lean, Calvin has always had bulk. Lately, though, that bulk has shifted—it’s like he aged from eighteen to forty in half a year. His shoulders lost their athletic swagger and his belly ballooned into a swaying bump. When he enters the room, pushing his glasses up on his nose, he takes quick glances left and right, as if checking for attackers behind the sofas. KJ guides him over to a chair in the corner, murmuring presumably reassuring things. When Calvin opens the thick book he brought with him, KJ turns it over so it’s right side up. I bite down on one of my thumbnails. Is this what I have to look forward to?
Yolly bustles in and starts counting heads. “Everyone here? Who are we missing?”
“Angel says she’s got cramps,” Yuki says, throwing in an eye roll to underline her skepticism, “and Simon’s on dinner prep.”
“Too bad they’ll miss out,” Yolly says, picking up the remote. “We’ve got a special show today.”
The music on the sitcom grows to a crescendo. The on-screen couple kiss, prompting the studio audience into a canned awww. The credits start rolling as Yolly switches the channel.
“Coming up next,” a smooth voice announces, “a shocking bomb scare evacuates downtown Portland.” The camera pans over images of harried people being ushered out of City Hall. “Was this a random act of violence? Or something more sinister? Stay tuned for a special press conference, coming up live right here on News Six.”
The channel’s logo fills the screen and the scene cuts to a commercial.
Yuki sighs. “Do we really have to watch the news?”
“It wasn’t a real bomb,” Calvin announces. “It was all faked to raise the profile of the agents. They’re in the middle of salary negotiations, you know.”
Nobody pays him any attention. KJ, I realize, has moved away from Calvin to sit by Shannon, who slid over to make room between her and one of the Youngers. I hunch down in my seat and pick at my splinter. I forgot to ask Yolly for tweezers.
“Jack,” Yolly calls over a jingle advertising low-cost car insurance, “turn that thing off and come join us.”
I expect Jack to ignore her, or mouth off and tell her how he doesn’t care whether City Hall blows up. Instead, he snaps his headphones off with atypical obedience.
“Wouldn’t want to miss the city celebrating its amazing spinners.”
He bounds over and drags an armchair so close to mine I am doused in the cedary scent of his body wash—a grooming item he must have purchased himself, as it is not supplied by the Center’s minimal hygiene budget. Shortly after Ross dropped Jack for me, Jack suffered his first bout of time sickness. It was really mild, and he hasn’t had a second one, but he’s also only been on one mission since it happened. Jack’s current Center job is working in Barnard’s office. I guess Barnard likes him, because Jack gets more day passes than anyone else and, I suspect, more allowance. He’s always bragging about this hoodlum Norm friend of his, Javier, who supposedly taught him to drive a car and showed him how to sneak into movie theatres without paying. Given Jack’s loose relationship with the truth, I have my doubts.
“So tell me, Alex.” Jack holds his fist under my chin, imitating an overeager reporter. “Think the mayor will mention you? Give credit where credit is due?”
“Now, Jack.” Yolly pushes Yuki’s feet off the sofa so she can sit next to her. Two of the Youngers, their group story complete, wander over to curl up against Yolly’s wide hips. I notice neither Shannon nor KJ make any effort to reclaim the extra space.
“You know Dr. Barnard thinks spinners should keep a low profile,” Yolly says. “The rest of Portland is still getting used to you.”
“Yeah.” Jack’s voice drips sarcasm. “Forty years unwinding crimes in this city and people still think we’re dangerous monsters. Good strategy.”
“Steve got publicity after his rewind nailed that nightclub owner for selling drugs,” Shannon says, referring to her last boyfriend. “Remember what happened to him? Piles of hate mail and then those protesters …”
She doesn’t need to say more. We all remember. After the club owner got arrested, protestors chanted angry slogans on our steps day and night for a week. They blasted loud music, screamed at passing cars, and waved signs that said things like: Lock Up the Deviants, Time Spinners = Tax Suckers, No More CIC for the Sick. The cops only dragged them away when they started breaking things. Meanwhile, we all stumbled around so sleep deprived it was like living in a home for the undead. Steve got sick for the first time in the middle of the protest week. He died last spring.
“Half the city still thinks Steve faked the evidence.” Shannon’s voice falters. KJ puts a consoling hand on her shoulder.
“The mayor faked the evidence,” Calvin says. “The mob wanted the club owner shut down because he was working their turf.”
Jack interrupts. “A spinner puts away one popular scumbag two years ago and that makes it OK to get no credit when we stop a bomber from blowing up City Hall?”
Without thinking, I glance across the room. Jack always rants about how spinners don’t get enough respect, which KJ thinks is funny given how little Jack has ever cared about time work. Whenever Jack starts up, KJ always winks at me behind his back. Today, though, KJ isn’t paying attention. He’s still consoling Shannon, head bent to catch something she’s telling him. I look away.
“I know it’s hard for you to understand,” Yolly says. “Freezing time feels normal to you, but it’s unnerving for other people. It makes them uncomfortable to think there are things happening they don’t know about.”
“Like this, you mean?”
Jack leans forward and smiles directly at Yolly, a wolfish grin that shows too many teeth. There’s a short pause and then the freeze monitor starts beeping. Everyone looks up at the narrow screen bolted to the wall over the TV. The words Jack Whiting scroll across it in red letters.
Yolly starts. All spinners have tracker chips implanted in the back of our necks. They link to the monitors, setting off an alarm within a few seconds of the freeze. The links run through cell towers so staff can also track our location. For our own security, Yolly always reminds us.
“Jack,” Yolly says, “you know it’s against the rules to freeze time outside of training.”
“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable, Yolly? Wonder what I’ve been doing?”
Yolly’s cell phone rings—always a disconcerting event, since she set it to meow like a cat. She pulls it from her pocket.
“Hello? Yes, I’ll check.” She puts her hand over the mouthpiece. “Did he take any of you with him?” She looks at me, since I’m the one sitting closest to Jack. I shake my head.
“He froze alone,” Yolly says into the phone. “OK, I’ll tell him.” She hangs up. The freeze monitor stops beeping.
“Dr. Barnard let you off with a warning,” Yolly says. “I hope you appreciate the leniency.”
Yuki looks up from her magazine.
“Seriously?” she says. “He only gets a warning?”
Jack smirks. It’s so unfair. Ever since he started working in Barnard’s office Jack has become untouchable. The last time he got in trouble for anything was a couple months ago when he punched Raul because he insulted some band Jack loves. Even then he was just assigned to an extra dishwashing shift. Anyone else would have been scrubbing out the inside of the dumpster with a toothbrush.
I lower my voice so only Jack can hear me. “Why’d you mess with Yolly? She’s OK.”
“Yeah, if you’re five,” Jack says. “Why do you care? She’s just a Norm. And besides,” he lifts one hand and places it on my thigh, “how do you know it was Yolly I was messing with?”
I slap his hand away.
“Give it up, Jack.”
Most of the girls at the Center have had some kind of fling with Jack. Shannon says he’s cute enough to be a movie star. I don’t see the attraction. For me, cuteness is totally erased by acting like a jerk.
“Your loss.” Jack smirks. “Saving yourself for someone special?”
I turn away and pointedly face the TV.
“Hush,” Yolly calls. “The mayor’s on.”
Mayor Tully stands at a podium surrounded by microphones, her image flickering under multiple camera flashes. Behind her, Ross, McDennon, and Chief Graham stand shoulder to shoulder. The mayor adjusts her glasses and starts reading from a prepared statement, laying out the basics of the mission to the members of the press. The common room starts buzzing with sounds of inattention. Yolly might have trapped everyone in front of the TV, but she can’t make them listen.
“… crisis was averted thanks to these brave men,” the mayor sums up. “They all risked their lives today and I, for one, can’t thank them enough.” More lights flash as the mayor turns and shakes hands, first with Chief, then Ross, and finally McDennon. When she’s done, she invites Chief to the microphone and opens the floor to questions.
“Do you have a suspect?” someone asks.
“We do,” Chief says. I perk up. I hadn’t expected the police to ID our guy so soon.
“The suspect has been identified as Jason Torino, age twenty-four.” A blurry photograph of the man I saw in the rewind flashes up on the screen. His body is turned away from the camera, face creased in an expression of fierce concentration. The photo must have been taken from one of the security cameras at City Hall because he’s wearing the same dark windbreaker I saw him in earlier.
“Mr. Torino has a history of civil disobedience,” Chief says, “and has had previous encounters with police. Anyone who has information about his whereabouts is asked to call 9-1-1. Do not approach him. Please remember, he may be dangerous.”
“So young,” Yolly sighs. “What can happen to someone to make them want to do something like that?”
“I can think of a few reasons,” Jack says.
Yolly waves dismissively. “You don’t mean that.”
Calvin clears his throat. “Statistically, most terrorists are under the age of twenty-five. They tend to come from troubled homes, often suffering some form of abuse in childhood—”
“Give it a rest, Calvin,” Aidan says. Raul gives him a fist bump.
Across the room, Shannon whispers something to KJ that makes him laugh, a rich, happy sound that floats across the overcrowded room. I pick at some dirt under my fingernail and try to remember the last time KJ laughed like that at something I said. I can’t. In the courtyard KJ complained I was distracted. Am I really so caught up in catching Sikes that I’m not that fun to hang out with anymore?
A chubby reporter, holding an oversized spiral notebook, raises his hand.
“The room where the bomb was found was scheduled for a meeting to discuss the annual police budget, and the first agenda item was the Crime Investigation Center. Are the police investigating this as a possible anti-spinner hate crime?”
A lull empties the common room of sound as everyone in it turns to hear Chief’s answer. My stomach, still not completely recovered, clenches. Ross and I didn’t think of this possibility. Maybe this Torino guy doesn’t care about Sikes at all. Maybe his real target was us.
Chief puts on the blank expression that must be a requirement for any public service job.
“It’s too early to tell what the bomber’s motivations were,” he says.
“That’s a lame political answer,” Jack sneers.
“Jack,” Yolly says, “we need to show respect towards our city officers.”
“It doesn’t matter if he answers or not,” Raul says. “Now that the reporter asked the question, everyone will assume it’s true and then somehow the bombing will be our fault.”
On screen, the reporter is pushing his point.
“A recent survey showed that seventy-nine percent of the population believes spinners are mentally unstable. We’ve all heard the reports of spinners behaving erratically, even violently, especially at the end of their lives. Given the overwhelming unpopularity of spinners among most Americans, doesn’t the location of the bomb imply someone is making a political statement?”
“Instances of spinners suffering from mental illnesses are vastly overreported,” Chief says. “Spinners can do some unusual things, but at the end of the day they’re just kids.”
The chubby reporter looks unconvinced. He raises his hand to ask another question. Chief ignores him, pointing instead to the reporter sitting next to him, a young woman dressed in a tight-fitting red suit.
“I have a question for Agent Ross,” the woman says, with a smile so eager she could be posing for a toothpaste commercial. Chief grimaces, but he steps aside so Ross can join him at the microphone. The camera zooms in on Ross’s face.
“How stressful was the rewind when you found the bomb?” the reporter asks.
Ross leans against the podium, the essence of relaxed nonchalance. He’s told me that his goal is to one day be chief of police. Watching the way he projects reassurance on screen makes me believe he’d be way better at the job than Chief Graham.
“The rewind wasn’t very stressful,” he says. “I trusted my team. I had a good spinner with me and Chief assigned Mike McDennon from the bomb squad. Mike has an excellent reputation, and he certainly proved his worth today.”
“There you go, Alex,” Jack says. “You’re a good spinner. Doesn’t that make you proud?”
“She should be proud,” Yolly says. “We all know how hard the work is.”
“Yeah, right.” Jack snickers. “Calling her a good spinner makes it sound like she’s his dog.”
Yuki gives a disgusted snort, but Aidan and Raul erupt in laughter. I glare at them. If I were a dog I’d go over and bite them. Across the room, Shannon is holding KJ’s hand, whispering as she traces his palm with one finger. She and Yuki took up tarot card readings a few months ago. I suppose now Shannon’s moved on to palms.
The reporter asks Ross what the rewind was like and Ross launches into a long description. I curl back into my chair, wishing I’d chosen a seat closer to the door so I could more easily escape. It’s not like anyone will miss me. I peek over at KJ again. His dark head is bent close to Shannon’s blond one, face lit with something I doubt has anything to do with a newfound belief in the occult.
Jack leans over and whispers in my ear. “Looks lik
e endless love isn’t so endless after all.”
I snap back upright. “KJ’s not my boyfriend.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.” Jack twists his fingers together, making the knuckles crack in a quick line of pops. “Didn’t Shannon swear she’d miss Steve forever? Or was that the guy before him?”
“Shannon enjoys being in love,” I say, not quite managing to keep the snideness out of my voice.
“Unlike you. All you care about is solving crimes with your—” Jack raises both hands to make air quotes “—wonderful agent.”
“Ross is a wonderful agent. He actually values my time skills.”
“Ross only values you because you hero-worship him.”
My cheeks burn. I wish I had the guts to slug him, but I’m pretty sure Barnard wouldn’t offer me the same slack he just gave Jack.
“What’s the matter?” I taunt, instead. “Still pissed Ross dropped you for me?”
“I’m not pissed about that.” Jack sniffs. “I work with people much more important than Ross.”
My anger fades. Jack doesn’t work with important people. All he does is file and run errands for Barnard. Jack leans toward me.
“You’re so big on investigating that robber guy. Maybe you should be looking a little closer to home. Ever wonder what the great Dr. B. is really up to?”
I stare at him. He sounds as delusional as Calvin. Is Jack losing it? It happens sometimes. Jack is nineteen and it’s been over five months since he first got sick. He’s surely due for a second attack any day. Lots of people fall apart toward the end. The sickness is an ax falling in slow motion and I’m just beginning to understand exactly how terrifying it is to be standing under it.
“Jack,” I start, unsure what I want to say, when a voice on the TV grabs my attention.
“Can you address the rumor that the bomber has contacted the police?”
My head swivels back to the screen. Chief has returned to the microphone stand, making Ross again a mere background figure. Cameras are flashing like strobes. Chief squints against the media’s glare.
“I beg your pardon?”
Rewind Page 5
