“No, I really can’t.” He raises his head, breathing as though a heart attack is imminent. “Please finish. It’ll be worse for me if you don’t.”
I look toward the inner gate and see Indy waving her arms.
“Please,” he says.
I sprint for the gate, guilt in every step. I don’t know him well, but I wanted him to finish. I wanted Roger to be wrong. I reach Indy with seven seconds to spare and watch Casper limp the rest of the way. My own knee, the one that collided with the sled, isn’t feeling too spry at the moment. I was joking when I told Brother David I had a bum knee, but now I’m not so sure.
When Casper arrives, Kate hugs him to her side. “That was your best time yet. A little more practice and you’re there.”
Casper picks up his sword and leaves with his head lowered. I glare at Roger, who turns away, likely because he knows if he makes eye contact, I’ll punch him in his face. My anger flares so hot and bright that I leave for the court garden to calm down. A shadow approaches and then Eric’s hand rests on my sweaty back. “You’re limping.”
“My knee hurts a little,” I say.
“It probably needs more time to heal. It wasn’t that long ago you hurt it.”
It feels like a year ago. I stare at the planter by my feet, where ten seedlings grow. If I look at Eric, I’ll cry. The Big Cry is tapping on the inside of its compartment, reminding me that not all ends well, no matter how sincerely you want it to.
After a minute, he asks, “Do you know why I love you?”
“Because you’re dumb?”
“Maybe. But I thought it was because you’re the person who’s willing to lose to help someone else win.”
I shiver, my sweat cooling in the brisk April air. Eric sets my jacket on my shoulders. “C’mon, it’s lunchtime. And after, I have a cigarette with your name on it.”
We pile into the café toward the end of our scheduled lunch hour. Sometimes there are packaged goods you can take home as snacks, if they’ve run into a surplus or they’re expired. Expiration dates don’t mean that much, though, and I always choose the packaged thing and stick it in my messenger bag. Today, it’s dried seaweed. I’ll eat it if I’m starving, which is why I choose the packaged thing to begin with. Eric does the same, though he holds it between two fingers like it’ll leap into his mouth of its own accord.
I stick his in my messenger bag, then nod thanks at the server behind the counter. He hands me a steaming plate of rice and beans. Just what I want when I’m sweaty and angry. We take our places at the table, chatting and talking about Qualifying, while I make sure Casper isn’t within hearing range.
Paul lifts his fork to dig into his meal, which is another version of quinoa salad—they must’ve looted a quinoa factory. He chews his bite and grimaces. “What the hell am I eating right now?”
“Quinoa,” Indy says. “Where have you been the past ten years?”
“Eating real food.” He huffs at the sight of my plate of rice and beans. “How’d you get that?”
“I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Trade me.”
I cover my plate with my hand. Beans and rice may get old, but I’ll take it over quinoa any day. “No way. You get what you get, and you don’t get upset. Enjoy your quinoa.”
Rissa pushes her plate forward. “I’ll trade.”
“Yeah?” Paul switches their plates. “Thanks.”
“No big deal. I like quinoa.” Rissa takes a bite and asks Indy, “Did you make this? It’s yummy. It tastes like that one you made once.”
Indy shrugs, though she’s pleased. “I gave them the recipe. It’s simple.”
“Indy can cook anything,” Paul says. “Her quinoa sucks, but everything else is great.”
Indy widens her eyes in mock astonishment. “Paul, that was almost a compliment.”
“It was a compliment. I like your food.”
Paul smiles—and not just any smile, the Pleasant Paul smile that isn’t remotely sardonic, though he’s still that square-jawed firefighter who appears ready to punch someone at any moment. Sometimes I marvel that he and outdoorsy, laid-back Eric are best friends. But maybe it’s not so surprising—for all their differences, they’re both funny, and strong, and incredibly good people. Paul just likes to pretend he isn’t.
He catches me staring. “What’re you looking at, Rossi?”
“Your positive attitude is scaring me.”
“I’m serious. Remember the pasta with broccoli she made?”
I nod, pushing away the memory of how Grace almost fainted when I willingly ate the cheesy garlicky broccoli. “But my favorite was my Twinkie cake.”
“Of course it was,” Indy says.
A guy at a nearby table, maybe a few years younger than me, flashes a tentative don’t we know each other? smile. I pretend I didn’t see and slouch in my seat. He looks familiar, but I’m sure we don’t know each other, and the conversation where we spend fifteen minutes figuring that out is not one in which I want to participate. Not ever, and especially not now.
Rissa and April are flushed with excitement. “When do we get to leave?” Rissa asks.
“We need new things,” April says. “I want to go shopping in the city.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Micah says. “You can only keep a portion of what you find for yourself. Do you really think you’re ready to go out there?”
April folds her arms and nods. Rissa bites her lip uncertainly. “Maybe just a short trip first. Like, around the block?”
Micah’s head moves up and down in approval like a teacher who’s proud a student passed his test. Rissa wears the glow of the teacher’s pet. April rolls her eyes at Harold and Lucky.
“You should, though,” Harold says. “You went out once at Sunset Park.”
“Twice,” April says.
“I’ll go with you. I’m sore from today. I need practice.” He gestures at his leg. “I know you can probably do it, but don’t be stupid about it.”
April begins a retort when a voice cuts in with, “Sylvie? Sylvie Rossi?” It’s the guy from that table. He runs his fingers through his brown hair, then points to his chest. “I’m Coby. Maybe you don’t remember me.”
My face flames under the stares of my tablemates. I rack my brain for a clue while I pray to God I didn’t take him home from a bar one night. He’s cute in a Corporate America way, which is never my type, but maybe he was particularly cute and noncorporate that night. I shake my head, mouth closed.
“I don’t know why you would,” he says. “I worked at Blaze, but I wasn’t there that long before…this. I helped with the Essentials launch.”
I dredge up the memory of a kid named Coby who treated me like a rock star, trying to give me food and drinks when all I wanted was to finish up and quit my job. “Volcanic water and Caesar salad,” I say, which is what he wanted to feed me.
“Tap water and gummy bears. You do remember!” He smiles so wide his molars are visible and turns to the rest of the table. “Sylvie was really nice, not like some of the others I worked with.”
“The other what—” Eric says, and I cut him off with, “Coby, it’s so good to see you. How’d you get here?”
Everyone politely listens to his story of survival, though Indy shifts in her seat and Eric’s legs bounce under the table. I’ve blocked his every attempt to get more information about my job, and he knows this is his chance; he practically rubs his hands together.
Coby’s story winds down. I could put it off, but they’ll only get it out of him another time. Better to hear what he says. “I’m glad you’re well,” I say, then go quiet.
Eric regards me for a long moment, then leans forward at my sigh of defeat. “What exactly did Sylvie do at Blaze?” he asks, and the entire table watches Coby.
“She didn’t tell you? Blaze was an advertising agency. One of the best advertising agencies. Mainly because of Sylvie.” He hops from foot to foot, and I remember him doing this in the office when he
was excited. “She did Like Me, and Free Coffee, and Essentials Bodycare. Like, three of the ten most popular campaigns of the last few years.”
“You?” Rissa screeches. “You did Essentials? I loved those ads!”
I watch my plate. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“She was on the cover of AdAge magazine,” Coby says. “That’s a big deal.”
Laughs and hoots and general hilarity make their way through my wall of shame. If the floor of the café could swallow me up, I would happily slide into the abyss. Almost everyone on Earth is dead, and I’ve found myself in the same Safe Zone as Coby. Sweet, fresh-faced Coby, whom I would drag down with me. I wish he had been a one-night stand instead of a coworker.
“Bryce said you were a natural,” he continues.
My approval-craving side thrills at his words. I was good. Really good. But, except for one campaign, all I did was sell stupid shit to people who thought they weren’t rich enough or cool enough or pretty enough.
Coby launches into more detail. Before he can wax rhapsodic, I take a breath and lift my head. “Coby.” He freezes as though I’m still his superior. “I think that’s enough.”
“Sure. Sorry.”
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s good to see you, though. I’m glad you’re here.”
He waves before he leaves, and I finally face my tablemates. There’s amusement and amazement, and even admiration. I can’t look at Eric. My old life couldn’t be further from who he is, and who I am. I was ashamed then, and I’m more so now, but they wait for details, and I suppose they deserve them.
“My last title was Creative Director,” I say. “I ran the department. Bryce promoted me fast.”
Jorge whistles. “What’d that bring in?”
“Over a hundred K, plus bonuses.” I shrug. “I’d just started that job a few months before. I was waiting for my April bonus to come and then I was out.”
“What was your bonus?” Micah asks.
“Seventy-five.”
“Thousand?” Rissa asks. I nod, face warm.
“Dang,” Lucky says. “I wish I could go to Yale.”
The whole table laughs. The money was nice, I’ll admit, because I’d only ever had what I made working after school jobs, and whatever my mother didn’t steal of that. But, as I soon found, selling your soul isn’t worth it.
“Wait a minute,” Indy says. “He said Like Me. You mean the anti-bullying thing? Those were the only YouTube ads I didn’t skip.”
“Oh my God, I used to cry at those!” Rissa says.
“Those were totally cool,” Micah says.
It’s the one thing of which I’m proud. The second year I worked at Blaze, we were approached by a non-profit who wanted simple ads that made people stop and listen. I told Bryce I’d do it on my own time, even give them ideas for free. Because I was a lowly copywriter, he figured he had nothing to lose but a few hours of my time writing dinky web ads and brochures, and he said the exposure could be worth it. It was; that campaign put Blaze, a nothing ad agency, on the map. It put me, a nobody, on there with it.
Suddenly, I was in demand. Then I managed to do it again. To keep doing it. I can’t say I didn’t like being great at something—being the opposite of my mother—but, once the initial euphoria wore off, I realized how far I’d traveled from where I wanted to be. From who I wanted to be. After that, I went through the motions for as long as I could stand it because I didn’t want to leave Bryce in the lurch.
I surreptitiously peek at Eric, relieved to find he watches me with a mix of wonder and pride. I should’ve known better than to expect anything less. If I’d been a drug dealer, he’d congratulate me on my resourcefulness.
“Now you know the dirty truth,” I say. “Happy?”
“Yes.” He murmurs in my ear, “Especially because I’m picturing you in a business suit and pantyhose, ordering people around. I like it.”
“The scruffy environmental type has a thing for the corporate female? That’s so cliché.”
“The heart wants what it wants.”
“That’s not your heart talking,” I say. His soft laugh in my ear makes me shiver. And wonder where I can locate some pantyhose. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but it was a cool, trendy office that encouraged individual expression.” Eric sighs in disappointment, so I admit, “Every once in a while, I wore pantyhose.”
17
“Upsy-daisy.” Eric’s voice is jovial. I pull the blankets over my head once I see it’s past dawn but too early for people without infinite energy.
“I liked it better when you were grouchy like me,” I say, though it’s a lie. Two grouchy people are no fun. “Did Casper get to ten?”
“Ten-thirty-nine,” Eric says. “Without nearing heart attack territory.”
He runs with Casper every morning, and, though he says he actually enjoys running, which is outlandish but not surprising, it’s not the sole reason he does it. Sometimes I spot Eric watching other people as if he’s biologically programmed to offer assistance when he sees them struggling. I spend so much time thinking about what kind of help I should offer, and whether said offer will be awkward, that the moment passes. But Eric leaps in with no such compunction, and my heart swells at the thought of him encouraging Casper in his low-key way.
I fold back the covers invitingly. An hour in bed before the time I’d wake up for work is a lovely idea. “Come on in, it’s warm.”
Eric traces a finger between my breasts to the hem of my shirt, his breath quickening when my hips rise to meet it. “We can’t. You have to get up.”
“Why?” I flip the blankets over my head again.
“If you don’t, I’ll have to find another person to run away with today.”
I peek at him, the warmth in my belly swapped for excitement. “Really? We’re going out?”
“The streets look clear, and Kate rescheduled all of our shifts. Do you want to?”
My feet hit the cool hardwood floor. Another two weeks here has me feeling both better and worse about this place. I’m used to it, the way you can get used to anything if you have to. But I want to leave the walls with an all-consuming desire that even bloodthirsty Lexers can’t lessen.
“What’s the word of the day?” Eric asks, the way he does most days.
“Exultant, rapturous, happy as a pig in shit.”
“I like it,” he says. “Go get ready.”
An hour later, everyone in our apartment is geared up. We’re keeping the trip small; just the five of us, Brother David, and Leo. “Are you sure about this?” I ask Paul while Indy ties Leo’s tiny boots.
He pushes his hair back. “I’m sure about not leaving him here.”
I understand that, and I wouldn’t want to stay home, either. Jin, however, is staying put. He’ll spend the day in childcare and May will pick him up if we haven’t returned. Jorge holds him to his chest on our way out, murmuring softly, until he sets Jin into the arms of a grandma-type lady. Jin watches us leave with one pudgy hand outstretched in a way that tweaks my heart. I wave through the glass once we’re outside.
Jorge, who hasn’t looked back, mumbles, “What’s he doing now?”
“He is offended to the very core of his being that we’re leaving, but he’s not crying.”
“He’s getting better.”
Jin screamed for hours at first. I think he’s imprinted on Jorge, or whatever it is babies do, and Jorge hasn’t been shopping around for new parents with any sort of zeal. “Are we keeping him?” I ask.
One side of Jorge’s mouth tilts. “We?”
“I play with him sometimes.”
“You play with him like he’s six,” Paul says.
“I can do six,” I say. “Babies make me nervous. They stare at you, and you can’t tell what they’re thinking.”
“They’re learning how to act,” Jorge says.
“Maybe you should keep Sylvie away from him, then,” Paul says. I laugh, though I give him the finger.
We reach the in
ner gate, where Kate waits with Brother David. We’re going to the High Line, and she wanted to come along. No one minded in the first place, but it’s helpful that she knows her way around.
“You’re not driving, are you?” Paul asks. “I want my kid to live to see seven.”
Kate’s laugh is as relaxed as the rest of her; she reminds me of Eric in that way. She lifts a backpack from the ground and shrugs it on. “Fair enough.”
Roger sits by the gate with a guy, Lance, and he rises to slide the iron open. “Have fun.”
I walk past, ignoring him as usual, though that may be harder now that the May watch shifts are assigned. Maybe he makes fun of Casper when I’m not around, but he doesn’t when I am. He hasn’t lost his stupid swagger or his arrogant posturing, which is a shame because one day we’re going to have it out.
I take Leo’s hand on our way to the garage. “Remember, you listen to instructions immediately. Quiet as a mouse. Always near one of us.”
“I know.” He drags out the word, then purses his lips and tilts his head—an expression straight from Indy.
“It’s important. You’re the best kid in this whole place. I won’t be able to find anyone who annoys me as much as you do.”
“Syls!”
I kiss the top of his head to hide how Grace’s nickname makes me teary. I won’t give in to the heartbreak today. Maybe tomorrow but not today. If every day I put it off once more, I’ll never get there.
In the underground garage, a dark blue van waits by the gloom of a battery-operated spotlight. A closet holds a few guns and some sharp weapons. They don’t keep many outside the confines of the inner gates. We were introduced to their system of weapons storage after we Qualified, where I acted like I could tell the guns apart. The need-to-know facts are that the majority live under lock and key beneath the buildings, the ammo is kept with the appropriate guns, and everyone who Qualifies is expected to carry weapons at all times in case the wall is breached. They were preaching to the choir on that last one—no one from Sunset Park wants to be caught weaponless.
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 12
