“That brings us to Taco,” Mike said, swinging a thumb in the direction of the skinny busboy. “Dinged my car with his bike.”
Drew leaned in to Ryan. “We took care of the bike,” he said. “But the kid’s still got some pain coming his way.”
Taco—the hostess had called him Marco—did not look like he needed any more pain. His apron was wrinkled and dirty, and he looked like he’d been working all day without a break. Ryan knew that he should intervene, save this poor loser from whatever hurt Drew and Mike intended for him. But Ryan’s inner devil spoke the truth: Why stick your neck out for some kid you don’t even know, especially when it means driving off the only two allies you have in this place? Ryan kept his trap shut.
Mike and Drew loitered in the booth until the table next to them left and needed to be cleared. Marco had avoided their row since they arrived, but now he had no choice but to sling his empty bin over his shoulder and walk as bravely as possible into enemy territory.
“What’s up, Taco?” Mike said, turning in his seat and draping his arms over the seat back.
The kid didn’t even flinch. “I’ve got bigger problems than you,” he said. He dumped a soda into the bin, then stacked the plates and slid them on top.
“I highly doubt that,” Mike said.
The kid snorted—laughed, even. Ryan wondered if perhaps the guy had lost his mind from being overworked.
“Someday soon, Richter,” Marco said, “you’re going to feel like a real moron for saying that.”
Mike nearly hurdled over the seat back. Drew threw himself across the table and grabbed his friend’s arm, cocking his head to indicate the approach of an old balding guy.
The old guy—the manager, Ryan guessed—folded his arms across his chest and stood beside Marco. “We have a problem here, boys?” He looked like one of those old guys you messed with at your own risk.
Mike slid back into his seat. “No problem,” he said.
“I think it’s time for your check,” the manager said, sliding a black holder across the tabletop.
As he paid at the hostess station, Mike muttered, “This is so not over.”
A sinking feeling took hold of Ryan’s gut, which when combined with the greasy chicken, made him feel sick. But sick was weak and weak was shit, so Ryan stowed it and followed Mike and Drew out into the throng.
S
H
A
Y
Shay huddled under the bowed branches of the stunted tree stuck in the giant pot beside Nani’s table in the food court, a wrinkled scrap of paper pressed against her jeans. On it was one of her poems. She’d written it Friday, part of an assignment for English due Monday. They were studying haiku, and Shay had drafted several as she sat alone in the courtyard during her free period. The one in her lap had been her favorite:
The summer of birds
ends in migration to cliffs,
the fall of dead leaves.
Shay named the seasons of her life: the winter of the ice trees, the spring of chicken pox and mono. Last summer had been the summer of birds. She’d seen them everywhere, more than normal, always twittering in the shadows. On the day of the move, a flock of crows lurked in the trees around her old house as if hoping to steal the boxes on their way to the truck. She’d tentatively dubbed this season the fall of dead leaves. Given her present situation, stuck under green leaves in the calculated warmth of the glassed-in food court, threatened by a bomb of unknown-but-not-nuclear composition, she felt a new name was in order.
Pulling a pen from her bag, she scratched out leaves, but left dead. Dead what? People had too many syllables.
She crumpled the poem and tossed it into the mulch of the pot. She turned up her iPod and tried to lose herself in the blaring bass line.
Nani was still hunched over her Sudoku. Shay had bought her a thick book of puzzles that morning after the mall cop announced that shoppers were allowed to roam the halls. Last night, a customer service rep had brought Nani some insulin. Nani, however, still did not seem one hundred percent okay. She sighed a lot. Her skin looked ashy. She had bags under her eyes. In the darkest moments—between songs, when someone’s shouts echoed around the mall—Shay couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the bomb.
Shay hadn’t said anything to Nani or Preeti about the bomb. What could she say? “Oh, by the way, there might be a bomb in the basement and we could all be dead by sunrise”? Not the kind of thing to share over a dinner of fried rice and tofu. The only person she could talk to was the boy from the police car—Marco—and he was upstairs at the Grill’n’Shake. Shay was desperate to talk to him, if only to have someone nearby who was as petrified as she, who knew what was really going on. The only problem was how to convince Nani and Preeti to leave the food court—to go to another restaurant.
Shay’s contacts were killing her, but she couldn’t ditch them entirely; she did not need the world to fall any further out of focus. Time for another visit to the PhreshPharm. Maybe her old friend at the pharmacy counter could get her solution and a case. She’d been so helpful the first time around.
“I need to get some stuff at the pharmacy,” Shay said, turning off her music and sliding down from the pot. “Can I get you anything?”
Nani did not look up from her puzzle. “Take Preeti with you,” she said.
“Do you need more medicine, Nani?” Shay asked, kneeling beside her grandmother.
Nani waved a hand at Shay. “Go, my love,” she said. “I am fine here with my puzzle.” She looked at Shay, pressed her palm to Shay’s cheek, then went back to the Sudoku. Even just that quick glance at Nani’s face revealed that Nani was anything but fine.
Preeti stood in the line for the Ferris wheel. She was giggling with some other girls who looked about her age. Shay wanted to scream at them. How could they be laughing when there was a freaking bomb in the basement? But they didn’t know about the bomb. Thank god—Shay could not deal with a shrieking mob of panicked fifth-grade girls.
“We are going for a walk,” Shay said, grabbing her sister by the shirtsleeve.
Preeti tugged the fabric from Shay’s fist. “No way,” she said. “We’re going to ride up to the top and then drop popcorn on the boys when they’re at the bottom.” She pointed to a gang of short, scruffy boys near the front of the line.
“No, you’re not,” Shay said, grabbing Preeti’s arm.
“They did it first!” Preeti cried, wriggling out of Shay’s grasp once again.
Shay ran her fingers through her hair. It felt greasy—she must look disgusting. “Fine,” she said, sighing for emphasis. “You can ride one more time, then I need to go to the pharmacy.”
“So go,” Preeti said. “I’ll stay here.”
“Nani told me to take you with me, so you’re coming.” Shay gave Preeti her best I’m not negotiating any further glare.
Preeti rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Shay said, turning. “When I come out, you’d better be ready.”
After one night, the bathrooms adjoining the food court were an unholy mess. Crumpled paper towels overflowed from the garbage bin, and the dispenser was empty. A woman had her shirt off and was splashing water under her arms, then drying her pits with the air dryer. Another woman stepped gingerly out of a stall.
“There’s no TP,” she said. “And I think that one’s broken.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose loudly.
Shay thanked the woman for the tip and splashed water on her face. Looking up, she realized too late how bad an idea it had been to stand in front of a mirror. Her hair hung limp around her face. Her skin looked dull. She dared not smell her breath.
Preeti burst into the bathroom. “We’re on the news!” she squealed, as if this were a good thing. “Not local, national! Fox has a little screen blurb and everything!” She ran back out.
Shay stared at her reflection for a few more seconds, a haggard face in horrific fluorescent lighting,
then wiped her skin with her sleeve and prepared for the hysteria that was about to ensue.
But there was no hysteria. People crowded around the TVs in the window of the Silver Screen store calmly viewing their private nightmare like it was happening to someone else. Fox had no new information, not even news of the bomb. The newscaster just restated what the local stations had said last night. “We’ve learned that a security situation has led the authorities to shut down a mall in Westchester County, New York. The exact nature of the security problem has not been released, but we have learned that services have been provided to people in the mall. We will update you as we receive new information.”
The only change was that Fox had a helicopter and it showed live coverage of the mall as it circled. Shay heard the telltale chopping and looked up to see the thing pass overhead. It was surreal to see your own life on TV. To be a news story. Especially when you had more information than the people on the news.
Once the program broke for commercials, people in the food court huddled around their tables—groups had pushed tables together to form little camps—and whispered. Some people began to cry. Most looked around, suddenly suspicious again of everyone else.
Shay grabbed Preeti from where she stood with her new friends. “I need contact solution,” she said, dragging her across the food court toward the PhreshPharm.
“Do you think we’ll get to stay here again tonight?” Preeti asked, looking up at Shay with a hopeful smile on her face.
“Get to?” Shay asked. “Yes, I believe that we shall have the privilege of sleeping on a table once again.”
Preeti tucked her arms in and bounced a few happy steps. “Awesome!” she squealed. “Sahra and Lia wanted to have a sleepover in Hollister. Can we move there?”
“Whatever,” Shay said. She power-walked toward the PhreshPharm, knowing how silly that was, as if they were going to sell their last contact case in the next five minutes, but she couldn’t help herself. Everything felt desperate. Survival depended upon a bottle of contact solution.
It took twenty minutes round trip to get to the PhreshPharm and back, and in that time, the mood had grown worse in the food court. Shay found Nani at her table—still on the same Sudoku puzzle as before lunch—and showed her the meager ration of supplies she’d gotten. For ten bucks, she’d been given a bag containing a toothbrush, tiny tube of toothpaste, travel-sized deodorant, and a bar of soap. For two dollars more, they added the “contact package”—a small bottle of contact solution and case—and told her to use it sparingly. Shay felt lucky she’d gotten there before everything was gone.
“Nani?” Shay asked.
Nani touched her hand to her neck. “My throat feels like paper,” she said, her voice gravelly. “Would you be so sweet as to get me some water?”
If Nani was asking for help, she must have felt truly terrible. Shay ran to the nearest water fountain and filled one of the cups the mall had provided. She brought it to her grandmother, who drank slowly.
“Thank you, sweet girl,” Nani said, handing her back the cup.
“I’ll get more,” Shay said. The cup trembled in her hand.
“No more,” Nani said. “I’ll have to move into the bathroom!” She smiled a weak smile, then returned to staring at the puzzle.
Shay needed to take Nani someplace more comfortable. She slipped her toiletries into her bag and began calculating what was closest. Her first problem, though, was to round up Preeti, who had left Shay’s side when they reached the edge of the food court. She’d run into the crowd of kids as if being away from her precious friends for even twenty minutes was the equivalent of a lifetime. Shay hadn’t seen her friends in months.
As Shay glanced around, she noticed a mall cop speaking to some people at a table. He had a pad of paper in his hands. The people spoke to him, then pointed toward Shay.
Shay’s blood ran cold. Why were they pointing at her?
She looked around and saw another cop at the other end of the food court also talking to some people at a table. They too pointed at Shay. No, not at Shay. At Nani.
The cops began weaving their way through the tables toward Shay. She froze—there was no way to escape them. The whole cafeteria space was open except for a few potted plants. Why were they coming toward her?
But then the guard stopped at another table and began talking to the people sitting there. Shay strained her ears. She heard the word sickness. She heard the words acting funny. She didn’t wait to see where these next people would point.
“Nani,” Shay said, grabbing her grandmother’s arm. “We have to go.”
“Why, dear?” Nani said. But when she saw Shay’s face, she nodded and picked up her bag. She closed the Sudoku book and slipped it inside. “Where’s Preeti?”
“Let’s just move away from here.”
When Shay was sure all eyes were elsewhere, she ducked with Nani behind the planter, then wound as casually as she could manage through the tables toward the crowds of children at the Ferris wheel. Shay said a quick prayer of thanks for how short her grandmother was—she was barely taller than the kids and thus blended right in.
Shay spotted Preeti near a vending machine kiosk talking to some girls.
“We’re leaving,” Shay said.
Preeti scrunched up her face like she was going to argue, but then saw Nani and went to grab her purse. Shay scanned the mall directory. Harry’s was at the end of the hall, and there was a Domestic Decor on the first floor. Then she ran her finger over the word Grill’n’Shake.
Marco.
The Grill’n’Shake was just above them and near the elevator. It had padded booths. And if they were changing locations, why not move to a place where she would have someone to talk to about all this?
Preeti trotted over to the kiosk, still struggling to get the strap of her bag over her head.
“Let’s move,” Shay said, striding into the hallway with one arm linked through Nani’s. She walked as fast as she could without dragging her grandmother outright down the tiles.
“Where are we going?” Preeti asked as she shuffled along behind Shay.
“The Grill’n’Shake.”
“Fine,” Preeti said, hugging her arms across her chest. “But I want to sleep in Hollister. And I get my own shake.”
Shay stomped right up to the hostess station. “Table for three.”
The hostess scribbled something on a paper and handed Shay a vibrating, plastic disk with blinking red lights. “When it buzzes again, come up here.”
Shay gritted her teeth. She was so close to seeing Marco. Only a few more minutes, she told herself.
Preeti nudged her in the back. “We need to find Nani a seat,” she said in a small voice.
Shay turned. Her grandmother leaned against the railing. She half smiled at Shay and waved. She’d walked too fast. I’m an idiot!
Taking her grandmother’s arm, Shay led Nani to an empty chair in the waiting area beside the hostess stand. “Just a few minutes, Nani,” she said, squeezing her hand.
“It’s better here than the food court?” Nani asked, brow furrowed.
Shay scanned the crowd. There were no police officers anywhere. No fingers pointing at them. “Much better.”
Preeti slumped on the floor next to Nani. “Can I have the phone?”
“Who are you calling?” Shay kept her eyes on the crowd, watching for any inquisitive officers.
“She can use it if she likes,” Nani said, pulling the phone out of her bag. “The last thing I need is another call from your parents.” She smiled and passed the phone to Preeti.
Preeti flipped it open. “It’s dead,” she said. “Do you have the charger?”
“No wonder your mother has not called since this morning,” Nani said, her voice suddenly sounding concerned. It was one thing to be constantly pestered by Ba and Bapuji, and another entirely to think that they were trying to pester them but couldn’t get through.
“We’ll go to the mobile phone place after dinner,�
�� Shay said.
“Why are you so desperate to eat at the Grill’n’Shake?” Preeti asked, eyes squinting like she knew she was onto something. “You don’t even like their fries.”
Just then, Ryan—of all people, Ryan—came strolling toward the hostess stand from the dining area.
Shay was not angry. She wanted to be angry, demand her book back and let that be the end of it, but instead all she felt was joy at seeing him again.
“Shay?” Ryan walked up to her, a smile creeping across his face.
“Hi,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I guess everyone had the same idea.”
He pulled her book out of his back pocket. “I really liked this,” he said, placing it in her hands.
“You read it?” she asked. She hoped he couldn’t see the tremble in her fingers.
He smiled. He was gorgeous. He’d read her book. “I didn’t have much else to do last night,” he said.
“Yo! J. Shrimp!” Some huge guy waved at Ryan from halfway down the hall.
Ryan waved back. “I have to go,” he said. “But I want to talk to you about it. The book. I mean, if you want.”
Her heart began to pound in her chest. Yes, I want!
“Sure,” she said. “We could meet at Baxter’s Books.”
“I’ll call you,” he said, turning. Then he stopped. “Wait, I lost my phone.”
Shay shrugged. “Mine’s dead anyway.”
“So we’ll meet by the registers. Nine o’clock tomorrow?” He began shuffling away backward toward his friends. He looked hopeful, as if he really did want to meet her. As if this wasn’t all some hallucination on her part.
“Nine on the dot!” she shouted, waving. Like an idiot. She felt ready to float away.
“So that’s why we had to come to the Grill’n’Shake,” Preeti said, her lips pursed in a smug smile.
Even Nani had a mischievous look on her face. “I think you owe your grandmother some kind of explanation,” Nani said. Then she coughed and the sparkle of the healthy grandmother Shay used to have disappeared.
No Safety in Numbers Page 6
