There's a clock above my desk in geometry class that ticks in uneven intervals. I know it's broken, but Mrs. Shelton says otherwise. It bugs me every single time I sit down. I can usually put up with it until the last five minutes. By then, I'm counting down the seconds to get out. Today, however, I found myself dreading the end.
The bell rang. "Looks like that's it for today," Mrs. Shelton said as the shuffling of paper and shoes erupted. "Remember, we have exams in a month, so make sure you don't wait until the last second."
I put away my own notebook before noticing someone standing in front of me. Mrs. Shelton wore a ripe green cardigan inlaid with embroidered frogs. She watched me with bowl-shaped reading glasses affixed to her nose.
"Monty, do you have a moment? I noticed you didn't turn in the worksheet from the break. I understand if you didn't find the time or it got away from you. I also understand with everything going on you may have been distracted. Is everything alright?"
I shrugged. "Sorry, I'll have that ready tomorrow." She crossed her arms. I thought she was angry for a moment, uncharacteristically. It's not everyday I'm late with an assignment. She was always lenient with the other students when they couldn't make the deadline. I had hoped she would show the same leniency for me. She hesitated briefly as if she was sifting for the right words, or making sure didn't choose the wrong ones. She sighed. "Okay Monty. Tomorrow."
"Thank you, Mrs. Shelton," I said. I slung my backpack over my shoulder. "I really am sorry."
"I know, kid. Please be careful." I assumed she meant the AADs. The school sent out emails to all the students and faculty about it. Why did she look so disappointed though?
By the time I exited the classroom, the hallway was full to the brim with teenagers scurrying from room to room, big backpacked underclassmen hiding under the noses of parading upperclassmen. A weird energy clung to everyone. It was as if there's this big secret we're all trying to forget. Being stuck in a crowded building with everyone you know didn't inspire confidence. We were waiting for a powder keg to set off.
The new commission for AAD surveillance was reported to be in talks with school systems about switching to a hybrid schedule or outright sending kids home for the time being. About 30 cases of AAD's have been documented all across the city. Each time it's covered, another fifty articles come out with some nobody reporter thinking they have the answer. One thing for sure that everyone agreed on was it's dangerous to be in a crowd. It was hard to convince people they'd be fine to go out in public if they still didn't know what the cause of the explosions were yet.
Underwood Academy was trapped in stasis, unsure of the future for its students and faculty. Its narrow, crammed halls and classrooms felt more like a space ship suspended in orbit and time rather than a living, breathing body of people. Its wood paneling and spongy plaster skeleton soaked in the worries of its inhabitants. We were trapped. I don't think the academy's students are alone in feeling that way, however.
I unlocked and swung open my locker door. Inside, I had a few stickers stuck to the door itself, along with a general planner and calendar. Stuff to remind me of my routine and to keep me in check. A photo of my parents was taped up in the corner, smudged and peeling at the edges. As I collected my things, the locker door slammed shut with the force of a gravity well. I pulled my fingers out just in time before one of them could be clipped off.
"Watch your fingers Court." Abe Newman smirked down at me from underneath his brick-ridged brow. "I got a little preoccupied during the break. Mrs. Shelton's class is next up on my list. Cut me a break and give me the answers, new kid."
"I didn't do the homework either," I said honestly. "And besides, if I did I'm not sure I would share them." He was getting on my nerves. I usually try not to rock the boat with him. On any given day I might have done what he asked. Something about today, of all days, had shortened my fuse.
"Oh, is that right? Maybe you need to be reminded why people look the other way when I ask for a favor."
What was his deal? My jaw locked and my shoulders stiffened. Not like someone ready for a fight. My body readied itself, like a boxer bracing for a jab to the gut. I was ready for the other shoe to drop, for him to try something else, but someone's voice peeled back the faux machismo I've managed to muster.
"Court." I turned around to find Lynn staring me down. He had on a baggy hoody and jeanjacket combo that made him look bigger and scarier than usual. A chain slinked down from his belt to his pocket. It reminded me of those punks we saw at the skatepark. Divanshu sported something similar. "You gonna let this dweeb push you around like that? And here I thought you had guts."
"Fuck off O'Neal," Abe said.
"Why don't you bite me?" he said back. "Don't tell me you're actually scared of him?"
I shrugged. Of course I wasn't scared. I just didn't want to draw too much attention to myself and drag out the situation. I had hoped that he would get bored and find something else to do.
In a cocky wide-mouthed grin Lynn smiled back at Abe and said, "Look at the poor guy. Doe-eyed, shaking in his sneakers. You're practically picking on a newborn fawn."
I almost scoffed at Lynn. "Aren't you supposed to be sticking up for me?"
Abe started to laugh until something like a chill ran up his spine. He stiffened in place. As soon as Lynn's cocky smile dropped Abe's laughter trailed off. It wasn't hard to feel intimidated by Lynn since he was practically a foot taller than me and still even slightly taller than Abe. The differences in height imparted a primal fear not unlike facing down a living mountain.
"You think that's funny?" Lynn asked him. The confusion in his eyes said everything. Abe stammered something I assumed was his final attempt at saving face and slinked off.
"Why did you do that?" I asked. He shrugged and paused. His eyes looked down to the floor at our sneakers as he thought about it.
"Sometimes you just piss me off," he said flatly.
Oh well that made sense…I guessed.
"It's kinda pathetic, really," he continued. I just waved to cut him off.
"Ok I think I get it," I said.
He smiled. "You have it?"
My cheeks flushed. "No! Of course not. Why would I bring it to school?"
"Cool your tits. I was just messing with you man," he said laughing.
"This isn't a joke. We could really be in danger, especially talking about it here in public." I looked around. We were surrounded by other people checking lockers, running to class. I turned around and signaled to Lynn to follow me into the bathroom. We seemed to be alone for now.
Lynn stood in the center of the bathroom, quite awkwardly. "What the hell is it?"
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"Brady was obsessed with that thing," he said. "He doesn't seem like himself anymore. It's like he's a different person now because of it." Lynn then began to discuss what he and Brady had been doing for the last few months. Breaking into disused factories around Octoberfaire and Easttown. Looking for old documents and exploring the city's infrastructure for the Saints. It was a little hard for me to wrap my head around at first, but Lynn also spoke about the events as if he was just swept up in it with his friend. Or, more like by his friend.
"We, Brady and I, played in this band all the way back in middle school and have been sticking with it since then. I couldn't just leave him high and dry when he needed me, you know?"
"I don't care about this 'Brady' guy," I said. "But he harassed my friend and I over some weird cube he found and lost so I think I'd rather steer clear of him for the foreseeable future."
Lynn shook his head. "Out of all the things we found searching around town, that 'weird cube' never turned up in any documentation or notes we combed through. I've never seen it before."
"Did you find anything that may have had a tangential connection? Maybe something else that exhibited similar qualities?"
"Similar qual--Monty, it's a weird glass box, or something." He hesitated. "Still, I can't deny I felt something while touching it. Not in a creepy way."
I nodded. There had been a kind of resonance that evening that we had with the cube. He must have felt the same way I did. Like a surge of power rushing through your body. I thought I could still feel it stir in my fingertips "Remember the last thing that happened that night? Before we all collapsed?"
He frowned and said quickly, "No. I don't."
"You must remember how it felt, right? Static."
His head swiveled away. Was he uncomfortable talking about it? Or maybe he didn't actually remember, and was embarrassed. No, he remembered. Definitely.
"Why won't you say anything about the blackbox?"
"Cause it's just some dumb box. It's not anything special. None of that shit Brady and I did ever really amounted to anything special. But if the Saints are after it, I just can't sit by and hide like a little bitch. I knew the kind of shit I would get into by leaving with you guys. I don't just go back on my word when the going gets tough."
I nodded. "Sorry about that."
"Don't be," he said. He looked as if he meant it. "You seem fine, all things considered. I've been up all night trying to wrap my head around everything that's been going on. I nearly flipped my shit on the walk to school today when I heard a bottle break on the curb."
"What do you think we should do then? We can't do much until we figure out what it is even for," I said.
"It's gotta be gang related," he said. "Why else would the Saints want it?"
I shook my head. "No, not just them. Some creep I met at the hospital wanted it too. He nearly killed me and another patient just looking for it. I refuse to believe there isn't some kind of connection."
The bathroom door swung open. A kid from a neighboring class stepped in and walked toward the stall in the corner. I glanced at Lynn and he shook his head.
"We'll talk about it later," he said and left. I watched him leave while the feeling that I had said something wrong continued to permeate in the back of my mind.
The neon LAZER-US sign blinked and crackled with electricity. I rubbed my bare arms as the cold air prickled them. I should have worn more layers. Tomorrow was December, and that meant that winter would also be here. Something about that realization made me uneasy, off-kiltered. It's almost as if time itself felt differently now. More malleable, less concrete. Had it really only been a little over a week?
"Secretive Cindi, in the flesh!" I hear across the parking lot. I looked up from my red hands and saw Cindi walking toward the comic book store as Raiden followed her. I waved at them but a part of me was disappointed that Lynn didn't join her too. Did what I say upset him? Why did I care?
Cindi was as bright eyed and optimistic as I've ever seen her. She wore baggy jeans with a light pink top. Raiden on the other hand wore his jacket from before with the same chain leading to his pocket. He sauntered up to the store quizzically, like a curious animal lost in a mall.
"Why did we meet up here?" he asked idly. The door rang out as we entered. Jerry's mouth-watering shawarma lured us in, including Raiden. "Damn, that smells good."
Jerry leaned over the counter and called out to us. "Well, isn't it the dynamic duo?" He slowly realized we had someone else joining us. "And a newcomer! Welcome to the comic conclave known to laymen and experts alike as LAZER-US! I'm Jerry, your local aficionado on comics, games, movies, and all things entertainment," he said as he lowered his food.
"So, nerd shit?"
He smiled and nodded. "Nerd shit."
"Jerry," I said, "we have to borrow your backroom."
The joy he had just felt was replaced with something more akin to an inquisitive squint, like he noticed something far away.
"Wh--What? Why?" he asked incredulously.
"Please Jerry," Cindi asked. "We just need a private spot to plan our next move."
He closed his eyes and stroked his lightly bearded chin. After giving a moment of thought, he nodded sagely. "Alright. On one condition. You don't touch the merchandise."
"Deal," Cindi and I said in unison. She elbowed me and started to follow Jerry into the back. I looked around to find Raiden staring at a few new issues of Dreamweaver on the shelf, his finger itching to open it up and read. He noticed me watching.
"You…interested?"
"What?" he glanced back at the comic book. "Oh, no. Just admiring the beauty on the cover."
"...Right," I said, nodding towards the back. The backroom of Jerry's comic book store had a few couches, a table, and scatterings of product boxes filled with books, merchandise, and anything and everything necessary to building out the habitat of a geek novelty emporium. In the corner, a squat and square tv stared at us expressionlessly. Cindi leaned against the couch, waiting for us as she lightly tapped her foot. Jerry corralled us in. After we accustomed ourselves to the stale air and dusty-scented aroma he excused himself, returning to the front and leaving the three of us to plot our next move.
"Ok, so," Cindi started. "Do we have a plan?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing," I said. I dropped my backpack on the table with a silent thud.
"Isn't that why we're here?" Raiden asked. "To come up with a plan?"
I opened my backpack. Inside it was my notebook and a few binders. A couple for class, and another for today. I pulled it out with my notes, spreading it out for Cindi and Raiden to see. Cindi whistled. "Looks like you're prepared."
I nodded. "I had some trouble thinking of our next move. Or even if we should have a next move. Ideally, we'd want to lay low, but with the way things have been escalating, I'm not so sure anymore."
"I don't suppose you think no one is going to come looking for it," Raiden said.
"The Saints know we have it. There's a chance that they'll be on the lookout for us at Underwood Academy," Cindi said.
"How would they know? Maybe they assumed we're from Easttown High," Raiden asked. "Or anywhere else."
"No, because Brady May goes to Easttown High, and he'd know if we went there too. Probably," I said. "Even if it's a big school, he could probably figure that out from the registrar."
"Not to be that guy, but…would Lynn…you know," Raiden said.
Cindi said, "Give us up? Maybe…" She examined me, searching for a reaction.
"No," I said. "I don't think so."
"Like, I get that they were best friends or something since they were kids, but following him into abandoned factories and working for a gang seems a bit of a stretch. Plus, he goes to Underwood Academy. He could get kicked out of school--expelled--for that sort of thing. Doesn't that seem a little weird?"
Raiden was right. It was a little weird.
"I would love to ask him what he was thinking," Cindi said while looking at the door. Her eyes widened. "Do you think he'd tell Brady we lived in the same complex?"
I didn't know the answer, but I had thought about it. Maybe? Just what happened while I was in the hospital?
"Do you think he told him while I was…unconscious?"
Cindi seemed just as worried as I was. There was a possibility that he had said something after that encounter. It was not a good position to be in, regardless. Then again, I remembered how I found Cindi's place with the mailbox list. It was so easy. If he just knew our last names, he could easily find our apartments. A sinking feeling in my gut told me to panic, but seeing how Cindi was handling herself, I felt a string of stability pulling me back from sprinting home.
Raiden sighed and turned to the nearest opened storage box next to him. He lifted the flaps and began to rifle through it. Cindi in a heat of anger said, "Hey! Can it, dickwad. If Jerry figures out we went looking around his stuff, he won't ever let me back here again."
"Sheesh, I'm just looking."
Maybe, during our conversation back in the school bathroom, Lynn was worried that we suspected him of still working for Brady. It would shine a whole new light on "I don't just go back on my word" if it really was the case that he was just using me to help his friend get back the blackbox. But why would he help us in the first place to steal it away from Brady and his goons? Did he have a change of heart? No, none of that seemed reasonable.
Raiden pulled out a comic and flipped through a couple pages. His curiosity seemed piqued. The lanky teens' legs propped themselves up on another box as he leaned back and read. I noticed the cover, which had a woman dressed in an odd-looking costume with a weave pattern decorating it. "Dreamweaver," I said.
"Good choice." Cindi nodded. "Still, don't touch his stuff."
"This dude's got a ton of these comics," Raiden said.
"Aparently they're not selling very well," I said.
"They're damn good though," Cindi said. "I've got a stack of them at home if you're interested."
"Interested? Ha, no thanks. I'm not into this kiddy shit," he said as he read. He turned another page. I noticed he didn't look up at us once while reading.
"Right," Cindi said. She rolled her eyes and smirked at me. I sighed. A knock at the door drew all of our attention toward the storefront.
"Shit," Cindi said. Raiden quickly tossed the book back into its storage container. As the door opened we prepared to think of an excuse to tell Jerry, just in case we weren't quick enough.
"Sorry I'm late," Lynn said as he opened the door. "Didn't know this place was here."