Amari and the Night Brothers

by B. B. Alston

  I bite my bottom lip and pull open the closet door. It’s empty except for a huge, ugly old chest that Quinton got from the thrift store when we were younger. While I was digging through the doll bin for a Black Barbie, he had his eyes on this raggedy chest with half the leather cover missing. Claimed he needed a place to hold all his master plans.

  By the sound of it, whatever Quinton sent me is inside. Thankfully, he broke the lock years ago, so getting in is as easy as lifting the top. I dig through countless beat-up folders and old notebooks, searching for anything that might tick.

  It’s not till I get to the very bottom that I find a loudly ticking black briefcase, a white Post-it Note on top with Quinton’s handwriting.

  For Amari’s Eyes Only

  Quickly, I take the briefcase out of the chest and set it on the floor. What could be inside? Fidgeting with the locks doesn’t get it open, so I try yanking it apart. No luck. That’s when I notice another Post-it on the other side.

  Will open at midnight, after the last day of school

  I swallow, my heart booming. Quinton never said anything about having a briefcase for me. But that’s his handwriting.

  Maybe he wants to explain where he is and what happened. After six months of worrying like crazy . . . could this be how to find him?

  I glance over at Quinton’s alarm clock. 4:13 p.m. Midnight is nearly eight hours away. But what is it I’m waiting for?

  11:58 p.m.

  I’m in my room, sitting at the head of my bed with my knees pulled up to my chest. The briefcase sits at the foot of my bed, looking suspicious.

  I check the hallway again. Mama’s been home for a few hours, but no light shines under her door. She must be asleep. Good. Whatever’s inside this briefcase, Quinton made it clear that only I’m supposed see it.

  11:59 p.m.

  I pace back and forth. Okay, I’m totally tripping, right? What do I honestly think is going to happen?

  12:00 a.m.

  CLICK! HISSSSSSSSSS . . .

  I swear I jump a whole foot in the air. I creep over to my bed and take a seat. After a calming breath, I lift the top of the briefcase. Green-and-purple stripes stare back at me.

  I reach inside, pull the smooth fabric from the briefcase and hold up what seems like a suit jacket to the light. It might be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. I reach inside and pull out the matching pants. I have no idea what’s going on but I can’t help a smile. This is definitely Quinton’s corny sense of humor at work.

  And there’s more in the suitcase—an envelope and a pair of thick metallic shades. Attached to the shades is a chain of Post-it Notes.

  #1 Please lie down before putting these on

  #2 I’m serious about lying down first

  #3 Pinkie swear–level serious!

  Okay, okay, I get it! I bring the shades closer. Aside from being heavy, they seem pretty normal. Certainly not dangerous enough for three warnings. Are they supposed to make you dizzy or something? Well, if it’s pinkie swear–serious then fine, I’ll lie down.

  I shove the briefcase to the edge of my bed and lay back before sliding the glasses onto my face. I’m not sure what the big deal—

  “Amari?” comes a voice I’d recognize anywhere.

  Quinton?!

  3

  I WHIP MY HEAD AROUND TO SEE MY BROTHER STANDING in the middle of my bedroom, a nervous grin on his face. I scramble off the bed so fast I trip over my own feet. Next thing I know, I’m across the room with my arms wrapped around his middle. I’m shaking as his arms hug me back.

  “I missed you too.” He laughs.

  I relax my grip on him and he steps back, out of my arms. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy in my whole life. My big brother is here. Like really here. “How? Where have you been? We’ve got to tell Mama!” I can’t get the words out fast enough as I stare up at his very alive face, a big, goofy grin sitting below his wide eyes and uneven hairline.

  “I’ll explain everything. But for now, I just need you to trust me. Okay?”

  Of course I trust him. But how did he just appear out of nowhere? “Um, okay.”

  “Follow me!” He turns and runs out of the room.

  I give chase, skidding to a stop in front of Mama’s darkened doorway. I have to tell her Quinton is back. She won’t need to be sad anymore. We won’t have to fight anymore either. Everything can go back to the way it was before.

  “There’s no time,” Quinton calls from the living room. “We’ve got to hurry.” He opens the front door and dashes out into the hallway.

  I glance back at Mama’s door as I sprint through the living room, wondering if Quinton’s voice might have woken her. Her light doesn’t click on.

  But I can’t let Quinton go now. I run after him and it’s all I can do just to keep up. “Where are we going?”

  “The roof,” he calls back.

  The roof? Quinton and I used to sneak up there all the time, even though Mama said it was too dangerous. Like we didn’t have sense enough to stay away from the edge.

  We run up a dozen flights of stairs until we reach the wide, empty roof. Only it isn’t empty tonight.

  “Is that . . . a boat?” I ask.

  Quinton grins over his shoulder. “Sure is.” The boat is the size of a school bus and looks like someone literally dropped a small log cabin on the back of it. Smoke wafts up from the cabin’s stone chimney. Shiny gold railings surround the front half of the deck.

  I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this all is. What is happening right now? “How did it get here?”

  “Gotta hurry!” Quinton disappears around the other side.

  I follow, running my fingertips across the smooth hull of the ship. The wood is so glossy I can see my reflection in the moonlight.

  Quinton waves me over. He tugs on a lever and a section of the ship falls open, becoming a short staircase. Quinton climbs in first, with me behind him. One long room runs the length of the boat. I’m able to make out two bunk beds and—swords?—before Quinton leads me up another staircase at the end of the ship.

  We emerge on the deck, and Quinton brings me over to where two large wooden captain’s wheels are mounted. The wheel in front of us turns left or right like every other ship. But the wheel to our right is angled so that it can only be pushed forward or backward from where we’re standing.

  I reach out and let my fingers graze the wheel, then jump as the ship jerks forward a few feet.

  He just laughs. “You’re going to want to get some altitude first.” He nods to the second wheel.

  I step back, shaking my head in disbelief. “When you say altitude, you don’t mean . . .”

  “Oh, I do mean.” He smirks and takes hold of the second wheel, gently pulling it forward. My whole body goes stiff as the ship rises in the air. I throw both arms around the railing, holding on with everything I’ve got. My apartment building, and everything else in my neighborhood, gets smaller and smaller as we continue to rise. How is this happening?

  My brother is having the time of his life laughing at me. “Relax, the ship has been triple-balanced. It’s impossible to fall off.”

  “Quinton, we’re flying! You’re just going to act like this is normal?”

  Again with the smirk. “Maybe it is.”

  Quinton grips the first wheel with both hands and the ship surges forward. Everything becomes a blur, the stars above stretching into glowing streaks. I can feel the wind on my face, but for as fast as we must be going, my legs really do feel steady—like I’m still on the ground.

  He releases the wheel and the ship glides to a smooth stop in midair.

  The smell of sea salt tickles my nose. There’s water in every direction. “Is this the ocean?”

  My brother nods. “Take a peek through that telescope next to the railing and look down. Tell me what you see.”

  Down? Who uses a telescope to look down?

  Still, I step over and peer through. “All I see is ocean.”

  “Kee
p looking. It’s a special telescope so it might take your eyes a few seconds to adjust.”

  I squint a little. Nothing . . . and then something. It appears only for a second before it’s gone again—a streak of white, like lightning arcing across the ocean floor.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “Keep looking. And this time, use the dial.”

  As I turn the dial, my view through the telescope magnifies. Now I can see that those streaks of light are actually glowing trains, racing across the ocean floor. “No way,” I whisper.

  I zoom out a bit to find more trains and I’m nearly blinded by all the light. That train is just one of what seems like thousands of them, zigzagging and swirling in every direction. For as far as I can see, the ocean lights up, like it’s trying to outshine the starry night above. The whole world becomes a light show, just for me.

  I turn to Quinton, tears in my eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

  But the big smile Quinton’s been wearing since he showed up in my bedroom begins to fade. “The International Railways of Atlantis. I only wish I could’ve shown you this in person.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  “I wanted you to know just how vast and how wondrous the world really is. Everything you’ve seen, from those trains to this ship, is real, Amari. They’re out there anytime you want to see them. Everything . . . except me.”

  I shake my head. “But I’m looking right at you.”

  “You’re looking through the shades. This is only an interactive recording. We call it a Wakeful Dream. I left instructions for its delivery in case something happened to me. And I guess it did. I took a dangerous job I love dearly, and I knew the risks. Still, I really wish I was there with you now.”

  The world around us begins to dim.

  I rush over and throw my arms around him. “What happened to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Quinton says softly. “But this dream was only supposed to be sent to you if the Bureau declared me missing . . . or dead.”

  “You’re only missing.” I shudder. “I can feel it.”

  Quinton squeezes me tighter. “Whatever happened to me, please don’t let it discourage you from exploring this world to its fullest. Some of the things I’ve seen will take your breath away. I’ve left you a nomination with instructions on it.”

  “A nomination?” I ask. “For what?”

  Everything goes black.

  “Time’s up, Chicken Little. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I whisper. “I’m going to find you. The real you. No matter what it takes.”

  4

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING MAMA KNOCKS ON MY BEDROOM door so that we can have breakfast together. Mother-daughter time or something.

  I woke up wondering if that Wakeful Dream really happened, but once I took a look at what else was inside the briefcase I was convinced. . . . My brother made a dream for me, put it inside a pair of shades, and had it delivered to my apartment. What kind of place can do that?

  I intend to find out.

  “You all right, Babygirl?”

  Mama’s voice snaps me out of my daze. “Oh . . . um, yeah, I’m fine.” I scoop up some cereal with my spoon.

  Mama watches me from across our small dining room table. I can tell she’s worried about how I’m doing after what happened yesterday at school.

  There’s a huge part of me that wants to tell her about Quinton’s Wakeful Dream. She deserves to know. But how do you explain being visited by your missing brother in a dream where you took a flying boat to go look at some underwater trains without sounding delusional?

  And even if she did believe me (which I doubt), do I really want to risk getting her hopes up? She’s only just gotten to where she isn’t crying in her room every day.

  So I keep quiet.

  “What I did yesterday was for your own good.” Mama sighs. “I miss him too. I really do. But right now, it’s just you and me. It seems harsh, but it’s my job to give you the best possible future. That can’t happen if you keep your whole life on pause wishing for something that may never happen.”

  “I get it,” I say quickly. Anything not to have that argument again.

  “Then you’ll also understand why you’re grounded until I decide you aren’t.”

  I nearly spit out my cereal. “Seriously?”

  “You know better than to go around shoving people. Even if they deserve it.” Mama stands up from the table and grabs her purse. “I’ve got to get to work a little early today. One of the girls has a sick baby at home. Don’t let me find out you’ve been out that door. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The words stop Mama in her tracks, and she gives me a good looking over. “Only time I’m ma’am instead of Mama is when you’re up to something.”

  I put on my most innocent expression and shake my head.

  “Well, before you get any ideas, I’ve got Mrs. Walters watching the place while I’m gone. And you know she don’t have anything better to do than worry about what everybody else is doing.”

  “I understand,” I say. Mama only said not to let her find out. She never actually said I couldn’t go.

  Back in my room, I spread out everything from the briefcase on my bed—the green-and-purple suit jacket and pants, two sheets of paper that were tucked inside the envelope, and the shades that triggered last night’s Wakeful Dream. I try on the shades for like the tenth time this morning, but I still can’t get them to work again.

  I settle for reading over the paperwork from Quinton’s envelope one more time. The first page reads:

  (Mandatory: Staple atop all outgoing paperwork)

  WARNING

  WARNING

  (in case you somehow missed the first one)

  WARNING

  (surely you get the idea by now)

  The following information is classified, as it refers to a location that handles several million very well-kept secrets. As a result, reading this file without the proper permissions may result in any number of dire consequences that include but are not limited to:

  Death by bottomless pit

  Being locked inside a metal canister and shot into space

  Being fed to a certain creature, in a certain underwater lair, that shall, for the purpose of keeping its existence a secret, remain nameless

  I reread that first paragraph like three times. I mean, bottomless pits and secret underwater creatures?

  Now then, should you happen across this paperwork by accident and wish to know how to avoid such consequences (and we’ll know if you’ve peeked), you are to do the following:

  Seal it up in an envelope, wrap that envelope in no fewer than three yellow blankets (preferably all the same shade), stuff it all in a box, tape that box shut, and mail it to the following address:

  None of Your Business

  Don’t Ask Which St.

  New York, NY 54321

  Of course, if you have been deemed special, and thus do have the proper permissions, please feel free to move on to the next page.

  —C. Kretts

  Before last night, I would’ve laughed at that warning. But something tells me that whoever these people are that Quinton works for, they mean every word. Thankfully, Quinton made it pretty clear that this was meant for me. The second page confirms it.

  Nomination for Consideration

  Nominating Party:Quinton Javon Peters

  On behalf of:Amari Renee Peters

  To be used no sooner than the latter’s twelfth birthday and no later than the latter’s eighteenth birthday.

  Please bring this nomination, in person, to:

  1440 N. Main St., Atlanta, GA 30305,

  for the requisite interview.

  Upon arrival at this address, enter the leftmost elevator alone. Once the doors close, press the basement button (B) twenty-six times and await further instruction.

  Now it’s just a matter of getting there. Unfortunately, that warning isn’t the scariest part of what
was inside the briefcase. One more Post-it is attached to the leg of the pantsuit:

  Wear this suit to the interview.

  Clearly, Quinton has lost his mind. He wants me to go around this neighborhood in a green-and-purple suit? I won’t make it out of the building before someone cracks a joke. And I can’t afford to get into another fight. I sit down on the bed, biting my lip.

  It all feels so unreal. This whole thing is crazy.

  But what if it is real? What if this is my one chance to find out more about my brother? My one chance to bring him home.

  Fine. I’ll check it out. And I’ll wear this hideous suit too.

  I creep down the stairs of our building as if I’m hiding from the bad guy in a scary movie. The nomination is tucked inside my jacket pocket. Thankfully, the street is clear. Until a bunch of smaller kids rush out of the next building. They point and giggle, and I’m so distracted I forget to duck beneath Mrs. Walters’s window. She looks right at me and gets to jotting in her little notebook. I’m so dead when Mama gets home from work.

  Stupid ugly suit. I get to the bus stop in the worst mood and plop myself down on the bench. A peek at my phone tells me the bus should be here any minute. It can’t come fast enough.

  A clean, cherry-red Camaro screeches to a stop in front of me. The windows all roll down at once, and some boys around eighteen or nineteen poke their heads out.

  One boy with long dreads grins at me. “Hey, lil mama, you lost or something? I think the circus left last week.” The whole car bursts into laughter.

  “Just leave me alone,” I say, cheeks burning.

  “Where the rest of the Skittles at?”

  More laughter.

  “Don’t you have someplace else to be?” I growl.

  That’s when the back door on the other side of the Camaro opens. Jayden hops out and jogs around the car. “Y’all leave my little buddy alone.”

  The guys in the car make some more jokes about us being boyfriend and girlfriend before speeding off.