by Melissa Faye
“Sure.”
“Then let’s go see one of my professors.”
IT TURNED OUT THAT even though he was a year ahead of me, Harrison and I had the same engineering professor. Professor Garvey. She was teaching a late afternoon class to juniors and seniors, so we waited in the hallway until it was over. Harrison paced back and forth as usual. I kept checking my phone. Knowing about my grandfather made me realize that every incoming text or call could be bad news from Ma.
Harrison was sure she was the best person to talk to. Professor Adeline Garvey was a chemical engineer. He thought it would help that she already knew us. I wasn’t convinced. At some point, we were going to show her a very strange magazine.
Students streamed out of the classroom, pushing past us with backpacks and arms full of books and calculators. We peaked in the door. Professor Garvey shuffled papers into a pile and began to organize them into her bag. Harrison rushed forward.
“Professor Garvey!” He practically slid across the linoleum tiles to arrive at her desk. The Professor lowered her eyes.
“Can I help you?” She saw me approaching as well. “Two of you. What do you need?”
“We have a science question for you.” Harrison ran his fingers through his hair and scratched the back of his head.
“It’s really important,” I added. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Professor Garvey gestured towards the group table closest to her desk and we sat down. I held the magazine in front of me but covered it with my arms.
“It’s more like a thought experiment,” I assured her. “Like science fiction.”
The professor raised her eyebrows but waited for us to continue.
“Let’s say someone has the technology to adjust their physiology. You know, improve their lung capacity to run faster. Or increase their endorphins to play better in the big game.” Harrison eyed the magazine as he spoke, but I tugged it closer to myself.
“Actually, could we start with balance?” Now I was picturing Smith shimmying up the cables on the bridge and landing delicately on his feet after leaping across the subway platforms.
“You want to know how someone would improve their balance?” Professor Garvey gave us a sympathetic smile. “Do you have a tight rope competition coming up? Practice would help.”
“What if someone didn’t have time for practice? What if there was a mad scientist who wanted to make someone immediately improve their balance?” Harrison asked.
“I’m not sure it’s possible. At least not with the technology we have today.”
“Of course!” I smiled broadly. “But if that technology existed, what would it do?”
Professor Garvey pursed her lips in thought.
“The vestibular system, which is in the inner ear, does a lot of the work maintaining balance. I suppose a person could increase the number or speed of the nerves that take information from the ear to the brain.”
I nodded along. I didn’t know as much as I wanted to know about anatomy and chemistry, but I at least knew that much.
“Touch plays a part in balance as well. Limbs send messages to the brain when they sense movement. Your feet and ankles tell your brain what surface you’re walking on, which helps your brain keep you balanced. Vision’s part of it too. Visual orientation has a large role in balance.”
“What would you do if you wanted the whole balancing system to work better? Is there a chemical someone could take, like how athletes take steroids to increase their performance? Something that more specifically impacts balance?” An idea was taking shape in my head, but I wasn’t ready to share it yet.
“All the systems work together. I suppose you could target a particular system and enhance its performance, though I don’t know how that would work.”
I pulled out the article and reread the section on balance. Harrison looked on.
“We need – I mean, we’re wondering if there’s a particular chemical or set of chemicals someone could use to improve their balance overall. Not something mechanical. Some new chemical that’s added, or increased.”
The professor looked on and held out her hand. I begrudgingly handed the pages over. She inspected the magazine carefully, peaking at a few other pages before she returned to the article we were looking at.
“Is this – what is this?”
Harrison came to the rescue. “Creative writing piece. We’re working on developing it into something longer.”
“Then couldn’t you change the way the band affects the body? You wrote here that the band uses different organic chemicals, but if you’re the author...”
“Not quite,” I smiled through my teeth. “It’s sort of a writing prompt. And we’re attached to this chemical piece.”
Professor Garvey sighed heavily.
“There’s a fluid in the ear called endolymph. It’s made mostly of potassium. It interacts with hair cells in the cupula, which then tell the brain about the body’s movement. If your ears didn’t have endolymph, you wouldn’t be able to steady yourself. But more endolymph wouldn’t improve balance. Perhaps you’d need to increase the speed of the nerve impulses through which the inner ear sends messages to the brain...”
“Or increase the quantity of those little hairs?” Harrison asked. “Would that help?”
I took out my phone and pulled up an article about endolymph. “Maybe it’s a combination of all of those things. Maybe if someone had more of the chemical, and the chemical sent better, faster messages to the brain, would that do it?”
“Yes, June, but like I said, we are fifty years away from that kind of technology.”
She passed the magazine back my way.
“Was that helpful?”
“Yes, thank you!” Harrison effused. He grabbed the magazine and began leading us towards the door.
“June, hang back please?” the professor called. I walked back to the table, my head held low.
“Your presentation today,” she began. “I realize you’ve been out with that concussion, so I’m not concerned with your performance. Your teammates may not be feeling the same way.”
“Yeah, they were not happy.”
“But June, before your concussion, your performance in my class has been remarkable. You have an innate sense of engineering work, particularly around robotics and programming. Have you taken engineering classes before?”
“Self taught.”
“Let’s talk before you pick your courses for next semester. If you’d like to take a more challenging class, I have one I’m offering in the spring that’s usually reserved for seniors. I could make space. And if you’re interested in being a TA, we could discuss that as well. Many of my students look for work-study type programs, and this pays well.”
My heart leapt. I never considered a job before now, since I already sort of had one guarding the Present. But whether or not I got the money back from Smith, I wanted to help my grandparents with their medical bills. I needed to give something back to them.
“Yes! Yes. I’d like that.”
Professor Garvey smiled. “I will be in touch with you in a month or two then. But make sure your work continues to prove to me that you’re capable, alright?”
I bobbed my head up and down as I backed towards the door.
Chapter 10
It took Ridge a lot of convincing to help us out in the field. We weren’t going to try anything that night. Ridge and Harrison insisted that I get more rest, and running around to confront Smith again was too much too soon, they said. Ridge begrudgingly agreed to be our bait after promises of homemade cookies (not a real benefit since I was a terrible baker) and endless gratitude through the end of time. The old softie.
Ridge’s Map told us exactly where Smith was the next evening, and we met at a restaurant nearby to review the plan. We needed a construction site with plenty of I-beams and scaffolding nearby, but that wasn’t a problem. Some part of the city was always under construction.
Ridge’s presence was crucial. If Smith saw
Harrison or myself, who knew how he’d come after us this time. I lost too much already. But if all went well, by the end of the night, the money would be returned, Smith would be back in his Present, and I could begin budgeting to pay for my grandparents’ medical bills.
Ridge headed towards the bar by himself. It was called Divide, and served more men in collared shirts than Smith usually hung out with. It made me edgy; he must want something bigger to happen tonight.
Harrison and I stood several feet away from the bar while we waited for Ridge’s text. The sounds of the bargoers echoed in the streets every time the door opened and let someone in or out. We leaned against a wall and waited.
Without speaking, Harrison leaned over and picked up my necklace. The locket was large and heavy. I liked playing with it when I was little; I started wearing it every day when I turned thirteen. It felt like the grown up thing to do. Its weight ensured my parents were always on my mind, even when I tried to turn that part of my mind off.
I was acutely aware of Harrison’s presence as he stood close enough to fiddle with my locket. He glanced at me and I nodded. He flipped it open.
I put a family photo inside a little after my parents died. Ma helped me cut it to size. Mom, Dad, June.
Harrison squinted at the image as if he was trying to identify each person. His face softened as he snapped the locket shut. He still held it in his hand; I couldn’t back away. I didn’t want to. My phone vibrated three times. Bzz Bzz Bzz. Harrison dropped the locket and stood up straight. I read Ridge’s text.
All set.
“Let’s go.” Harrison led the way.
The bar was dimly lit, but the surfaces were surprisingly clean and shiny. The whole place smelled like beer and bad cologne. A large group gathered in the center of the space.
“Are you sure, old man?” Smith shouted at Ridge. Ridge looked severely out of place. His old rugby t-shirt, his socks and sandals, none of it fit with the scene. He stood tall, holding his chest out and trying to stare Smith down.
“I don’t need a boy like you asking me if I’m alright!” he yelled a little too loudly. We had coached him on how to approach Smith, and he was really getting into character. “Are we doing this or not? If everything they say about you is true, this should be easy. Or maybe you’re scared this time?”
People cheered and booed. Smith smirked and looked around at his fans. He wasn’t going to say no.
“Of course I’m not scared,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
“What are the terms?” Ridge asked. Our set up.
“What does someone like you have to offer if he loses?” Smith teased. “No money. No objects of value. What else?”
“He’ll probably fall!” someone yelled, looking at Ridge. I tightened my fist but stayed behind Harrison. Still, I felt some comfort reaching into my bag for my Some Gun. I was overwhelmed with emotions – fear, stress, disgust, and the annoyance of an endless low level headache from Smith’s attack. Harrison noticed my face and clasped my shoulder tightly.
“My place in Harlem,” Ridge said. It was only then when I saw him look directly at me. He probably knew I was here the second we walked in. This was the part Ridge was most irritated by. Not the death-defying stunt. The possibility of losing his place. I assured him it wouldn’t happen, but it didn’t help much. Ridge turned back to Smith.
“It’s worth good money,” Ridge continued. “New York real estate. And it’s all I have, so if you win – and there’s no way you’ll win – I’ll be worth nothing.”
People whooped and called out. Smith grinned and raised his arms to hush the crowd.
“Alright, alright.” He rolled his eyes so everyone could see he wasn’t impressed. “Your entire existence is one small apartment you probably haven’t paid 10% of yet. What do you want from me if you win?” More laughing. I tried to shrug Harrison’s arm off but he held tight.
Ridge leaned in close like we coached him.
“If I win, you return the money. From your own pockets. And then you go home.” I could see him snarl the words quietly enough that only Smith could hear. “And you announce it right now so everyone hears.”
I smiled with glee as Smith’s jaw dropped. He turned and looked around the bar, finally making eye contact with me. I shrugged.
“Ok, everyone!” Smith cried out. “This man wants my money, and he wants me to leave town. I’m sure that would disappoint the lot of you, but don’t you worry.” He turned to Ridge menacingly. “Tonight will be a good show.”
I watched Smith as he led Ridge and the rest of the group to a nearby construction site. The site was empty this late at night, and there weren’t many people besides our group. I ducked behind Harrison to work on my tablet. Programming was like riding a bike. Natural. Instinctual. I manipulated the tablet to locate Smith’s bracelet in space, sifting through signals from phones and radio stations until I landed on it. It didn’t look like much; it was only a different type of program. But to me, it was clearly something from another time. I felt the slick, shiny metal as if it was part of the programming.
Harrison stood between me and Smith while I worked. This may have actually been Ridge’s least favorite part, rather than betting his apartment. He had to trust that I could hack my way into the program, find the piece of mechanics I needed to alter, and make the change in time. Otherwise, Ridge was going out on that I-Beam next.
It was the same as the other nights I spent with Smith. Hooting and hollering. The smell of alcohol on people’s breath. Getting shoved around by the crowd. Unable to see what was going on.
I grabbed onto that program and held on tightly. The programming language was new, as I expected, and I kept getting stuck following the lines of code. Harrison didn’t help.
“Is it done? Are you ready?” he muttered. I pushed him away.
Timing was critical. I needed to alter Smith’s chemistry while he was on top of the beam. But first I needed to figure out this stupid code.
I ran through it again and again. The link between the code and the chemicals was tenuous. I was already out of my league figuring out the potassium levels and endo-whatever in Smith’s inner ear. I found the formulas Harrison helped me memorize, but the way they connected to the code was baffling. Like untangling a heap of yarn.
Someone shoved into me, knocking the tablet out of my hands. Harrison shoved the man back.
“You want some of this?” the man called out. It was like we were in a reality show like U Before I where the guys drink and ruffle their feathers like peacocks.
“Back off,” Harrison sneered. He grabbed my tablet from the ground and helped me wipe it off. I lost lines of the hack I was working on and started again. I was too hot, overloaded like the tablet. I fanned myself with my hand.
“What’s happening, Harrison?” I hissed.
“Smith’s climbing. Are you ready?”
I didn’t respond. I poked around the program until I finally got to a place where the band created and injected materials into the host’s blood stream. I should have practiced this! My nerves were getting the best of me and it took all I had not to slam my tablet against the ground.
Harrison turned and leaned over me. He held one of my hands in his.
“Shhhh.”
“What?”
“I can hear you freaking out from six feet up.”
“No you can’t.”
“Calm down, Wires. You can do this. I mean, you have to do this for Ridge, right?”
Ugh, Harrison is the worst. Do I really want him helping me out if he’s always going to be so level-headed?
I pushed his hand off of mine and returned to the tablet. I read through the injection piece. Endo-something was made of potassium. There was more code about potassium than I expected, and I had no idea what that even meant.
“June, you got this!” Harrison called out. I looked up. His eyes were on Smith, who was almost at the top of the crane.
I took three deep breaths. You got this. You got this.
You got this. I heard the crowd gasp; Smith started his walk. I slipped into a trance and stood amongst the characters in the program.
A little here. A little there. I found yet another mention of potassium, and I randomly reversed the numbers. Instead of having too much, Smith now had too little. I found endorphins, too, and dropped those as well. The crowd gasped, but I didn’t dare look up.
The nervous system. Almost everything was centered around the user’s nervous system. The program beefed it up, creating a physiology where the nerves were transmitting information much faster than normal. I played with those, too. I didn’t want Smith to fall, so I lowered the numbers slowly until I heard another gasp.
“Stop, stop!” Harrison yelled. I turned.
Smith dangled from the I-Beam, holding it tightly with two hands. I considered trying the Some Gun from here. The Back-U-Go would probably land him back on the ground in his Present. Probably. Maybe.
The crowd screamed as Smith tried in vain to pull himself back up to the top of the beam. His legs kicked wildly. One arm slipped off, but he got it back on. He looked at Ridge standing off to the side on the scaffolding.
“Do something!” he shouted. “Make this stop!”
There was a twitch in one of his arms again, and it bucked wildly as Smith tried desperately to hold on.
Ridge did something I never would have expected.
He stepped forward onto the beam.
It wasn’t part of the plan. We were supposed to get Smith to a precarious position, just before he fell, and get him to agree to our demands. Ridge didn’t need to go anywhere. But he had a look of determination on his face as he stepped forward, holding both arms out for balance.
“Do you give up?” he yelled. “Do you admit you lose?”
Smith looked around wildly. The crowd roared with a mixture of screams, jeers, and cheers. He looked up at Ridge again but said nothing.
He made one last attempt at pulling himself up, but whatever I did to the band made it impossible for him to move. He had no balance and probably a bunch of other things were going on. I had really just made a mess of the system.