Union

by John Darryl Winston

  Harvis nodded.

  “I’ve missed a lot,” said Naz as he rolled over. He sent Mr. Tesla a text letting him know he was spending the night at Fears’ house.

  “That you have, my friend. That you have.”

  The next morning, Team Harvis finally beat the computer, using Naz’s strategy. That victory was short-lived, however, as Harvis upped the ante by using the AI chip to learn Naz’s and Soul’s moves along with the MM feature, making the computer virtually invincible in that mode, a perfect scenario for Harvis.

  Fears offered to take Naz home the next afternoon, but Naz opted to walk home and use the time to think about his life. He had neglected his friends. He had neglected his purpose for coming back to the Exclave and by extension, Meri, and he had enjoyed it. It was time to find balance. He hoped D would help him to that end and that his search for balance would not jeopardize what he had built with her—with my girlfriend. He smiled. But they had talked about it more or less the night before as well. She had said she didn’t want to be Naz’s distraction—had she been?

  For the rest of Christmas break, Naz tried to split his time equally between D and his friends, which wasn’t difficult. Team Harvis was set and determined to beat the AI-enhanced video game, and Naz’s silent protests eliminated the possibility of recruiting Ham to help carry out that mission.

  D had her own mission; she was engrossed in her new technology. She read her camera’s instruction manual cover to cover, determined to be an expert on all things photojournalist. She was also trying to come up with the perfect pictures for The Union Press’ first issue, and John was particularly picky. On the way to school on their first day after the break, D seemed uncharacteristically excited, skipping ahead of Naz, even jumping up and down stomping and mashing the snow on one occasion.

  “Why are you so excited to be going back to school? I mean, nobody’s excited about going back. It’s not like you have friends.” Naz dragged behind as he shuffled through the snow.

  “I have friends.” She picked up some loose snow.

  “Who?”

  “You, Nazzy boy.” She turned and flung the snow at him, missing badly.

  He ducked anyway. “Nazzy boy? Seriously, why are you so excited?”

  “Because I finally get to put my baby to the test.” She patted the case hanging from her shoulder. “John has been on my nerves about pictures for our first paper, and I have nothing. Dr. Gwen said he was impulsive and ambitious, but she forgot to mention obsessive. He’s callin’ or textin’ me every day. ‘What do ya got? What do ya have?’ Geez!”

  “Every day? You want me to talk to ’im?”

  “No, I can handle him.”

  “You’ve been taking pictures all week. You don’t have anything yet?”

  “It’s a school newspaper, Naz. You have to take pictures of things that happen in school.”

  “Oh.”

  Something ahead got her attention. She pulled her camera out, snapped a bunch of pictures, handed the camera to Naz then trotted ahead. Naz followed.

  “You should be careful. That thing could be dangerous or have rabies.”

  “It’s a puppy, Naz; he doesn’t even come up to your knee, and he doesn’t have rabies.”

  The dog had big brown eyes and a brown nose with flakes of snow on it, and its fur was the color of a slab of Marshal Park concrete, stained, lusterless, and Naz guessed, filthy. This wasn’t the first time D stopped to show pity to a stray dog, and the gesture made Naz smile.

  “Brave. You know, Meri almost got bit pulling that same stunt.”

  “Occupational hazard … comes with the territory.”

  “After that, she just tried to help the panhandlers and derelicts.”

  “Panhandlers and derelicts?”

  “Yeah, you know, the homeless people.” He nodded in the direction of a man who sat on the curb across the street holding a sign that read:

  D looked at the man then grabbed her camera from Naz. She took a few pictures of the man and then a few more when the man started waving.

  “There’s your first story: The Homeless in the Exclave, or maybe, At Home with the Homeless.’”

  “Nice, but sadly our classmates don’t care about the homeless. It’s a societal problem, an Exclave problem. What does the Union student body care about?”

  Naz shrugged.

  “Hold this.” She handed her camera back to Naz. “Turn around.”

  “Turn around?”

  “Yeah, turn around … you trust me, don’t you?” She imitated his voice.

  He smiled and turned around.

  She unzipped his backpack and then a moment later zipped it back up. “Thanks.”

  When he turned around, she was attempting to tear open a twin pack of Slim Jims with her teeth.

  “Am I that predictable?” He held out his hand for the beefy snack. “I got a Snickers bar.”

  “He can’t eat chocolate, silly; It’ll make him sick.” She looked at the dog whose tail was now wagging at breakneck speed.

  “He’s a stray; he can eat anything.”

  “Just open it.” She put her hand on her hip.

  Naz finished what D had started, opening the pack of Slim Jims. He handed them back to her.

  She nodded, taking one of them out and handing it to the dog. She gave the other one back to Naz.

  “That was my lunch.”

  “Well, now it’s your breakfast.”

  The dog finished chewing, looked sideways at the other Slim Jim Naz held, and then barked.

  “Tone junior says ‘thank you.’” D rubbed the dog’s back.

  “Tone junior? I don’t think so … and I don’t think he was sayin’ thank you either … more like gimme.” Naz jumped at the dog, and the dog showed its teeth and growled.

  “Naz.”

  Naz stomped, and the dog ran off. “Tone junior … Tone would never run from a fight, and he’s five times smarter.”

  “You’re twice as big as that little guy … and you’re cruel.” D pouted as she watched the dog run down the street.

  “I was just playin’. Tone can take a joke, too. We’re gonna be late.” Naz put the other Slim Jim in his coat pocket, handed her the camera, and they started toward Union again. “So now you have pictures of a mangy dog; who cares about that?”

  D tutted. “Those pictures were for me, thank you. You can be so …”

  “So what?”

  “So … so … forget it. So what happened to Soul’s arm?”

  Naz started laughing. “He was bullied by a cheerleader.”

  The rest of the walk, Naz told D the story Harvis had told him about Soul’s encounter with the two jocks and the cheerleader, embellishing on it where he thought it needed a little spicing up. D couldn’t stop laughing.

  “I wish I could’ve been there with this.” She patted her trusty camera. “That would’ve made a great story for sure.” She stopped just before they walked into Union, as if she had forgotten something. “I got it,” she blurted out.

  “What?” asked Naz.

  “An idea for our first story.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll tell you later. Tell your coach I’m gonna be late for class.” She started down the packed hallway.

  “Wait!”

  She stopped.

  “John’s been calling and texting you … every day?!”

  “Naz.” She continued down the hallway.

  D never showed up for Health, and no one missed her—except Naz. He texted her toward the end of class.

  Where u at

  She responded immediately.

  Union press

  Something didn’t sit right with D missing class for the school newspaper—can she do that? I guess she can. He wondered if she skipped any other classes. The thought plagued him for the rest of the day. He resisted texting her again, but their last hour class, Art Survey, couldn’t come fast enough. When Ms. Goins finished taking roll, Naz tapped his foot uncontrollably. Foot-ta
pping turned into pencil-tapping on his desk, and Naz realized he was annoying other students. Then, he began writing the letter D repeatedly on the paper he was supposed to be sketching something on. Thirty minutes felt like hours, and he swore he could hear each tick expire on the analog clock in front of the class. With fifteen minutes left in class, he pulled out his phone, concealing it under his desk so Ms. Goins couldn’t see it and typed,

  Where are you?!

  But he didn’t send it. He knew she would read him angry right away. He had never used proper grammar with punctuation, much less an exclamation point in any text message—why is she skipping class? His hand shot up.

  “You have a question about the project, Naz?” asked Ms. Goins.

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  She pointed to the pass on her desk. He grabbed it and left.

  He hurried up two flights to the room that housed The Union Press. D and John had shown it to Naz several times, but until now he didn’t have the slightest interest in the endeavor or the room. Unlike the other classrooms, The Press boasted a solid oak door with the title The Union Press stenciled on it and an advanced security system.

  As Naz got closer to the door, he could just barely hear John’s voice. He put his ear to the wood but still couldn’t make out what John was saying. D laughed, and Naz clenched his jaw—why is she laughing? He tried harder to listen, but a door slammed down the hall. Two girls walked by, talking loudly and laughing. Naz tutted and rolled his eyes at them. When Naz turned back to the door, one of the girls said, “Sorry,” and they both started laughing again, mocking Naz. He squeezed his fists tightly until his knuckles went pale.

  Then came an announcement on the intercom, drowning out the already muffled sound from the room—woosah. Naz’s calming inhale/exhale turned into a sigh of frustration. At his wit’s end, he put his hands on the door, closed his eyes, and focused. He knew he had heard the thoughts of others before without seeing the person behind the thoughts, but it was random, beyond his control, and without trying. Now for the first time, he would will his unique ability to do the same with John and D.

  I told you, I love it.

  Get me the pictures.

  It was his idea.

  I’ll write the story.

  Laughter.

  I love you.

  How long will it take you to get the pictures?

  Don’t look at me like that.

  I’ve never met anyone like him.

  You’re special to me.

  I hate when he looks at me like that.

  A week, maybe two.

  Oh, how I hate him.

  Laughter.

  He’s not special.

  “Young man!”

  My name is Meridian Andersen.

  “Young man!” Clature tapped Naz on his shoulder. Apparently, it wasn’t the first tap. “Young man!”

  Naz turned around quickly.

  Clature already had his baton in his hand, beating it into his palm. He had retreated to a safe distance from Naz and was poised to strike if necessary. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m gonna ask you one more time, my man, then we’re gonna have a serious problem.” He continued to smack the baton in his palm.

  Naz went for the pass in his front pocket. Clature went for his gun.

  Naz stopped. “I’m reaching for my hall pass.” He continued slowly, retrieving the pass then holding it out to the guard.

  Clature looked at it and raised his voice. “That means nothing to me. What were you just doing?”

  “I-I was waiting for someone to answer the door. I … I work here … at the newspaper.”

  “What newspaper?”

  Naz stepped aside to show Clature the name on the door. At the same time, the door opened.

  “What’s goin’ on?” John emerged from the room.

  “Naz?” D was right behind him.

  Clature stepped forward and peered into the room. “He was standing at the door. I think he was trying—”

  Naz interrupted. “I told him I was waiting. I told him I worked here.”

  “Yeah, what about it?” asked John, looking at Clature.

  “Well, does he?” Clature’s eyes flitted back and forth at D and John.

  “Of course he does. Why else would he be here?” John shook Naz’s hand and applied the man-hug. “What took you so long?”

  Naz shrugged. D’s eye’s narrowed. Her head tilted and brow furrowed.

  “Is there anything else?” John looked at Clature again. “Then you may go.”

  D snickered.

  “Don’t get smart, my man.” Clature glared at John. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. You’re not so smart.” His eye shifted to Naz.

  Clature walked passed the three, and they all went back in The Press. D and John burst into laughter while Naz sported a sheepish grin.

  “Did you see the look on his face?” asked D.

  “I-I have to get back to class.” Naz turned to leave.

  “Naz,” John called.

  Naz turned around.

  “That’s two you owe me.”

  Naz nodded, not feeling like he was on the receiving end of a gift as much as misfortune. He was too dazed to think about what had just transpired. He just wanted to get back to class, back to his friends, maybe to the video game where his life was simple, where his life was fun.

  The bell rang just as Naz made it to the first floor. He turned right back around and headed up the stairs for his locker. Nothing of his was left in Art Survey except the paper he had doodled the letter D on, the project he hadn’t even started. Anxious to get Harvis’ take on what had just happened, he put on his coat and waited at their locker. Naz didn’t have to wait long as Harvis was prompt as always.

  “You wanna help out Coach at practice today?” He put his books in his locker.

  “Definitely.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t act so surprised. Guess what happened.”

  Naz started telling Harvis about his conundrum minutes before. Just as he was getting to the best part, something in Harvis’ eyes changed, almost imperceptible, and Naz stopped talking. A second later everything went dark, and a pair of small soft hands covered his eyes from behind. He scent of coconut wafted over him.

  “Guess who?”

  “Um … D.”

  “Yay!”

  She released him, and when he turned around, she immediately took a series of photos of him and Harvis. Neither was prepared for her barrage of snapshots.

  “Thanks for the surprise visit … boyfriend. Drop by anytime. You’re gonna love our first issue.”

  “What’s it about?” asked Harvis, fidgeting and ruffling his buzz cut, clearly out of his comfort zone with the attention he was receiving via the impromptu photo session.

  “It also is a surprise.” She smiled and took another picture of Harvis and Naz.

  “Would you stop?” Naz took D by the elbow and led her away from their locker. “What’s up with you today?”

  “What’s up with you? Were you spying on me?” From day one D spoke her mind, and today was no different.

  “No, I was worried about you … when you didn’t come to class.”

  “Okayyyy … so why didn’t you text me, like you did this morning?

  He didn’t have an answer other than the truth, and he knew she would catch him before he even finished trying to lie.

  “I-I don’t have any answers. I guess I was spying on you. I was worried.”

  “About him … John?”

  “No … yes.” He looked around, embarrassed, hoping nobody was listening to him make a fool out of himself.

  “Well, what did you learn?”

  “Huh?”

  “What did you hear? What did you get?”

  “Nothing … nothing.”

  D stopped him and whipped around in front of him, so they were face to face. She took off her glasses, her eyes watering immediately and looked
into his eyes. Some of the students stopped to take notice while others passed them on all sides. Naz’s eyes flitted from them to D.

  She grabbed his coat by the collar and pulled him forcefully so that he focused on her and only her. “Listen, I have trust issues. I don’t trust anybody, not my mother, not my father, not even my grandmother. Darla’s the only one I ever really trusted, and she left. But now there’s you … and only you. Get it? So don’t do that again.” She blinked, and a tear fell from her eye as she pulled him closer to her, reached up, and kissed him lightly on the lips for the first time. She let him go and ran down the hallway.

  Naz looked around suddenly as if awakened from a dream. He saw the mixed emotions and heard the voices of the students who passed by or congregated around him—funny faces, eyebrows raised—but he didn’t care. He just knew at that very moment he was in love with Delilah Dinwiddie, and he would die for her.

  Naz and Harvis shot around in the gym, waiting for Fears to finish his team meeting with the varsity players in the locker room.

  Harvis shot a free throw. “You mean, he actually bailed you out, again.”

  “The first time I recall he bailed us out.” Naz grabbed the ball after it went through the hoop and passed it back to Harvis.

  “Yeah, but I’m not the one he hit in the mouth to do it.” Harvis laughed and shot another free throw.

  “Ha … ha.” Naz passed the made free throw back to Harvis again.

  “Still, you have to admit, that’s two situations where he came to your rescue and didn’t have to.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t trust ’im.”

  Harvis made another shot. “You don’t have to.”

  Naz scoffed, passing the ball back. “How many is that in a row?”

  Harvis shrugged. “I never count. Anyway, you need to trust D. And you need to relax and enjoy this pause while you can, lover boy.” Harvis posed to shoot.

  “Whatever. I think that’s nine in a row.” Naz smirked.

  Harvis shot. “Don’t worry; strife will come again soon enough.” The ball clanked off the side of the rim.