FLOOR 21

by Jason Luthor

  “What are you going to do, Tommy? Are you seriously going to ask me to fight or something? You want to fight a girl?”

  “What do you think I am?” he asks. “I don’t fight girls. I’m a gentleman, not that you’d know. You’re always telling everyone how good you are at sports, though. So let’s see how good.”

  He shoots a look over to the wall of the gymnasium, where the basketball hoop is hanging. My face trails his before I laugh. “Are you really asking me what I think you’re asking? Everyone knows I’m a good shooter. Everyone. I’ve got dead shot aim.

  “Yeah, Jackie,” he says. “If you’re so good, let’s see you prove it.”

  “Fine,” I tell him, walking over to grab a ball. Of course, Toolshed over there has to run and get it before I do, just to show everyone he’s faster than me. What an ass.

  I don’t know if I want to really talk about how bad I was compared to Tommy. No, wait, I take it back. I’m definitely a better shooter than Tommy. I’m a better shooter than anyone. Them’s the facts, punkface. Whatever. Point is, anytime I did have the ball, I was pretty much shooting right over Tommy’s head. The problem wasn’t so much that I was having trouble shooting, and more that Tommy’s just really damn fast. And strong.

  Since I talk so much trash about him, I might as well give him some credit. I mean, you see how he moves when he’s playing other people, but you just don’t realize how good he is until he’s, you know, grinding his victory into your face. The guy’s quicker than me, he can freaking dunk, and let’s not even get into how many times he snatched the ball out of my hands. Which is a long way of saying I had my butt handed to me.

  Anyway, Toolshed gets done proving his point, then has the nerve to ask, “Are you going to go on that date with me now?”

  I shrug. “Sure. Whenever we get out of this Tower.”

  That pretty much means never, but he was right about the date thing. I’ve never been on one. At seventeen. God that’s depressing.

  Totally not the point. The point is, I’m pissed. Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, I lost at basketball. I’m on my way out of the gym when Tommy catches up to me. I’m about ready to deck him across the face, but he throws his hands up. At first I think he’s gonna, like, try and box me or something. But he doesn’t. He just stops in front of me and says, “Hey, Jackie, good game.”

  So at this point, I’m totally confused. “Yeah, uh, you too,” I say back.

  “Hey, sorry if I got too aggressive in there. It’s just, I don’t know, my thing.”

  “Your ‘thing,’ huh?” I ask. “Well, whatever.”

  “Hey,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “I did say sorry.”

  “Yeah. You want a prize?” I’m still confused at this point, but I finally give in. “Okay, okay, Tommy. We’re cool.”

  “Why do you think I’m such a jerk, anyway? What’d I ever do to you?”

  “You’re . . . you’re kidding me, right?” This guy. “Don’t act like you didn’t torment me back when we used to play baseball together. You made my life a living hell, I mean, is it my fault I was the only girl on the team? You didn’t have to make fun of me every day. I can’t help that it took me a few years for my body to grow big enough for my head.”

  “You did kind of look like a kid’s doll back then.”

  “See what I mean?” I ask as I slap him across the arm. “Then you want to know why I don’t want to go out with you? Maybe if you’d been less busy being a stank face and a little more human, we could have at least been friends.”

  “Jackie, how old are we?”

  “What?”

  He holds up his hands like he’s surrendering. “How old are we?”

  “Uh, seventeen. Why?”

  “I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t kind of what you like to call a tool bag. But that was almost ten years ago. I was nine. Whatever you remember about me isn’t what I’m about now. I mean, sure, I still like to whomp on people in basketball, and I kind of am the best athlete on the floor.”

  “Point conceded, you kind of are.”

  “And I’m not going to pretend that’s not true. I’m competitive and cocky, like, all the time. But do I feel bad about what I did back then? Yeah, of course. I was an ass.”

  “You got that right. Plus some other choice words I’d use to describe you.”

  “Look, forget the date thing. I don’t know what I was thinking. I have a habit of my ego getting in front of the rest of my brain. I’d at least like to shoot for friends, though. The guy you remember was from a long time ago. I’m different. Seriously, I’m not who you remember. I know that’s hard to believe, but people do change once in a while.”

  Instinctively I fold my arms in front of me and cock my eyebrow at him like a loading gun. “Friends. You and me? You’re really going to ask me that?”

  “Hey, like I said. I follow my ego. But seriously, I want you to know I’m not nine-year-old Tommy. Heck, I’d rather be Tool Tower Tommy than that guy I used to be.”

  That gets a smile out of me. “Fine.”

  “So, maybe we can hit the gym sometime? I can take you through some of my routine. You know, work on your upper-body strength.”

  “Get out of here,” I say. Guy’s a jerk, but it turns out he’s got his own sense of humor. He gives me a smile, and I can’t help but think, People are probably more complicated than I give them credit for. And he’s right about something. What you remember about someone isn’t necessarily what they are today. It’s just hard getting over your past, you know?

  Recording Thirteen

  Scavengers should be back any day now. It’s not super-unusual for them to be gone an extra day or two, especially if they have a good haul. Hopefully this means we get chocolate. If you want me to be truthful, then I’m kinda excited about them coming back, and no, not just because Mike’s going to be with them. I mean, what, you think my life revolves around him?

  Please. Kid’s good, but not that good. No, I’m seriously just, like, hyped. Must be because of how long they’re taking to get back up here. If we’re going to be for real, I actually do like seeing if everyone made it home alive. Sucks to have to join the Scavengers just because you want to move to the upper floors someday, you know? It’s not what you’d call fair that lots of lower-level livers join just for a chance at getting out of the Creep.

  Anyway, there’s another reason I like watching them come back. Every floor basically competes with the other floors. It’s one of the ways that the Morale officers keep spirits up. I mean, everyone likes a game, right? So, the rules aren’t exactly what you would call complicated, but they’re good enough to keep us entertained. What happens is you’ve got a Scavenger representing almost every floor. Now, I hate that morning announcement they do, but, I dunno, it does kinda keep you in the spirit of things. So every morning during the Scavenging we play games in the Gymnasium. Floor 5 versus Floor 10, that sort of thing. It’s like a, you know, two-week tournament.

  And dang, do the kids go out of their way to make sure it’s a party. They get streamers going, balloons, all sorts of junk. Junk that should probably be used for better stuff, like, oh, who knows, taking care of the Tower. But, whatevs. Right? So, for two weeks it’s like we get a party every morning before finally crowning a winner.

  This morning we had the last games. We extended it an extra day ’cause of the whole “Scavengers aren’t back yet” situation. So, this big, purple bruise on my thigh? Yeah, that might be from wrestling. That poor sucker was crying for mommy and I was playing parent. I mean, for real, this guy was knotted up so tight you could have put salt on him and called him a pretzel. I think what I’m trying to say is, I’m pretty good at wrestling.

  But, yeah, I put up a few points for Floor 8. I mean, since my floor doesn’t get a representative, I have to rep for another floor, and that gets determined by the Morale officers. My floor, Floor 4, only gets all the rewards if the floor we’re paired with wins, which seems fair. It only sucks when I have to race All
ison.

  That girl has wind in her shoes or something.

  Oh, so there’s this other thing. Can’t forget to mention it, only because it’s the whole point of the Scavenging. Each Scavenger tallies up what they found and how much of it. Everything is assigned points. Now, the scores can’t be added up until the Scavengers have turned it all in, so typically we wait until morning before finding out which Scavenger got the most stuff.

  What they found gets assigned points, too, because obviously steak is worth more than carrots. That’s just like . . . duh.

  Point scale. Um, stuff nobody cares about? Cards, paper, lightbulbs? That gets one point. If a Scavenger gets a high score because of crap like this, he’s called Uno because nobody cares about paper. Vegetables? Okay, you need those to eat, but it’s still just vegetables. We spend every freaking week on the rooftop growing those. So, two points. Let’s see. Uh, you’ve got fish and chicken, so those’re five points. We actually debate about this because we give more points for stuff like Blu-Rays than veggies, since there are only so many movies in the world. So, right, six points for anything you can pass time with. Then you start talking about things like technology. Once in a while you’ll have a scavenging team come back with a big load of stuff, like computers. So, eight points there. So what’s at the top of the chain? Any guesses? Of course, it’s food again, because being hungry sucks. That’s nine points for sugar and ten points for steak.

  I’m not really sure if this last one I’m gonna say should be on the list, but might as well, right? The items are tallied live, so stuff gets really exciting. I mean, we don’t want our guys dying when they’re down in the Creep, but, I mean, we’re asking them to be risky. How else are they going to get their hands on all the valuable stuff? So, when a scavenging team comes back, all the items are tallied live the next day. You can see a person’s scores rising on your tablets or computer, but if you’re really into the games, then you meet on Floor 9. As many people pack into the gym as possible, but once that gets full, there’s lots of other places to meet. There are lots of big conference rooms used for all sorts of things, so they’re the perfect place for stuffing a bunch of people all at once. Even then, I mean, you can’t have the whole tower meet at once, right? So, of course, Security doesn’t let everyone in. If you’re not there early, you might not be allowed through the doors. Anyway, you get everyone cheering and screaming, people roll out this big whiteboard onto the gym floor, and then they write out the names of all the Scavengers.

  We’re not monsters. I mean, we remember to have a minute of silence at the start if a Scavenger doesn’t come back. Mad respect for the dead, you know? Whatever, so, everyone starts to go crazy. As the scores come in, the guys in charge of the event post the scores to the board. They don’t forget to write what type of stuff a Scavenger brought, either, because nobody wants to be called Uno for three months. Sucks, right? Having to live with that until you get another chance in the Creep?

  It’s weird. We spend three months looking forward to the Scavenging, two weeks of games while we’re waiting for the Scavengers to come back, and then another day waiting for the tallies. So, what’s the prize? It’s big time. Your floor gets crowned Scavenger’s Hall, you get food bonuses in your boxes, and you get your duty shifts lowered. Pretty freakin’ sweet. Yeah, and then you wonder why I get pissed that Floor 4 doesn’t get to participate.

  Uh, I think I was making a point earlier . . . Oh, that’s right. About the points. I was going to say that since we get tallies of everyone’s score, we know exactly what they’re bringing in. Well, so, the tallies are divided by beef, chicken, fish, candies, paper, you know, all of the things. See, the problem is there’s this other category that rarely gets checked. Like maybe once a year.

  It’s just called “other.” Real specific, am I right? Anyway, try and put the pieces together. Why does “other” get marked only after a Scavenging when the teams have to rush up to Floor 1 instead of doing their usual march through the halls? Yeah, that’s right. “Other” means that one of the Scavengers found something real important, something that might be a clue about the Tower and what’s outside. We assume it’s some sort of, like, supersecret technology. The kids call it Sec Tech, but, I mean, who cares? Point is it’s important, and so whoever brings back some Sec Tech gets an automatic two hundred point bonus. I know, right? I’d be trying to get my hands on that stuff every time I went scavenging. That’s a guarantee that you’re going to place in the top three. It makes a difference how well your floor performed during the games, too. Those scores are added to how much a Scavenger hauled in, so your rep can haul in a ton of sweet loot, but you can still lose the competition if your floor does badly in the games. Which is, of course, one major reason I always wish Tommy was on my team. God. We would wreck.

  So, yeah, everyone goes nuts at this time of year. It’s awesome. I love it. And Tower Authority is cool about it, for once. Half the Morale officers spend the month leading up to the Scavenging putting flyers in everyone’s mailboxes and reminding them to root for their floor’s Scavenger, or telling people to put up decorations on the wall.

  All so that we can be happy about being stuck in this tower.

  Recording Fourteen

  Word is that the Scavengers’ll be back tonight. Yikes. I’m so hyped.

  I was talking to Allison about how it sucks not to have a floor rep. So, hers is this Scavenger named Janet Amato. Talk about a woman, I mean, this chick is, like, seven feet tall and all muscle. Which is sweet and all, but Allison tells me that Janet’s also pretty smart. That’s cool, you know? That’s what I want to be like. But, I mean, I live on Floor 4. There’s no way to become a Scavenger.

  Also, Mom and Dad made the point that people born on Floor 4 and higher are meant for other stuff. I mean, I guess. Dad’s in the Science division. Mom is, too; she just does a lot more, like hands-on stuff with the gardens. Is there a word for a scientist that specializes with vegetables and green stuff? Anyway, I know that she also does chemistry. She doesn’t mention it much, but she lets it slip once in a while when she says these really complicated chemical names. I really don’t get how she knows them, but she has to know what they are.

  Ugh. About Mom. We had another, well, let’s just call it an “incident.”

  I get home from school per the usual, and my mind’s already whacked out from having to study biology all day. It’s not what you’d call fun, since I’m constantly thinking about how it can apply to the Creep. What’s its cell structure like? How does it keep growing? So half the class I’m distracted, and Mrs. Bloom goes off on me about how I need to pay more attention. Like, sure, she might be right, but don’t call me out in front of the class. That’s just tacky.

  Anyway, I walk through the door to the apartment, and all the lights are out. Not even the windows are open. At first I think nobody’s home because, I mean, why would you turn out all the lights? Then I hear . . . something. It’s soft, but I can tell it’s coming from my parents’ room. I sling my backpack to the floor and start to inch along to the door, waiting at the entrance like a thief. My eyes cut into the room, but everything’s dark there, too. Still, I can hear her in there. She’s not quite crying, but . . . is the word sobbing? She’s sobbing.

  “Mom?” I call, pushing the door open a bit so I can see what’s going on. She’s folded up like a pile of laundry on the bed, with a blanket so tight around her it might as well be a shell. “Mom, are you okay? You’re not having a freak-out, are you?”

  She doesn’t respond at first. In the darkness the top of her head looks like a bush, her kinky curls spreading out like branches. Mom never liked flattening it, for the same reason I don’t: too many chemicals we don’t have enough of, and too much time. Anyway, it takes her a minute to turn around even slightly, and when she does, she barely whispers, “Jacko?”

  “Yeah, Mom, it’s me,” I say as I brave the distance to the bed. “Is it, uh, is it okay if I sit?”

  “Of course, sweethea
rt,” she says as she turns back around, tightening up into her ball. I can’t tell what’s wrong, so I just slide into the space beside her. The bed doesn’t have much support, and years of sleeping in it have left a depression in the mattress from Dad’s body. As tough as things have been the last few years, it scares me to think of life without him. Mom would lose it completely. Can you imagine how hard it would be sleeping in a bed that still has your husband’s shape pressed into it? That’s a memory you can’t forget, and it bothers me being in his imprint.

  “So, Mom, was everything okay today?”

  “You know it was. Everything’s okay every day.”

  “Right. Everything’s always okay. I completely get that, but you’re . . . crying, you know?”

  Her lips turn halfway upward as her eyes roll over to me. “Am I? I must be having an emotional day. Didn’t even notice.”

  “Didn’t even notice? Mom . . .”

  “I’ll be okay, Jacko. I just . . . just need time.”

  That’s about the extent of our conversation. What else was I supposed to say? So I just . . . I just laid there. You know, it’s really painful lying down next to a person that looks like the one that raised you but acts like someone completely different. Mom used to be so happy, especially when me, her, and Dad would head down to the baseball field. She always had my uniform cleaned and ready. Whenever he wasn’t around, she’d take me to the lounge and pop in an educational video. You know, those terrible ones where a cartoon mascot tries to teach you. “Edutainment,” I think they call it. But even if it sucked, Mom acted like she cared.

  I mean, she still does, I think. She shows it sometimes, especially around important dates, but lots of the time she . . . I dunno. A lot of the times she’s like this, or she’s clocked out like she’s barely conscious. I just wish she was . . . normal. Whatever that means, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be this.