She made an effort to brighten her face. “Listen, it’s just that I worry when—”
I stood up and stuck one foot out, letting it dangle over the edge. I spread my arms and tilted my head back.
“See?” she said. “This is exactly the sort of thing I was talking about.”
“I bet you a hundred bucks,” I said, my stomach all swervy, “if I do a swan dive onto the front steps? I’ll wake up tomorrow, and everything will be fine.”
Lake grabbed my ankle. Instead of helping, it made me start to lose my balance.
“Hey!” I said, but she kept pulling.
“Stop it!” she said.
“Don’t!” I said, falling a degree at a time. She squeezed my ankle, but there was no way she could hold me. And there was nothing for me to grab. I could see over the edge of the roof. I didn’t want to fall. But then, you know, I sort of did. I closed my eyes, weightless.
“Oh, man, what in hell are you guys doing?”
O.S. grabbed my arm and swung me back onto the shingles until I lay flat.
“You’re here!” I said, breathing hard.
“Of course I’m here,” he said angrily. “I mean, where else would I be?”
“You sister is nuts,” Lake said.
He nodded. “I mean, is my sister nuts?”
“It’s okay, though,” I laughed. “I have a great medical plan. I even have my own private nurse.”
Lake lit a cigarette. The three of us stared out at the cars and stores and cul-de-sacs while her smoke rose up in one long plume.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MR. PUGLISI
THE DAY MY FATHER DISAPPEARED, ESSAY #3
The next morning I came early, since Trish was going to pick us up right after school, but Mr. Puglisi wasn’t there. I waited twenty minutes. There was a new poster on the wall. It was a picture of an infant in its mother’s arms, nestled between her enormous breasts. Underneath it said I’m So Happy, I Could Shit Myself.
I took out my essay. And put it in my lap. Another twenty minutes went by. No Mr. Puglisi. I picked it up and harrumphed a few times before reading it out loud.
It was late at night, and we were still lying in bed. O.S. was snoring. I was half listening to the hum of Trish’s TV when I heard a car pull up to the house. It skidded to a stop. I went to the top of the steps. My father ran up from the basement, slamming the door.
My mother watched from the kitchen, holding a casserole dish, about to ask a question. My father took off his lab coat and threw it in the corner, holding up one hand for silence. He loosened his tie. There was a knock, polite and then rude. It got louder. The bell rang. Bzzz bzzz bzzz. O.S. was still asleep. My father took a deep breath and opened the door.
Officer Goethe, with his big ape-shoulders, was standing there, looking even bigger than usual. Two other men in suits and sunglasses stood behind him.
“Where is it?” Officer Goethe asked.
“Where’s what?”
Officer Goethe almost smiled. “Computers say she brought something out. Not code, but something real. Since it ain’t in the office, that means you took it with you. And now you’re going to give it back.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” my father said, and then the three men pushed their way in, taking my father by the arms.
“What are you doing?” my mother asked.
“We have a few more questions,” Officer Goethe said.
“Everyone always has a few more questions,” my mother said.
Out the window, I could see the men putting my father in the backseat of a sedan, next to a woman in a white uniform, before it sped away.
I stopped reading, alone in the office, actually wishing Mr. Puglisi had shown up. I put the essay on his desk, which was empty except for cookie crumbs and a manila envelope. On the front of the envelope was written Sophie Blue, Progress Report. Underneath was a drawing of a cake full of candles. It wasn’t half bad. Beneath that, it said Happy Birthday! The office was silent and dark. I couldn’t hear anything in the hallway, no kids, no slamming lockers. I counted to six, saying, “Don’t do it” each time, and then grabbed the envelope and tore it open. It was one page. Written on it, in red marker, were three words. That was my progress report. Three words.
Beware The Nurse.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
KENNY FADE
BY ONES TO ELEVEN, WINNERS OUT. WAY OUT
Kenny and Freckle took turns dunking. The rest of the team was at the other end of the court, being yelled at by Coach Dhushbak. Workmen were repairing the wall in the corner where a delivery truck had smashed into it, leaving a pile of dust and cinder blocks and snapped two-by-fours, so Kenny was allowed to just watch. Actually, he was pretty much allowed to shoot baskets or sit on the bench or blow off practice altogether and make out with Dayna under the big oak tree behind the gym whenever he felt like it. Mostly, he didn’t feel like it.
“Bet you can’t make fifteen left-handed jumpers in a row,” Freckle said.
Kenny made fourteen left-handed jumpers in a row. When he missed the fifteenth, Freckle said, “You suck.”
The two of them played Horse; Kenny won. They played Kentucky Horse, and Kenny won. They played Around the World, Twenty-one, and One on One. Kenny won. After, when they were sweating under the stanchion, watching Coach yell at some scrub for messing up a pick and roll, Kenny turned to Freckle.
“Can I tell you something serious for a minute?”
Freckle popped a can of Sour White. “Sure.”
“There is something really and desperately wrong with me.”
Freckle laughed, sweeping hair from his forehead. “Yeah, there’s a ton wrong with you. You’re a mess. You got it so tough, I don’t know how you manage to get up every day, let alone soldier on.”
“No, I mean it,” Kenny said, scratching his elbow. On the wall above the bleachers was a poster of a thin woman in a bikini holding two huge, melting ice cream cones. Underneath it said Eat It Now, or You May Have to Eat It Later.
Freckle stopped smiling. “Okay, lay it on me.”
“For one thing, maybe I’m being paranoid, but people keep going through my stuff.”
“Souvenirs. They want a little piece of the Fa-day.”
“I feel sick,” Kenny said. “I’ve felt this way for weeks. Like I’ve eaten too many marshmallows.”
“Maybe you should lay off Dayna for a while,” Freckle said. “She’s enough to put a diabetic in a coma.”
“And sometimes I hear voices. Like a girl’s voice? In my head.”
“Man, I hope Dayna’s making noises. Otherwise, you’re totally doing something wrong.”
“Dude, I’m serious,” Kenny said.
Freckle sat up straight. “Sorry. No more jokes.”
“Dayna and I were fooling around yesterday.”
“So?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t want to.”
Freckle looked appalled. “But that’s like saying you don’t want to breathe.”
“All I could think about was that I really wanted to pick up her clothes.”
“What?” Freckle said. “And like, sniff ’em? Really get your nose in there and smell the action?”
“No,” Kenny said. “Like, wear them. Like, get dressed and look at myself in the mirror.”
Freckle stared at Kenny for a long time. “No way.”
“I know.”
“Um—”
Kenny waved. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to hang out anymore.”
“Dude,” Freckle said, putting his hand on Kenny’s shoulder. “C’mon.”
“Thanks,” Kenny said, tightening the laces on his Dikes. “I knew you were the only one who would listen. I just had to tell somebody.”
Kenny got up, dribbling the ball to the other end. His teammates cheered, slapping his back. Coach Dhushbak rolled out the game ball. “The big gun is here now, people.”
Twee.
The team ran up and down the court, rando
m plops of sweat and the chirp of sneaker against varnish, the screech of elbow against floor. They went like that for half an hour, no one giving an inch, Coach Dhushbak yelling out the score. With thirty seconds left, Kenny knocked down his twelfth consecutive basket, a nifty up-and-under reverse, to put his side ahead. He backpedaled down the floor. Freckle reached out to high-five, when Kenny’s face constricted. He stumbled and then collapsed. Everyone laughed, thinking it was a joke, Kenny just loosening things up. Kenny showing everyone that, even in the heat of battle, they were still all on the same team. Even Coach Dhushbak laughed, saying, “All right, Fade, let’s get ’er up and finish this thing.” After a while, though, when he didn’t, no one laughed anymore. Zac touched Kenny’s Air Dike with the tip of his sneaker, and when Kenny didn’t move, Coach Dhushbak ran into his office to call an ambulance.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SOPHIE “GOTHIKA” BLUE
KETCHUP IS A VEGETABLE
I wheeled Lake into line. She grabbed a sticky yellow tray, handed me one, and filled hers with pizza and chocolate milk. I put mine back.
“So now you’re on a hunger strike?”
I ignored her. After the roof, she’d refused to talk about anything that had to do with a truck or a nurse. She and O.S. sat on the floor and played cards. Even after they fell asleep, I stayed up all night, thinking about the lab.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Not at all.”
I figured there was a good chance Trish wouldn’t show after school. We needed Herb to drive us in the van. I needed to think of a way to ask.
“Herb is not driving us in the van,” Lake said.
I opened my pad and drew aimlessly.
“Maybe you should collect some of his hair. Make a voodoo doll out of it.”
I looked down. I’d been drawing Aaron Agar. I hooked my arm around so she couldn’t see.
“There’s your brother,” Lake pointed. “Why don’t you invite him over?”
O.S. was sitting in the freshman section with his friend, the weird little German guy who looked like a rabbit.
“Why don’t you?”
“Just do it.”
I stood and waved.
O.S. walked over and immediately started talking about comics. Lake pretended to care. Artists and heroes and villains and sidekicks. He reached in his bag and showed her his favorite issue. It was about a woman in a white outfit. Under her picture, in bloodred letters, it said La Nutrika. He opened to the centerfold, a drawing of La Nutrika in a tight nurse’s uniform.
“Holy total fuck!”
I grabbed the comic out of his hand.
“Hey!” O.S. said. “Give it back!”
On the next page, La Nutrika was directing a team of factory workers with a whip in one hand and a schematics manual in the other. The workers were building a huge metal circle in the middle of a burned-out factory.
“Why’s that one your favorite?” Lake asked, trying to cover for my weirdness.
I flipped back a few pages. There was a fat scientist sweating all over the place, barking orders. Then robot stuff. A robot flying through the roof of the building. Some nerdy boy in a trench coat who was sort of cute. I turned to the last page. The lab was new, gleaming. It was like a sweatshop. The big circle was finished. Inside the circle was a membrane, like soap glistening in the middle of a bubble wand. People were loading microwaves and sneakers and televisions into trucks as they came through the membrane. This was what The Nurse wanted?
“Because my father gave it to me,” O.S. answered.
No way. Uh-uh.
I felt frozen shards of ice along my sides. I slid my chair against his, grabbing his arm and squeezing hard.
“Jeez, calm down.”
“When did Dad—?”
Donk.
Zac Grace elbowed O.S. in the back of the head. He was followed by Aaron Agar and half the basketball team.
“Hey!” O.S. said, looking up. When he saw it was Zac, he looked back down.
“Hey, dog,” Zac grinned, his dumb hair gelled forward. He wore a yellow silk tracksuit. “I hear you’re trying out for the team this year! All signed up and ready to do some balling?”
O.S. didn’t answer, pinching his milk carton. A bubble rose in the straw, suspended midway, trapped. I looked at Aaron, who avoided my eye.
“What’s O.S. stand for, anyhow?” Zac asked loudly. “Orgasm Supplier? Obese City?”
“Actually fairly clever,” O.S. said. “I mean, the second one?”
“Hey, Oral Slurp,” someone called. “What’s it like having Columbine-a for a sister?”
“Must suck!” someone else answered.
“Yo, dude, watch it, she’s got an Uzi!”
Some kids ducked under their tables. Others held their chests and keeled over like they’d been shot.
“Could you possibly be any more of a renob?” I said.
Zac put his hands on O.S.’s shoulders and squeezed. “What does that even mean?”
“I believe it’s boner backward,” O.S. said with a wince. “But I could be wrong.”
“That’s sheer genius,” Zac said. “Hey, do you know what this spells?” He stood back, pretending he was holding pom-poms, and then acted out letters like he was leading a cheer, Gimme a T, gimme an E, T-E-S-T T-U-B-E.
The cafeteria exploded with laughter. Zac took a deep bow. I stood, not knowing if I was going to run or hit Zac over the head with a tray. Aaron looked at me. He sort of shrugged, not even flinching as the Popsicle truck slammed through the plateglass window behind him, roaring like a cornered animal. No one ran. No one screamed.
“Dad? Is it really you?”
“Yeah, it’s really me,” Zac laughed. “I’m so your daddy.”
The truck crushed chairs and books and the faculty table, coming right at O.S. I stood in front of him, spreading my arms, waiting for the grill to connect with the center of my chest.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KENNY FADE
ANEURISM, INFARCTION, CLOT, SHUNT, SUTURE, IMPINGEMENT, BIOPSY
Kenny awoke on a cot in a white hospital room. A TV mounted to the wall played Spin My Fortune. Buzzers buzzed and lights flashed and someone won a couch shaped like a donkey, and then someone else traded a year’s supply of cinnamon Toast-R Shangles for six tubes of Leggy Leg Waxy Wax.
A candy striper came in to fluff Kenny’s pillow. She had black hair down to her waist, a tight white skirt, and white pumps. She looked like she’d been ordered out of a beer ad.
“How you doin’, sweetie?” she asked.
Kenny probed his stomach with one finger, which brought up the taste of rotten marshmallow so strong he gagged. “Not so hot.”
The candy striper tsk’d, leaning over to tuck his sheet on the other side, brushing her enormous juggs against his chest and arm. She straightened up and stroked Kenny’s cheek. “Maybe you need a sponge bath, huh?”
Before Kenny could answer, Dayna came in, followed by Rose. Dayna and the candy striper sized each other up. The candy striper straightened her tiny outfit, so tiny there were no wrinkles to straighten, and reluctantly left.
“How are you, honey?” Rose asked, lighting a cigar. She laid a platter of cookies on the table next to Kenny’s IV hanger.
“You probably can’t smoke in here,” Kenny said. On the wall behind her was a poster of a crumbling coal factory. Underneath it said I Used to Smoke, Too.
“Zac and Freckle are in the waiting room,” Dayna cooed, rubbing Kenny’s neck and chest. “They’re so worried.” Her hand went down under the sheet, groping around, like she was looking for something.
Rose winked. “Need me to leave for a bit?”
Kenny grabbed Dayna’s hand as the doctor walked in. He had a huge head and big round teeth. He held a chart and looked it over, flipping pages, making harrumphing sounds.
“Well, doc?” Kenny asked, already knowing it was cancer. That would finally, blessedly, explain everything. He was almost hoping for it. The movie of th
e rest of his life played in his head, sad music, a crying Dayna, his mother knitting a tan wig for when he lost his hair to chemo, and then a trip to Disney World before he succumbed to an orchestral soundtrack.
“Not a darn thing.” The doctor smiled. “You’re in perfect health.”
Dayna cheered. Down the hall, they could hear the candy striper cheer. Kenny’s stomach rolled. “That’s not possible. There’s definitely something wrong with me.”
“Nope,” the doctor said, a trickle down his forehead. “Nothing.”
“I think you should do a few more tests.”
“Hey, maybe you should listen to the doctor,” Rose said. “Doctor knows best.”
“No. Wait.”
“Why don’t we close the door?” Rose said. Her white dress glowed.
“You’re lying, aren’t you?” Kenny demanded.
“Sorry,” the doctor said, backing away.
Rose grabbed Kenny by the arm, raising her lip. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
Dayna moved toward the bed. When Kenny tried to sit, Rose held him down. They pulled up his gown and Kenny began to scream, his voice sounding just like a little girl’s.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE NURSE
ESSENTIAL MEMO: CLASSIFIED
FROM: The Nurse
TO: Code Production, IT Unit, Chip Design Team, Theoretics Research Team, Town Council, Lab Workers, Factory Workers, and On-site Techs
RE: Voluntary Production Unit Force, the Virtuality v. 2
As you all may know, we have finally finished Beta cycle and full testing procedure for Bio-Rite IV, and the time has come to enact full usage of Voluntary Production Unit Force, or VPUF, within the Virtuality, and put the entire grid online for inspection by the investment team arriving from Beijing in forty-eight hours. Tangible product MUST begin rolling into the warehouse immediately. Ignition has taken place. The Original Sample is in hand, and this office expects all teams to have production cycles complete within twenty-four hours. When the Proof has been secured, production will commence immediately. Triple shifts are expected. Failure to comply will result in immediate placement on Voluntary Production Unit Force.
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