The man snatches the phone out of my hand.
“Hey!”
He puts it down in the seat between us without looking at it. “I consider it rude to look at your phone when you’re talking to someone.”
I slip the phone back into my pocket and look out the window. We’re still a mile away from my apartment.
“Have you ever been to the world?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are there others with eyes like you there?”
Is this really about my eyes? My eyes are a bright blue, brighter than anyone I’ve ever met outside my family. It’s a genetic trait. Mom had bright eyes, too, and her grandfather before her. It’s a trait that’s been passed down for generations, although it skipped my sister.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why not?”
“This is my stop.” I pull the yellow cord and push by Bob. He reaches out his foot, and I trip over it, landing hard on my knees in the aisle. The bus stops, and I limp out the door.
Bob follows me outside. There is no way that this is his stop, too. He stares at me, his gray eyes expressionless. I’m not sure what to do except go home. Maybe he’ll leave once I’m in my apartment. If not, I can call the police.
I start running, huffing as I hurry up the street toward my apartment complex. Bob jogs beside me. I’ve never been mugged before. What do I do? Scream? There isn’t a soul in sight. We are alone.
Me and this psychopath.
“Hey man,” I say, and I stop and put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. “You can’t just follow me like this. I’m going to call the police.” I take my phone out of my pocket and start to dial 911.
My finger freezes over the call button when I hear the click of a gun. Bob shoves it into my face and pushes the phone down. I stare into the barrel of a pistol, its black opening pointed between my eyes.
“Drop the phone.”
I put my hands out, bend over slowly, and drop the phone carefully on the sidewalk. It doesn’t break. Good. I can’t afford another phone on a grad student’s stipend.
“That’s better. Now, let’s get one thing straight, okay? You don’t call the police unless you want to end up dead.”
I nod.
“Second thing.” I guess he’s one of those people who doesn’t know how to count. “If you ever make it back to the forgotten world, call me. Immediately. I’ll leave you my contact information. I belong to a group, the Sapphiri, and our purpose is to find our way back there.”
He hands me a card, and then he stares at me with menacing gray eyes. He lowers the pistol and walks away. I grab my phone and run to my apartment, slam the door, throw the card away, and call the police. Unfortunately, they don’t do anything but take down some information and then hang up. I guess they get a lot of crazy calls late at night.
I fall into bed, but I can’t sleep. I get up and shower, but I can’t sleep after that, either. Between Tara and Bob, I’m not sure what just happened with my day, or what I’m even doing with my life. Who was that Bob guy? Was Tara right and Sam really was poisoned? Why does nothing in my life make sense anymore?
Maybe things will go back to normal tomorrow, and I can get some more research done. Hopefully my jobs will finish tonight. If my latest tweak to my model works, I may actually be onto something.
6 Recognize
Lydia
I barely recognize myself in the pictures Maria took of me standing in her entryway six months ago. I can’t believe I completely missed her taking them, but then again, I’m not sure I was myself that day. I also can’t decide if I’m mad or glad that Maria took the pictures. With her dad being a lawyer, she assumed that we’d need pictures of my bruising. Maybe she’s learned some stealth from being around law enforcement so much, too.
I shove the photos into my bag and summon every ounce of courage left in me to open the car door. The courthouse looms large in front of me. I need to get myself inside that building and into the courtroom where the domestic violence hearing will happen. I’ll walk in there. I’ll see Dad. He’ll see me. The police will show their copies of these pictures to the judge. I can do this. I want to do this.
I close the car door and start the car. Then I bite my lip and shut the car off. This is the fourth time I’ve nearly turned around since leaving Maria’s.
Step 1. Get out of the car. I clench and relax my fists, focus on deep breaths. My surroundings. It’s beautiful today. Like most summer days in Seattle, the weather couldn’t be any more perfect. A slight breeze offsets the heat from the sun. The sky is clear.
At one time in my life, I spent days like this kicking a soccer ball around at the beach with Mom.
Not today. Those days are over. This summer I’ve spent every day working my tail off so I can afford college. Until today, and I had to practically beg to get today off, all so I could suffer through a long day in court.
The breeze disappears and the sun beats on me as I walk to the courthouse entrance. My rehearsed testimony rolls around in my mind, and then I repeat it again. I’ve given this testimony in about ten dreams over the past week, and more times than that with Maria and her dad. They drilled me on it for hours last night. It doesn’t feel authentic, having the words memorized. But Maria’s dad insisted. He says otherwise you never know what you’re going to say when the lights shine on you.
Maria’s dad wanted to be here with me, but I insisted on coming by myself. He can’t take a day off to help me. Not when I’m already sleeping under his roof and eating his food. He won’t let me pay for anything, and he helped me get the job that is going to put me in the dorms with his daughter this fall.
Despite all that, now that I’m here walking alone, I wish he were here with me.
“Lydia Miller, I didn’t expect to see you here. Though maybe I should have.”
I take my eyes off the sidewalk to see Coach Fant, dressed in her usual sweats and U-dub sweatshirt, walking down the stairs toward me.
Seeing her out of context quickly removes all words from my brain, and I stare dumbly at her for a minute before I manage to stand up straight and force a smile onto my face. “Hi Coach, how are you?”
“Awful. I spent most of this week on jury duty. I had to cancel my trip back east, all for some petty rape case. It’s been insane. I just hope it doesn’t put us too far behind with practice starting in less than three weeks. It’s not like my job can just be pushed aside.” She lets out a big sigh and rolls her eyes.
“How about you?” she asks. “You here for jury duty?”
I blush and shake my head.
“A run in with the law?” Coach Fant smirks. “So many of you rich kids have problems once you’re free from the high school safety net. I guess it’s a risk I took when I said you could compete for a scholarship. It’s too bad you can’t be like Joana, who has had to fight for what she has. A girl like that doesn’t get into trouble.”
I open my mouth, but Coach raises her hands. “Just leave it there, Lydia. It’s better if I don’t know any details. That way I can defend my decisions to the department if I ever need to.”
“But I didn’t...”
“I know, that’s what they all say. Make sure you get this all straightened out before camp, okay? I don’t have to tell you that I was disappointed with your performance in that championship game. Joana made you look like you hadn’t played soccer a day in your life. College is full of girls like Joana. You already have two big strikes against you. Give me just one more reason, and I’ll boot you off the team before camp starts. Do you understand?”
My eyes burn with tears. I look away, hoping she won’t notice.
“That’s a good girl. Now, you trot in there and do what they tell you to do. You’re an adult now, so it’s time you act like one. I’ll see you at camp. 8:00 AM sharp. Don’t be late because I won’t be scared to kick you off this team faster than you can say Joana. I don’t care how much money your papa makes.”
With a curt nod of her head she walks briskly by me.
My papa. Just because I live in Bellevue doesn’t mean my Dad makes a dime. I may be at the courthouse, but I didn’t commit any crimes. Joana may have beaten me once, but that doesn’t mean I can’t play college ball. If I start at the bottom of the roster, I’ll work my way up.
I have to. I’ve had to fight for everything I have, too.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and start walking again. There will be lots more tears before this day is over.
✽✽✽
Thump, crack. Thump, crack.
My foot hits each ball, sending it flying until it cracks on the back of the net. Five shots, and then I jog in, gather the balls, and start over.
I’m in no rush to get back to Maria’s house.
Thump, crack.
My phone buzzes again. It’s the fifteenth time Maria has texted me since I left the courthouse. I’ve told her a hundred times that I don’t like phones. But, her dad bought me one and she’s used it to contact me all summer.
Thump, crack.
I better respond this time. I shoot another shot and then jog over to sideline where the phone lies on top of my old cell in the grass.
At the park, I respond. That should be vague enough.
Five minutes later her fancy rich-girl car pulls up next to the curb.
Thump, crack.
She wears shorts and an athletic tank top. Even when she exercises, she looks more in style than me. She jogs out to the field and sends the ball closest to the road flying towards the net.
Crack.
“Pass the ball around with me?” she yells.
I kick the ball closest to me to her and then start running. We jog around the field, sending the ball bouncing back and forth between us.
After a few laps around the field, Maria breaks the silence. “You’re so lucky you get to keep playing. I’m really going to miss this.”
“You could play in an intramural league or something.” After my encounter with Coach this morning, that almost sounds nicer than competing to play for the university.
Maria pops a bubble with her gum, which distracts her enough that I have to slow down to receive her pass. “If it’s co-ed, that would work for me.”
I smile, and it feels good. I kick the ball ahead of her just far enough that she has to sprint to get to it. “Hey!” she giggles.
I laugh, too, and pick up the ball on the return pass. “It’s getting dark. We’d better go.”
The sun lowers behind the tall green of the cedars the surround the park. The trees hide the houses around us, giving the illusion that we are alone. This has been one of my favorite places to practice for years. Dad found this park shortly after we moved, and then Mom and I spent our summers here.
Maria helps gather the balls, and we start towards the cars. “Was it awful?”
“You bet.”
Awful is just as good a word as any. The skeptical look from the judge, Dad’s pained expression, the embarrassment of seeing the photos shown again. The shock of the sentence.
“Want to talk about it?”
No. “I don’t think so.”
Maria tosses the last ball to me, and I kick it hard. It flies across the field and cracks in the back of the net on the other side.
“Nice shot. I thought you were a defender.”
“By the time Coach Fant gets through with me, I might not be anything.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. My friends tell me that Fant is all talk. You’re a good player and a hard worker. You’ll be fine.”
If I get a chance.
“I don’t know if you want to hear this today, but Dad finally got access to your adoption file.”
“He did?” My heart stops and all the solace I found on the soccer field is gone.
“I have it in the car.”
I look at the car and shudder. “You’re right, I don’t want to hear about it today.”
Maria shrugs. “Okay.”
I take a deep breath. “But I want to see it anyway.” There’s no going back now. We might as well ruin my entire life today.
Once we get to the cars, Maria hands me a big manila envelope. The corners of the envelope are crisp; its contents are thin. I spin it in my hands, wondering if I can handle this. Finally I shrug and tear it open. After all, could things get any worse?
The first page is a record of my vitals. About three months old, birthdate unknown. My eyes linger on that line for a while. I’ve always loved my birthdate—March 6. It’s not my real birthday? It was the anniversary of the day that Mom met Dad. It was the day that we moved into our new house in Bellevue. Mom made a huge deal out of it every year.
I can’t believe that she made the whole thing up. I look at the date on the form. July. I probably wasn’t born in March.
What else did Mom make up about me?
The next page is handwritten. It’s titled Testimony of where the baby was found. A single paragraph rests below the headline.
I was out running in the Cougar Mountain Wilderness Reserve when I saw a bright flash of blue light. It was like some kind of explosion or something. I nearly ran away, but nothing happened after the splash of light. Ahead of me I found a screaming naked baby with a mark of a blue flower on her chest. I don’t know anything else about where she came from.
The next page is Mom and Dad’s application for adoption. Dad’s signature is at the bottom next to Mom’s.
I put the papers back into the envelope.
“Well?” Maria asks.
I stare out across the soccer field. “This doesn’t tell me anything.” I’m just as alone today as I apparently was when that man found me.
7 Red
Karl
I’m ready to go home for what is left of the weekend. Maybe I’ll even watch TV or something. Or go to bed early.
Or something.
Checking printer, please wait. The machine grunts and makes noises while I stand next to it and wait.
What does checking printer even mean? I know it means, “you can’t go home yet.” But really. No one has been here all evening. Why would the printer decide to check itself now?
I can’t leave without my notes. I’m spending all day tomorrow preparing for my talk at the student seminar. And this talk isn’t just any old student seminar talk. Several members of the program committee are going to be there. Based on the talk, the committee is going determine my fate in the program.
The printer groans and churns again. The message changes.
Calibrating.
My phone buzzes.
Tara—she’s the only one who ever texts me. Pearl and Dad only call.
It’s a selfie; she’s lying in the sand at the beach. Rhode Island, I think, is where she tried to convince me to go this weekend. Every week this summer she’s invited me to accompany her to some a beach somewhere new, and every time I’ve declined and instead received a treasure trove of selfies.
Keep working on that talk! You’ll knock ‘em dead.
I wonder what would happen if people really did die from excitement about a talk. Could the speaker be charged with murder?
“You still here?” Candice, the office secretary, enters the small printer room. She’s almost as big as I am, which means one of us needs to leave or else we’ll run out of oxygen really fast. This is a small room. Fortunately, my pages are finally printing.
“As always.” I grab my notes and squeeze past Candice and out of the room before I suffocate. Candice and I are often at the office after hours. She has too much to do, and I don’t have a life outside of work. It makes for a quality friendship.
“I’d thought that since you and Tara hooked up, I’d be seein’ less of ya.”
“Hooked up?”
“Yeah, hooked up. As in together.”
I roll the papers in my hands. “We’re officemates. Well, office chums, I guess. But we’re not together.”
“And why not? You got something a
gainst the girl?”
I shrug. Tara is hot, but I don’t see us hooking up. It isn’t that I weigh a hundred and fifty pounds more than she does, although that is a part of it.
“In case you were wondrin’, her grades have sure improved since she moved into that office. The committee decided to let her stay.” Candice shakes her head as she rummages through one of the drawers. “That office sure made her smarter.”
“What?”
“I ain’t allowed to tell you nothin’, ya know.” She pulls something out of the drawer and closes it. “You didn’t hear it from me. But you’ve done lots for that girl. You ain’t gonna find a prettier girl and you’ve been sittin’ in this office night after night for years now.”
My phone starts buzzing again. It’s Pearl.
Not tonight. I send the call to voice mail.
I look up to respond, but Candice is already halfway down the hall, leaving me staring at the picture of Tara sunbathing as Candice disappears into her office.
✽✽✽
“You know, your talk wasn’t that bad,” Tara says.
I wipe sweat from my eyes and push myself a few steps to fall into stride with her as she pushes up another hill. “How can you say that? The program director was scowling so hard by the end of it, that I thought his brow would fall off.”
“The concepts were good; all it needed was some direction.”
“Ha. That’s not what the committee said. They put me in Khanh’s lab to get me straightened out.”
“They should have put you in my advisor’s lab. Then I could see more of you.”
“Ha! That’s the last thing you want, to see more of me.”
“Okay, then. Maybe you could see more of me.”
I cough, probably from exertion, and ignore the comment. “Besides, I’m not sure your lab would be a good fit, either,” I say. “Your advisor doesn’t even work on the same planet as I do. Protein folding is more of a computational problem than the machine learning approaches I’m working on. Though I guess I do have a good idea of what your projects are.”
The Forgotten World Page 5