by Sarah Fine
“You’re not just going to walk in there, are you?” Leo asks.
“Shut up,” I say, sighing. I’m so fucking tired. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going in, and when they let her parents out, you and Christina will go to The Fifty and—”
“That’s stupid. You could fight. You could figure something out.”
“Leo, there’s a bus ticket to Chicago with your name on it.” I hand Christina the phone. “What’s the next major town on the route? We’ll drop him off.”
“Tate,” she says wearily, “calm down. He wants to help.”
“He’s doing the opposite,” I snap.
“You’re nothing like your dad described,” Leo blurts out. “He made you sound like some kind of prodigy with balls of steel. I freaking idolized you for years, and you turn out to be a total coward!”
“She has a little sister!” I shout, slamming on the brakes. Christina’s hand shoots out, and she braces herself against the dash as I pull to the side of the road, fields on either side of us. “Her name’s Livia! Am I a coward for wanting her to get out of this alive?”
“You can get her out and not let them take you!” Leo’s face is red, and his green eyes are bright with fury. “You can’t just lie down and let the Core get what they want! It’s not about you, either. It’s about your dad’s invention. I heard him telling George how crucial the device was, and how that was only one part of his plan. That’s the thing the lunch lady was talking about, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, but the Core already have it, Leo.”
“And now they want you to help them get to the rest—a freaking spaceship that they could use to do God-knows-what—and you’re willing to let them do that?” His reedy voice fills the car.
I’m about to reach back there and toss him into a ditch when Christina whispers, “He’s right.”
It freezes me in place. “What?”
She looks over at me. “If anyone can get my family out alive, it would be you. I trust you. And I don’t want to lose you.” A tear slides down her face.
I slump in the seat. Can I do this? And what happens if I can’t? “Christina, it’s your mom and dad. It’s Livia.”
“I know. And I believe you can make a plan to get them out safely.”
I take the phone from her and text my mom again. Have to go back to NY. Please call when you can.
After a few moments spent staring at the screen, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come, I put the phone away and pull back onto the road. “I want complete silence for the next hour, please,” I say when Leo starts to ask questions. “Not a single fucking word.”
He respects that request, and I let the gears in my brain turn, running through scenarios, remembering everything I can about Christina’s place, a fourth-floor condo across from Morningside Park. Fire escape along the back of the building, connecting to her bedroom. Narrow courtyard between units, parking lot at the back. Quiet neighborhood, and—
“Will,” I say. He lives only six blocks away from her. The memories of our exploits are enough to inspire me. “I think we might have a chance.”
• • •
Christina falls into a restless doze just before we reach the border of West Virginia. I glance into the rearview mirror to see Leo’s eyes on me. “What?”
He shrugs. “You look like him.”
“Considering that he contributed fifty percent of my DNA—”
“Just an observation. You asked.”
I did. “Sorry.” I check the mirrors for the millionth time to make sure we aren’t being followed. “Not at my best today.”
“Do you want me to drive?”
I laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I know how. And Christina obviously needs to rest.”
“It’s okay. I can think and drive simultaneously.” I lean back against the headrest. “I just wish I had more time to do it.”
“A good plan, violently executed now, is better than a perfect plan next week.”
“You’re quoting Patton now?” He sounds like my dad.
“If it fits,” he says defensively. We pass a Greyhound as it slows to exit the highway, and Leo sighs. “Uncle Angus is going to be mad when he gets back to Chicago and realizes I’m gone.”
“When will that happen?”
“I don’t know. He’s always busy. I’m on my own a lot. The Fifty headquarters is a big estate on the north shore, with lots of people going in and out.”
“But you’re a kid. Nobody looks after you?”
“I’m fourteen. It’s not like I have a sitter.” He shifts in his seat. “Not anymore, anyway,” he mumbles.
“Don’t you go to school?”
“No. I think they were afraid I’d spill their secrets. After my parents died, they brought me to the estate, and I’ve had tutors ever since.”
“How often did you see my dad?” I clear my throat after hearing the jealous edge in my voice.
“Once a month. When he came for board meetings, he’d stay at a hotel nearby, and he’d spend time with me, reviewing my schoolwork, giving me extra assignments. He took me to the Museum of Science and Industry a few times.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I think he felt sorry for me.”
Maybe. But my dad wasn’t the most sympathetic of guys. “I’m sure he enjoyed your company.”
“I think he was just lonely. He talked about you and your mom sometimes.”
I wish he’d talked to us. “In that case, I’m surprised you wanted to meet me. I was a constant disappointment to him.”
The silence rolls in waves from the backseat, and after a while, I wonder if he’s falling asleep. But then I hear him say, very quietly, “You didn’t know him very well at all.”
I stare at the road in front of me. I could argue with him, but that would be pointless.
Especially because I’m afraid he’s right.
• • •
I don’t call Will. I know his schedule anyway. Eleven and a half hours after we leave Kentucky, after two quick stops for gas—one in which I raided the nearby convenience store—and one lightning round at a hardware store in West Virginia, we’re pulling up to the curb a block away from his building. And sure enough, about five minutes later, he hops off the bus at the corner, lugging his duffel. His head is bowed, showing off his Mohawk, which is already starting to grow out. His shoulders are slumped. I cram a baseball cap over my hair and get out of the car. “Hey, loser,” I say.
His head jerks up at the sound of my voice. “Tate? Oh my God, dude.”
“Let me start by saying that my dad’s not a terrorist.”
“Wasn’t even tempted to believe it. I’m sorry about what happened to him, man.” He gives me a quick hug, whacking his hand against my back. “Really sorry.”
“Thanks,” I mumble as we step away from each other.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Long story.”
“You have no idea how weird it’s been here. These FBI guys crawling all over the school, confiscating and erasing anything on our phones, warning us not to talk about what happened because it’s a national security threat, and then that crazy lunch lady goes and tells everyone that I lasered her—”
I glance around. “Listen—can we get off the street? Are your parents home yet?”
“Not yet.” He leans around me as the car door opens and Christina steps out. “Christina! Your mom called me yesterday—” He pauses as her expression crumples.
“I need your help,” I say to him.
He arches an inky black eyebrow. “Are you about to get me in trouble?”
“Possibly.”
He grins, white teeth contrasting with his dark skin. “Cool.”
It never did take much to get Will to go along with my pranks. I grab my supplies from the trunk, introduce
Leo as my cousin, and lead Christina by the hand as we enter Will’s building. I keep my head down until we’re in his apartment. He tosses his keys into a little basket on the counter and turns to us. “You seriously need to tell me what’s up.”
I concocted my lie on the way here, and Christina’s prepared to back me up. As much as I hate to keep the truth from Will, it’ll be better and safer for him if he doesn’t know everything. I offer my explanation as I pull out his mom’s huge soup pot and empty potassium nitrate and sugar into it, then switch the heat to low. I want to do this quickly, but there are some things you just can’t rush.
“My dad made some important scientific discoveries, and he’s being framed by people who are desperate to get ahold of them. It’s like a corporate espionage thing, but they’ve got some corrupt cops on their side. Now they’re at Christina’s apartment. They want me in exchange for her parents, because they know I can get into my dad’s lab.”
“Fuckers,” he says.
“My thoughts exactly,” Leo replies, peeking into the pot. He’s been quiet for the most part, but when he saw me picking up stump remover and sugar at the store, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.
As the sugar melts, and the mixture in the pot begins to look like caramel, we start to cut up a bunch of water bottles to use for casings. I explain my plan as Christina watches from the doorway. I’d pay a lot to know what she’s thinking, but it’s almost eight, and we have no time for a heart-to-heart. All of that will have to wait until her family is safe. I was hoping my mom would have been in touch by now, but she hasn’t been. I even tried calling her again, but it went straight to voicemail. And, seeing as I have no idea if she’s still in control of that phone, I didn’t leave a message.
We create eight mounds of the caramel mixture and load them into the plastic casings. It’s kind of like working with larger versions of those plastic Easter eggs. Christina makes sure they stay closed with rubber bands. Will has the fuses—he’s been the guardian of my contraband for years. As Will and Leo pack up and get ready to head out, already joking like old friends, I slide my arm around Christina’s waist.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Everybody I love is in danger right now. I’ve been better.”
I brush her hair away from her face. “I know the feeling.”
“Then you know how much I need you to make it through this okay,” she whispers, leaning into me, her fingers curling into my shirt.
Her eyes meet mine, gorgeous and stormy blue. I’m caught in that gaze, unable to look away. “If it’s anywhere near as much as I need you to be safe and have your family back, then I guess I do.” I pull my dad’s phone from my pocket. “Keep this for me? I don’t want them to have it.”
She takes it, cradles it in her hands. “And I’ll be giving this back to you . . .”
I kiss her forehead. “In an hour.”
A few minutes later, I’m climbing the steps to Christina’s building. My heart is beating a furious rhythm in my chest. There were a bunch of agents searching my apartment, so I don’t know how many will be in the Scolinas’ condo. As much as I hate going in there without knowing exactly what I’m facing, at least I know the layout—I’ve been hanging out with Christina there for years. Her room is a haven for me, the place where I’ve spent some of the best moments of my life, and her parents are cool. I hate that they’re being put through this.
The place is quiet, but I’m sure Hooknose and his agents know I’m here. I walk the steps to the fourth floor and stop in front of number 401. In all my years of knowing Christina, I’ve never been so nervous about knocking on her door, and that’s really saying something. Before, only my heart was at stake. What’s on the line right now is more precious than that.
And as it turns out, I don’t have to knock. The door opens, and I find myself face-to-face with Hooknose. He’s an inch or so taller than I am, clean-shaven with razor burn along his jaw and deep wrinkles around his mouth. His tone is clipped as he says, “Tate Archer. You cut it rather close,” and opens the door wide to allow me inside. “I’m FBI Special Agent Bill Congers. It’s nice to meet you.” He offers me his hand.
“Don’t bother.”
He gives me an amused look and motions for me to raise my arms. While he pats me down, I size him up, noting the gun at his hip. Once he’s confirmed that I’m unarmed, we walk down the short hallway to enter the living room. Two agents are positioned within, one covering the hall to the front door and one at the entrance to the dining room and the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Mrs. Scolina, her light blond hair in a bedraggled ponytail, is sitting on the chaise in the corner of the large room, Livia in her lap. The little girl’s skinny fingers are balled in the loose sleeves of her mom’s shirt. Christina’s dad is standing next to Mrs. Scolina’s chair. Lean and fit, still a fierce soccer player, he looks younger than his graying hair suggests. His arm is resting on his wife’s shoulders, but he looks like he’d love to slam his fist into my face.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him. “I wasn’t in town. But I came immediately.”
“That was wise,” Congers comments, running his finger over the bump on the narrow bridge of his nose.
“And now that he’s finally decided to show up, he can tell you we’re not involved in Frederick Archer’s plot,” Mr. Scolina growls, his blue eyes cold as he talks about my dad. “I never even met the man!”
I close my eyes and remind myself that now is not the time to defend my father’s rep. “Are you guys okay?” I ask Christina’s parents. They don’t look hurt. They look like they could run. And they’re going to have to.
“No thanks to you,” says Mr. Scolina. “We’re being held under suspicion of aiding a terrorist—”
“If Tate cooperates, the charges might go away, Mr. Scolina,” Congers says smoothly.
“Where’s my daughter?” Mr. Scolina takes a step toward me. “If you’ve hurt her—”
“Yes, where is Ms. Scolina?” Congers asks. “We’ll find her, you know. It’s such a shame you involved her in your criminal activities. She had such a bright future.”
“The threats aren’t necessary.” I meet his cold gray-green eyes. “I’m here, so stop wasting time.”
He doesn’t blink. “We’ll see. Let’s go in the back and talk.”
“I’m not going to cooperate until I know they’re safe,” I snap. “If you want anything from me, you need to let Mrs. Scolina and Livia go, at least.”
He shakes his head. “Given the stakes, I’m not willing to lose my leverage until I have access to the information I need.”
Mrs. Scolina buries her face against her husband’s side to muffle her sob. He strokes her hair and gives me another death glare.
The barrel of a gun nudges at my spine. There’s an agent behind me. I glance over my shoulder and see his round head, red hair buzzed short. I raise my hands from my sides. The guy scowls. “Get moving.”
“It’s all right, Mack. I’m sure Tate will be happy to—” Congers is interrupted by a knock at the door.
Here we go.
Congers cuts his gaze to Mr. Scolina. “Are you expecting someone?” Christina’s dad shakes his head, and Congers turns to me. “Are you?”
“You guys killed my dad. You shot my mom. And my girlfriend.” I hate that I have to say that in front of her parents, who go pale at the words. “Who would I be expecting?” I ask in a hard voice, letting my anger show through.
“You bastard,” Mr. Scolina says. I assume he’s talking to Congers until his fist collides with my jaw.
Mack wrestles him away from me as I stagger to the side. “They’re the ones who did it, and you’re attacking me?” My fingers probe my aching face.
“If you cared about her, you never would have involved her in any of this!” Mrs. Scolina says shrilly.
Her words hit me as hard as Mr. Scolina did, a
nd I’m still recovering as there’s another knock on the door. The third agent, a guy who looks like a younger version of Congers himself, disappears into the entryway. “Two kids in soccer uniforms,” he says to Congers as he returns. “Selling candy bars, looks like.”
“Graham,” Congers says to the young agent, “take Tate in the dining room, and we’ll let the little girl open the door.”
He gestures for Livia to stand up. She watches him with wide blue eyes. Graham motions me toward the dining room. I walk as slowly as possible.
Mrs. Scolina strokes the little girl’s back. “Just tell them we’re not interested, sweetheart. That’s all you have to do.” Livia hops off her mom’s lap, still looking uncertain.
Red-haired Mack gives her a five. “Get me one. I’m hungry.” He leads Livia to the entryway and presses himself against the wall, his gun in his hand.
She heads for the door with the bill clutched in her little fist. My heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe. I’m too far away to help her if this doesn’t go well. The door squeaks as she opens it, and then I hear Will’s voice.
“Hey, kiddo. Is your mom home? Soccer fund-raiser. We got some good candy.” The crinkling of a wrapper punctuates his words. From where he’s standing, he’ll only be able to see her, and not the armed agents listening to the conversation. I pray he sticks to the plan—we’ve done enough pranks together for me to know that’s not a guarantee, even though I stressed the life-or-deathness of this particular situation to him before we set out.
“We have caramel, too,” Leo offers. I picture him, shuffling his feet and sliding a pack off his shoulder. He’s got on one of Will’s soccer jerseys, and it’s hanging from his scrawny frame. I hope the agents don’t catch sight of him and notice the overlarge soccer cleats tied to his feet.
But based on the sounds coming from the entryway, all is well. They both seem harmless, just two high school kids trying to raise some cash for their team. Livia asks for one bar, and when Will tells her she’s got enough money for two, she shyly asks for a caramel. It’s perfect. Mack has holstered his weapon now. From his concealed position next to the Scolinas, Congers rolls his eyes and looks at his watch, probably annoyed by the frivolous distraction.