I clear my throat. “Not one of my favorites.”
“No?” Her eyes dance. “I found it fascinating. But it does make me wonder. What would have happened, for example, if King Solomon agreed to the real mother’s request? What if he gave her baby to the other woman and sent them home? They lived together, right? So how long would she have accepted his decision, silently watching another woman rear her child? Months? Weeks? Days?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Maybe it’s something you should think about.” She returns to her chair. “Riley can stay. For now. Send Adam in on your way out.”
I lay in my bunk tonight, tired but not sleeping. My mind tumbles like a leaf in the wind, touching ground for only seconds before lifting off again. I think of Adam and Riley, the Liberty Bell, Kino, and my parents. I think of Riley again. If Oliver’s plan gets her shipped off to a service ranch, I will never forgive him — or myself. But dwelling on Riley is not a good idea, so I tuck her away and focus on Kino.
Why did she bring up my dad today? Oliver says she likes to play mind games. Is that what she’s doing? If so, it’s working. I think about my mom all the time. As long as she’s pacing in her cell, I can hold on to hope.
But my dad is beyond hope — at least the kind I believe in.
Dad was a church pastor. When I was small, his congregation was too — meeting in a dilapidated building in the heart of the city. With barred windows, graffiti on the front door and regular run-ins with local gang members, the church was still a sanctuary under my father’s leadership. But when I was still in core academy, the regional church board offered him a promotion and he became pastor of the Shoreline Unitarian out in Silicon Valley. I remember the first time I saw it — a monstrous glass worship center built like a pyramid someone had knocked on its side. Dad said it was built decades before the second civil war, back when people still had money to spend on such things.
I don’t remember him ever preaching from the Bible — quoting scripture, digging into it the way Xoey did at her little rebel church. Maybe it was part of being a state-sanctioned religion — I don’t know because I never asked. From time to time, he referred to stories like the one about King Solomon, but mostly his sermons were about life — making good choices, envisioning a brighter life, helping others.
Dad spent his days preparing lessons, directing committees, visiting the sick or helping people who couldn’t help themselves. A steady stream of traffic passed through our home — most of them sad people whose voices and tears carried beyond his thin office door. My dad had a gift for calming storms and reconciling differences. After he preached at a politician’s funeral, a reporter dubbed him “the people’s pastor” and it stuck. While other churches were emptying out, the Shoreline Unitarian began to swell.
My disdain for it all only grew. I had other ideas about how to spend my free time. Gaming or watching vids online, joking with Luna, or meeting friends at guild halls, which were more plentiful and a lot more fun than church. They always scheduled the best stuff on Sunday morning. I had better sources of guidance too — friends like Jaxson, who needled me about being a preacher’s son.
“Preachers are either evil or ignorant,” he said. “And church is a stupid waste of time.”
It was hard to argue when every movie and every series streamed on the web backed him up. Of course no one, not even Jaxon, would call my dad evil. But irrelevant? Yes. I had come to believe it too.
As it turned out, Dad wasn’t as out of touch as I thought.
“Listen, Reed,” he said the night Jaxson and I got caught outside Lexie’s window. “I know how I seem to you. An embarrassment. A joke.”
I stared at my feet and tried not to squirm.
“But you have to know I want what’s best for you. It’s my job to correct your course when I see you making bad decisions.”
“Dad—”
“Like choosing friends who don’t respect you.”
“Dad!”
“You’re going to run into a lot of people like Jaxson in your life. People selling different versions of reality — who want you to believe whatever they say. For their benefit, not yours.”
I kicked my chair. “I can think for myself, Dad!”
“I know you can. But will you?”
I crossed my arms. “Of course.”
He nodded. “Please don’t forget, son. You need to search for truth. Truly seek it. Fight the easy path, question motives — even your own. If you don’t…well, a lie will settle in your heart without warning. And once that happens, it’s difficult to evict.”
“Dad, you’re making too big a deal of this. Jaxson and I were just having some fun. Lexie’s father is a jerk. He didn’t have to call the police.”
“Enough!” Dad yelled so loudly, I flinched. “Don’t you ever let me hear you blame someone else for your foolishness! Now go to bed. We’ll discuss your punishment in the morning when I’m not so angry.”
I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. For the rest of the night I played a game with Luna, but I kept losing. I wasn’t paying attention. Instead, I was replaying our argument, remembering the disgust in my father’s expression. I told myself I didn’t care if he was disappointed in me. I was disappointed in him too.
But when Riley’s parents were arrested the next day, I began to see what I had done. Now, whenever I think back to that night, I feel sick.
For the next few months, a constant frown creased my father’s brow. I had cut ties with Jaxson and was almost lost to regret over what happened to Lexie and her family, but Dad had other worries. The government was assessing higher taxes against his church every year, even though times were hard and contributions were not keeping up. The board of directors ordered my father to preach a series of sermons about giving, but it didn’t make any difference and they were threatening to fire him.
Rex wasn’t a board member, but another frequent visitor to Dad’s study. An old guy with rheumy eyes and a big red nose, he always looked surprised under his grizzled eyebrows. I liked him — mostly because he told jokes and carried an old deck of cards he used for tricks. He didn’t come to church often, but when he did, he always upset people. Dad would get this weary look on his face whenever Rex walked through the foyer. He’d heave a little sigh then force his face into a pleasant expression as he walked forward to shake his hand. Rex always said, “Hello, Dan!” in this booming voice, drawing everyone’s eye. Never Pastor Dan, like everyone else, just Dan.
One night, Rex came to our home late — much later than usual. When Dad opened the door, a familiar weariness crossed his face.
“Hello, Dan!”
“Hi, Rex. What brings you out this evening?”
Rex caught my eye over Dad’s shoulder and winked. “Oh, this and that. Can we talk privately?”
“Yes, of course. Come through to my study.”
Before Dad closed the study door, Rex began talking. “Dan, you’ve always been a good man. Tonight, I’m going to ask you to be a great one.”
I don’t know what he said next, but in the morning Dad didn’t eat and barely spoke. Mom went into his study in the afternoon and closed the door. They argued long into the night, not even stopping for dinner. When I came out of my room the next day, Mom’s eyes were red and there was an open Bible on Dad’s desk.
I don’t know anything for sure, but I think that was the day this all started. I think that was the day Mom and Dad first started searching for Windmill Bay.
Chapter 29
Xoey
* * *
Wet sod oozes muddy water, seeping into my uniform knees and staining my fingernails. I unroll the last bit and press it into place then stand up, taking in the whole courtyard. Fresh grass, rolled out like carpet, new stone walkways, repaired concrete, trees, flowers, and a bubbling fountain.
Anyone might think this was a great place to go to school.
I walk over to Sam, who is gathering tools he used to fix the fountain.
&nb
sp; “Nice job,” I say.
He nods, but worry sticks between his brows. His eyes dart past me to Brock and Xu, who are heading into the cafeteria. For a moment I feel as if I can see every bruise they have raised with their fists, overlapping under his skin, never truly healing. The beauty of spring disappears, and white rage fills my heart. I squeeze my muddy hands into fists. Vengeful thoughts overtake me, and I walk toward them without realizing it. A hand on my shoulder stops me.
“Xoey, no.”
It’s Oliver’s hand, Oliver’s voice. These are the first words he has spoken to me in weeks, and it already looks like he regrets them. He jerks his hand away as if burned and walks away before I can respond. Still, it works. I return to Sam.
“Can you meet me by the north garden shed after dinner? I have something to show you.”
Sam nods and heads off with his tools. By now, Oliver is over by the admin building. A new girl named Rosa Linda walks toward him. He glances my way once, but I cannot tell if he is focused on me or not. Suddenly conscious of how muddy I am, I head toward the dorms. Riley meets me halfway across the courtyard.
“Oliver’s still giving you the silent treatment?”
She is eating an apple and it distracts me for a minute, this luxury of fruit Middlebrooks brings with her, inspired by her desire to have us looking healthier for the camera. We are all eating better this week: generous helpings of fresh fruit and vegetables, meat, eggs, and bread. Even peanut butter.
I blink back to her question and nod. She and I have spent many evenings analyzing Oliver’s strange aloofness this spring. He avoids both of us, but ignores me completely. Until today.
“You know what I think,” she says.
“And you know what I think.”
Riley puts her arm around my shoulder and directs my steps toward the cafeteria. “That was our shortest argument on the subject yet. Let’s get you something to eat before Kino decides to starve us again.”
I let her lead me inside, but my mind follows another path to the beginning of the problem. It started sometime after Reed told us about his plan to steal the Liberty Bell.
We gathered every night in the Hidden Library, just a random handful of our crew, taking turns running interference in the laundry room, staggering our entrances and exits. The rest stayed upstairs in the common room, ready to intervene if anyone noticed our absence.
Reed used the old chalkboard to make lists and assign jobs, starting with the basics:
Make sure Liberty Bell travels by the House
Stop the train
Find the right crate
Get the Bell off the train
Hide it
Diversion
Don’t get caught!
The first step was almost too easy. My mom might have called it providence if theft was not our goal.
I am struggling to figure out my role in all of this, what my conscience will allow. In the meantime, things are falling into place. It only took Sam a few minutes to hack into the UDR Rail system and show us the transcontinental map. While hundreds of miles of railroad tracks were laid between Old Philadelphia and the Bay Area over the last few centuries, much of it has since been lost under Yellowstone landslide territory. Those few, which were rebuilt, are now frequent targets of rebel bombs, leaving only two viable options passing through the western Dirt.
Providentially, the one passing by the House is the most direct.
“If nothing changes, it will cross these tracks sometime during the last week of April,” Sam said.
Reed clapped his hands together. “Perfect! But can we get a more precise date?”
“Not until it leaves its point of origin on the sixteenth of April.”
“How does it work?”
“A tracking tag is attached to the shipping crate and will update as it passes each monitor.”
“Monitor?”
“A chip the railroad service secures to the underside of the rails every hundred miles or so.”
“Is there one near the House?”
Sam nodded. “Sixty-seven miles east of here. But we can estimate its timetables even earlier.” He shrugged. “It’s pretty simple math.”
“But we need to have a flexible plan in case our estimate is off,” Reed said.
“We can make sure the train stops,” Sam said. “I’ve already hacked the system. A few more firewalls and I can access the schedule, adding a fake delivery to the school’s train yard.”
Oliver clapped Sam on the shoulder, making him jump. “You’re a genius!”
“Now we just need someone on the inside, working at the train yard. Someone to learn the layout before then. How things work, where Sentribot blind spots might be.” Reed paused, writing his questions on the chalkboard. “How many of us need to be there to find and unload the crate? Who will keep watch? Who will create a diversion?”
After several minutes of silence, I stood up. “Curfew’s in ten minutes. Goodnight everyone.”
“Goodnight.”
I climbed the stairs but, instead of heading to my dorm, I waited for Oliver.
When he got to the top of the stairs, he smiled at me: the kind that travels from the corner of his mouth to dance in the center of his eyes. It did strange things to my heart, but I was not ready to admit it. Not even to myself. I tugged on my hat, still conscious of my fuzzy head. My hair used to be straight, but it’s coming back in curly.
He took my hand and squeezed it. “How are you feeling these days?”
“Fine.” I examined his face. Even under dim lighting I could see bruises from his most recent visit to Kino’s office. “Much better than you, I think. Why does she keep doing this?”
His jaw tightened, and he studied our hands. Several seconds passed. “I suppose she’s trying to figure me out. Luckily, I remain enigmatic as ever.”
“Good word: enigmatic.”
“Hmm. Good with a capital G?”
I laughed. “Maybe.”
He just kept rocking on the balls of his feet.
“No weaknesses then?”
He winked. “None.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Well, I wanted to ask you something about the night you took me to the Med Center. I heard you talking to someone.”
His brow crinkled. “Riley?”
“No, someone else. I heard a man’s voice. Who was it?”
Oliver studied me for a minute, then tilted his head back and focused on the stars.
“Hmm,” he murmured. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I woke up.”
He nodded but said nothing. After a minute of shifting from one foot to the other in the cold, I grew impatient. “Well? Who was it?”
“Mr. Patrick.” The name passed through his lips reluctantly, the barest whisper.
I lowered my voice too. “What did he say?”
“Don’t worry, he’s not going to report us or anything. I mean, he seems like a decent guy, all things considered. He was glad we were helping you. Glad we did what we could to keep Kino from shipping you off.”
I nodded, remembering Mr. Patrick’s past kindnesses.
“But he said something to you.” I frowned, trying to remember. “Something strange. ‘You’re the one’? Or ‘it’s you’? Something like that.”
Oliver nodded. He played with my fingers, making it hard for me to focus. Now it was his turn to bounce from one foot to the other.
“Oliver?” I prodded.
He let go of my hand. “Do you remember when we went through the tunnel together? You told me partial truths are just dressed up lies.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to lie to you, Xoey.”
“Then tell me the truth.” Unexpected tears burned in my eyes, spilling fast and hot down my cheek.
He stepped close, gently brushing them aside. “I will. But today I can’t. It’s…not just my secret to tell. Can you trust me until then?”
I swallowed and nodded, my eyes holding his. The air had grown
still and warm between us. Almost magnetic. Oliver blinked and stepped back.
“Goodnight.” He turned away and walked toward the boys’ dorm.
He has not spoken to me since.
I leave the cafeteria early tonight while it is still full of noisy students. Most of them are almost feverish with energy since they no longer have to worry about starvation. Neither Kino nor Haak seem motivated to intervene, squashing joy like they usually would. Maybe Middlebrooks is responsible. My appetite left me, though, after I saw Oliver across the room, flirting with another girl over a bowl of beef stew.
Sam has already left too, so I make my way to the tool shed. I pick up my pace, concerned about asking him to meet me there alone, an isolated spot where Xu or Brock could ambush him.
“Sam?” I whisper.
He steps out of the bushes. “Hi.”
I’m glad he’s being cautious. “Come on. Follow me.”
We circle the small building, and I hold up my hand, stopping him by the northwest corner. Several overgrown bushes are there, almost choked with vines.
“Be careful.” I hold back a branch. “In here.”
As soon as we are both under the canopy of vines, I drop to my knees and inch forward. Sam is tall, but dexterous, bending himself in half to follow me along the side of the shed. He fusses about the dirt clinging to his hands, but then emits a soft sound of delight when we reach the kittens nesting just under the foundation. The mother cat has grown used to me by now and does not object when I pick up a gray tabby and place her in Sam’s arms. She must sense his gentleness. She lets out one tiny mewling noise then burrows against his chest, purring.
“Would you like to name her?”
Sam nods, hesitating for only a moment. “Grace.”
“I like it.”
For several minutes, we sit quietly, petting the kittens.
“It’s so sweet,” he says softly. “The way they all sleep with their mother.”
I nod.
“I don’t remember mine much,” Sam says. “But I think we slept together too, when I was little. And she sang me a song every night. Something about Grace, Hope, Faith, and Char-it-y.” He emphasizes the last three syllables, almost singing. His voice rumbles like a man’s and my eyes sting, thinking about his mother and all she has missed.
Stealing Liberty Page 18