by Anna Woltz
“Of course they know,” says Jim. “But that’s what people do. They eat and take photos and buy things while people are dying all around.” He looks at me. “Do you think every day about all the people who are dying?”
“No, but … ”
“I do!” says Abby. “There’s this website that keeps track of how many people are being born and how many are dying. You can see the counter rattling away. It’s megaquick. In the time it takes me to eat a bagel, three hundred ninety-two people die.”
Seth looks sternly at his sister. “Mom told you to stop looking at that website.”
“But there aren’t any naked people on it! I’m allowed to look at moving numbers, aren’t I?”
“It gave you nightmares last time.”
We’re walking between gray skyscrapers with mirrored windows and I’m thinking about my dad. My brain’s getting really messed up. Someone only has to mention a website with pictures of naked people on it and I think about my dad.
In a few hours, my mom and dad are arriving in this city. I texted them to say I don’t want to meet up until tomorrow. I have better things to do on Halloween. They have no clue where I’m staying, and in the dark part of the city I’m completely unreachable, so for the next few hours I’m still in charge. And then tomorrow I’ll transform back into their daughter, who’s a minor.
The thought of it makes me sick.
• • •
In New York A.S.—“After Sandy”—I’m no longer interested in tourist attractions and famous places. When it turns out that the temple-like library on Fifth Avenue is still closed, though, I’m mad. Seth promised it’d have Wi-Fi. I glare at the stone lions in front of the building. Sure, they look great lying there. And yeah, I recognize them from at least fifteen different movies. But in all those movies, the actors had clean armpits and they could poop in their own bathroom.
At Grand Central, we finally find a few public power sockets. They’re close to the ground in an ice-cold, drafty corridor beside the platforms, but we don’t care. We eagerly descend on them.
“I want to write a travel guide,” I call to Abby, who’s at the next power socket five meters away. “Out and About with a Plug: The Top One Hundred Power Outlets in New York.”
“I’d snap that right up!” calls Seth from the other direction.
“And I’m going to make a movie,” yells Jim from ten meters away, “about plugs slipping into power outlets. There’s nothing that the people of the City of Darkness would rather watch right now than devices getting a good charge.”
Abby giggles. “I bet Mom wouldn’t let me watch that movie.”
Jim enthusiastically waves his phone. “Sometimes two plugs at a time go into one socket! Sometimes five phones get charged at once, all in a line. And then another time the battery gets loaded so fast that—”
“That’s enough!” Seth yells, but he’s laughing.
We wander onward. Past stores with diamonds, chocolate fountains, and food carts selling roasted chestnuts—and then we finally find the place that will appear at position number one, inside a golden frame, in Out and About with a Plug.
Make a note for emergencies: the Barnes & Noble bookstore on Fifth Avenue between Forty-Fifth and Forty-Sixth Streets. Complete with a Starbucks, so they have muffins and mugs of coffee for sale. Good Wi-Fi. A free bathroom with a special faucet for drinking water. Enough books to last anyone for years. Warmth.
We drop down onto the hard carpet in an empty aisle. Then we take off our hats, pick up our phones, and decide to stay. The people from the bookstore leave us alone, and more and more People of Darkness gather around, people who, just like us, desperately want to know how the world around us is doing.
To my own surprise, I don’t even check to see if everyone’s still talking about my dad online. Today I just don’t care. Why should I read what all those idiotic strangers have to say? I have better things to do. I need to know when the subway will start working again. And if it’s true that the drinking water is polluted. And how many deaths the counter has recorded.
• • •
“I have a plan.” Seth clears his throat. We’ve been silent for so long that I almost forgot there were people sitting around me. “The four of us together should be okay walking home in the dark. So tonight we’re going to eat out in the light.”
“That’s a great plan,” says Jim. “But I can’t come. No money.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind paying.”
“No,” says Seth sternly, “you’ve already paid for enough. You bought all the hurricane supplies and you just paid for coffee and muffins. Now it’s my turn. I’m paying this evening.”
“But you never spend your savings on anything,” Abby objects. “You won’t be able to go to college!”
Finally, I understand why Seth takes his part-time job so seriously. It’s very different here than in the Netherlands. American universities cost a fortune, and Seth and Abby have only one parent to rely on. Their mother can’t earn very much as a kindergarten teacher.
Abby looks concerned. “Seth, you were going to save money for me too, weren’t you? So that I can be a doctor even though it’s mega-expensive. I know I was planning to learn to tell fortunes so that I could earn money in Washington Square, but I just can’t do it. The things I predict never happen.”
“I’m saving for you too,” her brother says. “But we have plenty of time. We can afford to eat out now and then.”
She laughs. “Okay, and later, when I’m a surgeon, I’ll pay it all back. With interest. And lots and lots of presents!”
Jim and I act like we don’t exist for a moment. All those big plans make us feel so small. I have no idea what I want to study when I’m older. Just something, anything. And Jim didn’t even finish high school. He’s having an operation on his finger next week and he won’t be able to work for months. He’ll be penniless, injured, and alone in the most expensive city in the world …
“Come on, Jim!” says Abby, as if she’s calling her favorite dog. “We have to change for dinner. I’ll help you with your costume.”
As Jim walks off with the backpacks, Abby leans over to me.
“I’m going to marry him when I’m older,” she whispers. “Then he can lie on the couch all day and talk about the financial crisis and I’ll earn lots of money for both of us.”
She skips after him through the bookstore and I watch her go. I wish I were still eleven years old too.
I sigh and fish the bottle of antibacterial gel out of my bag.
“Emilia,” says Seth quietly, “you don’t have to wear a costume if you don’t feel like it.”
He’s looking at me again as if I’m that woman Picasso painted. As if he can see me from the front and the side at the same time. It makes me feel uneasy. Why would anyone want to study me that closely?
“Stop being so … understanding all the time!”
“What do you mean?” he says.
“You’re always so nice. Like you understand me. But you’re sixteen. And you’re a boy. Just be a bit more … insensitive!”
His dark eyes look at me as if I’m an alien. Not even a normal everyday kind of alien either, but a deeply disturbed one. “So, let me get this straight, you think I’m being too nice? And you’re telling me that I should be less nice?”
“Yes!” I can’t even remember what I’m trying to tell him. But it seems like the best idea to agree.
“But I thought … ”
“Well, stop. Just stop thinking! Stop paying for my food and stop being nice to me. You won’t be able to keep it up. Believe me. I know how it goes. The better people know me, the dumber they think I am. Save yourself the trouble!”
Without waiting for his reply, I get up and walk to the bathroom.
“Abby!” I call at the closed doors. “Do you have my clothes in there?”
“Wait a moment … ” She giggles. “I’m busy with Jim.” That’s another thing you have to be eleven for. Yelling in a public r
estroom that you’re busy with a boy. And you have to be Jim to laugh out loud, so that all the waiting women can hear you.
A while later I’m standing in the little stall with the cat costume in my hands. Pantyhose, a short black dress with fur around the hem, a long velvety tail, and a headband with pointed ears.
I was wearing rubber gloves when I took the costume out of the dress-up box, and I’m convinced that dinosaurs once wore that tail. I clasp the headband and try to remember all the wise psychologist stuff I just told Abby when we were out on the street.
It doesn’t work. I can feel the panic rising.
But then I think of Seth’s serious face. I remember how worried he seemed when he looked at me just now. Jim makes jokes about my dad and steals gloves for me so that I can pick my nose. But Seth takes me seriously. More than that—he feels sorry for me. He doesn’t say so, but I know it’s true. Why else would he be so nice to me?
Really. A boy who is floating through space, disconnected from everything, feels sorry for me.
I pull my sweater and T-shirt over my head in one motion. Halloween, here I come.
We’ve all got grins on our faces when we leave the bookstore. Abby’s a terrifying zombie in a ragged dress covered with splashes of blood, hair that’s standing on end, and a creepy white face. Seth’s wearing a black sweater with a skeleton on it and gloves printed with bones. And I actually make a pretty sexy cat, if I do say so myself.
But it’s Jim who’s making everyone stop in their tracks as if they’ve been struck by Benjamin Franklin’s lightning.
He’s wearing a floaty purple dress that’s just a bit too small for him, with a black pointed hat. His face is painted bright green and he’s wearing a tangled long black wig. The effect is stunning. Within two hundred meters, he makes five tourists collapse with laughter and three children cry.
When we pass a police officer, I look straight at him. With my new hair and my cat costume, I’m someone completely different. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so un-Emilia in my whole life. We’re all cold without our coats, but we want people to be able to see our costumes. We walk shoulder to shoulder down the broad sidewalk and everyone steps out of the way to let us pass. It feels like we’re a boy band, or those four women from Sex and the City.
What I mean is: four people who are world famous. And who belong together.
Seth takes us to an ultramodern restaurant on a busy street, where he starts acting tough and not at all sensitive and understanding.
“Just give me the menu,” he says. “I’ll decide what we’re going to eat.”
I’ve never been to such a cool restaurant before. There are purple couches, and pink lights on the wall, and we’re the only ones who are in costume. Within fifteen minutes, the table is covered with spring rolls and chicken skewers and Thai salad and steamed dumplings and duck pancakes.
“Right. So these are the appetizers,” says Seth.
“Yummy!” Abby is holding her chopsticks at the ready, but then she looks at me with a worried expression. “Emilia won’t want to eat from the same bowls as us … ”
“Emilia needs to stop complaining,” says Seth sternly.
And so I don’t. The food is incredible: crispy and spicy and sweet, all at the same time. I go to the bathroom three times to wash my hands when I accidentally touch my black dress, but no one mentions it. We don’t drink any wine, of course, because it’s practically impossible to order alcohol in an American restaurant if you’re under twenty-one. But somehow I can still feel something buzzing in my veins. That floating feeling is back again.
Maybe, I think, as I take a bite of the sweet-and-sour tofu that’s now on the table, getting older isn’t so bad after all. Maybe this is what it feels like to be an adult. To be able to decide for yourself: Tonight I’m going out for a fabulous meal. With my own friends. I’m going to stay here for as long as I want and I’ll eat whatever I like. Because I’m not afraid anymore.
“What do you guys think?” I say. “Should we just abolish the Internet for good?”
Abby picks up her phone. “Smile!”
We put our heads together and smile for the photo.
“Abolish the Internet?” asks Seth.
“Yes! Who says we need to use everything that was invented by people who just happened to be alive before we were?”
“Exactly,” says Jim. “We don’t want their atom bombs and killer robots and pathetic schools.”
Seth pops a piece of duck into his mouth. “I have to say, I’m rather attached to the wheel.”
Abby puts down her phone. “I wish Obama would decide that we’re only allowed to go online for three hours a day. No more than that. Then I could sometimes be offline after school. Now I’m always scared of missing out on something and that everyone will start gossiping about me if I’m not online … ”
“I just don’t get it,” I say. “Why are some people so rude on the Internet? What makes them so much meaner and more aggressive than usual?”
“It’s simple,” says Jim. “If I bad-mouth someone to his face, then he’ll beat me up. But online I can say whatever I want.”
“That’s exactly the problem!” I cry. “You end up saying more than you mean to. More than you really intend to.”
Abby nods. “Bethany once wrote that she was going to scratch my eyes out because I didn’t let her copy my homework. But look! I’ve still got my eyes!” She looks happily around the table with wide eyes and a creepy white zombie face.
New dishes just keep on coming, and I eat more than I’ve ever eaten before. As I savor the sweet coconut milk and hot pepper and Thai basil, I watch the tropical fish swimming lazily around inside their illuminated aquarium. Glasses tinkle and the conversations around us sound reassuringly American. “I was, like … giiirl, that’s sooo amazing, you know? And then she was, like … no way, he didn’t! But then I’m, like, hello? He’s a guy, what do you expect, you know?”
And then suddenly I hear a man’s voice behind me.
“Emilia de Wit! Can I ask you something?”
He’s speaking Dutch. And he knows my name.
I turn around. A tall, thin man with cropped hair is smiling at me. “Do you mind if I join you?”
I just stare at the man, because I have no idea who he is.
“Sorry,” I say in English. “Do I know you?”
He smiles at me again and calmly sits down next to Abby.
“My name’s Bastiaan Breedveld.” He’s still speaking Dutch. “I’m a journalist. I spotted on Twitter that you were eating here, and I happened to be in the area. I’m mainly writing about the hurricane this week, of course, but after that interview with Juno, I’m curious to hear what you might have to say.”
I can’t move. I thought I’d escaped, but it seems the hunt is still on. The journalist may not have a rifle, but he doesn’t need one. A smartphone with a Twitter account is enough.
I want to yell that I’m not Emilia. But I have to know.
“What interview with Juno?” My voice is trembling. I can feel the cold barrel of the rifle on the back of my neck. “How does Twitter know where I am? No one here knows me!”
He takes a phone from his bag and shows me the screen. A tweet from Abby, proudly announcing that she’s eating Thai food with #scarybrother, #moviestar, and #emiliadewit. And yep, with the photo of the three of us.
I hate all those dumb hashtags on Twitter. I hate #stupidlittlekidswhosecretlytweetduringdinner.
“You really mean to say you haven’t read the interview with Juno yet?” asks Bastiaan. “It’s been online for hours.”
Dizzily, I stand up, because I need to get away from this man as quickly as possible. Away from his dumb accent, away from his flappy Dutch ears and his pale lips saying “Juno.”
I look at the others. “Let’s go.”
“What about that guy?” asks Abby.
“Ignore him. He’s a journalist.”
“But what does he want?”
�
��Abby,” says Jim. “Come on outside.”
Seth is pale. “Will you two stay with Emilia? I’ll go pay.”
I walk to the door. When I look back, I see that Bastiaan is following me. Calm as anything, with his hands in his pockets. He could be strolling past a field of sprouts back home. Or through a meadow of cows.
It’s dark outside, but nobody really cares about that in this part of the city. The streetlights here are shining as usual and the neon signs are dancing away as they should be.
“I understand that the past week has been difficult for you,” says Bastiaan cheerfully. “And I really don’t want to bother you. I just want to give you the opportunity to respond to Juno’s version of events.”
That name of hers, over and over again. I’ve never hated a word so much before. Juno, the goddess of light. Queen of the heavens. Goddess of marriage.
“People need to hear your side of the story too, don’t they?” Bastiaan asks in a friendly voice.
“But I don’t have a side,” I cry. “What my dad decides to do has nothing to do with me and I don’t even know … that girl. Just leave me alone!”
“Juno has plenty to say about you in the interview, though … ” As he swipes the screen of his cell phone, I clench my fists. I can see Seth inside at the bar, waiting to pay.
“Here,” says Bastiaan, “listen to what Juno said.” He starts reading out loud in Dutch. “ ‘It’s totally creepy, of course, a fifty-year-old guy being in love with you. If I’d met him in a chat room, I’d have instantly clicked away. But I was doing so badly in math …’ ”
He looks up from the screen and I dig my nails into my palms as hard as I can.
“Yeah. We already knew that, didn’t we?” I say. I’m not even trying to play it cool—I really did know that already. My dad’s a creep.
Bastiaan goes on reading. Abby and Jim listen in silence to the words they can’t understand. Seth is still inside.
“ ‘People don’t understand, though. We had something special. He told me things he couldn’t talk to anyone else about. He has a wife and a daughter, but he said he often feels as if he’s floating all alone among the stars. I didn’t get it at first, but he meant he’s lonely. Seriously. He said he feels like he’s floating in cold, empty space. And that I’m the only one who sometimes flies past him within hearing distance.’ ”