Yolly’s eyebrows rise. “Didn’t you just get off shift?”
“Yes.” Amy blushes. “I … uh … just wanted to check on Alex. Car—Mr. Ross said he was worried and …”
“Alex is doing really well.”
“That’s great,” Amy says without enthusiasm. She hovers in the doorway, one foot in the door and one outside. “Well, since I’m here, I guess I’ll run her blood test. Mr. Ross said he’d be by later to find out her results.”
Yolly looks at her sharply, and my memories from last night snap into focus. Ross asked Amy to fake the results of my chronotin test. I twist a strand of hair around my finger. It feels greasy. If Ross has changed my meds then one unexpected result will expose the truth. Is that what I want? I brush my hair back. Ross has gone to such lengths to help me. I owe it to both of us to at least try.
“That’s a great idea.” I dredge up a reasonable sounding lie. “When Shannon does the blood draw it always pinches.”
Amy looks relieved. She moves into the room and rummages around the cabinet for a sealed needle pack.
“You hungry?” Yolly asks me. Adding, when I nod, “I’ll see what I can dig up from the cafeteria.”
Amy takes my arm and pats the vein in the inner curve of my elbow with a damp swab. The sharp smell of alcohol invades my nostrils.
“There are quite a few people who will be happy to hear you’re on the mend.” Amy slides the needle under my skin with a familiar prick. “Your friend KJ has been here every day. I practically had to shove him out the door yesterday to get him to leave.”
KJ. The thought of seeing him and not having to hide being sick makes me almost dizzy with relief. So much for my altruistic wish to spare him pain. I promise myself I’ll tell him everything. There’s no more time for secrets.
Amy pulls the needle free and caps the blood vial with a quick twist. “That should do it.”
She heads off, presumably to steal my blood and fake the results, just as Yolly returns with a tray bearing soup, toast, a carton of orange juice, and, my favorite, a bowl of chocolate pudding. There’s a small metal tabletop attached to an arm beside the bed, and she swings it around until it rests in front of me. The scent of chicken soup and chocolate makes my stomach grumble. Yolly watches as I slurp up my soup.
“How do you feel?” she asks, with genuine concern.
“Great.” As I say it, I realize it’s true. My headache is gone. The food is restoring my energy, and I actually feel more clear-headed than I have in ages. I guess it’s true that keeping secrets takes a physical toll.
“I’m still kind of weak,” I say, “but other than that I’m pretty normal.”
Yolly smiles and says she has some work to do in the clinic office and to call her when I’m done with my lunch. I inhale the soup and toast and pick up my pudding. A sweet cloud of chocolate slides over my tongue. I lick the spoon, thinking about Ross and what our next mission might bring. Maybe he used another spinner to rewind the scene at the butcher shop again, or found some other lead that we can follow together when I get out. A whisper of worry interrupts my dreamy visions. What if the sickness has interfered with my time skills? Lots of spinners go back to work after their first illness, but not so many do after their second.
The chocolate coating my mouth turns slimy. If I can’t hold freezes anymore, then I won’t be able to keep working the Sikes case. Sweat dampens my palms. What if I freeze right now? Just to see if it still works? When the monitor goes off, I can claim I fell asleep.
I set down the half-eaten pudding and lean back into my pillows. If I have lost my skills I’d rather know now instead of after I mess up another mission. I dry my palms against the sheets, snatch at time, and pull it up short. For a split second I think it hasn’t worked. Usually freezing causes a slight jolt somewhere deep in my midsection. I’ve always thought of it as time trying to get away from me. But this transition slides by seamlessly; one instant the world moves, the next it doesn’t. Taking a deep breath, I grab hold of the time strands and start to rewind. Shadowy images slide past me with the fluidity of a boat riding a gentle current. I watch my own ghostly arms spoon food from mouth to tray, then wait for Yolly to back into the room, mutter gibberish at me, and remove my meal before I bring the rewind to a halt. Easy. Smooth.
I smile my relief at the still room. Nothing about the rewind feels strange—no difficulty pulling time backward, no struggle to keep the invisible force under control. In fact, I feel extra strong, like I could hold this freeze for hours. I dump the remaining pudding out of my bowl and smear it across my tray. Dipping my fingers in it, I write my name in triumphant brown letters. I can freeze just fine. At least for the short term, everything is going to be OK.
I flop back into my pillows and let time move forward again. It’s another seamless transition, without even a hint of dizziness. Melts always go more smoothly when there’s less to put back.
The freeze monitor in the clinic’s main room beeps.
“Alex?” Yolly’s voice drifts in from behind the closed door. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I call back. “I guess I dozed off.”
“I thought you were feeling better?”
Yolly’s cell phone meows.
“I’m just tired.” I sit up and reach for my pudding. I hear Yolly telling someone that I fell asleep. The monitor goes quiet.
“Was it a bad dream?” she asks.
I don’t answer.
“Alex?”
I still don’t answer. I can’t. What I am seeing is simply not possible because frozen time isn’t real. Nothing that happens within it lasts. I close my eyes. Open them again. Chocolate remains smeared across my tray. I look inside the bowl.
All the pudding is gone.
09
“ALEX?” YOLLY’S HEAD POPS AROUND THE EDGE OF my door.
The letters on the tray scream my name like a confession. I turn the bowl over, as if somehow this might make the pudding magically reappear. It doesn’t.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“I guess calling your recovery amazing was a bit premature.” Yolly gathers up the remains of my meal, clucking her tongue at the chocolate mess on my tray.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
She wipes up the smeared pudding. “KJ said he wanted to see you as soon as you woke up. Shall I tell him you’re ready for visitors?”
I hesitate. I want to see KJ, but I also want to know what happened to my time skills. To do that, I need to freeze again, and the only way I can get away with that is if Yolly thinks I’m asleep.
“I think I need a nap first.” I fake a yawn. “Can you ask him to come in an hour?”
Yolly pats my arm and stacks the empty soup bowl into the equally empty pudding bowl. I wait until I hear her close the outer door of the clinic, then force myself to watch the clock tick for five minutes before I reach out. The shafts of noonday sun streaming through the blinds turn dull as everything stops. I climb out of bed. Cold tiles meet my bare feet. I release time.
The sunshine brightens and I remain standing a foot from the bed.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. The possibilities flooding my brain make me giddy. I can affect things that happen in frozen time.
The freeze monitor in the clinic’s office starts beeping. I plunk down on the edge of my bed. If someone calls in a crime, I could get there while it’s still in progress. McDennon could have dismantled the bomb while time was still frozen. I could walk into a hostage situation and simply remove the victims. I could disarm someone across the room in a split second. The enormity of the possibilities makes my head spin. My days may be numbered, but, oh, the things I can do in the meantime!
I hop back onto my feet. Amy said Ross will be here this afternoon. I picture his face, the amazement lighting his features when I show him what I can do. I laugh out loud with sheer pleasure, then laugh again when I imagine telling KJ. He was worried about me while I was sick and here I am, not only healthy, but improved.
With a reckless tug, I stop time again. Why wait? The monitor is still beeping. It’s not like I can set it off twice. I zip out of the room, not bothering to look for real clothes. The clinic office is empty, the clock on the wall stuck at 12:34. Lunch will just be ending. I race out into the hall. Yolly’s stout body blocks the top of the main stairway. Her head is turned over her shoulder—it looks like she’s talking to someone coming up the stairs behind her. Afraid I might jostle her if I squeeze past, I skip over to the smaller emergency stairs halfway down the hall. By the time I reach the basement, I’m panting. I don’t care. The harder I crash later, the more convincing my tired act will be for Yolly.
The smell of french fries floats in the air outside the cafeteria’s open doorway. The Center kids are scattered around the room, some still eating, most clearing their trays or on their feet heading off to their afternoon assignments. I edge my way among them, looking for KJ, before remembering that Yolly said it was Monday. Mondays are the days KJ and I clean up the kitchen. I turn on my heel and trip over a Younger’s backpack, sending the purple nylon sack skittering across the floor. I take three more steps before I realize I can’t just leave it there—when I melt, the thing’s going to look like it teleported. I retrieve the bag and set it back where it came from. Or more or less where it came from. Hopefully no one was actually looking at it at the moment I froze.
The Center kitchen is a large industrial space with rubber mats underfoot and burnished metal everywhere else. KJ is way in the back, pointing a pull-down sprayer at a stack of dirty plates. Steam hovers around him in a vaporous cloud. I check the whole room, even opening the walk-in refrigerator, to make sure the place is empty. Once I’m positive no one can see us, I wrap my hand around his bare wrist and start time.
“Hey, there, buddy.”
KJ jumps, splashing us both with hot water.
“Alex! Oh my God, you scared me.”
I wipe my face, laughing. After the quiet of the freeze, the clatter from the cafeteria sounds extra loud—rumbling voices, scraping chairs, the faint beep from the monitor.
“Surprised to see me?” I ask.
“Completely.” He turns the sprayer off and gathers me into a hug.
“I can’t believe you’re walking around,” he says. “The last time I saw you, you looked awful.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
He steps back, his hands clasped around my elbows.
“Are you really better?”
“Better than better.” I’m smiling so widely my cheeks hurt. “Check this out.”
With our arms still touching, I freeze time again. Silence returns. KJ’s fingers dig into my skin.
“Are you nuts?” he says. “What are you doing?”
His own skills surge between us, further strengthening my hold on time. It feels effortless, like I could hold time for hours, even in my weakened state.
“It’s OK.” I pry his fingers loose. “Yolly thinks I’m dream-freezing. Look.”
I walk all the way across the kitchen, beckoning him to follow me.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” KJ trails in my wake. “You seem …” He waves a hand, the gesture taking in my pajamas, unwashed hair, and grinning face. I laugh.
“Crazy? No, I promise I’m not crazy.” I take his hand. “You ready?”
Real time moves forward. The buzz of noise returns. I wait just long enough for KJ to realize what happened, and then grab the flow up tight again.
KJ’s face turns so pale I’m afraid he might faint. He stares down at our clasped hands, then back at the spot by the sink where we were standing when I froze time.
“How did you do that?”
“Isn’t it great?” I dance around him, unable to contain the bubbly feeling rippling through my insides. “Things I move in frozen time stay that way. Think how amazing this will be on missions.”
KJ keeps staring around the motionless kitchen. He looks like one small tap might knock him over. I make an effort to contain my jubilation.
“It’s not just missions,” I say, remembering his complaint about my obsession. “We can do lots of things. Fun things.”
I start time again, grabbing it back almost immediately, but this time without touching him. Skirting his frozen body, I pick up a squirt bottle of ketchup and write Alex Rocks! in huge goopy letters on the countertop closest to him. Then I take his hand and once again release and refreeze time. KJ starts. I point to the scrawled message.
“Tada!”
“Alex—”
His voice holds warning. The bubbles inside me deflate a tiny bit.
“Don’t you see how cool this?” I say. “The last time I was in the Youngers’ class, I figured out how to freeze time without getting caught. Next time I’m there I’ll sneak out and take a dorm key from the security office. We could get out of our rooms at night, maybe even out of the building.”
“Alex!” KJ’s voice is sharp.
“What?”
“How did this happen?”
KJ sounds strangled, like the idea of my new skill is more than he can swallow. I cross my arms.
“I don’t know.” The image of Ross digging through my bedside cupboard in the middle of the night flashes into my head. I put it aside. It’s only a theory, and KJ is freaked out enough. He doesn’t need to know I agreed to change my meds. “I just woke up and was like this.”
“You can’t tell anyone.” KJ moves away from me. He picks up a rag and starts wiping away my ketchup art.
“I have to tell Ross,” I say. “Otherwise I can’t use it.”
“If anyone knows what you can do, they won’t just stop you from using it, they’ll stop you from everything.”
“What do you mean, everything?” The excited bubbles are definitely gone now, replaced by a prickling sensation that’s crawling up the back of my scalp. “Like leash me? All the time?”
“Well, leash you, of course,” KJ says, as if this were totally obvious. “They’ll send you to the Central Office. They’ll want to study you, make you do tests, take blood samples, who knows what else.” He erases the last of my message. “They’ll test all of us, trying to figure out how this happened. It will be like the old days you read about where spinners were experimented on.” KJ tosses the rag into the sink. “The Norms are scared of us already,” he says. “Our only saving grace is that nothing we do in a freeze sticks. Think how much they’d fear us if it did.”
All the plans building within me since the pudding vanished evaporate in KJ’s warning. I imagine a sterile room lined with beds full of spinners, wires sprouting from their heads, machines beeping.
“So you think … you think I can’t even tell Mr. Ross?”
“Definitely don’t tell Ross. He might like you, but he’s still an agent. If he didn’t turn you in he’d lose his job.”
The urge to cry is almost overwhelming. All the brilliant plans I’d made for the future disappear in an instant. I am suddenly very aware of how little I’ve eaten in the past few days. Time, which seemed so easy to hold a minute ago, now tugs on my control.
“But I have to tell him. When we go on a mission …”
“Alex.” KJ puts a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t go on missions like this.”
I prop myself against a countertop, fighting the desire to collapse onto the sticky floor. Without time work, my new skills make me nothing but a freak, different even among the outcasts. I’ll have to lie to Ross and say I don’t want to work with him anymore. I’ll have to lie to everyone. The other spinners. Barnard. Yolly.
Yolly!
“Oh, no.” Panic pulls me upright.
“What?”
I slide out from under KJ’s arm.
“Yolly was coming to check on me when I left.” I try to figure out how much real time passed in the few seconds I let it roll forward. I melted and froze three times? Four?
“Go,” KJ says, “I’ll come up as soon as you melt time.”
“No.” Thoughts whirl through my head, making it hard to focus. “I’ll have to pretend to be asleep. Yolly said she’d come get you in an hour.”
KJ opens his mouth, then closes it without speaking. The rebuke hits me anyway. The colossal stupidity of what I’ve done hangs between us. I ran around like a child showing off a new toy with no thought to the consequences of my actions. Consequences that won’t just affect me, but all spinners.
I drag myself back to the stairwell and up the two flights to the clinic. None of the elation that buoyed me on the way down remains to cover my exhaustion. Only the fear of trying to explain to Yolly where I’d gone keeps me moving. If she entered the room and found it empty, what can I say? The main stairs are only a few yards from the clinic door—she’d have seen me if I left. I picture the sickroom, the scattered sheets and minimal furniture. No excuse I can think up seems even faintly plausible.
Opening the door to the hallway feels like shoving a boulder. I stick my head around it. The hallway outside the clinic is empty. So is the main stairwell. Yolly has already entered the clinic’s lobby.
My throat tightens. For once I wish the Center raised us with some kind of religion—then at least I’d have someone to pray to. I tiptoe over to the clinic and open the door.
Relief weakens my knees. The door to my room is closed. Yolly hovers halfway to it, head titled to one side as she talks into her cell phone. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see her.
I slide past her, careful not to ruffle any part of her body. I realize I’m shaking, fear and the unexpected reprieve both taking their toll. Maybe I can fall asleep for real before Yolly reaches me. It certainly won’t take any effort to pretend I’m exhausted. I open the door and step inside. My heart stops beating.
Next to the bed, attention fixed on the empty sheets, stands Carson Ross.
10
I SINK DOWN ONTO THE COLD TILE FLOOR. PART OF me wants to run back out and ask KJ what to do, but I don’t think I can bear to add to his disappointment in me. I try to think of someplace to hide. Side table, sink, storage cabinet. The space under the bed is so exposed Ross would have seen me the instant he walked into the room.
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