by Allen Zadoff
In a normal assignment it is. But things are happening that are not normal.
The Presence. Who is he and where did he come from? How could he know that I am here?
The man last night shouted to him in Arabic.
Sam’s mother was Israeli, and she died in her home country.
The Middle East. That is the connection.
It’s a long shot. But it’s something.
As I surf, I focus especially on stories about the mayor losing his wife. Her car accident in Israel. I read article after article about the tragedy. I look at photos of the aftermath.
One in particular gets my attention.
It’s a picture of Sam at the funeral. Her father is next to her, side by side with the Israeli prime minister. Behind them is a group of soldiers standing at attention. They stare straight ahead.
All except one.
He looks at Sam.
It could be the angle of the shot. A coincidence of timing. A sneeze. Someone passing by in the street he recognizes.
Or it could be something else, something to do with Sam.
The picture is grainy, the soldier’s features unclear. Yet there is something familiar about this man.
“How did you like the party?” Howard says.
He comes over and sits next to me. I casually click the browser closed before he can see it.
“The party was okay,” I say. “Were you there?”
“I was invited, but I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t go to parties.”
“Is there a reason?”
“People are there.”
“What’s wrong with people?”
“I don’t get along with them,” Howard says. “Not the ones in this school.”
“Only Sam,” I say.
“Only Sam.”
He looks toward the ground. He’s always looking at the ground. I’ve seen this before. In animals who have been hurt.
I say, “Wouldn’t it be worth suffering through a party just to be at the mayor’s place?”
He shrugs.
“I was there a few years ago,” he says. He looks up at me. “Did you see Sam’s room?”
“Why would I see her room?”
“I don’t know. On the tour or whatever.”
A loud yawn from a student across the room.
I scan the space. Is anyone listening to us? Giving us too much attention?
No.
“Why are you asking so much about the party, Howard?”
“I’ve never seen Sam like a guy so fast.”
“What does it matter if she likes me?”
“I’m worried that you’re up to something,” he says.
“What could I be up to?”
“A conquest.”
“Not my style.”
Not strictly true. I don’t have a style. I do what’s necessary.
“Then maybe it’s something else,” Howard says. “Something to do with the mayor?”
I don’t like where this conversation is headed. I consider the possibility of Howard having an accident in the men’s room. How much attention would it draw?
Not much.
There would be a disruption, almost certainly a police investigation.
I decide an accident outside of school might be better. Better still is to remove the need for one.
“Okay, you caught me,” I say.
“It’s the mayor?” he says, leaning in.
“It’s sex.”
“Oh. Typical.” He looks disappointed.
“Everyone wants to have sex with the mayor’s daughter, right?”
“I don’t,” Howard says.
“No?”
“I don’t think it’s right to be friends with someone just because her father is famous. Unlike certain people in this school.”
“You’ve never thought about being with Sam?”
He smiles a shy smile.
“I’m taken,” he says.
“You have a girlfriend?”
He looks around to make sure we’re not being overheard, then he motions for me to come closer. He flips open a netbook, and his fingers fly across the keys. The school might be wired for Internet, but Howard is wired for speed on the Internet.
In three seconds flat his screen is turned toward me.
An anime character stares out at me. She has enormous eyes. When she blinks, tiny rainbow-colored stars float from her lashes.
“This is Goji,” he says. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“Goji like the berry?”
“It’s a nickname.”
“Um—is she an anime character?” I say.
“That’s just her avatar,” he says like I’m a little dense. “For your information, she’s Japanese. And she’s real. Hey, do you want to see my avatar?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. His fingers fly across the keys again, stopping when a Howard avatar pops up on-screen.
At least I think it’s Howard. The hair is familiar, but everything else is transformed. Howard after five years in a gym and extreme makeover surgery.
His character waves at hers, the hand causing ripples of blue-green energy to flow outward. Suddenly the two characters run toward each other on the screen, meeting in an embrace that sends them both flying through the air on a river of hearts.
“She calls me Fro-Fro. Because of my hair. It’s like an afro.”
Goji and Fro-Fro. Cute. If you’re into things like that.
“What does Goji look like in real life?” I say.
He looks down again. “I’ve never seen her. She lives in Osaka.”
“Maybe you’ll go someday,” I say.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, like he doesn’t believe it. “That would be nice.”
I thought Howard might be a rival for Sam, at least in his head. But now I see I was wrong. He’s a potential confidant.
“Does Sam have anyone?” I say.
“Not right now.”
“But in the past.”
His fingers fly over the keys again. He pushes the screen toward me. It’s a Daily News article from a couple of years ago. A single column inch buried deep in the paper.
Body Found in Harlem River
The body of a teenage boy who apparently committed suicide was found in the Harlem River, cops said.
“What does this have to do with Sam?”
“The guy in the river? He was a Bronx Science guy. He liked Sam.”
“And he committed suicide?”
“That’s what the paper said. But I don’t think so.”
“I’m not understanding you, Howard.”
He lowers his voice.
“The guy went out with Sam a couple times, and then he ended up in the river.”
“She killed him?” I say with a smile.
He shakes his head. He’s not smiling.
“Who?” I say.
He glances around the room.
“She had a boyfriend at the time,” he says.
“The ex you told me about who messed with her head?”
“That’s right,” he says. “It was a long-distance thing. He was Israeli. I don’t know much more than that.”
“I thought you and Sam were close.”
“We talk about a lot of stuff, but she’s very careful on that subject.”
“So you think this Israeli guy killed him?”
“I can’t prove anything. But he might have. It was that kind of relationship.”
“What kind?”
“Intense.”
“This guy,” I say, “he’s out of the picture now?”
“Sam says he is, but I’m not so sure,” Howard says.
“Why not?”
“They broke up, but she keeps going back.”
“Thanks for the info, Howard.”
“Sure,” he says. “It’s sort of nice to have someone to talk to.”
He looks at the floor again, the loneliness practically radiating off him.
“You’re an okay guy, Howard.”
“Really?”
“Did you ever think of taking a self-defense class or something?”
“I can’t fight in real life. Only on the computer.”
“You’re a gamer?”
He looks around the library, makes sure nobody can hear him.
“No, but I like to mess around a little.”
“Like hacking?”
He shrugs.
“I can do some things. For example, I cracked Justin’s e-mail and signed him up for a herpes newsletter.”
I laugh.
“I might be a loser in real life, but I’m a ninja online.”
“That’s good to know,” I say.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“YOU THINK YOU GOT AWAY,” ERICA SAYS.
I turn around like I’m surprised she’s behind me in the hallway at school.
“Did I scare you?” she says.
“A little,” I say.
She smiles, delighted with herself. I don’t tell her I heard her heels clomping on the floor from fifty feet away.
“You did not get away,” she says. “Nobody gets away.”
“Nobody?”
“Not from me. I’m a hunter. When I see something I want, I go after it.”
“And you always get it?”
“Always.”
She runs her fingers like a claw through her chemically straightened hair.
Braggadocio—absurd confidence in her own sexuality. I could shut this girl down quickly, go to that soft place inside and press. Release a flood of emotional pain.
For most people, emotional is worse than physical. I do not understand why this is, but I know how to use it to my advantage.
I could shut her down, but that would not be useful. I need to get back to the mayor’s, and I need to do it fast. Maybe Erica can help.
So instead of calling her out, I say, “Erica.”
“Benjamin.”
“Your hair looks nice today.”
Her head cocks to the side, uncertain of my intentions. She studies my face, one hand propped on her hip, like a model.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she says.
“Will it get me a chance to walk you to class?”
“It will.”
She slips her arm into mine. Another of her favorite tricks. And just what I was hoping for.
“Did I embarrass myself last night?” she says.
“Not at all.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
“I did see your underwear.”
“What did you think?”
“Floral.”
She laughs and pulls me closer.
“How often does Sam have parties at her place?” I say.
“Once every couple years. Everyone wants to go because it’s the mayor’s place, but it’s not that much fun. How can you party with cops everywhere?”
“I know what you mean.”
When we get to the end of the hall, I lead her to the left.
“Why are we going this way?”
“Shortcut,” I say.
“No, it’s not.”
“You got me. I took the long route so we’d have more time together.”
“Benjamin, I’m not falling for it.”
Maybe not. But she seems happy to be with me, which is the next best thing.
We walk down the hall, right past AP European.
Past Sam.
That’s why I want Erica next to me. Sam is sitting where she always does in the front row. In full view of the door.
I slow our pace. Erica glances in and catches Sam’s eye. She winks at Sam.
Perfect.
I’ve injected conflict between Sam and me where before there was closeness. I don’t have time for this to develop slowly between us, and I’ve been taught that relationships are strongest when they have to overcome something in order to exist. Romeo and Juliet, for example. Take away the families at war, and what do you have? A weekend fling that ends with two kids bored of each other.
Conflict.
It makes all the difference in the world. And I’m betting on the fact that it will stir things in an interesting way with Sam.
When we get to her class, Erica says, “You wanted Sam to see us, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I say.
I don’t deny it. She’s too smart for that.
“I’m okay with it,” she says. “You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because Sam is great, but I know I’m a better fit for you.”
“Why is that?”
“You get me.”
“Maybe I get her, too.”
“Nobody gets her. I don’t think she gets herself. And I love her, so I’m not saying it to be cruel.”
“We’ll see what happens,” I say.
“Game on,” she says, and she heads into class.
I double back to AP European. As I come around the corner, Sam is waiting in the hallway. She left class to confront me.
It’s a good sign.
“Having fun?” she says.
“Lots,” I say. I roll my eyes.
She’s not amused.
“You’re with Erica, then you’re with me, then Erica again. Why do I feel like you’re telling us both the same things?”
“I’m using her,” I say.
“Why?”
“To get to you.”
“And you think I’m going to be flattered by that? Big mistake. I hate games.”
“Me, too.”
“But you’re playing them. Maybe that’s all you know how to do.”
Darius rushes down the hall, late for class. He sees us and slows down.
“Problem?” he says to Sam.
She looks at me.
“Yes, actually. Ben has a problem telling the truth.”
“News flash: Ben is a dick,” Darius says.
“I thought we bonded last night,” I say, playing the hurt friend.
“Not if Sam has a problem with you we didn’t. She comes first.”
The second tone sounds.
“Shall we?” Darius says to Sam, gesturing toward the room.
He heads into class, Sam following behind.
“Wait, Sam—” I say.
She hesitates.
“I’m sorry.”
“And?” she says.
“And I’m a dick. Darius is right.”
“Don’t waste your time with him,” Darius says.
Darius lingers by the door. She puts a hand on his arm.
“I’m okay,” she says.
He grunts and goes inside. She closes the door behind him.
“You’re very mysterious, Ben.”
“How so?” I say.
“What you want, who you are.”
“I’m simple,” I say. “What you see is what you get.”
“I don’t see. That’s the problem. Usually I see everything. I’m very good at sniffing out the truth. But with you it’s different. One minute I think I know what I’m seeing, the next I’m not so sure.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What you like, what you don’t. Your politics.”
“My politics?”
“I’m a serious person. I want to be with a serious person.”
Be with. What does she mean by that?
The last class tone sounds, but neither of us moves.
I think about how to play this.
Come at her with politics similar to hers. Bond.
Come at her with contrary politics. Opposites attract. Get a reaction out of her.
“You’re calculating,” she says.
“No, I’m not.”
“I see you doing it. Why don’t you just give me a straight ans
wer.”
A straight answer.
“Okay. Straight answer is that I’m not political.”
“You don’t care about the world.”
“I care about myself in the world.”
“Typical American attitude,” Sam says.
“You’re American, too.”
“I live in America. But I don’t feel American.”
“What do you feel?”
“I feel… torn.”
“Because of your mom?”
She winces.
“It has nothing to do with her,” she says.
Obviously it does, but I don’t need to push the issue now.
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I say.
She hits herself in the thigh. “Ugh, I’m so friggin’ weird around you. I hate it.”
I look at her, struggling to find the right thing to say.
A crack in the facade of Samara the Powerful. The first I’ve seen.
A sign that she’s opening up to me.
“I don’t think you’re weird,” I say.
Her face softens.
“Can I get a do-over on this conversation?” she says.
“Absolutely,” I say. “As long as I can get a do-over on last night.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“How about dinner at your place?”
“My place?” she says.
“It’s a lot cleaner than mine.”
She laughs.
“Actually, I’m having dinner with my father tonight. It’s kind of a special night.”
“Perfect. Your father loves me,” I say.
“He kind of does,” she says. “He asked about you this morning.”
“What did he ask?”
“If there was anything going on between us.”
“And what did you tell him?”
She smiles and looks toward the classroom door.
“We’d better get in there,” she says.
“And dinner?” I say.
She doesn’t answer, just opens the door, and motions me into class with a grand gesture.
I go in first. As I pass by, she whispers in my ear.
“Eight o’clock. Don’t show up with Erica this time.”
“Not a chance,” I say.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
THE POLICE BOX ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF THE MAYOR’S BUILDING IS MANNED.
A small, heated shack. One officer on duty.
I walk into the lobby and I recognize the downstairs staff from last night. The concierge announces me by phone.