Strange Days

by Constantine J. Singer

  My eyes fly open and I sit up fast, sucking in air as hard as I can.

  I’m still sweating, regretting not stealing a glide suit, when I edge into the common room. Again, I think it’s empty when I cross into it, but again it’s not.

  Corina’s coming out of the dorm hall.

  “I was just looking for you,” she says when she sees me. Then: “What were you doing up in the glide rooms?”

  I shrug, try to look sad instead of scared. “Hiding.” As naturally as I can, swallowing my concern: “What’s up?”

  She smiles. “I just wanted to find you . . .”

  My heart thumps. “Really?” My feelings get control of me and it comes out like a little boy who’s been told he’s going to Disneyland instead of like a question. Stupid baby.

  She giggles, which makes me feel dumber. “Yeah. Come on.”

  I turn to look back to the glide hall. It’s dark behind me and suddenly all I want is to go back there, go back into the Jungle, explore, see more. Be where I won’t embarrass myself. “I don’t . . .”

  “Alex,” she says. “I really am starting to worry about you.”

  I shrug and shake my head. “There’s nothing to worry about.” But I don’t even believe me when I say it.

  “Course not.” She rolls her eyes, but then she looks at me, face friendly. “I do like a boy who can’t hide his feelings—even if he won’t admit he’s got them.” She reaches out a hand for me. “C’mon.”

  I don’t take her hand immediately because I’m still back with what she just said to me, still trying to rehear it, write it down in my mind so I can take it apart, word for word, later when I’m alone. Right now I don’t know if I’m feeling things because she said she likes boys like me, or if I’m feeling embarrassed because I can’t control my emotions. Or both.

  I make myself reach out to her. It’s never been hard like this for me to be around a girl, but right now, with her, it almost hurts and all I can think about is how I’m going to do something stupid, say something wrong.

  When our hands meet, I stop worrying, though. Her fingers are warm, dry, and the sensation of her touch is stronger than my resistance.

  She lets go of my hand at the patio door. We walk together silently. Our arms brush.

  When we get to the door to the gym, she starts to giggle again. When she opens it, I see why.

  Everybody’s there.

  They’re all collected around a drum kit that Calvin’s sitting at. Richard’s at a piano and Paul’s got his guitar. Maddie is wearing one of Paul’s cowboy hats and standing at a microphone. There’s another microphone in front of Paul.

  Somebody’s found some hay bales somewhere and stacked them around. There’s red-and-blue-checked streamers hanging from the basket hoops. The whole room looks like it was decorated by a cut-rate prom committee.

  John Bishop is standing to the side with his arms crossed across his chest and when they all see me, Paul counts off and Corina runs to the microphone where Maddie hands her a hat.

  “What the hell . . .” is all I manage to get out before the song starts.

  Paul sings it full country, staring right at me.

  We’ve all been where you’ve been before

  Life seems over, everybody’s slammin’ their doors

  No one’s coming to save you—no one notices or cares

  And when things look their worst, you end up here.

  Maddie and Corina are dancing, wearing Paul’s cowboy hats. I can’t do anything but stand and watch. It’s all so stupid and ridiculous, but it’s . . .

  So now you’re here, things are queer—

  roommates and aliens—saving the human race

  Doing good but getting lonely, missing a friendly face

  Even when they’re all over the place.

  The girls sing, “Happy birthday, happy birthday,” in the background. They’re terrible. Totally off. I don’t even know what to think or do, so I just stand in the doorway, laughing and smiling like a fool.

  So happy birthday to you, young gun.

  Happy birthday to you, son.

  We can’t be your family, not like the one that was.

  But country songs got pickup trucks and moms and guns

  And girls and jail and white people sadder than you

  Who all got to say the same thing:

  We can’t be mom or dad—but happy birthday, son

  You’re with us now and we love you, you stupid bum!

  Paul looks ridiculous, especially because he’s working so hard to get the words in. Whatever song he took for this, he didn’t match the phrasing very well. I start feeling a lot better about my own lyrics.

  (Happy birthday, happy birthday

  Happy birthday, happy birthday)

  One-fifty plus thinks he’s someone special

  (Happy birthday, happy birthday

  Happy birthday, happy birthday)

  Well guess what, son . . .

  (Happy birthday, happy birthday

  Happy birthday, happy birthday)

  You are.

  When the song is done, they all stand there looking at me and I don’t know what to do. I want to run away and I want to hug them all, but all I can actually do is shake my head and smile.

  “Paul’s got special skills when it comes to making things happen. He thought you needed to be cheered up,” Bishop says from where he stands on the side. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

  He never uncrosses his arms.

  I nod. “Yeah,” I manage to say, but it comes out like someone’s strangling me. I clear my throat.

  “Well?” Paul asks.

  I look at him. “It was country.”

  “No doubt.”

  “I don’t like country.”

  “No doubt.”

  “It was . . .” I shrug. I’m trying to be all serious for some reason. “It was really cool, man.” I turn to the others, who’re still standing at the microphones. “Thanks.” And now I’m tearing up because for the first time ever a bunch of people have done something really cool just for me.

  “Hey.” Paul grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me in. “This is the only family I’ve got, too.” He squeezes me. “And you’re already a better brother than the one I left behind.”

  I try to say, “You’re like a brother, too,” but I can’t be sure it actually came out.

  When Paul lets me go, Corina steps up. “Happy birthday.” She hugs me.

  Her smell. It’s vanilla.

  We press together, whole body style. She is overwhelming to me. I don’t want it to ever end.

  But it does and when she pulls back, I get hugs from the rest of them, too. Except for Bishop, who left when I wasn’t looking.

  There’s cake for me in the kitchen. Damon comes in while I’m cutting it.

  “Cake, man?” I offer.

  He shrugs. “Sure.”

  I’m filled with love for everything about this place.

  I’m even filled with love for him.

  Back in the room, I sit down at the desk and pull a single sheet of paper from the drawer.

  It’s time.

  I bring the pen to the paper and let what’s supposed to happen happen.

  Hey Alex,

  This is you. Really. Please listen up, man, your stupid life depends totally on it. Can you please open your ears right now? . . .

  The words come straight out. My hand operates apart from my mind. I watch myself write it. Again, it’s like being a passenger. Time Zombie. My hand smears the ink as it passes again over the lines written above it in the exact way the ink was smeared in the letter I received.

  This letter.

  It ends just like it did when I read it:

  PS. Even though you won’t believe it, there are some things that
happen no matter what and when they tell you that of all the ways things could have happened, this is the least bad way, it’s really true.

  But I think maybe now, in this place, with these people. They’re good people.

  I don’t think they’re lying.

  The envelope. I watch. Passive. My hand addresses it in the same block lettering I first saw weeks ago.

  My hands fold the letter, place it in the envelope.

  Goodbye, Mom. Bye, Dad. “I love you.” It’s just a whisper, but it has my whole self behind it. Heart. Mind. Body. “I’m sorry.”

  Richard is in his office when I go to give it to him. He looks up from his desk and smiles when he sees me. His smile falls away when he sees the letter in my hand.

  “You’re sure?”

  A shrug. “Yeah.”

  He nods, takes the letter. Then he stands and rounds the desk. He’s coming to hug me. I wait for him and when he does . . .

  I hug him back.

  It’s done.

  I don’t say anything to Richard as I leave his office. Out on the patio, the skies are clear for once tonight and I stop to look up. The stars are out. I stand for a while, watching them, thinking.

  Feeling.

  Thirty-Three

  Our table is done with its work. We’re moments from breaking for lunch. We’re sitting at the only rectangular table in the room, facing out at the rest of the room filled with kids at round tables.

  We’ve been in Las Vegas for two days, sequestered at the Convention Center, shuttled between here and a house somewhere outside of town. MtLA’s mission and plan is nearly complete, and even though it’s not anything Jordan believes, she’s proud of the work, proud of the kids that created a detailed policy plan that is eligible for funding.

  But that’s the only good thing that’s happened here, thanks to Julia.

  She’s been glued to Jordan the entire trip—Jordan’s official Dad-approved chaperone. Jordan doesn’t like Julia, doesn’t respect her, despises the way Julia always looks to Dr. Halliday for permission to speak before saying things, then looks back to him when she finishes.

  Doesn’t like the way she sits, her back bent, shoulders in, like she’s afraid of rain.

  Doesn’t like that Julia has managed to keep us totally separate from Will.

  We look across the convention room floor, across the sea of big round tables to the one farthest from where we are. We can see the top of Will’s head. He’s looking at us and Jordan can’t hold in the smile that knowing he’s looking at her creates.

  He waves. We can’t wave back, but we wiggle in our seat trying to say hello. Trying to say I miss you. Trying to say I’m sorry.

  “It’s time to adjourn for lunch,” Julia says, looking behind us to where Dr. Halliday is standing out of sight from the rest of the congress.

  Jordan nods, doesn’t smile or say anything to acknowledge Julia, and taps the mic icon on the table screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our designated lunchtime and I move that we adjourn this highly productive and successful final session of our congress and retire to the West Ballroom, where lunch will be held.” We pause, smile, look at Will. “Any seconds?”

  “Second!” shouts Will from the back of the room.

  We giggle. We don’t mean to, but we can’t help it. Hearing his voice, in person, in the same room, is the happiest sound we’ve heard. “Enthusiastic,” we comment into the mike, pretending our giggle was about the content of the shout, not the boy who shouted it. “All in favor?”

  The room erupts in an “Aye!”

  “So moved.” We tap the gavel icon and the sound of a mallet hitting wood comes from the coms around the hall.

  We stand up, wait for Julia, who’s slow to stand, and for Alex the Secret Service agent, who will lead us to the ballroom.

  We walk fast, ahead of the crowd, through a hallway that’s been emptied for us and into a room filled with banquet tables already set for lunch.

  “This one.” Julia motions to a table in the middle of the room and points at a chair for us.

  We sit. “Thanks.” Watch as Alex fades into the background, wait for Julia to sit down, but she doesn’t.

  “Darnit.” She’s looking at her screen. She looks up and around for Dr. Halliday, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Will you be alright on your own for a moment?”

  We nod.

  “I’ll be right back.” She scuttles off the way we came. I stretch in my chair, turn toward the door to watch people filter in.

  Looking for Will.

  “Water?” I’m surprised by the voice because we didn’t see him approach, but when we turn, I’m even more surprised because I recognize his face immediately.

  Then I realize why I know him: He’s me.

  I’m looking at myself through Jordan’s eyes. I’m sure it’s me even though I’m wearing a waiter’s outfit. My hair’s tied back into a ponytail. The me in the room is looking into Jordan’s eyes, like he’s not seeing Jordan at all, like he’s seeing me up inside her mind on my perch. He’s talking, saying things, but it’s hard to listen because my voice sounds so strange through her ears, embarrassing, bad.

  I see what she sees: a short kid whose hair is too long to be proper. MEXICAN is written in her mind, the colors bright, festive like a Cinco de Mayo sign at a chain restaurant.

  Then I start to talk and everything inside Jordan freezes.

  “It’s your time to be Abigail,” I tell her. “At the Conference in June.” Then I say: “This is your sign.”

  And then I’m gone, walking to another table, filling water glasses.

  Thirty-Four

  “Hey.” I’ve never gone to Richard’s office without being asked, but I don’t know what else to do. “Can I like . . .” I wave my hand.

  He looks up from what he’s reading, smiles at me. “Sure, man.” He points to a chair. “Come on in.” When I’m in the seat, he raises his eyebrows. “What’s up?”

  “In my glide just now . . .” I don’t even know where to begin. “I saw something I think you need to know about.”

  He pushes the hairs that have escaped his ponytail back behind his ear. “Did you dictate it?”

  I nod. “Yeah, but . . .”

  Richard smiles. “Believe me, if it’s something we need to know about, we’ll be notified.”

  I shake my head. “No, but it’s—”

  He shakes his head. “Alex, do you trust what we’re doing here?”

  I shrug, then remember how much I shrug and stop the shrug halfway through and switch to bobbing my head back and forth. “Yeah . . . but—”

  “More importantly, do you trust that the Gentry know what they’re doing?”

  I blow out a breath. “Yeah . . .”

  He smiles again. “The stuff you dictate is reviewed through methods I cannot even begin to tell you about here and now, but you have to trust me when I tell you that they’re thorough and we have yet to let something important slip through our fingers.” He points at me. “Process is everything here. Trust the process.”

  “Yeah.” I stand up slowly. “Alright.”

  He nods, and I turn and walk out as slowly as I stood. I stop outside his door, just for a moment, trying to come up with a new argument for telling him, but I can’t. I walk back to the commons feeling alone.

  Corina’s sitting on the couch reading a book when I walk in. I almost say hi, but something stops me. It’s getting harder to talk to her recently, so instead I kick my shoe against the floor to make noise.

  She looks up at me, smiles. “Hey, Plugzer.” She waves me over.

  I smile back but immediately stop, because all I can see is the goofy face that Jordan saw when he looked at me. “Hey.” I stop in front of her. “What’s up?”

  She cocks a shoulder at me, holds up her book. “Important busi
ness.”

  I don’t recognize the book she’s reading, but I think she’s kidding, so I smile. “Yeah.” I stand in front of her, waiting for something.

  “You need something?” She’s smiling, but I’m embarrassed.

  I shrug, then make a decision. I sit down next to her. “I saw something really weird on my last glide.” I jerk my head toward where Richard’s office is. “I went to talk to Richard about it, but he wouldn’t let me.”

  She nods. “He can’t.”

  “Yeah.” I sit forward. “I get it, but this was . . .”

  She reaches out, puts her hand on my back. Her touch is firm and I can feel each and every finger. “Look, if it’s really something they need to talk to you about, you’ll hear from Bishop. But yeah, we see some freaky shit.” She sighs. “Things are gonna get bad.”

  I nod. I can still see my face through Jordan’s eyes.

  * * *

  • • •

  I’m already in bed when there’s a knock at the door. I look over at Paul’s bed to see if he’s going to say anything, but I think he’s already asleep. “Yeah?” I whisper as loud as I can.

  They don’t hear me and knock again, so I get out of bed and open the door.

  Bishop is on the other side of it. He’s dressed down from the suit I usually see him wear, a pair of jeans and a polo shirt that looks like it’s a size too small. “Alex,” he says when he sees me. “Can I talk with you for a moment?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  He stares at me for a second, waiting on something, but I don’t know what it is. “Can you come with me to my office?”

  I look down. I’m wearing sweats and a T-shirt. No shoes. I look back up at him. His look says I need to stop worrying about what I look like. “No problem.”

  He leads me through the commons to the patio and then back to the Long Hall. He doesn’t turn around or make small talk as we walk, and every step makes me more nervous. By the time we get into the Long Hall, I’m nauseous. The lights inside come on when we enter. The Live-Tech wallpaper starts to glow, but before it can grab a thought, a portion of the wall to our right slides back, revealing a doorway that leads to an entry hall place with another hallway which ends at a big door across from us.