Awaken

by Katie Kacvinsky

  “You kill them?” I repeated.

  “Metaphorically speaking,” he said. “We kill their digital lives and help them start real ones. Help them relocate and get back on their feet. Think of it as being a born-again human.”

  “How do you kill someone digitally?”

  “It’s not that hard. You just delete the files. That’s all people are anymore. A bunch of hardware. We help them set up a new name, new information, new contacts. Start over.” He grinned. “Technology does have its perks.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table and asked him what happens in the meantime.

  “The most important thing right now is for you to stay away from computers. That’s the only way they track people anymore. As long as you’re outside of that world, you don’t really exist. It’s pretty backward if you think about it.”

  “So I need to hide out?”

  He nodded. “You’re a unique case, considering who your father is. So, if it’s all right, give me some time to work out a plan.”

  “Who’s your father?” Eric asked.

  I shrugged like it was no big deal.

  “She’s Madeline Freeman,” Justin said, pointing at me with his fork. Eric’s jaw dropped open.

  “You’re Kevin Freeman’s daughter?” He looked at me with disgust.

  I glared back at him. “I take it you don’t want my autograph?”

  Eric looked between me and Justin. “You’re trying to convince the heiress of digital school to join our side?”

  Justin grinned at me.

  “Would people please stop calling me that?” I said.

  Eric shook his head with disbelief. He stood up and stretched and said he wanted to get some sleep before he headed back. Justin got up as well and grabbed our plates. He said we should all sleep for a few hours.

  “Come on, I’ll show you your room,” he said. I followed him down the hallway and he opened a door into a simply furnished guest room. A queen-size bed sat in one corner, windows with the shades half closed lined the farthest wall, and double closet doors lined another. A tall dresser stood near the door and there was a rocking chair next to the bed.

  “They keep some clothes in here,” he said, and opened the closet. Inside was a dozen pair of shoes on the floor, all tennis shoes or sandals, nothing fancy. There was also a heap of jeans, sweaters, and T-shirts, enough options for any kind of weather.

  “Just wash your underwear in the sink. They don’t stock extras of those but we can pick some up.”

  I felt my face redden at discussing my underwear situation, but he spoke plainly as if this was all routine. “Okay,” I said.

  I opened one of the dresser drawers and found some books, notebooks, a blanket, and a few more sweaters.

  “There’s a bathroom down the hall with stuff to use, extra toothbrushes, soap, whatever you should want. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. I wasn’t used to being treated as a guest. As I stood there, I realized this was my first time sleeping away from my family.

  “I’ll be downstairs,” he said, and headed for the door.

  I sucked in a deep breath and turned toward him, panic flaring up in my chest like steam. I didn’t want to be alone. He understood my expression, like he’d seen it hundreds of times before. He took a step closer to me and kept his eyes steady on mine.

  “Look, Maddie, I know you’ve been through a lot, but I can guarantee you’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. All right?”

  I nodded and looked down at my feet.

  “Try and rest for a while and then we’ll talk. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything.”

  He shut the door behind him. I walked over to the other side of the room and pulled the window curtains closed. I stretched out on a soft quilt and suddenly it was impossible to keep my eyes open. My mind and body crashed with exhaustion and before I had another thought, I drifted to sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I woke up and opened my eyes to a room that was dim with fading sunlight streaming through the curtains. I blinked up at the ceiling above me and frowned. Where was I? Where was my ceiling canvas? I reached over to my nightstand, but it was gone, replaced by a rocking chair. I stared at it, surprised. Did my mom redecorate my room? Why would I want a rocking chair? I rubbed my eyes with confusion. My toes felt constricted and I glanced down to see my tennis shoes sticking out from underneath a throw blanket. I sat up in bed and looked around the room with blue walls and a single painting of a boat harbor hanging in front of an old dresser.

  I shook my head and slowly the pieces fell together. It wasn’t a dream. I had actually managed to escape and was hiding away in, what town? Bayview? I looked down at the blue blanket and didn’t remember having it on me before I fell asleep. I also noticed a folded white towel and washcloth were set out for me on the dresser.

  I opened the closet and scanned my choices. I grabbed a dark red T-shirt that looked worn and soft. I held a pair of blue jeans up to my waist and they looked about the right size.

  After a long, hot shower, I scampered toward the kitchen, ringing my hair out with a towel. When I walked in, Justin was sitting at the table and his presence caused a flurry of movement in my stomach. He looked up from his flipscreen and asked me if I was hungry. I felt my stomach rumble staring at him, but I couldn’t describe what my body was craving. I set my towel down on the chair and frowned at being so needy.

  “You’re not going to cook all my meals. And you don’t have to set out towels on my dresser and tuck me in,” I said.

  He grinned. “Actually, that was Stacey, the woman who volunteers for us.”

  “Oh,” I said, and blushed.

  “She brought groceries over. But I asked her to check on you, if that counts for something. And,” he said as he stood up, “I’m not going to cook for you. I’m going to teach you.”

  “Teach me?”

  He turned to face me. “How to fend for yourself.”

  I glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Eric?”

  “He left a little while ago.”

  I had to fight a smile and I could feel my heart applauding in my chest. I was alone with Justin. All alone in a house on the ocean. Secluded. Quiet. My life instantly turned from a tragedy into paradise. Crazy how a guy can have that kind of psychological power. And pathetic.

  He leaned against the kitchen counter and I watched his dimples form half-moon indentations around his mouth. “So, how much cooking have you done?”

  I thought hard, which was difficult with him staring at me.

  “My grandma used to bake around the holidays, but she passed away when I was ten,” I said. “So, I’m a little rusty.”

  He motioned for me to go on. I stared at him, confused with what he was waiting for. “What did you make?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I remember melting butter over the stove once.”

  He nodded and stood to his full height. “Okay. I have one basic rule, Maddie. When you’re with me you eat real food, not preprocessed, scientifically engineered, supplement-enriched, genetically altered, chemically fortified crap that you’ve been tricked into believing is food.” He took a deep breath.

  “Wow. I guess you hate all modern conveniences.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not convenience that bothers me, it’s people’s obsession with saving time. Everything’s a race. I just don’t get who or what we’re constantly racing against.” He waved his hand in the air. “You know what, don’t even get me started. Like I said, when you’re around me you’re not going to eat a piece of cardboard that some fancy food scientist claims is full of vitamins.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Are you putting down my mom’s cooking?”

  “Yes.”

  I watched with interest while he emptied the grocery bags and set the food on the table. He pointed out sandwich options to me: deli meat, cheese, mustard, mayo, peanut butter, lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes. He set two slices of
bread on a plate and told me to choose whatever fixings I wanted. It was my first cooking lesson. I examined the choices and grabbed the peanut butter first. I swiped it over the bread and threw a few sliced tomatoes on top.

  “There,” I said. “My first homemade sandwich.” I looked at Justin. “Did I pass?”

  He chuckled. “Um, I wouldn’t eat that.”

  “Why not?”

  I studied my open-faced sandwich with indifference. It seemed appetizing enough.

  “You just don’t want to mix certain flavors. There’s an art to it.”

  “There’s an art to eating?”

  He pulled the tomatoes off my sandwich. He popped them into his mouth and chewed them. I could hear the juicy texture squishing between his teeth.

  “Go for it,” he said, and nodded to the table. I reached for the lettuce this time and set a few leaves over the peanut butter. I scanned the rest of the condiments. I opened up a container of mustard and squirted a design of stars and swirls on the bread like it was paint. I smiled at my picture and held it up for Justin to admire, but he just creased his eyebrows.

  “You said eating was art,” I pointed out.

  I pressed the slices of bread together and he watched me take an enormous bite of my peanut butter, mustard, and lettuce sandwich. I swallowed and tried to ignore my gag reflex kicking in.

  Justin gauged my reaction and fought to control his features.

  “Well?” he asked.

  I licked my lips and forced a smile. “It’s so good. You have no idea what you’re missing,” I taunted him.

  “Right,” he said with a grin.

  “Try a bite.” I waved the sandwich in front of his face. I knew I was flirting, but I couldn’t help myself. It was too much fun to make him smile. He pushed my arm back and grabbed the sandwich out of my hand. He threw it in the garbage and got out two new slices of bread.

  “You know, Maddie, for how book-smart you are, your lack of common sense is a little scary.”

  I frowned at him. “Why didn’t you warn me? You’re the teacher.” He lathered up another slice of bread with peanut butter. He looked at me over his shoulder.

  “I can’t watch your every move. You’ve got to make mistakes once in a while. It’s the only way you learn.”

  He opened the refrigerator and leaned down to grab something from the back shelf. He stood up with a jar full of thick red sauce.

  “It’s jelly,” he said. “Usually goes better with this.”

  I stared at the jelly with suspicion. He smeared some on the other slice of bread, stuck the two together, and handed it to me on a plate. He grabbed a banana off the table and set it on my plate as well.

  “Thanks.” I sat down at the kitchen table just as Justin’s phone rang.

  He checked the caller ID. “I gotta take this,” he said. I nodded and he walked out of the room. I looked out the window at a sky that was creeping toward sunset.

  After I finished dinner, I rinsed off my plate and headed into the living room. I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet. It just occurred to me how much time I’d been cooped up.

  Justin walked into the room and noticed my restlessness. “What’s up?” he asked.

  I didn’t want him to feel like he had to entertain me. I knew he needed to work.

  “I’m just antsy,” I said. I looked around the living room. “Is there a running machine here?”

  He shook his head and glanced out the window. “Are you into sunsets?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen them online,” I said.

  Justin rolled his eyes and stuck his phone in his pocket. He grabbed his sweatshirt off the couch. “Come on,” he said.

  I found an old pair of red Converse tennis shoes in the closet, a little big, but they would work. I tied up the laces, pulled on a sweatshirt, and fastened my hair into a ponytail.

  Justin was waiting in the front yard and I followed him down the street. I took a deep breath of the thick, salty air. The cool breeze gave me the second wind I needed and I easily kept up with his long strides. We turned the street corner and headed west, toward the beach.

  The blacktop street gave way to gravel, which gave way to soft sand. The coastline, I noticed, was nothing close to the thrashing, powerful waves of Oregon I remember seeing when I was little. These waves were timid and passive as if the water was on vacation and life was too calm and easy to bother getting worked up about. Or maybe I had grown up and the things that used to scare me didn’t seem as threatening anymore. I took off my shoes and rolled up the bottom of my jeans. I left my shoes on the sand and Justin kicked off his sandals next to them.

  I asked him what Eric’s job was exactly. He explained Eric was a gopher, somebody that intercepted people, like me, that were being detained or sent to a detention center for trying to rebel against DS.

  “Do you know what goes on in detention centers?” I asked.

  He shook his head and told me all they know is that they’re rehabilitation clinics for rebellious teenagers. They hold people until they’re deemed safe to go back into society, meaning they won’t stir up any more trouble.

  “But you can’t cure people from having an opinion about their lives,” he said. “That’s just human nature.”

  I looked over at Justin. “Were you ever a gopher?”

  “I did it for a while,” he said. “It’s good training, good discipline, but it’s too predictable. Now I direct more of them like I did with you and Eric.”

  Predictable, I thought. That would hardly be the word I’d use to describe the two interceptions I experienced. I’d hate to know what his idea of surprising was.

  “Once you intercept, all you do is drive for eight hours or hide out in someone’s basement. Not much to it,” he said.

  “Justin, we were shot at,” I pointed out.

  He laughed. “Bullets can’t kill you. Remember the law they passed? All firearms can do now is stun people for a few minutes. The most dangerous bullets out there are about as lethal as a dose of sleeping pills. It’s the whole movement toward more peace, less violence. It’s one of the few laws I agree with.”

  I stopped and gazed out at the sky and Justin stood next to me. We were both quiet. A string of clouds floated over the horizon and the sun was setting behind them, splashing icy metallic blue and silvery pink light across the water. A cold wind blew off the ocean and Justin pulled his hood up over his head. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and turned to look at me.

  “It’s been an intense twenty-four hours,” he said.

  “It’s been intense since the day we met,” I corrected him.

  “How are you feeling about all this?” he asked. His eyes were sincere like they always were when he was listening.

  I smirked and kicked at the sand. “You’ve probably seen this case hundreds of times. How am I handling it compared to other girls?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You know, most people in your shoes are a little more freaked out right now. They’re scared or angry or relieved or bawling their eyes out. But they’re showing some sort of emotion. You don’t have to be so guarded all the time, you know.”

  I stared back at him. “Maybe I’m still in shock.”

  “Maybe you’re not used to being honest. Maybe you’re so used to telling people exactly what they want to hear you forget how to think for yourself. Or maybe you only know how to express yourself behind a screen because that’s easier than looking people in the eye.”

  “Why are you attacking me?”

  His face softened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just get the feeling you’re afraid to open up because you were always reprimanded for it. I don’t want you to feel that way around me. You have a mind and a voice and thoughts for a reason. So use them.”

  I turned away and crossed my arms over my chest. I couldn’t argue with this because it was true and for the first time in years, someone actually cared what I thought and I didn’t have to tiptoe around my dad and whisper my
feelings to my mom like they were secrets I should be ashamed of.

  I started to walk down the beach as I considered this.

  “You might as well tell me what’s on your mind,” he said after me. “I’m not your dad. I’m not going to ground you if you have an opinion.” I turned and glared at him.

  “I’m fine,” I said, and he returned the stare.

  “If you need to get something off your chest, I’m here to listen. Believe me, trying to hold everything in doesn’t work. Eventually it makes you crack.”

  I took a long breath. What he didn’t realize was that at this moment, standing here alone with him in the open air, all my thoughts and questions and concerns weren’t about myself, or my parents or even my situation. My thoughts circled and spiraled and all came crashing down like the waves and they all revolved around him, as if getting through to him would be solving the greatest mystery in my life.

  “Okay,” I said. “You want to know what’s annoying me more than anything? You are.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You help people every day, people trust you and worship you and adore you. But you never let anybody get too close. I watch you. You set up a wall against everyone, even your friends. It’s like you draw some invisible line no one can penetrate.”

  He looked at me for too long and his eyes turned golden brown in the reflection of the sunset. He nodded slowly.

  “You’re right.”

  I blinked back at him. “I am?” I asked, confused he gave in so easily without a fight.

  “I don’t let myself get attached to people,” he said simply, as if this would answer all my questions.

  “Why not?”

  He narrowed his eyes with frustration. He turned and started walking down the beach and I caught up to him.

  “Hey,” I said, “you’re the one that wanted to open up about feelings. It’s interesting,” I added. “You can talk about anything, but when it comes back to you, you get—”

  “Annoyed?” he finished for me. “I told you before, people can’t depend on me. I need to be in too many places at once.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s true. I depend on you more than anyone.”