MY FATHER IS LYING NEXT TO ME, HIS ARM DRAPED over my shoulders. He’s curled his enormous frame around my body, like the oyster shell protects its pearl. At first I can’t trust that he’s real. I reach out and jab my finger into his arm. He’s solid.
“I’m here,” he whispers.
I smile.
“I’ve got good news and bad news, kid,” he continues. “The good news is you came back to us safe and sound. The bad news is I made a deal, and we’re all going to start going to church on a regular basis.”
I chuckle. “Sucker.”
He gives my arm a poke too.
“There were nights when I thought I heard your voice,” he says, soft and low, as if he’s worried someone is listening. “It was as clear as anything. I’d leap up and hurry downstairs to throw open the door, then walk around the yard and search the neighborhood. I got everyone up to help me. I made them crazy. I couldn’t accept that you were out there and I couldn’t help you. My brain started screwing with me.”
“I heard your voice too,” I say. “I actually hear it all the time. You’re very bossy.”
I wrap my arms around his huge torso and kiss him on the shoulder.
“You’ve been down for a while. Bex will be waiting.”
I sit up and rub my eyes and look to the window. The sun is still up, but a cricket is working his back legs on the windowsill. I hear the crash of waves. Despite it all, it’s quiet here, not like the endless hollering of water in my ears.
“There’s spaghetti and rice cakes downstairs,” he whispers. It’s layered with an apology. “Tough to get fresh food right now.”
“I’ll take anything but fish,” I say.
“I can imagine. Riley went to one of the shops up on the strip and got you some warmer clothes.” He points to a bag on the dresser. “Can I just say I’m confused? I thought Fathom—”
“Fathom and I are done,” I say, a little too sharply.
He gives me one of his knowing looks, the kind he uses when he knows I am exaggerating a story or telling an out-and-out lie. It just makes me angrier.
“He and I, as a couple, as a ‘we,’ are so stupid it’s hilarious. It can’t work, and it never was going to work—”
My father cringes.
“I’m sorry. Maybe this is a Mom conversation.”
He takes a deep breath. What I’m saying is hard for him to swallow, but he’s going to hold his nose and get it down. “No, go on. I’m listening.”
“We’re just insanely different. What seems like common sense to me—kindness, compassion—they’re weaknesses and failures to him. They say opposites attract, but we’re not opposites. A person can predict the opposite of something. The opposite of white is black. Up is down. Left is right. With Fathom, there’s no way to guess. If I say ‘near,’ he might say . . . well, hell if I know. I don’t have a clue what would come out of his mouth, and that’s a huge problem. I’ve been in this state of denial because when I’m with him, I can’t breathe and I’ve got the feels and I hyperventilate at my imagination.”
“Yeah, this is a Mom conversation,” my father grumbles.
“I’m sorry. I’m seventeen.”
“I have managed to maintain a willful ignorance about what happened when you left the house,” he admits. “Keep going, but can you do a little editing for my sake?”
“Sorry. I think I haven’t been able to share anything with anyone for so long that you’re getting three months of backed-up girl talk. What I’m trying to say is when you’re growing up, there are all these pretty songs about true love being predestined by the universe itself, and they brainwash you into believing that real love isn’t real unless it is a struggle, and, well, it’s stupid. So, if the only way to prove I love him is to spend every day defying the odds against us, then I don’t love him. It wasn’t meant to be; maybe there’s no such thing as ‘meant to be,’ anyway. I mean, really, he and I were fire and gasoline, you know, just burning until all the oxygen in the room was exhausted and everyone around us was scorched with third-degree burns. That’s not what I need or want. So, basically, what I’m saying is Riley is sweet and he’s here for me, so don’t give him a hard time, all right?”
My father looks like he’s been through a war. I throw my arms around him and giggle, knowing I may have broken him.
“Are you done?” he asks.
“Well, there’s more, but I don’t think you can handle it.” I laugh even harder until he smiles.
“Listen, I can’t believe I’m going to intervene on his behalf, but you know why Fathom didn’t come for you, right? I mean, if that’s why you are done with him,” he says.
“What’s wrong with Fathom?”
“Lyric, all of the Alpha were captured after the last invasion. They were hobbled like your mother and put in a detention camp on the beach. That’s part of what Bex and the kids are trying to do—get them released. The protests are about pressuring the government to free them.”
My stomach does a flip-flop, and the mac and cheese in my belly is put on the blend cycle. I leap out of bed and into the hall, and throw open the bathroom door, falling to my knees just in time to let go into the toilet. It’s a painful retch, mostly dry heaves, but it comes with some vicious cramps. My father sits on the tub and pours water from a plastic bottle sitting on the sink into a Dixie cup.
“I’ve got to get you healthy.”
I nod, but my head is spinning like a top careening against a wall. Fathom is in a prison. It’s the one thing I never considered when I was sitting in the hunting grounds, simmering with rage that he hadn’t tried to rescue me. He couldn’t.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Bex is ready,” Renee calls out from the other side.
“We need a few minutes,” my father calls back, then helps me stand. “Are you up for this?”
“No, but what choice do I have. It’s Bex.”
Riley is furiously scribbling notes into a spiral-bound notebook while Jane connects extension cords and adjusts light stands.
“Is it nice wherever you are?”
I force myself to focus on him. He’s teasing me.
“Sorry,” I say. He’s opening himself up if I want to talk, but I don’t. I can’t. He doesn’t want to hear that my head is filled with Fathom right now, and I don’t want to tell him because the truth is, it shouldn’t matter to me that he’s locked up. It doesn’t change what I’ve come to understand about us.
I take his hand and intertwine my fingers into his. It’s warm and strong, a hand I can count on every time. I admit I am conflicted about this boy, but I don’t have to be. He and I could have a future if there is a future to have. He’s like me in so many ways. He’s the hot nerd with potential, so why do I feel like I’m trying to move him into an apartment that is already too small, with Fathom’s memory hogging all the space?
I kiss him—really kiss him. His mouth is warm and soft. It feels safe, and our lips feel like jigsaw puzzle pieces sliding into one another. This kiss makes total sense.
It’s not me, Fathom whispers.
“I wish I had found you,” Riley says, his eyes sparkling under the lights.
“You get points for trying,” I whisper, flirting, luring him. If he’s wrapped up in me, deep and tight, I won’t lose him while I’m clearing my head. Yes, that will work. When Fathom is finally evicted, Riley can move right in. He’ll never even know I was confused.
“Um, I’m in the room,” Jane complains.
“We’re grossing out the young’uns,” I say.
We giggle conspiratorially.
“I didn’t have a lot of time, but I wrote you something,” he says, handing me his notebook.
I scan his words briefly. Bex wasn’t exaggerating. He’s put together something powerful for me, but it still feels like the wrong message to send right now.
“Thanks,” I say. “I hope you don’t expect me to turn into Obama.”
“You’ll be great.”
“Good luck,” he says, but he doesn’t let me go. His fingers have found a home between mine.
Bex hurries into the room and hops into her seat. Someone has brought another chair from the kitchen and set it next to her. Three lights are shining on her, and she sparkles like a diamond.
“Let’s do this,” she says stiffly. “Did you write something for her to say?”
“Right here,” I say, waving it so she can see.
“Just try to get through it. If you make mistakes, we can always start over,” Jane says.
I sit down in the empty seat. Bex smiles, but she’s not happy with me. She’s worried I’m about to wreck all her hard work, contradict months of her telling the world that I was just a girl from Brooklyn who stood and fought when I had no other choice. I’m her creation now, a folk hero, a beacon of unity, but that’s not someone I am allowed to be right now, not even for her. The world is about to end, and it’s every person for themselves. I hate having to ruin this for her, but I don’t have any other choice.
Maggie hunches over the camera, again. She raises her finger to her lips to shush everyone and then points to Bex.
“What’s up, party people? I assume everyone has seen the footage from the skirmish at the airport. I’ve watched it myself, mainly because we were responsible for much of it. Don’t be fooled by what the president’s press secretary said. The girl in the videos is Lyric Walker. For months they’ve been telling you she’s dead, but hey, sad trombone, Mr. President. She’s alive and well, and I’ve got the real McCoy right here. She has a fascinating story to tell us about her missing days and her plans for the future.
“But first, I need your help. There are rumors of creatures coming on shore in Panama and attacking the locals. I’m told they’re like nothing we’ve seen so far. I can’t find any video of the event, and the Internet looks like it’s being scrubbed of reports. That’s no big surprise now that Big Brother manages what’s good for us to see. In the past you have sent me some pretty important clips, and I’ve come to count on you. If anyone out there witnessed what happened and has some visual proof, please send it our way. I’ll take anything you have. It’s important. All right, I’ve kept everyone waiting long enough.”
Renee hurries to connect a microphone to my shirt while Brady adjusts a light. I marvel at what they do here. I have no idea where they got all this equipment, or even how they learned to use it, but what they have done is important. When I’m ready, Bex takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
For a long moment, I am hypnotized by the lights and the lens, but the spell breaks when the kids file into the room. They watch me from behind the camera. My mother and father hover, leaning in to hear every word, and then Maggie raises her hand and waves for my attention. I look at Riley’s speech, but it feels wrong. I have to tell the world the truth.
I drop the script to the floor and look into the camera lens.
“My name is Lyric Walker. I’m from Brooklyn, New York, from a neighborhood called Coney Island, which was destroyed by a tidal wave not long ago. Some people blame me for it. They call me a terrorist. They’re wrong. I’m no hero, but I’m not a killer, either. Everything I have done has been to save my friends and family.
“You have probably heard about Texas and the camp where the Alpha were held and experimented on, and even about the children, the ones like me, who were trained as soldiers to fight the Rusalka invasion. For the record, we saved this world.”
“Lyric—”
“I hope this isn’t coming off as bitter. I don’t have the strength to carry that weight around anymore. I know many of you hate me, and people like me, but I don’t hate you. In fact, that’s why I’ve decided to send you this message. What happened to me over the last three months is not important, what is important is that while I was gone, I discovered another race of creatures living in the ocean. They are worse than the Rusalka, worse than the Undine, and they are on their way to the United States. Their plans are terrible. They believe both humanity and the Alpha must be destroyed to make room for a new race of people. They’ll attack the eastern coastline soon, killing everyone they encounter, and then they will move farther inland.
“I’m telling you this because this time you can’t count on me. Nothing I can do will stop them. The Alpha are in cages on the beach in Brooklyn. The country is torn apart by hate. We are at our most vulnerable, so I want you to listen closely to my advice. Every single person who hears this message should—”
Suddenly, I am not in the room with Bex and her crew. I am lumbering onto a beach at dusk. People are walking hand in hand along the sand. A small crowd has built a bonfire, and wine is flowing into glasses. There’s music in the air. I look around, trying to find a sign, some clue to where I’ve been transported, but before I can, screams rise up and drown out the celebration. I rush forward against my will, charging toward a restaurant. The people inside look out the windows at me, and they shriek in terror. In the glass’s reflection, I see myself. I am not Lyric. I am one of them. The glass breaks. There is blood and crunching bones. I have to kill them all. I have to CLEANSE the world to MAKE ROOM for my NEW FAMILY. The people run, but there’s no place for them to go. WE will FIND THEM all and END them quickly. There is nowhere they can hide.
“Lyric,” Bex says. I look down and find her hand on mine. I’m back. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I say. “I’m being a fool. I was wrong, completely, stupidly wrong. Bex, I know you want me to give peace a chance. What you’ve done here, what all of you have done, well, it’s amazing and brave. But peace is going to have to wait. Trust me, I’m not getting my way either. I wanted to tell everyone to run for their lives, but I now realize running is not an option.”
I turn to the camera. “People, I have to prepare you for war. These things I found—I can’t fight them by myself. The handful of children who are like me will not be enough either. I’m going to Brooklyn. The Alpha are being held in detention there, and I’m going to free them so they can help me fight, but even they won’t be enough. I need you. Everyone has to fight. Anyone who can shoot a gun, swing a bat, or throw a punch. Whether you’re a cop or military or making lattes at Starbucks, I need you to come to Coney Island. There, we will make our last stand. If we fail, we won’t get another chance. It’s your turn to fight. Now turn off the camera. We’ve got work to do.”
Maggie peers from behind the camera. Her face is tight and irritated. She turns off the power, then the lights, so that Bex and I are sitting in the dark. My best friend leaps up from her seat and storms out of the room.
“Wow,” Riley whispers.
In the dark I can see sympathetic looks on my parents’ faces, but they’ve got nothing to offer.
“I guess I better go talk to her,” I say.
I find her pacing in the street, smoking a cigarette.
“Got another?”
The pack flies at me, and I catch it. I sit on the stoop and fumble with the wrapping. Inside, are three from the original twenty. I take one and light it with the pack of matches tucked into the plastic sleeve, and immediately regret it. The first drag burns my throat. I haven’t smoked in maybe a year and only did it at parties. My body has changed a lot in that time. I don’t think I’m built for tobacco any longer, but I’m already walking on thin ice with my bestie. She’s not going to be happy if I waste one.
“I never expected you to treat this like a joke,” she says. “It’s a slap in the face to everyone who supported us. I’ve been preaching nonviolence, common sense, civil disobedience. You just told the world to start loading their guns. Do you think the government is going to let you walk into the detention center and start unlocking the cages? You’ve declared war on the United States.”
“I know you were hoping I’d be Martin Luther King, but—”
“You had the potential. Now, you’re . . . I don’t know. Name a sexy terrorist.”
“Taylor Swift?”
“Don’t make me laugh. I’m angry at you. If I post that speech, you will look like some blood-crazed maniac. All the goodwill, all the organizing—down the toilet. You’ll go back to being a villain, Lyric.”
“Or, she could be the badass a lot of people need,” Riley says, joining us on the porch. “Bex, if she says we have to fight, we have to fight. If she can get people to do it, then that’s a good thing. One of the reasons everything sucks is because people expected someone else to come in and be the hero.”
“Aren’t you tired of fighting, Lyric? I’m really tired of fighting,” Bex says.
I tap the cigarette out on the porch steps and slide the unused part back into the pack.
“You have no idea how tired I am. I’d love to disappear, get as far away from the ocean as I can, and grow a garden. I want to move somewhere boring and get a house full of dogs, but I can’t. Not yet.”
Bex walks over to me and takes her cigarettes, then shoves them in her pocket.
“How the hell do you think you’re going to free the Alpha? We’ve been working on it for months. The government has refused.”
I shrug. “Bex, I don’t have a clue. I’ve got a few kids with superpowers, a crazy-strong warrior mom, and a cop for a dad. And I’ve got you. I’m just doing this a day at a time. To be honest, my only goal right now is to find a store that has some underwear.”
She laughs, despite her anger.
Maggie appears in the doorway. “So what’s the plan?”
“Post it,” I say.
“No!” Bex cries stubbornly, then turns her back to me. Her face points to the sky as if the answers are written in the day’s last rays. I walk up behind her and wrap her in a hug.
“Mags, you and Riley, more than all the others, believed in this the most. You get a vote,” Bex says to the others.
Riley looks to Maggie, then to me, then to Bex. “Do you even have to ask? Post it.”
“I’ll have it up in about ten minutes,” Maggie says, turning and disappearing into the house. Riley smiles at us and follows her.
“Unless I look fat!” Bex shouts after her.
Heart of the Storm Page 10