by Ellery Kane
I chuckled to myself as a few giggling, rosy-cheeked girls pushed their way to the front. One held a heart-shaped sign that read, Marry me, Quin! But not everyone was so welcoming. The mark of the New Resistance decorated another sign, TRAITOR, spelled out in thick black letters underneath. The stone-faced man who carried it considered the girls with sheer disdain as they bumped up against him, laughing. The juxtaposition was jarring, and it made me wonder. How had all of them already made up their minds about Quin, when I was still as confused as ever?
Someone in the crowd drew my father’s attention. He stopped flipping through his note cards and turned toward the sea of faces. Without even a courtesy glance to security, Mr. Van Sant lifted the rope and ducked underneath it. Edison followed behind him, slightly less certain. I couldn’t hear him speaking, but Mr. Van Sant’s mouth looked angry. My father’s head dropped in deference. I cracked the door of the van.
“This is ridiculous!” Mr. Van Sant barked. “Completely unacceptable, Knightley.”
My father cowered, but held his ground. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand? Well let me enlighten you. This interview—your interview—could undermine any chance of a successful appeal for my client. Are you okay with that?” As he huffed, Mr. Van Sant’s face turned from pink to an indignant purple.
“What do you mean?” My father was flustered by Mr. Van Sant’s attack. “I’m not planning to ask any questions about George McAllister.”
Mr. Van Sant threw his head back in sardonic amusement. “Do you think your plan matters to anyone? Trust me, there’s a plan here, and it’s not yours.”
Two Zenigenic security guards approached Mr. Van Sant from behind, placing their hands on his forearms. “Sir! Sir, you can’t be here. You need to go back behind the ropes.” He shrugged them off with disgust, then began walking away. “Think about it, Knightley!” he called back over his shoulder. Looking apologetic, Edison mumbled something to my father. He nodded and patted Edison’s shoulder.
“Pssst.” One of the guards swiveled his head in my direction, trying to locate the sound. I shut the door and waited. “Pssst.” I tried again. “Edison.”
“Lex!” He slinked away from the crowd, backpedaling slowly toward the van.
“Get in,” I instructed. Edison climbed inside, taking a seat next to me. “What’s going on? Why was your father so upset?”
Edison groaned, loosening his tie. “I told him not to blame your dad, but he’s convinced Quin is about to do something stupid.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “You know Quin hasn’t returned his calls in weeks. And a few days ago, my dad talked to George. He said they had an argument.”
“That’s what Emma said too.”
Wide-eyed, Edison turned toward me. “Emma? You mean blonde, tattooed, motorcycle-riding, Quin-obsessed Emma? Since when do you talk to her?”
I laughed. “Since she showed up at my house yesterday. It’s a long story.”
He smirked. “I’ll bet.”
“Seriously, though … Quin would never—” I stopped myself. The past two days were undeniable evidence I couldn’t be sure anymore what Quin would and wouldn’t do. “I just can’t imagine him saying anything that would hurt his dad.”
Edison smiled. “Those were Elana’s exact words. She wanted to come, but her mom wouldn’t let her.”
Outside the van, the crowd started to buzz. The girls in the front row screamed in unison, “Quin! We love you!”—but their voices were quickly drowned by another chant, “Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!”
Next to me, Edison shook his head in disbelief. “Ms. Knightley, I think your favorite B-list celebrity has arrived.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PAWN
A BLACK CAR with tinted windows pulled alongside the Zenigenic entrance. As the back door opened, Edison and I spoke at once.
“What the—?”
“Wow.” For a moment, I felt like one of those silly girls in the front row. I could imagine them whispering, “He’s so hot,” before melting into screams and giggles.
“Is this an interview or an audition?” Edison deadpanned. Xander at his side, Quin waved to the crowd, unsmiling. Then he shook my father’s hand as if he was a stranger, before taking his assigned position on one of the benches. I knew Edison was joking, but in a way, he was right. Quin seemed like an actor playing himself. All his rough edges concealed by a tailored gray suit and a superficial shine. Like a polished stone, he was smooth—and somehow, far less interesting. When he removed his dark sunglasses, tucking them inside his jacket, I was relieved. His eyes were uncertain.
I flipped the green switch on the van’s control panel, and the screen came alive. Langley was still primping my dad, her mouse-like hands straightening his tie. “We go live in one minute,” she said, her small voice audible through the nearby microphone. Behind her, security scurried to quiet the crowd.
Considering Quin with concern, my father asked him, “Are you sure about this?”
Quin didn’t answer. He simply nodded. I scanned the crowd once more, finding Emma at the outskirts, standing on tiptoe for a better view. Nudging Edison, I pointed to her. “Guess you’re not the only fan,” he teased.
“Forty-five seconds,” Langley warned. As she spoke, Xander sidled up to her, flashing a wicked grin. He handed her a stack of note cards, much like the ones in my father’s hand. “What’s this?” she asked, annoyed.
“These are the only questions Mr. McAllister will be answering today.”
“Excuse me?” My father stood and faced Xander. “That was never our agreement.”
“You want the interview, right?” Disregarding my father, Xander addressed Langley. “Or shall I contact Barbara Blake?” He held up his cell phone and began dialing.
Langley stopped Xander’s fingers with a forceful hand on his wrist. “We want the interview.”
“I thought so.”
Langley passed the cards to my father. He flipped through them in disgust. “Sorry, Bill,” she said. “There’s no time to negotiate now. We can’t lose this.”
Edison and I locked eyes. “I don’t know how he does it,” he said. “And it really irks me sometimes. But I’m telling you, my dad is always right.”
I watched Quin’s face for signs of life, but he stared blankly at his hands folded on his lap, seemingly oblivious to the tension around him. It was hard to believe that, just a few hours ago, those hands were touching my knee. Looking from pretend Quin to my father, my stomach flip-flopped again. Zenigenic knew how to sell a product, and Quin was certainly packaged for sale. But, what were they selling? And why was Quin playing the pawn?
“In ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two. Cue Bill. Go Bill.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LIVE TV
“GOOD EVENING AND WELCOME to a special edition of Eyes on the Bay, your trusted source for Internet news. I’m Bill Knightley. Joining us for an exclusive interview tonight is Mr. Quin McAllister. Many of you will recognize Mr. McAllister as the exceptional young man who, in the early morning hours of January 15, saved the life of Zenigenic CEO, Xander Steele. Quin, it is a pleasure to have you on the show.”
“Thank you. I’m happy to be here.” Those were his words, but his tone was joyless.
My father glanced at the Zenigenic-approved note cards. “First, Quin, I think we’re all dying—no pun intended—to know exactly what happened that evening.”
Quin’s laughter seemed canned, hollow. “I have to admit I was upset that night. As your viewers probably know, my dad is in prison in Los Angeles.” My father nodded, but he seemed as surprised as I was at Quin’s directness. “I haven’t talked about it much—I’m sort of a private person—but my dad and I had a fight.” Quin paused. Was this on the note cards? Xander was standing just off set. He appeared unconcerned.
“This fight … ” My father began. “What was it about?”
Quin breathed audib
ly, fuzzing the microphone. Whatever was coming, there was no going back. “His innocence.”
“Are you sure we should be talking about this, Quin?” Definitely not on the note cards. Xander’s eyes narrowed in Langley’s direction. She shrugged. As she mouthed to Xander, I read her lips, “Live TV.”
“I want to talk about it,” Quin answered. “For a long time, I believed my father was innocent. I blamed Zenigenic for Shelly’s death. I blamed Zenigenic for a lot of things. But the truth is—what I now believe—my father is a murderer. That’s who he was, is, and always will be. Zenigenic and Xander Steele are not responsible for his actions.”
I felt like I might throw up. Next to me, Edison clutched my arm. “What is he doing?” he whispered. I couldn’t answer.
My father’s face drained of its color, but he held it together, thanks to Xander’s note cards. “Well that’s certainly an unexpected turn of events, Quin. You’ve had your own experience with EAMs as a member of the Guardian Force. How do you feel about Zenigenic’s recent announcement regarding the production of a new drug?”
Quin smiled. His eyes didn’t. “I’m excited. Really excited. Mr. Steele has shared some of the early research with me and assured me this new drug will have none of the unpleasant side effects of Emovere, Agitor, or Euphoractamine.” Unpleasant? “In fact, Mr. Steele has been generous enough to offer me a position as a spokesperson and advisor for the new EAM campaign.”
Edison gasped. “It’s not real,” I insisted. “It’s an act. It has to be.”
“I don’t know, Lex. It seems pretty real. Besides, Quin’s not much of an actor.” He was right about that.
Flipping to the next card, my father asked, “What about Onyx? Certainly you’ve heard about the devastation Onyx has caused in the Bay Area. Just yesterday, there were three more gang shootings believed to be linked to this dangerous EAM.”
“I’ve heard the reports. I think it’s a tragedy that one of our trusted leaders, Augustus Porter, introduced this deadly substance to our streets. I can only hope he’ll be behind bars with my dad, where he belongs.”
My heart sunk, anchored by the weight—the cold unfairness—of Quin’s words. “Emma was right,” I told Edison. “He’s totally lost it.”
As I watched my father watching Quin, I knew he was making a decision. I hoped he wouldn’t regret it. “Quin, as uncomfortable as it is, I have to ask. Is someone forcing you to say these things? Are you being paid off by Mr. Steele?”
Xander was storming toward Langley, signaling—hand across throat—to end the interview.
“Absolutely not,” Quin replied. “Mr. Knightley, I think we both know you have your own ax to grind with Zenigenic. Maybe it’s interfering with your objectivity.”
Stonewalled by the response, the flawless deflection of his new protégé, Xander stopped walking. My father was equally stunned. “Thank you, Mr. McAllister. I appreciate your time this evening. Eyes on the Bay wishes you success in all your endeavors, and we will continue to follow your story. This is Bill Knightley, signing off for Eyes on the Bay. Good night.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HERO ACT
“HOLY FREAKIN’ COW!” I heard Edison react, but I was already out the van door, barreling toward Quin.
“What is wrong with you?” I shouted at him. Open-mouthed, he just stared at me.
“I told you to stay in the van,” Langley snapped. “Bill, control your daughter.”
“Lex, go back to the van.” My father tried to usher me away.
“No, Dad. Not until I talk to Quin.”
Quin looked at Xander, then back at me. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Lex. Listen to your dad. Go back to the van.”
“How could you do that to him?” I demanded, gesturing to my father. “After everything he did for you.” I was so angry I could hardly think.
From behind me, Edison grabbed my arm. “C’mon, Lex. He’s not worth it. He never was.”
“Stay out of it, Eddie!” Quin yelled.
Edison stomped forward until he was standing chest to chest with Quin. “Or what?”
Their eyes locked in standoff—that is, until Valkov emerged from the line of security barricading the crowd. “Or you’ll have to answer to me,” he snuffed, his beady yellow-brown eyes laser-focused on his prey. Without any effort, he shoved Edison, knocking him to the ground.
“Gentlemen, please,” Xander stepped in between them. “Let’s remember where we are.” I turned toward the crowd. They were captivated. Quin’s adoring fans and his detractors were filming it all on their cell phones. The tiny screens shone like bright eyes watching us. Worst of all, Emma was looking at me with pity.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Quin chided Valkov as he extended his hand to Edison.
“I don’t need your help, McAllister.” Edison climbed to his feet and brushed himself off. “Whatever you’ve got going here, don’t make me a part of your hero act.”
Quin looked at me, and for a moment—one thousand one, and it was gone—his eyes softened. I waited for him to address me, but he didn’t. Instead he spoke to Edison. “It’s not an act. It’s as real as the first time I knocked you out,” he boasted. “Remember that, right? Pretty real.”
“Whatever.” Edison rolled his eyes.
“Lex.” My father said my name like a command, his instruction clear.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go back to the van.” Edison followed behind me. When I looked back—how could I not?— only the back of Quin’s head was visible, the rest of him shielded by a pack of Zenigenic security. As the crowd cheered and jeered him, they whisked him inside the building.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PLAYING EDDIE
BACK AT THE VAN, standing just out of view, were two surprise visitors. “Elana! Max! What are you doing here?”
Without answering me, Elana wrapped her arms around Edison. “We saw the whole thing. Are you okay?” she asked him.
Edison cradled her face between his hands and kissed her. “Better now, Red. But I thought you couldn’t come.”
“I decided I don’t need my mom’s permission. I’m not a little girl anymore.” She winked at Edison. “Besides, I couldn’t let Max go alone.”
“What a jerk!” Max said distracted, still looking toward the Zenigenic entrance where Quin had disappeared. “The last time I saw him act like that I punched him in the jaw.”
Elana and I exchanged a knowing look. “He’s bluffing though, right?” She looked to me for a response.
I shrugged. As usual, my heart gave one answer, my mind another.
“Now you see what I mean.” A familiar voice approached us from the crowd. Like the others, Emma considered me with expectation. I knew she was waiting for me to speak, to solve the unsolvable riddle of Quin. I said nothing.
“Well?” she demanded.
“What do you want me to say?”
She sneered at me, likely preparing some clever comeback. Then she sighed. “I care about him too, you know.”
I nodded. “I think we’re all just as confused as you are.”
“Speak for yourself,” Edison said, grinning. “I’m not confused. Am I the only one paying attention around here?”
We all turned toward him with inquiring eyes. One hand on her hip and an exacting expression, Elana spoke for us. “Explain, please.”
Edison scanned our surroundings with caution. Most of the crowd had dispersed, leaving just a few stragglers to sort out the night’s chaos. The two girls, heart-shaped sign in tow, stood a hopeful watch at the ropes, monitoring Zenigenic’s door with fervent interest. My father, his brow furrowed, was talking to Langley as the cameramen dismantled their equipment. I hoped he wouldn’t be too upset with me.
“Not out here,” Edison concluded. “Get in.” He held open the van’s door and we piled in. Except for Emma. She stood alone, staring in at us—waiting for an invitation.
“Are you coming or not?” I asked her.
“Uh, yeah, I gu
ess, if you’re okay with it.” I waved her inside.
Edison pulled the door shut behind her. “The first time Quin and I got in a fight my girlfriend, Chloe, was there.” He glanced sheepishly at Elana. “I was such an idiot back then. I thought she liked him better. She was always bringing him food and feeling sorry for him. That night, I said something to Quin, something about his mom.” Contrite, he met my eyes. “I didn’t know. Anyway, Quin hit me really hard. I realized right then I didn’t want to fight him, not in front of Chloe. So I just laid there—pretending he had knocked me out. It wasn’t real.”
“Are you sure Quin remembers all that?” Emma asked.
We all laughed. “Quin would never let me live that down. He called it playing Eddie, like playing possum.”
“So if it’s not real, then what?” Emma asked. “Where does that leave us?”
I sighed, wondering the same thing. But Edison grinned. “For right now, I think it leaves us sitting in this cold, smelly news van while Quin splits champagne and caviar with Xander Steele.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
INTUITION
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, my father sat beside me in that same smelly news van. Langley was at the wheel. Since we’d left Zenigenic, he’d said three words to me, “Scoot over, please.” Langley, on the other hand, had plenty to say—about me (“What were you thinking?”), about Xander (“What a pompous twerp!”), but mostly about the 200,000 views my father’s interview already garnered on their Internet-cable station. Somehow my father seemed less than thrilled.
“Can’t shut you two up back there,” Langley joked, taking a long swig of coffee. I saw her hazel eyes in the rearview mirror as she pretended to fiddle with her bangs. “Bill, why don’t you take the rest of the night off? You deserve it.” For at least the tenth time, my father flipped through Xander’s notecards, then rested the stack on his thigh. I reached for them, curious about the questions he hadn’t asked—but he snatched them away, frowning at me.