CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The rest of the free day we spend wandering the immense sprawling compound and learning where everything is—the Quadrant Dorms, the common areas, which include more cafeterias, training gyms, classrooms, not one but three arena stadiums with track and sports training equipment, and three Olympic-size swimming pools.
“I hear we’ll be doing swimming training in addition to other types of classes,” Dawn says as we walk through yet another glassed-in walkway between building structures to cross to the other street that runs parallel.
“Interesting,” Laronda says. “I wonder why. Does Atlantis have a lot of oceans and water?”
“It could also be their tradition,” I say, “stemming from the Earth’s original continent of Atlantis. So much stuff related to the sea, oceans, water. Like the name of their ancient city, Poseidon. . . .”
“Glad you’re still such a smarty pants.” Laronda smiles.
In that moment Grace, who’s been tagging along with us on the walk—and I must admit, who’s been somewhat inseparable from me since the trauma of Semi-Finals—looks up and points.
Four Atlantean shuttles plummet down from the sky, and land somewhere beyond the buildings, their aerial activity generating a sonic boom.
“That way lies a huge airfield,” Dawn says. “Want to go see?”
“Um,” I say, as my expression darkens. “Not sure . . . I think I’ve had enough Atlantean shuttles to last me a lifetime.”
“No! Don’t say that!” Gracie immediately tugs my sleeve. “If we Qualify, we will have to deal with them all the time.”
“Okay, I know,” I reply tiredly. “But seriously, let’s just—not.”
Dawn shrugs comfortably. “Okay.”
So instead we walk toward the nearest cafeteria to get more free food for as long as they’re still feeding us.
* * *
As we stroll down the street between buildings, Gracie pulls me aside for a moment, while Dawn and Laronda and Hasmik walk ahead.
“Gwen . . .” Gracie walks at my side with a strange closed-up expression and stiff posture, hands nervously clutching the bottom of her uniform shirt. “Gwen, I . . . I have to tell you something.”
Okay, this does not bode well.
“What?” I say, glancing at my sister carefully.
Gracie does not say anything for several long moments.
“Promise—” she says. “Promise me you won’t go crazy when you hear this, okay?”
“How can I promise when I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
Gracie bites her lip, takes a deep breath. “You know that awful night when they found that chip in Laronda’s jacket?”
“Yeah. . . ?” Suddenly I feel cold. And I’m really beginning to dislike what this is leading up to.
Gracie stops and looks up at me. Her face is full of anguish. “I put that chip in her jacket! I am so sorry!”
“What?” I stop also, while cold waves of fear pass through me, one after another, and I am reeling with it.
Gracie grabs my sleeves and her hands are shaking. “Please, don’t freak out, oh, don’t freak out, please!”
“Gracie, what are you saying?” I take hold of her, and my fingers dig into her shoulders, at the same time as my voice grows very hard and very quiet. “Are you telling me you planted that navigation chip on Laronda? Oh my God, what are you involved with? Who gave it to you? Who told you to do something like that? Do you realize what you’ve done? You got so many people in trouble—you—”
“I know! I know it was awful and wrong, now, okay! But at that time I didn’t know what it was, just a stupid little chip! I was supposed to just hide it temporarily, they told me—drop it in someone’s pocket—any person I knew and dealt with casually—and I could get it back later from them, after the Correctors finished searching our dorm. It was supposed to be for one night! That’s why I came over to have dinner with you and went up to your dormitory floor, so I could find a safe spot to hide it overnight. The guys were all passing it around like a game of hot potato, they were saying that was the best way to keep it hidden—” Gracie’s face is red and she is on the verge of tears.
“The guys? What guys? Tell me!” I shake her, hissing in her ear, while glancing before us where up ahead the girls are still walking and laughing and talking loudly. They didn’t notice yet that we’re lagging behind.
“The guys were from Red, they were some kind of rebel group, and they were doing all these crazy secret things to get back at Atlanteans and to steal their secrets. . . . And I thought I might be cool if I did something wild like that, and Daniel might think I am—”
“Daniel?” I am filled with sudden rage. “Is it Daniel Tover? Did he put you up to this, Gracie?”
“No!” Gracie whimpers. “No, not Daniel! He had nothing to do with those guys, he is not one of them, I swear! But—but I didn’t know it at the time! I thought he was, and I thought I would do this one awesome thing for them and he might notice me and—”
“Oh, Gracie!”
“I screwed up, okay! I had no idea! I didn’t want to hurt anyone either! And turns out, Daniel is not even one of them, even though he hangs out with many of them—that’s why I thought he was with Terra Patria, but he’s not—”
“Hush!” I hiss again, and look around, wondering what kind of surveillance cameras and maybe audio surveillance they might have in this compound.
And then I take a deep breath and force my voice to calm down as I speak to my little idiot sister. “Gracie, listen to me. You have to keep your voice down. This is bad, you cannot be screaming all this loudly.”
“Okay. . . .”
“Now . . . I am not going to tell you now that you did something stupid, idiotic, and horrible that could have gotten you and all of us Disqualified, hurt, punished, and possibly killed. You already know all this. What I want to know is why didn’t you tell me—or George—any of this earlier? Have you any idea what kind of position you’ve put so many people in?”
Gracie scrunches her face and big fat tears roll down her cheek. “I am sorry! I am so sorry! I was scared! I wanted to tell you, and I kind of tried to, before, but I just couldn’t! And then when they took Laronda away and then locked you up, it was too late! I didn’t know what to do! And now—I still don’t know what to do, what if they find out? Will they Disqualify me and lock me up? And what about you guys—”
I squeeze Gracie’s shoulders again. “Look at me. . . . Stop. You did the right thing telling me. And now, just hush, okay? Let me think. . . . We need to figure out what we need to do. Okay? Stop crying! Okay? It will be okay!”
And then I hug Gracie, and I feel her completely shaking and falling apart into a weeping mess in my arms. Might as well let her cry it out, and then she’ll get a grip. Eventually. I hope. . . .
“What’s going on here?” Laronda and the others have backtracked and now look at Gracie crying and me hugging her. “Is she okay?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “She’s having a delayed-reaction nervous breakdown, I think. The Semi-Finals—she remembered bad stuff that happened then, and it’s getting to her.” And I pat Gracie’s hair gently while she quiets her sobs and wipes her nose on her sleeve.
“Oh, poor baby,” Laronda says to Gracie. “Here. . . . Girl, let me give you a hug too!”
Of course at that, guilty Gracie weeps even harder, since it’s Laronda she wronged in the first place. And me, in second. And herself, ultimately.
My poor fool baby sister!
I tactfully let everyone do their hug thing, and then change the subject.
For the rest of the day, Gracie follows me around—continues following me like a puppy, wherever we go.
And now I know why.
She’s not just feeling vulnerable, and lost, and clingy-dependent on me after our hell experience in Los Angeles, as I originally thought. No, she’s also one helluva guilty puppy.
* * *
I continue to think about what Gracie told me all evening, and wake up the next morning and it hits me hard, like a bucket of cold water.
Gracie can get in huge trouble because of this. If anyone finds out, she can and likely will be Disqualified—and probably worse.
I feel sick to my stomach as I go to breakfast with the people I know from the Pennsylvania RQC-3, Yellow Quadrant—including some guys who I am glad to see, such as Mateo and Jai and Tremaine—and then I go to look for my brother George, who needs to be told as soon as possible.
Instead I run into Logan.
Logan is standing outside the Red Quadrant Dorm structure in a small crowd of Candidates from all four Quadrants, near what looks to be a news media van and truck lineup. Compound guards pace idly, blocking off most of the area, while a portable platform has been erected right on the street. A major network news channel crew of holo-projection techs and cameramen is arranging a brightly lit interview area. A familiar news anchor’s hologram has been projected directly from their studio into one of the chairs to interview selected Candidates about their Semi-Finals experience.
Someone is occupying the other chair, a brown-haired boy I’ve never seen before, with a cool manner. He is talking while a sound tech moves a studio microphone in his face.
“Logan!” I say in a loud whisper, waving and leaning in toward him past a guard who blocks my approach. “What’s going on?”
Logan hears me, glances in my direction, and nods with an immediate light smile. He then raises one hand and mouths “ten minutes” to me. And so I wait at the periphery with a few other gawking passerby Candies, while he in turn gets briefly interviewed about his experience in New York, climbing cables and scaling the side of a tall building.
I watch Logan take a seat easily, lean back in his chair and speak with effortless confidence into the cameras and I realize he was born for this—calm yet outgoing, composed, friendly, making great eye contact.
“And really,” he concludes with a self-depreciating bittersweet laugh, looking directly at the various media feed cameras. “It was a tough marathon and I am glad it’s over—at least this Semi-Finals phase. We may never forget how many of us got hurt, and yeah, many teens died out there. Manhattan is a floating graveyard for so many. But at least they died trying, having hope, up to the last second. And I am hardly the only one who managed to make some rather lucky and solid decisions that helped me survive.”
He pauses, and his gaze suddenly searches the surrounding audience and settles on me. “For example, right here is a Candidate who is far more interesting than me and should really be interviewed, if you want to get the best of us here in this chair. You all know her from the Los Angeles live feeds. I believe some have used the term ‘Shoelace Girl’. . . .”
My mouth falls open as everyone turns to look in my direction. The hologram anchor stares at me, and suddenly his expression lights up with recognition. “Oh, my, that’s right! How incredibly lucky we are, there she is! My dear, you are Los Angeles Shoelace Girl, the clever amazing girl who commandeered hoverboards, rode the drones, and then created the flying contraption with the shoes!”
He waves energetically toward me. Two techs approach, and suddenly I am directed past guards onto the brightly lit media platform. Logan sleekly moves aside and gives my hand a quick squeeze, while I am seated in the interview chair, and the microphones point at me.
“We are absolutely privileged to have you with us, Shoelace Girl!” says the anchor. “Which is of course, not your real name, I realize—so what is your name, dear, for our audience? The nation wants to know!”
“Gwen . . .” I say, in a breathless voice. “Gwen Lark.”
“And where are you from?”
“Highgate Waters, Vermont.”
“Fantastic achievement, Gwen—may I call you Gwen? And may I be the first to congratulate you on passing the arduous Semi-Finals! Now, how did you ever come up with all those incredible clever ideas?”
My mind is going into a light version of deer-in-the-headlights panic and my temples pound. What is this? What can I say? I don’t know anything! Logan, how could you do this to me?
Instead I say, “Well, I just got really desperate, I guess.”
“Is that so?” the anchor prompts me encouragingly with a smile. “Go on, tell us. How was it that you survived the brutality of the attacks and obstacles that left many of your fellow Candidates helpless and even worse, dead? I am sure everyone remembers the way you managed to carry on with the horrible army of explosive drones—”
I flash back to the fallen Blue girl underneath a freeway overpass, her shattered body . . . Sarah Thornwald’s perfectly still glass eyes as she lies on the grass of the Huntington. . . .
“I don’t know,” I say in a wooden voice. “I don’t know how I managed. I think no one knows, not when it’s happening. You just do what you can, that’s all.”
“Brave words of wisdom, Gwen, very well said.” The anchor nods. “And yet, the question remains for many of our viewers—how is it that you came up with so many clever solutions to what seemed to be impossible problems?”
“They weren’t, not really . . . clever, I mean. They were actually kind of crazy and not even well thought out. Stupid, you might say.” I pause, feeling like a fool before an audience of millions. “But—with all factors put together, they worked—for the circumstances. It’s like—you know that old myth about the bee? That, according to ‘physics,’ a bumblebee is not ‘aerodynamic’ enough, is not supposed to be able to fly—it just does because it doesn’t know any better? Well, that’s all nonsense. A bumblebee flies just fine! It flies according to physical laws, only different ones, because it itself is different, using other complex variables for its flight method—for example, something called ‘dynamic stall’ comes into play. . . . Anyway, what I did wasn’t clever but kind of all over the place, using everything at my disposal . . . like the bee. It’s like—if you move fast enough and just the right way—if you do some things quickly and desperately enough, hoping they don’t have time to fall apart on you—you can make the seemingly impossible happen. And it’s not ‘before it knows any better.’ It’s before the whole unstable construct falls apart. Move fast enough and you can walk on water. . . .”
The anchor claps his hands, nodding at me with a brilliant smile. I’ve just babbled him to death, but he is loving it.
“Gwen Lark, I had no idea you’re such a wonderful science geek! Whatever you just said there—wow! You must get straight A’s at school, am I right?”
I blush, feeling my cheeks start to burn. “Yeah, mostly,” I mutter.
“Aha!” the anchor exclaims. “No wonder you came up with all these wild solutions! Tell me, and our audience, do you think these are the exact specific qualities that the Atlanteans are looking for? Because it’s still the big question—what do the Atlanteans want? Someone like you? A clever bright young lady who can solve tough problems?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I think they want people who don’t give up. Because that’s the only way to Qualify. And if you give up—you don’t.”
The anchor asks me a couple more specific questions and I answer. And then, “Well, Gwen, I must say it was a delight, so glad we caught up with you here at the National Qualification Center. Your parents must be so proud! I’m sure they’re watching. Would you like to say something to them before you go?”
My heart, my breath, my pulse, everything goes into overdrive. I gulp, and a lump begins to gather in my throat. “Yes!” I say in a mad rush of joy. “Mom, Dad, we are all okay! Gracie, George, Gordie, we are here and we made it! Please stay safe! Love you always!”
And then I am done.
* * *
I get off the media platform and Logan waits for me. I am shaking slightly from the nerves, the emotional overload, so he takes my hand, and we walk away down the street where I lean over the side of a building to get a grip on things.
“Okay,” I say. “Logan, thank you. Admittedly, I wanted to kill you at first, for putting me on the spot. But then I got it, I know why you did it. . . . It gave me a chance to say something to my parents, something that might actually get to them. At least now they’ll know we’re okay, at least for the moment!”
He smiles lightly, and his fingers run up my wrist and arm. “You’re welcome. I figured this was a good opportunity for you.”
And then I tell him about Gracie.
Immediately our light mood changes.
“Come on, let’s walk,” he says.
And once we’re on the move, we discuss, in quiet careful voices.
In a nutshell, Logan tells me to keep it quiet. Not a word to anyone else.
“Not even George?” I ask, with a grim expression.
He shakes his head. “If George knows nothing, he can be perfectly honest if he ever has to deny something—if he gets questioned.”
“Do you think that might happen again? Didn’t they question all of us like half a dozen times?”
Logan’s hazel eyes watch me seriously. “Anything can happen. Incidentally, have you seen Command Pilot Aeson Kass recently?”
“Not since the Semi-Finals.”
“If you see him again—which I have a feeling you will—be very careful. Because now you are in a position to lie. Your sister’s unfortunate confession has just made you a knowing party to her actions.”
“I don’t care about that,” I say. “I care about Gracie and keeping her safe!”
“I know you do. But what I’m saying is, you will now have to lie, and he will see right though you.”
I frown.
“Gwen,” he says gently. “You are not the best liar. . . .”
“And you are?”
“Better than you.” And suddenly he smiles cockily at me.
I punch his arm with a loose fist. But he catches it, and holds my fingers, stroking them until a jolt of warm electricity travels down my arm.
* * *