While You Were Gone (12 page)

It isn't until we enter the school gates and we're past security that I feel myself breathe again. “Thanks,” I whisper. Jonas doesn't answer. The guys in the backseat are so silent it's hard to believe they're there. How do they know each other? I puzzle over possible connections as I watch the trees lining the drive tick by.

Jonas pulls over in front of McConnell Hall and comes around to open my door. This isn't how I want the night to end, with so many unanswered questions. I turn in my seat to face Museum Boy.

“We keep meeting,” he whispers. “Why?”

I shake my head. “I don't know.”

The door opens and I start to get out. “Wait,” he says. “What's your name?”

“Oh.” I smile. “Eevee. What's yours?”

“Danny.”

“Mine's Germ.” His friend sticks his hand out between us. Danny pushes him back.

“That's an interesting name,” I say, aware of Jonas waiting at my door. “Well, good night.” I give a small wave to Warren, and a last look at Danny—hoping it really isn't the last—then exit the car.

I don't know what to say to Jonas except another “Thanks.” He nods and walks back around to the driver's side. The car pulls from the curb and drives away.

When the taillights are out of view, I walk inside and take the stairs to the third floor. The hallway is so still. I try to move without making a sound as I pass my neighbors' doors. My key slips easily into the lock. Standing silent in the dark, I feel exhaustion begin to creep in. I flip on my desk light, half expecting my room to look different.

But it doesn't. All the safe paintings hang on the walls. My book bag and art smock lie where I left them. I exhale and sit on the edge of the bed.

Nothing has changed.

Everything has changed.

Jonas drives to another building on campus, not far from where he dropped off Eevee, and stops at the curb. Germ and I get out, followed a moment later by M. “Thanks,” he says, leaning in the passenger window. Jonas responds with a relaxed salute and drives away.

It's got to be at least 2 a.m. We walk in silence toward the building. M punches a code into a keypad and opens the door. Halfway down the hall, there's a staircase. We take it up three flights, our feet tapping on the concrete slabs, and make a left toward the far end of the building. His is the last room on the right.

He turns a key in the lock and holds up a hand for us to wait. The door opens a crack and there's a beeping sound. He slips his hand through the opening five times in a specific sequence—high, low, high, middle, high—and the beeping stops. Then he pushes the door open and we follow him inside.

Under his breath, Germ says, “Dude.”

I don't know what I was expecting. Something so amazing it needs serious security, I guess. But it's just a dorm room. Blueprints cover the walls. Huge diagrams. Can't tell what they're of. Cars? Computers? A bed crouches low to the floor against the far wall. Above it hangs a framed picture of a blue phone booth. A long countertop with a built-in desk runs along the opposite side. Computer books and gaming manuals crowd the shelves above. On the desk sits a fishbowl. Everything is sleek and smooth and clean. Maybe the guy is just really paranoid someone's going to come in and muss up his sheets.

He opens a cabinet, pulls out a brown bag and tosses it to Germ. Then he moves his goggles up onto his forehead and rubs his eyes. “Two uniforms, as requested.” He sees me staring at him, so I study a blueprint on the wall instead. The words are in another language. Looks like it's for some kind of safe.

“I don't know how you do it,” Germ says. M holds out his hands like it's no big deal.

Walking over to the desk, I try to get a good look at M before leaning over the fishbowl. Beside it is a photo of a girl with braids. It's signed
MISSY
, with a heart. The fish darts away when I tap the glass. I stare into the water as a memory plays out in my mind.

Sixth-grade gym class. He was the scrawniest of the scrawny kids. My buddies and I pounced on him in the locker room when he had his back turned. Kept one hand on his mouth to cover his squealing. Took his clothes and stuffed him in an empty locker. Outside there was a girl with braids. I'm guessing she was the one who ratted us out. I got suspended, but that didn't matter. It wasn't like I wanted to be at school anyway.

Warren something. Can't remember his last name. Not sure I ever knew it, actually.

I look at his face. There's something different about him here. He's still scrawny, but there's something sharp about his eyes. He's smart and he knows it. But it's not just brains and ego.

Guts.

This Warren's gutsy.

“Cool fish,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, even though my brain is tripping out. Why did we do that to him? I don't even remember whose idea it was. I never really thought about it again. Until now.

“That's Betty,” he says. “I tell her all my secrets.”

Okay. Not sure how to respond to that.

“What do we owe you?” Germ asks.

Warren—do I call him Warren or M?—crosses his arms. “Your help.”

Germ and I exchange glances. “Doing what?” he asks.

“Changing the world.”

A sound wakes me. I'm lying on the bed, my legs still dangling off the end. I don't remember falling asleep. My clothes are dusty and my mouth feels like I've been eating socks. The sound comes again, a sharp
bang
at my window. I stumble over and pull back the curtain.

There, standing in the grass, is Danny. He waves and motions for me to come down.

This feels like a Moment. A pivot point. I have a decision to make: stay where I am, or leap into the unknown.

I leap.

“I'll be right down,” I say, holding up my hand, knowing he can't hear me.

My reflection in the mirror is a train wreck. Sleep lines. Mascara-smudged bags under my eyes. And I'm still wearing last night's clothes. Not good. I quickly change and wash my face before slipping on my flip-flops and tiptoeing downstairs.

Outside, the cold air shocks my lungs. Morning tinges the horizon, but streetlights still cast pale circles on the sidewalk. My feet move quickly, silently, as my heart pounds in my ears. My eyes search the shadowed lawn. He can't be far. There's my window.

I see him leaning against a tree. He steps onto the sidewalk. My feet hesitate, then move faster until we're standing face to face.

“Hi.” His hands are tucked into his pockets. His hair sticks up a bit and his eyes look tired, but he's smiling.

None of this feels real.

“Hi.” Looking at him, I feel a sense of calm wrestling with my nervousness. “You found me.”

“I found you.”

A light blinks on in the dorm room window next to where we're standing. “Want to walk?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking around. “Sure.”

We stroll side by side down the sidewalk along McConnell Hall. He keeps his hands in his pockets, and I keep my arms wrapped around me, but we walk close to each other and our arms brush now and then.

“So, this is where you go to school?” he asks, his voice low.

“Yeah. Do you go here, too?”

“I wish.” He stops suddenly and looks at me. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but he closes it again.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, still looking at me. “I just…remembered something.”

“Where
do
you go to school?”

“Arcadia Tech.” He says it like a question.

“Oh.” It hadn't occurred to me that the Education Panels might have assigned him to a trade school.

When the sidewalk ends, we continue on into the grass. It's spongy, and bits of cold dew flick onto my toes. Eucalyptuses and cottonwoods surround us, their trunks so large two people together can't get their arms around them. I pick up a leaf and twirl the stem in my fingers. We walk slowly, like the sun isn't rising on a new day. Like we have all the time in the world.

“So, last night…” I let the thought trail off, hanging in the space between us.

“Last night,” he says, filling that space by taking my hand.

“That was—”

“Amazing,” he says at the same time I say, “Weird.” We stop and look at each other.

“I mean…” I try to backpedal. “Totally amazing. But also…weird.”

“Oh.”

I shake my head. I'm doing this wrong. “No, I don't mean you. Seeing you again is great. But millions of people in Phoenix and we find each other in that crowd?” I count on my fingers. “Last night. Abbot's. The museum. Three random meetings. That's pretty weird, don't you think?”

“Museum?” His eyebrows furrow, then relax. “Oh. Right. Yeah, that's weird.”

“You don't remember?”

He doesn't say anything, but his face is totally deer-in-the-headlights.

“Really?”

“I…It's just…” He closes his eyes and exhales. “It's complicated.”

“Well, maybe this will jog your memory.” I lean forward and kiss him, and it's every bit as good as the first time.

No.

It's better.