“Yeah, no kidding.”
She sat on the floor next to her bed and considered what to say next. Silence pulsed between them.
“So,” she said, “what do you want? If you’re not coming back. There must be something. Unless you’re worried about me.”
“You?” he said. “Nothing ever happens to you.”
She didn’t know what that meant, if it was reassurance or an accusation.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “I’ll be careful if you call me back once a day.”
“Can’t promise that,” he said.
“What, are you in the witness protection program or something? Stop screwing around.”
“I’m hanging up so it doesn’t get weird,” he said.
“Too late for—”
But he was gone. Stevie stared at her phone for a while, trying to work out what the hell had just happened, only to be startled by an alert that flashed across her phone: BLIZZARD WARNING ISSUED FOR BURLINGTON AND SURROUNDING AREA. STORM DUE TO ARRIVE IN 48 HOURS, ACCUMULATIONS UP TO 24 INCHES EXPECTED.
Stevie put her phone down and kicked it across the floor.
7
AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, STEVIE POKED AT A FRESHLY MADE waffle as Janelle typed furiously on her computer. Vi was reading a political science textbook. Nate was consumed by a book with a dragon on the cover.
Stevie should have been reading as well; she had lit class in an hour and was supposed to have read The Great Gatsby by now. She had skimmed the first few chapters—something about a rich guy who threw parties and a neighbor who would watch him. She had anatomy later as well, and there was going to be an oral quiz on the skeletal system. Mr. Nelson would be back on the table, and Stevie was supposed to know the names of all his bones. She was six units behind in her self-based math and language work. Schoolwork loomed around behind her, like a big, dumb monster. If she didn’t turn around, maybe it wouldn’t bother her.
“I sent a school-wide message,” Janelle said, snapping her computer shut.
Stevie looked up, and syrup dripped on her hoodie as she did so.
“Huh?” she said.
“I’m doing a demonstration at eight. I’m inviting everyone.”
Indeed, even as they sat there, Stevie saw the message come through on some people’s phones and computers. Mudge, from across the room, gave her a thumbs-up.
“You know Mudge?” Stevie said.
“Sure. He wants to be an Imagineer and make automatons and robots.”
“It’s going to be so great!” Vi said. They were dressed that morning in red overalls, with a rainbow half shirt underneath. They had shaved some more from the sides of their silver-blond hair and spiked it high. Vi always looked alert and alive, like they had scored a direct hit off the electrical mains. Maybe that was why they were so good with Janelle. Both lived completely and brightly.
“Have to go,” Vi said, picking up their bag. “I’ll be late to Mandarin class.”
They kissed Janelle on the top of the head and waved to Nate and Stevie. Nate bunched up a napkin and stuck it in his empty juice glass.
“I’d better go too,” he said.
“Don’t you have a few hours before your first class?” Janelle said.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I just want to go back and enjoy having the second floor to myself for a little while before this Hunter dude shows up. Hunter. Is he rugged?”
“He studies environmental science,” Stevie replied. “He’s nice.”
“Good,” Janelle said. “David’s gone, and a nice guy who likes the environment is moving in. Sounds like a good switch to me.”
Janelle had never made it a secret that she wasn’t fond of David.
“Okay,” Vi said. “I’ll meet you over there at six and bring you dinner and . . .”
Vi’s phone pinged, and they picked it up.
“Oh my God,” they said. “Oh God.”
“What?” Janelle said.
Stevie’s stomach lurched.
Vi held out their phone, revealing a headline that had flashed across the screen: SENATOR EDWARD KING ANNOUNCES PRESIDENTIAL RUN.
“He’s running,” Vi said. “I knew it. That dick.”
Stevie had shared the secret with Janelle and Nate—they knew that David was Edward King’s son. They both looked at Stevie. Nate grabbed his tray and made a hasty exit.
“Anyway,” Vi said, shaking their head. “Six o’clock. I’ll bring tacos if they have them.”
When they were alone, Janelle ate some fruit salad and looked at Stevie.
“You’ve been really quiet,” she said. “What have you been up to? Ever since we played that recording on that old machine you’ve been squirrely. And your teacher, the one from Burlington . . . What’s going on with you?”
“It’s a lot of things,” Stevie said. “Do you remember the message that appeared on my wall that night? The dream one?”
“Sure.”
“I met a friend of Ellie’s in Burlington yesterday. She told me some stuff, like that Ellie knew all about the message and she thought someone put it there. Ellie thought it was real. She may have even known it was real.”
Janelle drew her head back in surprise.
“But who would do that?” she said. “David?”
“I don’t think so,” Stevie said. “I mean, the only one who makes any sense at all is Hayes? Because of the video? No one really makes sense for it. But this girl said Ellie was sure it was real and that Ellie knew who did it.”
“Well, if we find out,” Janelle said, “there will be hell to pay. No one does that to you.”
Stevie felt a warm rush. She’d had friends at her old school—people she spoke to and sometimes texted with. But if she was being honest with herself (and she often tried not to be), she’d never really had that IRL connection. Her most real relationships had been with people on her case boards. Ellingham had provided her with that something—maybe even the something her parents had talked to her about. Friends who hung out together in pajamas and talked. Friends who listened. Friends who stood up for you.
But she didn’t know how to express this or even if she should, so she dipped her waffle piece again.
“Can you look inside of walls?” she asked Janelle.
“Can I personally look inside of walls? I can do anything. But I think you’re asking if there is something that can penetrate a wall to show stuff behind it, and the answer is yes. A wall scanner. They’re pretty common. They use them to find studs, wires, pipes, things like that. Why?”
“Just . . . wondering.”
“Oh! I already got four replies!” Janelle said as her phone pinged. “People are going to come tonight! Oh my God. What if it doesn’t work?”
“It works,” Stevie said.
“Okay. I have to be calm. I’m going to class, then I’m going to run it a few times. See you there, yeah?”
“Of course,” Stevie said.
Janelle grabbed her things and stuffed them into her big orange bag and hurried out. Stevie got The Great Gatsby out of her bag and stared at the cover: a midnight-blue background with a woman’s face floating in it—a flapper made of light and sky, mostly eyes, with a city dripping in the background like a string of jewels. It was a little like the Ellingham family portrait by Leonard Holmes Nair, the one that hung in the Great House. It was a hallucination of person and place.