“You snooze, you lose,” Carly says, climbing into the backseat. “So . . . where’d you say Jackson went?”
Luka shoots me a look. “He, uh, went out the back door. To the alley.”
“That explanation is majorly sketch. You know that, right?” Carly pops the seat forward again and leans out to look at him. “Who’s he meeting there?”
Luka shrugs.
“Luka?” she says as I push the seat back and climb in.
He still doesn’t answer, just closes my door and rounds the hood to the driver’s side.
I stare out the window trying to come up with something plausible to say.
Undeterred by the heavy evasion vibe hanging in the air—or, more likely, spurred by it—Carly keeps right on going as soon as Luka starts the car. “He managed to disappear without a trace in the few seconds while I got up to follow Miki? That’s weird.”
She has no idea.
“Can someone answer me?” She unhooks her seat belt and leans forward.
Luka meets her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Seat belt.”
Carly flops back and I hear a snap. “Who was he meeting in the alley, Luka? His dealer?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Great. The second we drop Carly off, she’ll text Dee and Kelley and Sarah about her suspicions. She’ll swear them to secrecy. But they’ll tell two friends, who’ll tell two friends. Carly won’t mean for it to balloon, but rumors have a way of doing that.
“Seriously, Luka . . . what’s Jackson into?”
“Nothing,” Luka says at the same time I say, “The queen of trying crazy shit is actually asking that question?”
I reach back to give Carly’s knee a shove to let her know I’m kidding.
She flicks my shoulder and says, “Is he in trouble? Should we do something?” She pauses, then asks, “Is he dealing? Maybe he’s getting his shipment in that alley. We really don’t know him that well—”
“I know him that well,” Luka cuts her off. His tone’s not like anything I’ve ever heard him use before. It’s a threat and a warning and an implacable statement.
“Okay. Fine. But I’m just saying—it’s weird.” Something in Carly’s voice makes me turn. She’s looking at Luka with this narrow-eyed, sort of predatory look. Then she sees me watching her and her expression goes neutral.
I press my fingertips against my temples. I need to get things under control. I need a plan. That’s the priority right now. Find Jackson. Get answers. Figure out what his absence means in the big scheme of the game. Figure out why things are escalating so quickly, why there were so many Drau in Detroit.
“Hey, you okay?” Carly rests her hand on my shoulder. When I nod she says, “You’re right, Luka. I’m sorry. You know Jackson better than I do. If you say he isn’t dealing, I’ll take your word on it. Sorry. Really.” Carly the peacemaker’s back online.
“No hay problema.” He grins at her in the rearview mirror and she grins back. Then he says, “Jackson took off with some guys he has a group project with. There was no parking on the street so they pulled in back. He asked me to get his car home because they’re going to drop him off.”
Even I almost believe him. I hadn’t realized Luka could improvise with such aplomb. I always thought his inner Boy Scout kept him honest.
“Well,” Carly huffs out. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I just did,” Luka says.
We’ve been driving for a few minutes, music on low, when Carly taps Luka on the shoulder. “What is that?” she asks.
“The music? Dubstep.”
Carly nods. “I’ve heard dubstep before, but this is darker, sort of experimental.”
“These tracks are old,” Luka says. “Maybe from the nineties? Jackson turned me on to them.”
“I like.” She taps my shoulder next. “You look better. You have some color back.”
“I’m better.” So much better. Because Jackson’s alive.
He might not have made it back from the mission, but he’s alive somewhere. The question is: Where?
Then I remember the cave, the gurneys, the clones lined up like cuts of meat in a butcher’s case. I gasp as my little euphoric bubble of hope bursts: What if the Drau have him? What if they’re going to use him as an original donor, create an army of clones from his DNA? I think of the girl in the cold room, her brain removed, the shell of her body kept alive by machines.
My fingers clench, digging into my thighs.
Luka cuts me a sharp look. I turn my face back to the side window, not wanting him or Carly to catch the resurgence of my panic.
Jackson isn’t going to die like that.
I’m going to find him. I’m going to bring him back. I’ve lost so many people I care about. I won’t lose Jackson, too.
This time, I will get a say in how things pan out. This time, the ending of the story won’t shatter me. I won’t let it.
A few minutes later, Luka pulls up in front of Carly’s house. I climb out, pull the seat forward, and hold it as she untangles herself from the backseat. She stares at my face for a few seconds.
“You wanna come do the Friday night dinner thing?” she asks, not even trying to disguise the plea in her tone. Her mom has this thing about the whole family being together for dinner on Friday nights. She doesn’t mind if they have friends over or head out after. But she’s non-negotiable on anyone skipping out on it.
Luka shoots me a look. “He, uh, went out the back door. To the alley.”
“That explanation is majorly sketch. You know that, right?” Carly pops the seat forward again and leans out to look at him. “Who’s he meeting there?”
Luka shrugs.
“Luka?” she says as I push the seat back and climb in.
He still doesn’t answer, just closes my door and rounds the hood to the driver’s side.
I stare out the window trying to come up with something plausible to say.
Undeterred by the heavy evasion vibe hanging in the air—or, more likely, spurred by it—Carly keeps right on going as soon as Luka starts the car. “He managed to disappear without a trace in the few seconds while I got up to follow Miki? That’s weird.”
She has no idea.
“Can someone answer me?” She unhooks her seat belt and leans forward.
Luka meets her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Seat belt.”
Carly flops back and I hear a snap. “Who was he meeting in the alley, Luka? His dealer?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Great. The second we drop Carly off, she’ll text Dee and Kelley and Sarah about her suspicions. She’ll swear them to secrecy. But they’ll tell two friends, who’ll tell two friends. Carly won’t mean for it to balloon, but rumors have a way of doing that.
“Seriously, Luka . . . what’s Jackson into?”
“Nothing,” Luka says at the same time I say, “The queen of trying crazy shit is actually asking that question?”
I reach back to give Carly’s knee a shove to let her know I’m kidding.
She flicks my shoulder and says, “Is he in trouble? Should we do something?” She pauses, then asks, “Is he dealing? Maybe he’s getting his shipment in that alley. We really don’t know him that well—”
“I know him that well,” Luka cuts her off. His tone’s not like anything I’ve ever heard him use before. It’s a threat and a warning and an implacable statement.
“Okay. Fine. But I’m just saying—it’s weird.” Something in Carly’s voice makes me turn. She’s looking at Luka with this narrow-eyed, sort of predatory look. Then she sees me watching her and her expression goes neutral.
I press my fingertips against my temples. I need to get things under control. I need a plan. That’s the priority right now. Find Jackson. Get answers. Figure out what his absence means in the big scheme of the game. Figure out why things are escalating so quickly, why there were so many Drau in Detroit.
“Hey, you okay?” Carly rests her hand on my shoulder. When I nod she says, “You’re right, Luka. I’m sorry. You know Jackson better than I do. If you say he isn’t dealing, I’ll take your word on it. Sorry. Really.” Carly the peacemaker’s back online.
“No hay problema.” He grins at her in the rearview mirror and she grins back. Then he says, “Jackson took off with some guys he has a group project with. There was no parking on the street so they pulled in back. He asked me to get his car home because they’re going to drop him off.”
Even I almost believe him. I hadn’t realized Luka could improvise with such aplomb. I always thought his inner Boy Scout kept him honest.
“Well,” Carly huffs out. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I just did,” Luka says.
We’ve been driving for a few minutes, music on low, when Carly taps Luka on the shoulder. “What is that?” she asks.
“The music? Dubstep.”
Carly nods. “I’ve heard dubstep before, but this is darker, sort of experimental.”
“These tracks are old,” Luka says. “Maybe from the nineties? Jackson turned me on to them.”
“I like.” She taps my shoulder next. “You look better. You have some color back.”
“I’m better.” So much better. Because Jackson’s alive.
He might not have made it back from the mission, but he’s alive somewhere. The question is: Where?
Then I remember the cave, the gurneys, the clones lined up like cuts of meat in a butcher’s case. I gasp as my little euphoric bubble of hope bursts: What if the Drau have him? What if they’re going to use him as an original donor, create an army of clones from his DNA? I think of the girl in the cold room, her brain removed, the shell of her body kept alive by machines.
My fingers clench, digging into my thighs.
Luka cuts me a sharp look. I turn my face back to the side window, not wanting him or Carly to catch the resurgence of my panic.
Jackson isn’t going to die like that.
I’m going to find him. I’m going to bring him back. I’ve lost so many people I care about. I won’t lose Jackson, too.
This time, I will get a say in how things pan out. This time, the ending of the story won’t shatter me. I won’t let it.
A few minutes later, Luka pulls up in front of Carly’s house. I climb out, pull the seat forward, and hold it as she untangles herself from the backseat. She stares at my face for a few seconds.
“You wanna come do the Friday night dinner thing?” she asks, not even trying to disguise the plea in her tone. Her mom has this thing about the whole family being together for dinner on Friday nights. She doesn’t mind if they have friends over or head out after. But she’s non-negotiable on anyone skipping out on it.
