Doing the Friday night dinner thing with Carly’s family would go a long way toward closing the distance that’s been growing between us for weeks, a crack that’s becoming a chasm. I hate to disappoint her, but every minute that ticks past could be putting Jackson’s life at risk. Getting Luka alone to brainstorm a plan has to be my priority right now, and Carly’s just handed me a golden opportunity.
“Maybe tonight’s not the best,” I say. “I’m not sure I can handle the crowd.” Truth. I may be ditching her, but at least I’m not lying. I try to ignore the feeling that I’m letting her down.
Carly skews her lips to the side but doesn’t argue. She looks disappointed but not pissed. My explanation’s plausible. I never want much company on the tail of a full-blown panic attack. Mostly, I just want my bedroom and my music.
Then she glances at Luka and I have the crazy idea she’s going to ask him to dinner. With her parents. And her brothers. Is she kidding? A boy who isn’t related to her at family dinner night? They’ll chew him up and spit him out. I guess she has the same thought because the invitation never materializes.
“You sure, Miki? I know Mom would love to see you.” That’s as close to begging as she’ll get.
I almost cave. Then I think of Jackson, trapped somewhere in the game, and I say, “Sorry. Call me after, ’kay? Maybe you’ll come over?”
She brightens a little. “’Kay.” Then she gives me a quick, one-armed hug. As she does, I catch sight of my backpack, rammed into the corner of the seat. I freeze.
Jackson’s backpack. It’s in the trunk. I have a place to start, the seeds of a plan.
As Carly heads for her front door, I expect Luka to start talking. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Do you know where he is?”
“No.” He looks at me, then back at the road, his knuckles white where he grips the wheel.
Disappointment and worry sit in my chest like an unchewed chunk of cold, greasy pizza.
“But he’s alive, Miki. I know that much.”
“Alive for how much longer? I keep thinking they have him. That they’re going to use him to make an army of shells. Like that girl in the cold room. The one he”—I break off, then force myself to finish—“killed.”
“Terminated,” Luka whispers, then says, louder, “No.” He shakes his head rapidly from side to side. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think they have him. They don’t need to keep him alive to make shells. They just need his body, hooked up to machines. If they took him, they’d have—” He breaks off, swallows. “He wouldn’t still be alive.”
“You’re right.” I desperately want him to be right. “And since Carly remembers him, that means he is still alive . . . somewhere.”
“Exactly. So what are the chances that the Drau have him? Slim to none, right?”
I nod. The weight that’s been crushing my chest lifts a little, but I’m afraid to hope, afraid of the hard crash that’ll come if we’re wrong.
Luka touches my forearm, then puts his hand back on the wheel. “We don’t have much if we don’t have hope.”
I stare out the window, thinking about that, wondering if it’s true.
As soon as we’re out of sight of Carly’s house, I say, “Pull over,” determined to follow the one possible lead we do have.
“What are you doing?” Luka asks, following me when I get out and head for the trunk.
I drag out Jackson’s backpack and start going through the pockets. “Looking for clues.”
Luka sighs. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
“I know the chances of finding anything are slim, but I have to try,” I say, pulling out an empty water bottle and a ten-dollar bill. I shove them back in and move to the next pocket.
“There won’t be anything, Miki. We can’t bring anything back with us when we respawn.”
“Got a better idea?” I glance at him.
His mouth compresses in a thin line. He shakes his head and mutters, “Knock yourself out.”
I pull out Jackson’s textbooks one by one, fanning the pages in case there’s something hidden in between, then stacking the books in a neat pile. “There might be something in here that helps us find him.”
Luka’s quiet for a minute. I think he’s going to offer up more objections. Instead, he moves closer, picks up a book from the top of the pile, and double-checks in case I missed anything.
I move to the smaller front pouch and find a paperback copy of Andrzej Sapkowski’s Blood of Elves. My copy. The one I lent him.
It’s the last thing in the bag.
“There’s nothing here.” I start to shift everything back into Jackson’s pack when Luka reaches over and taps his finger on the textbook at the top of the pile. “What?” I ask.
He stares at the book, his dark eyes unfocused.
“Luka?” I ask. “Something special about Jackson’s law text?”
“No, it’s just—” He shakes his head. “I swear I thought of something, but it’s gone.” He waves a hand. “Poof.”
“Don’t focus on it.” I push the rest of the books back into the pack, then shove it deeper into the trunk, wishing I could shove aside my disappointment with it. “Think about other stuff and it’ll come to you.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe tonight’s not the best,” I say. “I’m not sure I can handle the crowd.” Truth. I may be ditching her, but at least I’m not lying. I try to ignore the feeling that I’m letting her down.
Carly skews her lips to the side but doesn’t argue. She looks disappointed but not pissed. My explanation’s plausible. I never want much company on the tail of a full-blown panic attack. Mostly, I just want my bedroom and my music.
Then she glances at Luka and I have the crazy idea she’s going to ask him to dinner. With her parents. And her brothers. Is she kidding? A boy who isn’t related to her at family dinner night? They’ll chew him up and spit him out. I guess she has the same thought because the invitation never materializes.
“You sure, Miki? I know Mom would love to see you.” That’s as close to begging as she’ll get.
I almost cave. Then I think of Jackson, trapped somewhere in the game, and I say, “Sorry. Call me after, ’kay? Maybe you’ll come over?”
She brightens a little. “’Kay.” Then she gives me a quick, one-armed hug. As she does, I catch sight of my backpack, rammed into the corner of the seat. I freeze.
Jackson’s backpack. It’s in the trunk. I have a place to start, the seeds of a plan.
As Carly heads for her front door, I expect Luka to start talking. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Do you know where he is?”
“No.” He looks at me, then back at the road, his knuckles white where he grips the wheel.
Disappointment and worry sit in my chest like an unchewed chunk of cold, greasy pizza.
“But he’s alive, Miki. I know that much.”
“Alive for how much longer? I keep thinking they have him. That they’re going to use him to make an army of shells. Like that girl in the cold room. The one he”—I break off, then force myself to finish—“killed.”
“Terminated,” Luka whispers, then says, louder, “No.” He shakes his head rapidly from side to side. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think they have him. They don’t need to keep him alive to make shells. They just need his body, hooked up to machines. If they took him, they’d have—” He breaks off, swallows. “He wouldn’t still be alive.”
“You’re right.” I desperately want him to be right. “And since Carly remembers him, that means he is still alive . . . somewhere.”
“Exactly. So what are the chances that the Drau have him? Slim to none, right?”
I nod. The weight that’s been crushing my chest lifts a little, but I’m afraid to hope, afraid of the hard crash that’ll come if we’re wrong.
Luka touches my forearm, then puts his hand back on the wheel. “We don’t have much if we don’t have hope.”
I stare out the window, thinking about that, wondering if it’s true.
As soon as we’re out of sight of Carly’s house, I say, “Pull over,” determined to follow the one possible lead we do have.
“What are you doing?” Luka asks, following me when I get out and head for the trunk.
I drag out Jackson’s backpack and start going through the pockets. “Looking for clues.”
Luka sighs. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
“I know the chances of finding anything are slim, but I have to try,” I say, pulling out an empty water bottle and a ten-dollar bill. I shove them back in and move to the next pocket.
“There won’t be anything, Miki. We can’t bring anything back with us when we respawn.”
“Got a better idea?” I glance at him.
His mouth compresses in a thin line. He shakes his head and mutters, “Knock yourself out.”
I pull out Jackson’s textbooks one by one, fanning the pages in case there’s something hidden in between, then stacking the books in a neat pile. “There might be something in here that helps us find him.”
Luka’s quiet for a minute. I think he’s going to offer up more objections. Instead, he moves closer, picks up a book from the top of the pile, and double-checks in case I missed anything.
I move to the smaller front pouch and find a paperback copy of Andrzej Sapkowski’s Blood of Elves. My copy. The one I lent him.
It’s the last thing in the bag.
“There’s nothing here.” I start to shift everything back into Jackson’s pack when Luka reaches over and taps his finger on the textbook at the top of the pile. “What?” I ask.
He stares at the book, his dark eyes unfocused.
“Luka?” I ask. “Something special about Jackson’s law text?”
“No, it’s just—” He shakes his head. “I swear I thought of something, but it’s gone.” He waves a hand. “Poof.”
“Don’t focus on it.” I push the rest of the books back into the pack, then shove it deeper into the trunk, wishing I could shove aside my disappointment with it. “Think about other stuff and it’ll come to you.”
“Yeah.”
