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I was going to walk to Malvika Place and try to get in, right through the front doors, but I only walked a block before I realized that was a laughable plan. I was letting frustration get the better of me. I had already acted rashly, and what good had that done? There would be guards. There would be questions. I would be far better served to enter through the roof, but Malvika Place extended outside the dome. How could I get up there?
I realized it wouldn’t be smart to linger outside too long while I figured this out. I had not forgotten being dragged into that alley. I felt the barely perceptible scar on my chin, running my finger across the bump where the skin had knit slightly imperfectly. Margot’s Phisior™ bandage had done most, but not all, of its job.
Across the wide ring with its racing cars, the outer shops were still lit. They would be open for another hour or so. They looked inviting—they were designed to—but I knew better than to head that way. I could only imagine how fast I would be kicked out for a lack of means, or hounded about my silence, or arrested for some trumped-up infraction. I could not even take refuge in a movie because I would not be able to agree to the theater’s Terms of Service before entering.
A block ahead of me, Thomkins Tower beckoned. It was only seven stories tall and not so towerlike. The yellowed, opaque window in Mrs. Stokes’s room was lit above me. Once again, I could think of no other place to be.
I climbed the stairs and made my way to her door. I pressed Mrs. Stokes’s buzzer and waited. I wondered what she would think of my tiny, stupid theft if she ever found out about it. Would she approve? Would she be disappointed?
I pressed the buzzer again. I wondered if she knew about Bridgette Pell. Without a screen, how did she get her news? I hoped she didn’t know what had happened. I think it would have made her feel sadder.
By the time I was ready to press her buzzer a third time, I sensed something was wrong. Why hadn’t she come to the door? Was it possible she wasn’t home? I buzzed again, insistently. I banged on the door, since I couldn’t call to her. Behind me, another apartment door opened. A girl with skin a little darker than mine looked out from the doorway. Her eyes were big and green. I didn’t recognize her from school, but she didn’t look much older than me. She shook her head imperceptibly and then retreated inside.
I couldn’t ask what this meant, and I doubt she could have afforded to say. I listened for movement from inside Mrs. Stokes’s apartment, but I heard nothing. Where could she be?
I decided to wait. I sat in the hall with my back to her door. My body settled down a little, and a giant yawn escaped from me. I closed my eyes and dropped my head to my knees.
I imagined stealing a book for Mrs. Stokes. I imagined pilfering an orange for Sam. My thoughts clouded into dreams and back to desires for all the things we could have that might make life better. Then I thought of Kel and felt another pang of regret for taking the iChit™ player. I felt so stupid for that choice.
Unease threaded through my dreams as Kel chastised me for stealing, or thinking of stealing, or wearing boots that clicked and thudded on roofs. Margot whispered that she knew I was a thief, and Henri shook his head and said he’d been wrong to love me. I couldn’t defend myself. Even in my dreams, I had no voice now.
“Speth?”
I awoke with a start. Mandett Kresh stood over me, looking puzzled. In his hand was a shopping bag filled with UltraGrain Harvest™ Bars. He looked to the door and then back at me.
“Is she...?” His voice trailed away. He tried the buzzer, but I think he knew there would be no answer. The door across the hall had clicked open again.
“Where is she?” Mandett asked the girl with the green eyes.
The girl shook her head, pitifully, the same way she had with me. Mandett’s face contorted and his shoulder sagged with the weight of the bars. Food, I realized, he was bringing to Mrs. Stokes.
“I get it, but this?” he said, loosely zipping his lips. “It isn’t working.” He sat down, his back to Mrs. Stokes’s door.
The girl across the hall slipped back inside.
“I’m going to wait,” he said. Then, after a few moments, he asked, “You think she’ll be back?” When I didn’t answer, he answered himself. “Maybe.”
I couldn’t tell if he was trying to needle me, or if this was a habit of his. He peered over at my Cuff. “I give her an hour.”
I looked down to check the time. My throat grew suddenly tight. I was an hour late for meeting my team. My heart started thumping. How had I let this happen? I jumped up, scrambling for the stairs, and nearly toppled over myself as I decided first to go down, then up—and then worried I wouldn’t be able to get through the rooftop door.
I burst out, finding it not only unlocked, but without so much as a handle. I took running jumps across the rooftops and made for my locker.
Kel had never discussed what would happen if I was late. She probably did not consider it an option. My back grew wet and tingly as I changed. I raced through the city, panicked I had made a terrible mistake.
I dropped onto the roof of the Mandolin Inks™ building where we were supposed to meet. The rooftop was deserted. How long had they waited? Had they waited at all?
I scanned in every direction, looking for the nearly invisible signs of the team. I saw nothing. The roof offered no clue about what direction they might have gone, or if anyone had even been there.
An hour passed. I paced the roof, biting my knuckles, worrying about what would happen now, and what had happened to Mrs. Stokes and what would become of all of us. I scanned the city over and over, trying not to think the worst.
What if Kel knew about the iChit™ player? What would she do? An icy chill ran down my spine. If Kel knew what I had done, and then I didn’t show up for our meeting, what picture would that paint of me?
Even though it was foolish, I picked the lock on the roof door and scrambled down into the Mandolin Inks™ building, hoping to find a Squelch.
I had no Pad. I had no idea if the Squelch existed, and even if one did, and I could find it, what good did I think that would do? Did I really believe Kel, Henri and Margot had been sitting below me in a Squelch for three hours? That made no sense.
Heart pounding, I returned to the roof and considered my options. I could wait and hope they would come for me, or—what? I dropped my head in my hands. What else could I do? Give up?
So I waited. I waited and hoped my punishment would be to spend the night twenty stories up under threat of losing my job. I dreaded the lecture Kel would give when it was all over, but more than that, I feared she wouldn’t come.
What if I never saw them again? What if I had blown my only chance to keep my family together? It was almost too much to imagine.
I sat for hours, until the dark, translucent gray of the dome flushed blue, then pink. As the colors changed, signaling dawn, the dregs of my hope ebbed away. The dome flared orange as the sun crested the distant horizon. A nauseating pit hardened in my gut. They truly weren’t coming.
My limbs were cold in the damp morning air. The city slowly woke around me, oblivious and unconcerned with me and my silence.
I forced myself to believe the Placers would find me again. Kel or Margot or Henri, I thought, might be watching right now, and I took comfort in that hope. Without them, I had nothing.
It would end, I told myself, with a flashing dot in my vision, or with Henri swooping down and pulling me away to follow. But then any hope I might have had was obliterated.
An Ad popped up on my Cuff, glowing and cheerful—a swirl of girly violets and pink offering me a better-smelling life with Jasminell™ Antiperspirant. I was ripe from panic, effort and worry; any Cuff could sniff that. But this meant something worse. Somewhere in the city, Kel must have finished the night’s Placement and canceled my contract. My Placer’s protection against random Ads popping up was at an end. I was finished.