Fade Out by Nova Ren Suma

Author:Nova Ren Suma [Suma, Nova Ren]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sorry, Wrong Number

So, way back a long time ago, before phones came in pink and could fit in your pocket, they were fat and black and needed a whole table to stand on. I learned that this summer, from the movies.

Back then, if you wanted to make a call, you called the operator and she’d connect you. In the movie Sorry, Wrong Number the femme fatale, Barbara Stanwyck, is sick and stuck in bed. She’s all alone, and has no one to talk to, so she keeps trying to reach someone, anyone, on the phone. But when the operator connects her, the lines cross and she overhears a whole other conversation instead. Two men are planning to kill someone that night. She just heard a big secret she wasn’t supposed to—and you can’t sit tight and do nothing after that, right?

Right?

I cross the street toward the Little Art. Unfortunately, Austin’s the one at the ticket booth, and when he sees me he starts waving. He’s not going to let me in without a ticket, I just know it. I sigh and skulk on over.

“Don’t give me a hard time today,” I tell him. “I’m not in the mood. You won’t believe what my mom says I have to do.”

“Fine,” he says from behind the glass, “I won’t give you a hard time.” Then he adds, “Wait, you’re not going away, right?” He looks a little freaked out.

“Going away where?”

“To your dad’s, for the rest of the summer…”

The horror of these words cannot be measured. But what’s weird is Austin’s face as he waits for my response. It’s like he really wants me to stay in Shanosha. Like he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if I wasn’t here.

“As if you’d miss me,” I say.

For a second there, I see it clear: He would miss me.

He chops that thought down fast. “No, it’d be great,” he says. “I wouldn’t have to police the theater looking for loiterers, which means I could actually do my job.”

“One, you don’t really have a job. And two, that’s what you think I’m doing? Loitering?”

“I don’t know, Dani, when’s the last time you actually paid for a ticket?” He searches my face. “Can’t remember, can you? I could report you to the authorities, you know. You could be banned from the premises if I said the word.”

“Then say the word.”

He does not say a word.

“Anyway,” I continue, “you won’t believe what my mom said. She wants me to help at the paper for the rest of the summer. She wants me to be—get this—an intern.”

“Cool,” he says.

So not the right answer. Before I can blast him, we’re interrupted by the sharp squawk of his walkie-talkie. He jumps, like he does every time that thing goes off. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.

“Hey, cuz. You there?” comes a staticky voice through the walkie. Jackson.

I am not here, I mouth through the glass. Let’s hope Austin can read lips. I want to listen in without Jackson knowing.

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