Strange Days by Constantine J. Singer

Author:Constantine J. Singer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2018-12-03T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Two

I didn’t even want to wake up this morning because I didn’t want to have a birthday. Paul didn’t mention it at all, which was good. I don’t think I could have dealt with a “happy birthday” from him first thing. And nobody else said anything either.

We don’t say much through breakfast, and when we get to the glide chamber, he offers to let me go down first. No rock-paper-scissors, no nothing.

“Thanks,” I manage before lying down.

Darkness. Light.

It’s dark. We’re in Jordan’s bed, the scrim curtains pulled around between the posts to obscure us. The lights are off, leaving only the tablet’s glow, which makes everything look ghostly and sick.

SECRYPT is open, Will’s name is throbbing, a camera icon flashes in time with vibrations from the tablet.

Jordan has spent the last forty-five minutes preparing for this moment. Her hair is brushed and clipped back on the left side behind her ear. The blue silk button-up pajama top she’s wearing was the end product of a twenty-minute decision, about which she’s still not entirely sure. The white thermal top with red piping may have been better. She chose against it because she thought it might look too young, but now, as Will is calling, she’s suddenly sure that any pajama top is going to make her look like a child.

She should have stayed dressed, but that would’ve taken explaining if anybody saw her—it’s after midnight, but it’s only just after nine in where Will lives in Cle Elum in Washington State. He couldn’t call until after church.

“Suck it up,” she says to herself, taps the camera. The screen goes dark momentarily, sending a wave of adrenaline through us because we’re sure we’ve just lost the call, but then the darkness resolves into an image, flat at first like an old photograph, then stretching out into three dimensions.

It’s Will. He cocks his head slightly to the side, like he’s having trouble seeing her. She checks her own image in the bottom. She’s shrouded, grainy. It’s impossible to tell what she’s wearing or what she looks like.

“Hey, Rapunzel.” Will’s voice sounds clear and present in her pod, like he’s there with her, in her head. His voice is deep, a musical rumble.

“Hello, Prince.” Then: “Can you see me?”

He smiles. It’s goofy, a little lopsided. Shakes his head. “Not really—it’s dark . . .”

“Sec.” She drops the tablet and leans backward, reaching through the scrim to the bedside table where her light is. She clicks it on—it’s blindingly bright, makes us squint against it, washes out all the colors and leaves a flashing imprint on her eyes. She sits up and adjusts the tablet, scanning her picture in the process.

She’s clear. She’s side-lit, her hair shines in it. The blue was a good choice. “That better?”

He smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s better.”

“How’s Cle Elum today?”

“I’ll show you.” He stands up, takes the tablet with him. She follows him into a hallway, down a flight of stairs. He narrates as he goes: “Hall—bathroom, brother’s room, parents’ room, stairs, living room.

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