6 Digit Passcode (8 page)

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, holding up my hands and shrugging my shoulders. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just… The way the Digits talked to me, it’s like they knew something I didn’t. And Roma, too. I think it’s about my mother. I think she was keeping something from me, and that… hurts.”

Crissy nods like she understands, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t voice her disbelief. She knows that I’m not telling her the truth – at least, not all of it. I’ve decided to keep the latter half of my visit to Cyrus’s lab to myself. Those memories are mine alone.

“I can talk to my mom later if you want,” Crissy offers, swinging her arms at her sides. “But for now I think you just need a break. To rest and… relax, or whatever. Come on, let’s go.”

Though I’m immensely thankful that she’s not pressing the issue, when she reaches out to link her arm around mine I take a step back.

“Thanks, but I can’t skip just because I’m a little tired.” She shoots me a smug look, and I add, “Which I’m
not
. Because I’ve been sleeping
great
.”

“Okay, okay. You win. I guess it’s just me, then. I’ll just have to try and get enough sleep for the both of us.”

She takes a step forward in the opposite direction, but I hook my arm around the crook of her elbow and spin her back around. She’s got a sour expression on her face, but her eyes are bright. Her eyes really are her best feature.

“Nope, not today. You’ve got a Lit exam to make up, and I don’t think any amount of beauty sleep is going to fix
that
.” I point to the pimple on her forehead she’s been trying desperately to hide behind her hair since yesterday afternoon, and she throws her hand over it like I haven’t already seen it.

“Hey, no fair! You were spacing out so badly, I didn’t think you were even
listening
to me.”

“I can’t help it. That
thing
speaks for itself.”

With me running and Crissy chasing me, we make it to school with just a few minutes to spare before the bell rings.

***

“Can anyone tell me what they know about the nation’s Divisions of Power?”

My ears perk up and my pencil pauses over a half-finished doodle of a loaf of bread in the margin of my notebook. We’re supposed to still be learning about the Digital War; the Divisions didn’t come until many years after the Digits won the battle. This is a completely new topic, and Miss L. is the last person I’d expect spontaneity from.

Of course, Archie Carroll is the first to raise his hand. He’s been a know-it-all since we were kids, and it would be endearing if he wasn’t so stuck-up about it. There’s a pile of books and papers stacked as high on his desk as he is tall when seated, and it is from behind this mountain that a hand emerges and wags impatiently until Miss L. calls his name.

I can hear the girl sitting next to me sigh and ruffle through the pages of her textbook, and I would be tempted to continue my drawing and tune out Archie’s voice as best I can if I weren’t so interested in what he has to say for once.

“The Divisions,” Archie wheezes, and I flinch. His voice is like puberty in reverse – every day it gets higher and scratchier, like nails on a chalkboard, “were created as a way to split the power of the nation’s government into groups. So that there’s not just one group of people controlling the whole country.”

“That’s right,” Miss L. says, and I think I almost see the corners of her lips twitch. Archie must really be her favorite student, because I’ve never seen her come that close to genuinely smiling. Or maybe she just enjoys the topic of conversation. “You see, in the past, before peace was established through the Digital War and its proceeding Acts and Laws, the entire country was ruled by a single person. There were many other factions of people involved in making decisions, of course, but the bulk of all chaos was due to the fact that entire
country
was ruled by a single
division
of power.”

This is the first time I’ve ever heard a teacher talk about what life was like
before
the Digital War. Suddenly, I am wide awake and completely alert; I want to absorb every bit of information that I can, because I know that an opportunity like this will not come along a second time.

Archie raises his hand again, even though he really doesn’t need to, and Miss L. gestures to him with her hand.

“Ma’am, if I may? I was just wondering if the Divisions pertain to the sections of land themselves, or to the people living within them? Like, if I were to ever leave this city – not that I would ever even
think
about it, mind you – would I still belong to this Division?”

“An excellent question,” our teacher says, and I can see Archie’s ears turn red from behind his stack of books. “And the answer, to put it simply, is ‘yes’. Though rare as it may be, those who choose to travel outside of this city’s walls are still responsible for what takes place here. Were there ever to be a war, or something like one, they would then be considered to be on
enemy territory
.”

The girl beside me sighs again and raises her hand, but begins speaking before Miss L. has had the time to call on her. “A war between Divisions? What are the chances of that happening?”

The teacher’s eyes narrow and the girl looks down, her bangs dropping over her face and her hands in her lap.

“I would remind you not to speak unless spoken to, in the future,” Miss L. warns. “And a war between the Divisions is possible, if unlikely. But we must always be prepared, just in case.”

Is it my imagination, or was she looking at me the entire time she answered the question? I shiver unconsciously, and the Digit shakes her head almost imperceptibly before turning her attention to the board behind her.

There is a long rectangle of erasable white-board at the front of the room, and Miss L. removes a marker from a drawer in her desk and begins to draw on it. At first, I don’t recognize the image, until I see the outline of my city start to form. She draws ten large chunks of land, with my hometown resting just north of the center, and labels them with the numbers 1 through 10.

I know before she clarifies it that these are the Divisions of our country. If I am reading the map correctly, that puts our city within the limits of Division 6.

“There are ten Divisions. Each one contains its own Council, and its own set of rules. As such, it is not uncommon for arguments and tensions to build between multiple Divisions. But so long as no one steps out of line, war can easily be avoided.”

I wish I could pretend I didn’t just see her eyes train on me for a second before turning back towards the white-board. I get the uncomfortable sense that she’s
accusing
me of something, just like Tesla did back at the lab, but I have no idea what. A war? There’s no way I could ever have anything to do with a war.

“Miss L.?” a tall, lanky boy with shoulder-length blond hair and freckles asks from the back of the classroom.

“Yes, Terry?”

“It’s just… I don’t mean anything rude by it, but if there’s so much fighting between the Divisions right now, how could it have been so bad to have just one group of people in charge? At least that way, there would be no internal conflict. Everyone would kind of
have
to work together to come up with the rules, wouldn’t they?”

The look Miss L. gives the poor boy is one I would not wish on my worst enemy, if I had one. Well, maybe Tesla, but that’s just because I think it would be nice to see her get a taste of her own medicine. But Terry looks like he’s going to melt into his chair, and though I pity him, I am also very thankful that he’s taken her attention off of me for the time being.

“No,” the Digit says simply, turning around and rubbing the marker lines off of the board with a cloth eraser. “Do you wish that the Digits were never created?”

Her question shocks me in more ways than one. It’s the first time I’ve heard her talk about her race as
creations
, like experiments formed in a lab. Like robots, maybe, or some other inhuman being. That means that they were created
by
someone. Is it possible that
humans
, the very beings that the Digits now rule, were responsible for the creation of their own masters?

What Miss L. asks makes me wonder what I would answer, were the question directed at me.
Do
I wish that the Digits didn’t exist? If they didn’t, my parents would still be alive. But I don’t know what kind of life they would be living, and I don’t know if I would ever want to risk finding out.

“O-of course not,” Terry answers, and the rest of the class nods in agreement.

Miss L. smiles smugly and looks right at me. I stare back nervously, and I answer her silent question with the shake of my head.

Why do I feel like I’ve already started a war?

Chapter eight

Nearly two weeks have passed since I last saw Cyrus, Tesla, and the other Digits in the lab. I would be lying if I said I didn’t expect Cyrus to be waiting for me on the doorstep the next morning, but I’m surprised to find Roma cooking breakfast and not a single intruder on our stoop. I even open the door and peek outside, but Cyrus is nowhere to be seen.

My life has gone back to normal – or as close as it can be, given everything that has happened to me recently – since then. Miss L. is back to talking about the Digital War, and from the way she acts it’s like she never mentioned the Divisions at all. But every so often I’ll catch her watching me, and her gaze sends a prickle down my spine. I wonder if Tesla has told her something about me, but what is there to tell? I didn’t do anything wrong. At least, not that I know of.

On my first day back at work I am assigned the duty of stitching up holes and mending split seams in the clothing of the people in our neighborhood. I’m not very good at sewing, but Roma is teaching me, and I take this as a good opportunity for me to ask her what she’s not telling me about Cyrus and the other Digits.

She responds with the same look on her face as the day Cyrus came to her house looking for me: a mixture of shock, confusion, and pity.

“Everly…”

“Please, Roma,” I press. “I need to know. I’m… I’m scared. You know what they want, don’t you?”

I’m trying to sew a patch over a hole in the knee of a pair of khaki pants, but every time I try to tie the end of my thread I accidentally end up breaking it. Roma is putting new buttons down the front of a plaid shirt, and she’s already finished several other projects in the time it’s taken me to complete my first.

Roma sighs and pulls a new spool of white thread. She shakes her head slowly and smoothes out the fabric in her hands.

“Not exactly, no,” she begins. “I have an idea, yes, but I didn’t want to tell you until I was certain.”

“What is it? Why can’t you just tell me now?”

Roma looks worried. I
feel
worried.

“I don’t want you to fret over something that may not even come to pass.” She finishes sewing the final button on and folds the shirt neatly before laying it in the laundry basket on the floor beside her; we will have to wash these clothes before we return them, and iron them if necessary.

“But what if it does?” I feel like she’s not going to tell me. Maybe if I push just a
little
farther…

“Then we’ll deal with it then.”

“Roma, you know that’s not – ”

She cuts me off before I can finish. “Your mother…,” she begins, and I shut my mouth so hard I can hear my teeth clack together; “Your mother didn’t want this to happen. She did everything she could to stop it. But she also made me promise to keep it from you for as long as I could. You don’t need that kind of burden on your shoulders.”

My heart flutters and my hands start sweating so badly I can hardly keep hold of my needle. I try to finish my sewing, but every time I make a stitch it ends up being crooked and I have to pull it out and start over.

My mind is racing; I have so many questions, I’m not sure which one I want answered the most. My mother told Roma something – something involving
me
. My mother
knew
about what the Digits were planning, and she didn’t tell me. Instead, she told Roma. She trusted her
friend
with information she should have been telling her
daughter
.

I take a deep breath, and it turns into a cough on the way out. “Wh – what did my mother…” I start, pausing to gather the words before I say them. “What did she tell you? I need to know. If she… if that’s why they killed her, then you have to tell me. I can’t…”