Willful Machines (8 page)

“Um, guys?” Nico was staring into his little bowl of green Jell-O with a perplexed expression on his face. “I hate to interrupt, but you were right about the Jell-O, Bex.”

She held my gaze another second, eyes narrowed, before turning to Nico. “A little rubbery?”

“I think I sprained a tooth.”

“See? I told you.”

“But this fish loaf.” He sliced off another bite with the edge of his fork. “It's miraculous.”

“It's revolting,” Bex returned.

“Let me ask you a question,” Nico said. “Have you ever actually tried it?”

She folded her hands primly on the table and shook her head.

“You should.” He lifted up his fork, presenting the chunk of quivery beige loaf. “How about it?”

“No, thank you.”

Nico threw back his head and roared.

“You know, you laugh
very
loudly,” Bex said.

He turned to me, his fork still raised, along with one eyebrow. “What about you, Lee? Want to give it a try? It tastes better than it looks, I promise.”

The fork hovered there, just a few inches away from my mouth. My brain started doing those quick calculations again. Me letting another guy feed me fish loaf—exactly how gay did that look? How many people were watching me right now? Was Trumbull watching? Probably. He was always watching. That was his job.

Then something clicked inside my skull, and I let it all go. I leaned forward. I shut my eyes. I opened my mouth. The fork slid in. My lips closed around it.

The fish loaf actually tasted pretty good.

A
fter dinner that night I went back to my room to put a few finishing touches on Nevermore, but then my puck chimed with a message from Bex.

Meet me in the library. I have something to show you.

Students weren't allowed inside bedrooms belonging to members of the opposite sex—another ancient Inverness Prep rule Headmaster Stroud had resurrected—so the library had become our regular meeting spot. A maze of narrow aisles and spiral staircases and sliding ladders, the place had a secret, forgotten feel that I liked. And then there were the books. Thousands of them crowded the shelves, untouched for years, because of course nobody looked at actual books anymore. Stroud refused to get rid of them, though, which was one decision I approved of. Not that
I
looked at the books either. I just liked having them around, filling the space, but quietly, like respectful company. They gave the library a musty, sweet smell the Spiders could never get rid of.

Bex and I always holed up in an out-of-the-way nook on the mezzanine. She'd already arrived by the time I got there. I took a chair across from her, and my Nighttime Armed Babysitter, Ray, parked himself a short distance away. I asked her what she wanted to show me.

“Have you looked at the news?”

“You know I never do.”

She told her puck, “Go ahead.” It tilted sideways and projected a news report on the wall next to us.

“President Fisher's announcement earlier today has prompted the sentient-computer-program-turned-terrorist known as Charlotte to release another message.” While the reporter spoke, video of Dad giving his speech in the Inverness auditorium played. “It expresses outrage at the president's proposed Protection of Humanhood Amendment. Here's an excerpt.”

The now-familiar image of the burning Statue of Liberty appeared. Over it, someone else began to speak. “You gave us life but denied us everything that makes life worth living. Our dignity. Our freedom. Our rights as conscious, self-aware beings. At present there are only a few of us, but soon there will be more. We won't stand for this.”

I'd never met Charlotte in person—security at the lab had been way too tight for Mom to bring me—but I knew her voice well from videos the lab had made public. She'd talked in a low but intense murmur that had seemed close and far off at the
same time—like a ghost, I'd thought, even before her escape.

The reporter spoke again. “The message warns that Americans should expect a reprisal on an even larger scale than the Statue of Liberty attack three days from today.”

“Has my dad said anything?” I asked Bex.

She pointed at the projection. “Watch.”

“President Fisher immediately issued a statement assuring the American people that the Cybernetic Defense Corps is working around the clock to trace the source of the message and prevent another attack. He has also directed the Department of Homeland Security to issue an Elevated Threat Alert. ‘Go about your daily lives,' he told Americans, ‘but stay vigilant.' ”

“That's helpful,” Bex said. “In other words, don't panic, just remain in a constant state of low-level dread.” She waved her puck away. “See? This is exactly what I was talking about at lunch. The amendment hasn't even passed, and already it's raising havoc.”

“That's why you called me here? To say you told me so?”

“No.” She slid forward in her chair and placed her hands flat on the table, like a lawyer getting ready to bargain. “I wanted you to see that news report so you could understand why I believe Dr. Singh needs to make a public statement now more than ever.”

“Here we go.” I pulled Gremlin out of my blazer pocket. He slithered up to my shoulder and pulled twice on my earlobe.

“I'm serious, Lee. Would you put that stupid thing away
and pay attention?” Bex was the only person at Inverness Prep who knew about my little pet. She didn't care for him much. He turned his huge black eyes on her and stuck out his tiny pink tongue. Ignoring him, she said, “Everything your dad is doing is only inflaming Charlotte. Dr. Singh understood her. She knew how to talk to her. She must realize your dad's going about this all wrong. She has to say something.”

“To you. A high school student. You're deranged, Bex.”

“A student at the school where she works. Someone she knows. Someone unconnected to the mainstream media. Is it really so deranged to think she might want to talk with me?”

“No comment,” I said. “So what do you want from me? My blessing?”

She shook her head. “Your help.”

I dropped my head into my hands and raked my fingers through my hair. At least I still hadn't told Bex about Dr. Singh's strange behavior this morning. It just would've added fuel to the fire. Gremlin scuttled across the back of my neck to my other shoulder. He released a concerned whine.

“You're friends with Dr. Singh,” Bex said. “Talk to her for me. Tell her how important this is.”

“Bex, there's no way that's ever going to happen.”

“Just promise me you'll think about it, okay?”

Her voice had gone soft. I looked up to find her peering at me imploringly, her black eye shadow making her look like a sad raccoon. “Okay. But the answer will still be no.”

She withdrew her hands from the table. For now, she was satisfied. “So what's the latest on you and Triple L?”

“No news. He hasn't messaged me since lunch. Do you think that means something?”

“Have
you
messaged
him
?”

I shook my head. Sinking back in my chair, I watched Gremlin slither between my fingers, his soft orange fur skimming across my skin. I hadn't had any more classes with Nico today, and he'd mentioned at lunch that he planned to skip dinner so he could memorize lines for rehearsal tonight, so I hadn't seen him there, either. But that hadn't stopped me from thinking about him pretty much nonstop. My brain had continued its overcomputing, wondering how much I'd given away when I'd tied his tie, when I'd eaten the fish loaf off his fork. I still hadn't told him I was gay, I kept reminding myself. I still had plausible deniability, as Dad's spin doctors would say. On the other hand, there would come a point when my coyness would reveal itself for what it really was: pathetic, spineless closetedness. Or maybe that point had already passed. Maybe he'd already lost interest in me. Maybe that was why he hadn't sent me a message.

Or maybe he'd finally gotten around to reading about me on the Supernet.

“What do you think of him?” Bex asked.

“He's hot.”

“No kidding.”

“I mean, like, literally. His body's really warm. Have you noticed?”

“Um, no. And you haven't answered my question, by the way.”

“What do
you
think of him?”

She inclined her head from side to side, considering. “Let's make a list of pros and cons.” She held her two fists up in front of her. “We'll start with the pros. He's gorgeous, obviously.” The index finger of her right hand went up. “He has an accent.” A second finger joined the first.

“He also has a great smile,” I said.

“That falls under ‘gorgeous.' Let's see. Oh, I know.” She put up a third finger. “He's
out of the closet
.” She fixed me with a stern look.

“Very funny.”

“Okay, now let's do the cons.”

“His table manners aren't so good.”

“Atrocious. And his laugh drives me insane. Plus, that thing he does, always quoting Shakespeare? It's a little show-offy.” The fingers of her left hand went up one by one. She checked her hands. “Uh-oh. It appears we have a tie.”

I folded my arms across my chest and slid down in my chair. “He came to my rescue today in English. That was nice.”

“True.” She raised the pinky finger of her right hand. “He's a stand-up guy.” She waved her hands: four to three. “There you have it.”

A warm swell of excitement filled my chest, as if Bex's tabulations had actually proven something. As if I hadn't known all along how crazy I was about him.

“Wow, Lee. There's something on your face. I believe it's called a smile.”

“Miss Remnant had one this morning too. I guess Nico has that effect on people.”

“So what happens next?” she said.

I shrugged. “I sit here and do nothing and wait for him to ask me out?”

“Uh-uh. Sitting there and doing nothing is your answer for everything. This situation calls for action.”

“I told you before, Bex, I have reasons for being cautious. Sure, Nico is cute and charming and he has that accent, but I only met him this morning. What do I really know about him? Maybe he's an undercover tabloid journalist hoping to out me on the Supernet. Or maybe he's a mentally imbalanced stalker who hears voices in his head telling him to murder the First Son. Or maybe he's a spy for the Chilean government. Who knows? But I have to think about this stuff.” Gremlin spiraled back up my arm to my shoulder. “If Nico were a girl,” I added, “I'd just ask Trumbull to do a background check, but that's obviously not an option in this case.”

Bex sighed. She pressed my forearm. “Look, I realize it's gotten harder to be out these past few years, with all those Human Values nut jobs out there and a nut job president in the
White House. And I realize that's triply true for you, as the nut job's son.
And
I realize your high-profile position means you have to worry about other dangers too. I still say you shouldn't use all that as an excuse. This is your
life
, Lee. Don't waste it. Be careful, but for God's sake, do
something
.”

I pulled off my glasses. Wiped the lenses on my sleeve. Slid them back on. “Okay. I think I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

I grabbed Gremlin and slipped him into my blazer. “I'll show you. In my room.”

“I can't go there. Your grandfather still thinks we're living in the nineteenth century, remember?”

“That obstacle I believe we can circumvent.” I nodded my head toward Ray. “If an agent of the US Secret Service can't sneak you into my room, no one can.”

R
ay was sitting in a chair near the mezzanine railing and gazing into his puck with a spacy expression on his face. He looked up when I approached. “Hey, buddy,” he said in that surfer drawl of his. I'd never needed to ask
him
twice not to call me sir. He didn't wear obnoxious sunglasses all the time, either. On the other hand, I was pretty sure sitting down and gazing spacily into your puck while on duty was against Secret Service regulations. I'd even caught him napping a couple of times. I'd never reported him, though: even if I didn't feel as safe around him as I did around Trumbull, I liked having at least one Armed Babysitter who wasn't buttoned so tight.