Swipe (4 page)

Mr. Arbitor pointed to his Mark over the connection and winked.

“You're not going to tell me, are you?” Erin said. She was tired of her father's deflections, and for the first time, she had a reason to care.

“Government work,” Mr. Arbitor said. And he ended the call.

Erin stared at the box under her hands. “DOME,” it read across the top. “CONFIDENTIAL.” Erin knew it was not hers to open. She knew it was strictly her father's, his documents from the Department, which at any other time would be locked away in so remote a corner that Erin wouldn't even think to look. And yet, in the haste and chaos of the move, here they were, right in front of her, separated from Erin by only a thin layer of cardboard and some tape.

Under ordinary circumstances, Erin wouldn't have dreamed of opening the box. Under ordinary circumstances, she couldn't have imagined anything inside being of any interest. But Erin was angry, and lonely, and far from home. She wanted, she
deserved
, to know why. So Erin peeled the tape from the lid.

It took her several minutes to remove the strip without tearing the cardboard underneath. She knew there could not be a trace of what she had done.

Her heart pounded. In all his years with the Department, Mr. Arbitor hadn't once brought home a story, hadn't once shared a single interesting thing he'd done that day. What could anything inside this box possibly reveal? She hadn't a clue.

And in fact, even if she had, it would not have prepared her for what she found.

THREE
FIRST DAY, NEW FACE

1

T
HE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL AT SPOKIE MIDDLE
was always pandemonium. Logan stood in the Freshwater Wing and noticed how the white-water rapids in the windows bore such close resemblance to the students crashing down the hall.

“I forgot how to read!” someone boasted as he walked by with a circle of friends.

“I can't hold a stylus anymore!” shouted another, waving one around as if he'd never seen anything like it.

The laughter and yelling of reunions in every direction were rough and unforgiving; Logan twisted and spun as the student body flowed violently past.

Everywhere, people compared tans, new clothes, dropped voices, Marks . . . each worn like a badge of honor. Logan decided to skip the parade and head straight for class.

“Hey, Logan, where you runnin' off to?” said a voice somewhere behind him. It was Dane Harold, Logan's best friend and life preserver in the turbulent social waters of Spokie Middle Development.

“Dane!” Logan said. “How ya been?!”

It had been weeks since the two had seen each other, since Dane had spent most of the summer with relatives in downtown New Chicago.

“I'm good, man, I'm good. Not looking forward to computer science, though. I hear we're getting into compiler construction this year. I barely even remember how to quicksort.”

“First period?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, right now.”

“Me too, man. That's awesome!” So the two of them made their way to the Old City Wing.

“Hey, it's Tom,” Dane said, pointing the class president out across the hall. “Tom! You look awful! Didn't anyone tell you we were just on summer break?” It was only friendly teasing, but Logan couldn't help noticing Dane was right. Tom looked like he hadn't slept in days.

“I'm Pledging tomorrow,” Tom said. “Been prepping all weekend.”

“Right on, man! Good luck!” Dane said. And he and Logan pushed onward down the hall. “I turn at the beginning of next month,” Dane told Logan. “Then I can finally start getting paid for my gigs. Stop relying on my stupid parents. First thing I'm gonna buy are some new wailing mitts.”

Dane was a cyberpunk rocker by night, lead singer and mitt wailer of his band, the Boxing Gloves. Even now he wore reminders of this alter ego—pants with a few wires coming out of them and a shirt that changed color with the temperature but always remained some shade of black. The look was out of style, a holdover from the late pre-Unity period and flashier than the modest, practical (
boring
) clothes worn these days, but Dane liked how it made him look different from the other students at Spokie Middle. His own quiet rebellion.

“November for me,” Logan said. “Can't say I'm very much looking forward to it, though.”

“Why not?” Dane asked, kicking another kid's leg.

“Hey, watch it!” The kid swung around, but his expression immediately brightened when he saw it was Dane. “Dane! How ya been? Find me at lunch, okay?” Logan didn't know the guy, but it never ceased to amaze him how much everyone liked Dane.

“You got it,” Dane said. Then he turned back to Logan and continued their conversation as if uninterrupted. “Why wouldn't you want the Mark?”

“Well . . . you know . . . my sister,” Logan said, and Dane stopped dead in his tracks.

“I forgot,” he said sincerely. “I'm sorry.” It was moments like this that made him such a good friend.

Dane elected to stay in the hall another few minutes, joking around and teasing girls he thought were cute, but Logan was eager to get to class. Even in school he worried about being followed, and in the hallways it was always too crowded to tell for sure who was watching. Logan hated crowds.

Being the first one in, he had his pick of seats, so as usual, Logan chose a back row desk in the corner. He liked to be able to see the whole room in front of him, with his back to the wall. More comfortable that way. Safer.

The rest of his classmates arrived in a trickle at first, like a leak from the flood of students outside, but by the time the bell rang, the room was buzzing with the same crowded energy as the halls, and Logan thought of this as a cruel trick of osmosis. He was glad to have no one behind him.

“Hello, world,” Mr. Arty said, just as Mr. Arty had every morning for twenty years.

“Hello, Mr. Arty,” the students said in a lackadaisical attempt at unison.

It was only their first day of school, but all of the kids in Spokie Middle already knew Mr. Arty well, as he'd taught each of them since the first grade. Mr. Arty was famous in Spokie, known well by parents and students as the best computer programming teacher around, and that was in large part because Mr. Arty was a computer program himself.

Not one to waste time with small talk or tangents, Mr. Arty launched straight into the day's lesson, appearing in holographic form on everyone's tablet computers simultaneously, each instance of him discussing with passion the intricacies of how one might go about passing the Turing Test.

2

The rest of the morning was a blur. History this year would focus on the period leading up to the States War and the founding of DOME following the success of the Mark Program in Europe. Mrs. Henry began with a speech trying to personalize the subject for her students by asking any who'd gotten the Mark over the summer to raise their hands and share a little bit about their experience.

“I got a job at the supermarket,” one boy said. “It's nice to be eligible for work.”

“I'm looking forward to voting,” a girl admitted, and the teacher nodded.

“That's right,” she said. “Parliamentary elections this spring. Certainly couldn't have come at a more fascinating time in politics. Has anyone here been following the story between General Lamson and Cylis? Would anyone like to share their thoughts about that?”

Logan raised his hand not once throughout the discussion. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Mrs. Henry much wanted to hear about his family's experiences with the Mark Program; something about his sister's story didn't quite seem to fit with the day's lesson plan.

In math, they learned about imaginary numbers. In art, they drew holograms. In English, they analyzed the themes and common symbolism of modern post-Unity literature.

At lunch, they discussed the new girl.

It wasn't often that Spokie got a transfer student from another town—there might have been one new student a year,
maybe
— and whoever it was invariably became the topic of all September and early October gossip.

“You met her yet?” Dane asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich before he interrupted himself with a look of mild disgust.

“What's the matter?” Logan asked.

“
Quorn
.” He held it out. “I'll trade you.”

Logan scrunched his nose and shook his head. He knew full well that meat was hard to come by since the A.U.'s rapid environmental decline, and that vegetarian alternatives had become increasingly popular in its place, but that didn't make Logan a sucker. “I'll stick with my peanut butter, thanks.”

The two of them sat on the sports lawn with the rest of the eighth graders, who made small clumps around the field and picnicked with their lunch bags, despite the sweltering midday heat.

“Whatever,” Dane said, throwing his sandwich back in its bag.

“I hear she's from Beacon.” Logan shrugged, talking again about the new girl. He always seemed to have interesting gossip; being paranoid had its advantages.

“Oh yeah? I bet she hates Spokie.”

“Apparently her dad's a government guy.”

“Anything interesting?”

Logan frowned. “Standard. Government work. Who knows? Her mom's a big-shot financial something-or-other, though, on Barrier Street.”

Dane frowned. “Well-bred.”

“Looks like it,” Logan agreed.

“Hey, guys . . . happy, uh, lunch break,” Hailey said, creeping up behind them out of nowhere.

“
Man
, Hailey, do you have to do that, always? Act so weird all the time?” Dane turned around, pretending to be annoyed. Hailey laughed but didn't look up from the ground.

“Hi, Hailey,” Logan said, and Hailey waved. She still didn't look up. “You have a good summer?”

“Yes, you?” Hailey kicked idly at a clump of plasti-grass.

“Fine. Hey, we should have hung out more.”

Hailey paused. “What'd you do, Dane?” She eyed his outfit. “Find any time to wash those clothes?”

Dane sneered at her. “Mostly rehearsed with the Boxing Gloves, actually, when I wasn't in New Chicago.”

Hailey shrugged.

“You know,
my band
?” Dane said. “We're playing a concert at the end of the month.
Man
, you're weird. Why are you so weird, Hailey?” Hailey shrugged again. Dane kept talking. “Rode around on my new rollerstick some too. Oh, hey, Logan, did I tell you I got a rollerstick?”

“No. Don't you need a Mark for that?”

“Well . . . fine, it's my dad's, technically. But it'll be mine soon enough! Just four weeks 'til—”

“Your Pledge. We know.” Logan rolled his eyes, and Dane made as if he were going to hit him, playfully.

“Guess that's the other thing I did this summer,” Dane said. “Studied. Quick, ask me anything! Ask me about the Inclusion!”

“Let's not talk about it,” Logan said.

“Mm-hm.” Hailey nodded. No one had anything more to say. “Well, I'll see you, then.” Was it possible Logan saw her wink at him before she walked away? But that was too weird to be true.

As late as fifth grade, Dane, Logan, and Hailey Phoenix had been inseparable. They spent weekends together, they studied together, they played sports together . . . Two years in a row they'd been champions in the Spokie Elementary hover-dodge league, and Logan had been pretty sure it was mainly due to the fact that the three of them had such good communication. A wave of the hand or a nod of the head was all he ever needed from either of them to know exactly what they were going to do next. At night, the three of them would often message one another on their tablets at exactly the same time. On holidays, they'd send identical electronic greeting cards. It was just that kind of friendship.

They'd spent summers together too, at that hippy-dippy sleep-away camp, Underbrush Woods, up north. This was before Lily died, before Logan became afraid he was being followed. Back when he never worried about anything.

They had all liked it there, because the rules were loose, and the three of them could spend their days halfway into the small, thin patches of what remained of A.U.'s northern forest, looking up at the leaves and clouds and talking about how they'd be friends long after each of them was Marked and married and raising grandchildren . . .

Then between fifth and sixth grade, biology played a mean trick. Gradually, Dane realized, much to his alarm, that he might someday like to be more than just friends with Hailey. And that
would
have been fine—a manageable emotion, at least—except for the twist that came one week later, when Hailey approached Dane to admit that
she'd
fallen for
Logan
, and wasn't it funny, and what she really needed to know now was what Dane thought she should do about it.

Logan never did hear about the epic argument that erupted between Dane and Hailey that day. Neither of them told him about the feelings and jealousy Dane admitted to, or of the embarrassment Hailey felt, and Logan never did understand why the relationship between his two closest friends went so suddenly cold in the final weeks of that summer. He assumed it was just natural when Hailey quietly faded from the two boys' lives the following school year; that it was just the course of things when she started spending more and more time with other girls, or when she fell in with those elusive “cooler kids” last year at whom Hailey hinted every once in a while, when the three of them made awkward conversation at lunch or on the way home from school.