The Limit (26 page)

I turned fast to Agent Peterson. “She’s going to the roof. There’s a Personal Mini Copter up there!”

You’d have thought a bomb was about to go off under Honey Lady’s desk the way the agents tore out of that office. I followed. They all sprinted for the back set of emergency stairs. That would take way too long. I bolted through the lobby to the elevator and pushed the button to open it.

“Matthew Dunston!” I yelled before the doors even slid shut. Within a few seconds I arrived on the top floor, zipped out of the elevator, and dashed into the stairwell. I ran up the stairs three at a time and burst through the rooftop door.

Honey Lady stood inside a fenced-off tennis court next to the skylights from the top floor. Jeffery’s PMC sat in the middle of the brand-new, never-been-used, didn’t-even-have-a-net-up tennis court. I gave my head a shake. Kids in other workhouses got to play in their rooftop tennis courts, but not us. No. In order for us to do that, we’d have to have access to the stairs, and if we had access to the stairs, we’d be able to go to other floors.
Honey Lady wasn’t having any of that in
her
workhouse.

The court was located next to the skylights, as close to the center of the roof as possible—probably to help keep any wild balls that made it over the top of the fence from falling off the building. The location would make the PMC very difficult to see from the ground—which is why its existence had been a surprise to the agents.

“Hey!” I yelled, running toward the court. Looking up at me, Honey Lady pinched the padlock on the gate closed, shutting me out. She sprinted toward the helicopter. The fence stretched tall above me—to contain those stray balls—but the openings between the chain links were big enough for my feet to slip into easily. I’d made it to the top before the agents slammed through the second doorway on the other side of the roof. Honey Lady dropped Jeffery’s keys on the ground and stopped to pick them up. She glanced at me and, with a little squeal, lunged into the PMC. I practically slid down the fence and into the court. Her frantic squeaks continued as she strapped herself into the one seat of the little helicopter.

Three male agents simultaneously tried to climb the fence, but their big shoes kept slipping out of the links, and none of them could make it more than a few feet off the ground. A fourth agent tried to break the lock on the gate with his bare hands.

The blades of the copter started whirling.

“Stop!” I yelled. Honey Lady probably couldn’t even hear me anymore—not that it would have made a difference. How could I stop her? Her eyes darted back and forth as she studied the controls. As far as I knew, PMCs were fairly simple to operate. She’d be in the air in no time.

A female agent arrived and with her smaller feet quickly climbed the fence. If I could just hold Honey Lady here for a minute or two longer . . . I noticed a big plastic storage box sitting next to a bench by the fence. There had to be tennis rackets inside. I yanked open the box. I could take a racket, jam it between the helicopter blades—and rip my arm off in the process. Hey! There were basketballs inside the box too. With a quick glance I noticed the hoops on either end of the court.

Basketballs.

The opening of that helicopter should be much easier to shoot through than a hoop.

Come on, Matt, an easy shot.

Honey Lady let out a little scream, wincing at the approaching ball. I missed, banging the top of the copter to the side of the opening.

Twelve divided by four equals three.

I shot again, Honey Lady squealed again. Another miss. I was down to .75.

The storage box didn’t hold too many more balls. Honey Lady sat up straight; she was finished fiddling with the instrument panel. Her fingers curled around the steering stick.

I grabbed another ball.
Make it more like a hard pass than a shot—it’s not that high.
Honey Lady shrieked, ducking sideways as the ball slammed into her shoulder. Yes! I was up to 6! Or 3.75 if I used Lester’s calculating system and 2.625 if I used Brennan’s.

I fired off a few more shots, keeping Honey Lady distracted and unbalanced—and out of the air. With a grunt, the agent swung her leg over the top of the fence.

“Hurry!” I yelled. “I’m on my last basketball.”

The entire fence shuddered as she made her hasty, half-falling descent. My last ball flew through the air, and the agent followed it fast in a crouching run. She grabbed Honey Lady’s shoulder, unbuckled the straps, and yanked her out of the helicopter before she’d recovered from her last hit from the ball.

I slumped down on the bench, resting my head in my hands, my fingers threading into my hair.

Breathe. You can breathe now.

Long minutes passed. Short Gorilla Guard arrived and cut through the lock. Several agents walked Honey Lady past me. I sat up tall. Little frizzes of hair stuck out all over her head. Her eyes looked red and puffy, and her
usual smooth confidence was nowhere to be seen.

She shot a hot glare in my direction.

“You can’t be mad at me,” I said, shrugging. “I was only following your instructions. You’re the one who told me to go ahead and try to get the story out.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she sputtered out a few incoherent words as the agents pulled her off of the court.

Bye, Honey Lady.

JEFFERY AND I WERE SITTING IN THE
cushy chairs in the lobby of the FDRA workhouse. Seven months had passed since I’d first come to live here.

“Isn’t Lauren supposed to come down?” he asked.

“She won’t miss this,” I said, my fingers drumming out a fast beat on the armrest. She’d die if she didn’t get here in time. “Look, there’s Paige!”

As she walked down the short hallway from the elevator, Paige wore a smile so bright it would have glowed in the dark. She waved at me, but her real smile was for the people sitting in the chairs across from Jeffery and me. They sprang to their feet when they saw her.

Paige dropped her duffel bag and ran and jumped into their arms. They all hugged and cried and hugged some more.

“Good, I didn’t miss it,” said Lauren as she ran up behind me. “I forgot I had vacuuming duty. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to say good-bye.”

“Naw, Paige wouldn’t have left without a slobbery hug from her best friend.” I jabbed her in the ribs as she stood leaning against my chair.

“I don’t know,” said Lauren. “I think she’s forgotten all about this place already.”

She hadn’t. Within a few minutes Paige let go of her parents. Her dad picked up the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. Her mom still held on to Paige’s hands, but eventually she let go and allowed her to walk over to us. Jeffery and I stood up. Lauren ran forward and hugged her.

“Bye, Paige. I’ll miss you,” she said.

“I’ll miss you, too,” said Paige. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she turned to Jeffery and me. “Good-bye, you guys. I can’t believe it. I’m going home!”

“You deserve it,” I said. “You worked really hard.”

“I never would’ve made it out of here without you two.” She gave Jeffery a short, stooped hug. “Thank you.” She let go of him and grabbed me tight around the neck. “Thank you, Matt. I’m never going to forget you.” She started to let go, but paused and whispered, “I liked the kiss.”

And then she whirled away. Her words had come out so soft and fast it took me a moment to process them. By that time Paige was back with her parents, walking toward the reception desk where Crab Woman used
to sit. My cheeks burned, and I felt a lurch inside my stomach. That kiss had been pretty great. I hoped Paige remembered to e-mail me. She’d promised she would. How soon would it come? That night?

Lauren, Jeffery, and I watched from a distance as Paige’s parents signed some forms. Mrs. Marcus, the woman who had taken over Crab Woman’s job, talked them through the process. Just like checking out of a hotel. We waved one last time as Paige and her parents walked out the front door.

“Lauren, sweetie, come on over here and get a piece of gum.”

“Okay!” Lauren skipped to Mrs. Marcus’s desk and plucked a bright round gumball out of a crystal dish. Mrs. Marcus had more energy than Nana did, even though she seemed a little older.

“What about you, Matt, Jeffery?”

I waved her off. “I’m okay.”

“It’s shaping up to be a beautiful fall day. You kids planning on playing outside?”

“Sure. Maybe,” I said. “Later, during lunch break.”

“Go up to the roof, and I’ll take you on in a game of HORSE.”

I had to laugh. “You’re on.” Mrs. Marcus could probably beat Brennan or Lester if they had been here, but she’d have to work hard to get the better of me—especially
now that I didn’t have an ankle monitor weighing me down anymore.

“Hey, Matt!” Brock Reginald and Gorilla Man walked down the hall behind the reception desk toward us. Now that he wasn’t subjected to constant doses of electro-info-dumping, Brock had turned back into a normal human being. He no longer had the brains of a Top Floor, but—from what I gathered—he was at about a fourth-floor level and had found his calling working with the security guards. He’d been redesigning their monitoring systems, and my guess was there was no way I’d be able to cause another blackout of the system again—not that I needed to.

“Brock, bud, how’s it going?”

“Good.”

“Keeping us safe?”

“You bet!”

Gorilla Man nodded at me as he and Brock passed. “Matt.”

“Hey, Mr. G.” Turned out Gorilla Man’s last name was Gillia. Did I have him pegged or what?

“Come on,” I said to Lauren and Jeffery. “Let’s get back to our floors. School hours are about to start.”

The elevator took us up to the second floor. Lauren and I got out.

“You guys want to come up for swimming after dinner tonight?” Jeffery asked.

“Sure,” said Lauren.

“It will have to wait until after an hour of paddle-wall-ball,” I said. “Coop would burst a couple of blood vessels if we missed his turn in the gym. He’s been waiting for weeks.”

“Okay. See you later.”

Lauren stared at the elevator for a few seconds after the doors closed. “Sometimes I think it would be nice not to care about how much you spend. I’d like to live on the top floor and have one of those nice rooms all to myself.”

“It’s not worth it,” I said, wrapping an arm around her and leading her into the big main room of the second floor. “Trust me.”

We split off to go to our own computer stations. Sliding into my chair, I turned my computer on and smiled at the guys sitting on either side of me. Forget about privacy on the second floor; a little more elbow room would be nice. I can’t complain about my computer, though. I was able to bring it down with me from the top floor. Second-floor computers—at least the ones here now—are made to handle basic tasks, like data entry and word processing—not the complicated math modeling work I do. Continuing to pull in top-floor money while living on the second floor is part of the arrangement I negotiated with the new workhouse supervisors.
Otherwise I’d never be able to dig myself out of the debt I created. Spending a couple of days at online auctions selling off all the junk I bought in that one weak moment helped a little too.

Glancing around the rows of tables and computers, I saw Lauren across the room, already deeply concentrating on her monitor. Paige’s old top-floor computer now sat empty next to her. About a dozen computers from upper floors were mixed in with the fifty or so second-floor computers.

The workhouse is all about choice now. Since the rules eased up considerably regarding who can go where in the building, living on the second floor isn’t so bad. The pool is jam-packed every day, and you have to sign up weeks in advance to get an hour in the paddle-wall-ball court. But it’s only fair. The biggest downside is having to sleep in a bunk bed on a lumpy mattress in a long dorm-type room with thirty other guys. Before I came to the workhouse, I would have been ashamed of living the way I do now—it’s certainly nothing to brag about. The weird thing is, once I get out of here, I’m not going to leave the details of the living conditions out of the story when I tell it to Brennan and Lester and whoever else wants to listen.

A soft ping signaled me that I had a new e-mail. Lauren and I caught eyes through the jumble of kids
and computers. It was from Mom and Dad. Lauren had gotten it too.