Crash (35 page)

“You cannot go back, but you can go forward. An interesting point.” The Committee fall silent, and that creeps me out. I feel like they're plotting, like what Lizzie said planted the seeds of an idea I know I'm not going to like. I think both she and Jackson are thinking along the same lines, because Lizzie takes my hand at the same time Jackson slides his arm around my waist.

“You cannot go back. But Miki Jones can. She was the catalyst that caused all to fail. We will remove her from the stream of events and all will be as it was.”

My skin tingles and colors grow too bright, sound too loud, the rasp of my own breathing like a saw grating in my brain. The pounding of my heart a jackhammer, dangerously loud, gouging chunks from my limbs, my lungs, my gut.

“Noooooooooo,” Jackson yells, from far, far away.

He reaches for me, his face a mask of anguish, and my hazy thoughts coalesce until I understand what he's figured out. They're removing me from the stream of events. They're bending time and taking me out of the equation.

I think they're killing me.

“Jackson,” I whisper, reaching for him, trying to
memorize the lines of his lips, the curve of his cheek, the hard angle of his jaw, willing him to remember me even as I don't see how that's possible. If they kill me before he loves me, how can he remember what he felt?

And then he's gone. All gone.

Everyone leaves. Even me.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I STAND AT THE EDGE OF THE FIELD BEHIND GLENBROOK HIGH, leaning against the chain-link fence that marks the edge of school property. Carly's stretched out on the grass under the giant oak, legs crossed at the ankles, her upper body resting on her bent elbow.

She looks at me and lifts her brows. For some reason, the sight of her makes me feel like sobbing.

“Did you see him?” Deepti asks.

“See who?” I ask, my tone abrupt.

“What bug crawled up your ass?” Dee asks as Carly sits up and says, “New guy.”

A creepy sense of déjà vu shimmers and fades. I fall back a step, the links of the fence rattling as they take my
weight. I'm barely aware of Kelley saying, “Incredibly hot new guy.”

I stare at them, feeling sick. My head jerks up and I see a boy running laps on the track. Dark hair. Lean build. Luka.

My heart lifts.

He's alive. Safe.

Back then.

But is he safe now . . . I mean, months from now?

Why am I thinking this?

Because Luka died—will die—on the bridge.

I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, waiting, waiting . . . but I don't know for what.

For the boy to start talking inside my head.

I freeze, wondering if I've completely lost my grip on reality, if the depression that's weighed me down for two years has pushed me over some invisible edge.

JacksonRichelleLukaTyroneLienKendraDrauCommittee

I take a sharp breath and spin toward the road. The crossing guard's helping the kids across.

Janice Harper's little sister. She isn't there yet, but she will be.

“Lizzie,” I whisper.

“What?” Kelley asks.

I just shake my head.

The Committee sent me back to the moments before I got pulled into the game the very first time, the moments before I ran into the road to save Janice's sister,
the moments before I got hit by the truck. They sent me back so I wouldn't enter the game, and if they never pull me, events will unfold differently. I won't save Jackson in Detroit. I won't communicate with his dead sister. I won't amp his power the day they face the Committee.

They sent me back to make Lizzie's coup fail.

But somehow, Lizzie worked it that I kept my memories. I remember it all. I know everything I gain and lose in the coming months. I know everything I learned through the game.

Somehow, Lizzie defied the Committee and left me all those memories so I could make a choice: to run out in the road in front of that truck. Or not.

My choice. I'm in control.

And Jackson, where is he? Not talking inside my head. And I think I know why. Because somehow, the Jackson who was there that day is the Jackson who knows how it all ends. He's not luring me into the game. He doesn't want me to choose to be part of it.

He doesn't know that Lizzie's helped me remember.

Does Richelle live if I never get pulled?

Do Dad and Carly get hit by that car if I never get pulled?

Do I run into the road no matter what, but in this reality die rather than get pulled into the game? I shudder, not liking that possibility.

I whirl back to look at Luka, running on the track. Maybe there won't be a mission to the bridge if I'm never
pulled. But if there is, does he survive it? Or does he die regardless of the choice I make here today?

Wait . . . It isn't today. It's dozens of yesterdays ago.

My friends are still talking, their words reaching me from far, far away. Aviator shades. Guns ought to be licensed. The conversation is painfully familiar. The tone of Dee's voice as she says, “Oh. My. Gawd.” The way she claps her palms together.

Everything is exactly as it was.

Except me.

I close my eyes and wait for Jackson's voice inside my head. But it doesn't come. I check the path, the fields, the corners of the school, hoping to see him there, knowing I won't.

Everything's the same, but different.

Everything's—

I must make a sound, because Carly jumps to her feet and rushes over.

“Hey,” she says, rubbing circles on my back. “Panic attack? You okay?”

I lift my head and stare at her eyes, her face, the little lines of concern etched between her brows. I throw my arms around her and hug her tight.

“I love you.”

She shakes her head and hugs me back, and I can hear the confusion in her voice when she says, “I love you, too. Always have, always will.”

Dee bounds to her feet and yells, “Group hug,” then
she's tackling the both of us a second before Kelley tackles the three of us and we all fall over.

I remember the way I felt that day, how desperately I just wanted to be normal.

This is my chance. I could lie here on the ground, let the events unfold as they will. Luka will run for the street in a minute. He'll save Janice's sister. And if he can't make it in time, Jackson will. I know he's here somewhere, watching. Believing that the Committee sent me back with no memories of the game. Believing this is my chance to never be pulled at all.

He wants to give me this. To change events he regrets. But the thing is, it isn't his choice—it's mine.

I can choose to pretend it was all just a nightmare. I can choose to pick up my life where it got interrupted, to be part of the world without the gray fog haunting me or the game tearing me up inside. Maybe in time, I'll start to believe it was all just an ugly dream. Maybe in time I'll be able to convince myself of that.

Will there be a Jackson in this world if I choose not to run into the road? Will I meet him in the cafeteria? In the gym? On the track?

The sun's warm on my face. My friends roll away and sit up and start chattering again, about classes and what to wear to the Halloween dance.

I could chime in.

The lure is overwhelming.

The Committee doesn't want me back in the stream,
but they don't control everything. I don't believe they control the vagaries of fate that put Janice's sister in the path of the truck that day. They can only use events to their advantage.

I push to my feet and smile as my friends talk. I look at Dee and Kelley, thinking how awesome they are. I look at Carly, memorizing the streak in her hair, the sound of her voice, the way she laughs.

Then I turn and run for the little girl hunkered down in the road, directly in the path of the oncoming truck.

I respawn in a place I've been before, white walls, white floor, so bright it burns. After a minute, a dark rectangle appears. I walk through to a curving hallway, more white on white. The air's cold and dry and smells stale, with a hint of air freshener.

Right or left?

I think it doesn't matter. I think whichever way I choose I'll end up exactly where I'm supposed to be. I choose left, following the curve of the corridor until just ahead I see a massive arced bank of what appear to be computers. There's a person there with her hands on the control panel. She's dressed all in white, her back to me, her hair pulled into a high ponytail.

She twists at the waist and turns her head to look over her shoulder. She smiles and says, “There you are.”

“Where else would I be?” I ask, smiling back at her.

Strong arms close around me from behind. I close my
eyes and rest my head back against Jackson's shoulder.

“I wanted you to make a different choice,” he says. “I wanted you safe.”

“What makes you think you get a say?”

“I don't. I know that. And the truth is, the girl I love wouldn't have made any other decision.”

“So what now?” I ask. “The game's over, right? At least, human involvement's done.”

“It is,” Lizzie agrees. “It would take too much effort for the Committee to have to rebuild what we broke. And I'm guessing they might be thinking that human soldiers are too unpredictable, irascible—”

“Uncontrollable,” Jackson interjects.

“And cocky,” I add. I look at Lizzie. “What happened to all the kids who were in the amphitheater? And the Drau who were there? You said that once we're in the game, we can never go back, not fully? So where are they?”

“Some have joined us,” she says. “And some are”—she pauses, like she's searching for the right words—“I guess you could say they're sort of in an in-between place while my team works on a way to send them back. We thought it wasn't possible, but the Committee sent you back, which means it is possible. We just have to figure out how.”

I nod. “What do you mean by ‘joined us'?”

“There are other places where the game's only beginning and we”—she gestures and I look around to see a group of Drau come along the corridor, and . . . Tyrone . . . Lien . . . Kendra—“we are the ones to follow the Committee
wherever they go, to find a way to stop them, permanently.”

Jackson holds out a kendo sword like no other I've seen. The blade glows bright white. So white it burns. “Welcome to the rebellion,” he says. “Gear up.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

DAD DROPS ME AT THE HOSPITAL. HE'S DOING BETTER, SO much better. He decided that AA just might be good for him after all, and he goes a couple of times a week. He's been out of the hospital and sober now for just over four weeks. No more bottles on the table or the counter. No more watching him cut himself off from all the things he used to like to do. He even went to his fly-tying group.

“See you later,” he says. I lean over and hug him, careful of his ribs. They're still sore if I squeeze him too tight.

I hop out and head for the elevators, then Carly's room. I come see her every day. They stopped giving her the meds that were keeping her in a coma, but she hasn't woken up. Not yet.

“Hey,” I say, dragging the chair closer to her bed. She
doesn't answer. She never answers. But she knows I'm here. She can hear me. I open my chem textbook and start reading out loud. When she comes back to school, I don't want her to be too far behind.

About an hour later, there's a commotion in the hall, someone laughing. I stand up and go to the door to find Carly's mom and dad walking toward me, arm in arm, heads together. Carly's mom's smiling. Laughing. Walking like she's floating on a cloud.

She looks up and sees me standing there and rushes over to envelop me in a hug.