Still Point (26 page)

“No, Jax,” I said. “I mean about Justin. Do you think I should tell him?” I looked into Jax's dark eyes.

“Tell him what?” Jax asked.

I fidgeted with the handle of my mug. “I feel like I cheated on him.”

Jax opened up his hands, as if nothing was wrong. “Madeline, it's not like anything happened.”

He was right. But he wasn't. “We talked about
kissing,
” I said.

He blinked at me with indifference. “Did hanging out in a church last night scare you into verbal celibacy?” he asked, and I sighed at the ceiling. “Nothing happened,” he repeated. “So we had a conversation about kissing—so what? It's not a big deal unless you make it one.”

“You're right,” I said. “You're right. It's not a big deal.” I nodded once. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“What?” I asked.

“You. You're funny.”

I didn't see the joke. “How's that?”

“You have the mind of an adult and the heart of a kid. I understand your mural now. You're at war with yourself a lot, aren't you?”

I glared at him for figuring this out. I was always careful who I let in. I had been guarded my whole life, but it appears that some people can pick locks.

“Does sleeping in the same bed with me one night entitle you to see inside my soul all of a sudden?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said. I was relieved when Scott walked in.

“Can you guys be ready to go in five minutes?” he asked.

I looked at the clock. “It's barely six a.m.,” I told him.

“Yeah, and we have about twenty-four hours to protest this vote. While you guys slept in, I've sent about two thousand messages.”

Jax yawned. “Scott, we just reprimanded the bad guy in a ten-thousand-foot-high assault yesterday, and also managed to escape, so I wouldn't call us slackers,” he said, which quieted Scott for the moment. I smiled and took a sip of coffee.

“Well, I hope you guys got a good night's sleep,” Scott said. “It's going to be your last for a while.”

“We're late to the party,” Jax noted as we crossed the street to Waterfront Park, a turf grass field that stretched along downtown Portland at the edge of the Willamette River. A tent city had been constructed inside the entire park, all the way to the horseshoe-shaped brick foreground of the new city courthouse, a modern skyscraper built next to the Morrison Bridge. The building had won awards for its digital design. Instead of windows, electrical square screens lit each of its ten floors, their colors and images constantly changing to give the building the appearance of movement. The top of the building was designed to look like a wave; it spiraled and twisted into a curl. At the moment all of the screens resembled moving clouds, so that the building looked like it floated in the sky. It gave me a headache; it was like looking at an optical illusion.

It took my senses a few minutes to adjust to the scene. Swarms of people crowded the turf lawn. Stereos were rigged to tents and sign posts, pumping music so loud it echoed against the concrete wave sculptures that lined the river. Saws wailed and hammers pounded as food stands were crudely built in the center of the tent city. Next to the food stands was a cement strip, in the shape of a crescent, where picnic tables and a shelter with public restrooms were located.

We walked past one tent that sounded like it was hosting a rave. Techno music pumped so hard, it shook the tarp walls.

The energy, the pulse of drums, and the spicy smell of food shocked my senses. A group of reporters were being escorted through the grounds by security guards. They stared at us like visitors to a zoo full of endangered species. Some of the tenacious ones threw out cautious smiles and slowly approached groups of rioters for interviews. One reporter, I noticed, had her film crew shooting a documentary about the food carts, as if real food was a news headline.

Clare ran up to us.

“There you are!” she said as she threw her arms around me. “Justin told me what happened.” She let me go and grabbed Jax next.

“Thanks for helping Maddie,'' she said to him, and looked at me as she dropped her arms from his shoulders. “Are you guys all right?”

Jax nodded and looked around. “I need to find my dad. He's here somewhere.”

Scott and Riley were already heading toward a mangle of green tents. I looked inside the mass of people swarming around like bees at a giant hive.

It started to hit me that I might never see Jax again, and I had the sudden urge to grab his hand and hold on to him. In the past few days he'd managed to break me down and seep in through the cracks. People have a way of filling in your fault lines, like caulking or glue to help hold you in place.

I fumbled for what to say. One word was obvious.

“Thanks,” I told him. “For everything.”

He smiled. I tried to memorize his face. I knew I'd miss his smile, the way it made his eyes crinkle at the edges. He stalled and looked down at my hands for a second. His hands fidgeted at his sides. He looked between me and the crowd of protesters.

Clare watched our interaction and cleared her throat. She pointed out a cluster of green tents. “We're staying over there, if you want to find us,” she told Jax. “That's where all the action's going to be. There's a protest meeting in an hour, so you guys can get caught up.”

He shook his head. “I think I've had enough action for a while,” he said. “I'll probably hang back. Good luck tomorrow,” he said, looking at me.

I couldn't tear my eyes off him. I didn't want him to leave. But was there a reason to see him again? Were we friends? I had other guy friends—Gabe, Scott, and Riley. Why did this have to feel any different?

Jax surprised me and leaned toward me. He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me close. My heart started to race. He bent down low and whispered so only I could hear. His lips grazed my ear.

“By the way, the other reason I agreed to help you is because I love your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes.” He let me go and held up his hands. “It's my weakness,” he said, and backed up.

I could feel my heart hammering, but before I could say anything, a girl with long brown hair leaped through the crowd, screaming Jax's name. She almost knocked him over as she tackled him.

I got out of her way and forced a smile as Jax wrapped his arms around her, picking her up off the ground. She shrieked and laughed, to my annoyance. Was this one of his kissing experiments?

Jax set her down. “Bridget, meet Madeline,” he said. “Madeline, Bridget, my punk sister.”

My smile turned genuine. I held out my hand and shook hers. “Great to meet you,” I said.

“My dad told me all about you,” she gushed. “I'm such a huge fan.” Bridget looked young, probably in DS-3. “Can I have your autograph later, if you're not too busy?” she asked me. “I just got Justin Solvi's.” She swooned and held up a DS Dropout flag with Justin's signature sailing across it.

Jax shook his head and pushed her away, toward the tents. He waved back at us.

“See you around?” he asked me.

“Sure,” I said. I watched them dissolve into the crowd. “Sure,” I said out loud again, to myself. I turned and saw Clare reading my actions with suspicious eyes.

“What just happened?” she asked me, and leaned in close. “Or should I ask, what happened last night?”

I groaned. I hated that friends had x-ray vision into your mind. They made you feel transparent.

“Nothing happened.”

“Then why is your face as pink as your hair?” she demanded.

“I'm awkward at goodbyes?” I tried.

“No, you're awkward at lying,” she stated, and crossed her arms. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the tents. “I'll explain later,” I promised. First I needed to figure it out myself.

Clare gave me a guided tour of the grounds and filled me in on what I'd missed.

“They're announcing the vote tomorrow morning,” she said.

I watched a work crew hammering plywood boards together at the edge of the park, next to the courthouse grounds. They were setting up a temporary stage. People held picket signs painted on plastic boards:
DARK LORD FREEMAN; I DON'T SPEAK ROBOT; TEACHERS AGAINST TECHNOLOGY; UNPLUG US; I DON'T THINK, THEREFORE I'M NOT; FREEMAN: LET US GO.
Volunteers were setting up wiring for air speakers around the stage. Two guys hauled up a heavy wood podium. Beyond the stage was the brick promenade at the edge of a long staircase. At least fifty steps arched up to the courthouse entrance.

A line of police officers stretched along the front of the courthouse behind plastic shields, their heads rotating, scanning the tent city. They wore shaded zoom glasses that allowed them to see inside the grounds for any signs of trouble.

“They want to arrest people,” I noted.

“They can't,” Clare said. “We have every right to be here. Unless we get violent, they can't touch us. We're not on government property if we stay on the grass.”

“Hey, little sister,” someone said to me, and I recognized Joe's voice. I spun around and was shocked to see my brother standing with Pat, an old friend who lived in Los Angeles.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked. Pat reached out and gave me a hug, but I hesitated with Joe. Our last meeting had been more than eight months earlier, when he turned me over to the police. It hadn't been our best bonding experience.

“I told Justin if the Dropouts ever pulled off this protest, I'd show up,” Pat said.

“Mom called me,” Joe said. “I had to see this for myself. Freeman versus Freeman.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “This is going to be too good.”

I narrowed my eyes. Mom must not have told Joe about Dad's letter. I decided to keep it a secret. I wanted to see my brother's reaction tomorrow.

“Where's Mom?” I asked.

“In the courthouse with Dad. It probably wouldn't look good if she was standing on our side right now.”

“Why are you guys standing over here?” I asked. Pat had skated a few months earlier, and my brother's idea of support was handing me over to a detention center. “Whose side are you on?”

“You know me,” Pat said. “I'm only here for the food.” He smiled at my unbelieving expression. “I'm here to support you guys,” he said. “It's the grand finale. I couldn't miss this party.”

Joe looked around at girls in tight tank tops sunning themselves on top of picnic tables, their golden skin shining with sweat.

“Since I've never seen so many hot, half-naked women in my life, I can be persuaded to join yours,” Joe confided.

“Excellent,” I said. “Thanks for proving my theory. Guys really do think with their lower extremities,” I said.

“Hey, and our stomachs,” Pat pointed out.

“Listen, Mom told me what happened at the detention center,” Joe said. “I'm really sorry, Maddie. I honestly had no idea. I thought it was going to help.” His blue eyes were sincere on mine. My brother had never apologized to me before, not without parental enforcement. Usually he went out of his way to irritate me.

“It's okay,” I said. “No one knew what was going on in the DCs.”

He looked me over. “I see it really tamed you.”

“I think it had to happen,” I said. “It gave us the evidence we needed.”

“So, in other words, you should be thanking me?” he joked.

I laughed. “How about I start with forgiving you?” I offered.

He pulled me into his arms. I wrapped my hands around Joe's back and squeezed my eyes shut to push back tears prickling behind the surface. No matter what happened, the protest was already a success. It brought my family together, in the same place, for the first time in years. Even if we were standing on different sides, we were supporting one another. Maybe that was all I had been fighting for all along. It was my own personal victory.

Joe let go of me, and we were interrupted when a reporter stopped to ask questions. Clare caught my hand and pulled us deeper into the crowd.

I saw Justin standing near the stage and tried to catch his attention, but too many people were swarming around him. A row of reporters followed him like a human rope. I would have to stand in line just to talk to him. Over the top of the stage hung a digital banner with a scroll that read:
WHERE DO YOU BELONG? DS OR DS DROPOUTS?
The tally was currently 1,003,324 in favor of DS, 54,545 votes against.

“What's that for?” I asked Clare.

“It was Shawn's idea,” she said. “If you're currently a DS student, you can log in and vote on whether you want to stay in digital school or have alternatives. We sent everyone a message with your Dad's listservs this morning.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It looks a little uneven.”

“It's still early,” Clare said, her voice hopeful. “There are more than a hundred million kids in DS.”

I stared at the screen, puzzled that it was so one-sided. “Have they released evidence about the trash labs? Or the detention centers?”

Clare shook her head. “It hasn't made any national headlines yet.”

I frowned. I had expected national outrage about the detention centers.

“What about Jax's contacts?” I asked. He had told me he had sent Scott his files before we left Corvallis.

“We sent a message out,” she said. “It's going to take time for the news to spread.”

I sighed. We didn't have time. “And his dad's report on the DS addiction?”

Clare bit her bottom lip. “We never released it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Molly was the only person who could understand it. It's a research paper for a psychology journal. It was forty pages of graphs and equations. Did you ever look at it?” she asked me. I shook my head.

“We need him to put it in laypeople's terms before we release it. It's a great study, but it's all scientific diction. And according to Molly, it's going to take a lot more research to prove anything he claims.”