Under Their Skin (8 page)

TWENTY-ONE

Eryn gasped. It was a loud gasp, containing every bit of shock and surprise she'd been holding back since she'd first seen the wires and circuitry in Jackson's back. But she still had her hands pressed over her mouth; the winter wind still howled behind her—she thought gasping was safe.

What she really wanted to do was scream. Scream and scream and never stop.

I want my mommy,
she thought, which was ridiculous. Mom would be furious if she knew where Eryn and Nick were, if she knew they'd disobeyed her and gone to meet Ava and Jackson.

Or would she, if we told her everything?
Eryn wondered.
What if
Mom
doesn't even know that Ava and Jackson and their mom are robots? What if they've always acted normal around her? What if Michael's fooled her?

Eryn had to put that thought aside, because just then
the robot mother turned her head toward the window. Had she heard Eryn's gasp? Had she suddenly realized that Ava hadn't pulled the blinds all the way down?

Either way, Eryn and Nick had to get out of sight.

Eryn smashed down into the snow, pulling Nick with her. But that wasn't enough, because what if the robot mother came over to the window to look out?

“Run!” Eryn said through gritted teeth, right into Nick's ear.

She grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him along. She wanted to make sure they stayed crouched low as long as they were near windows. They reached the tree at the side of the house, stood up, and veered diagonally across the yard.

The tree would block any view the robots have of us, wouldn't it?
Eryn thought.

Now that she didn't have to crouch, she ran full speed, or as close to full speed as she could in snow boots, through knee-deep snow. She ran crazily, clutching Nick's sleeve. She wasn't sure who was pulling whom—they seemed to take turns with who was in the lead.

The wide street that had seemed so ordinary and pleasant before felt menacing and dangerous now. Why did every step seem to take forever? Why did the wind
seem to howl straight into Eryn's face no matter which way she turned her head?

What if the robots—or at least the robot mom—came after Eryn and Nick? What would happen then?

Would she just tell Mom and Michael what we did?
Eryn wondered, stumbling forward.
Or would she maybe 
. . . turn us into robots too?

That was crazy. Probably Eryn should be more afraid of being killed. But she still found herself whimpering.

They reached the edge of Lipman Park, and Nick stumbled against one of the trees that lined the perimeter.

“Got . . . to . . . stop,” he panted. “Take . . . break. Hide . . . here.”

He let his forward momentum carry him around the tree trunk, to the side facing away from the street. He slid to the ground at the tree's base.

Eryn sank down beside him, even though it meant practically burying herself in snow. She leaned her head back against the tree trunk.

“We have to tell Mom,” she said. It was like now that she'd stopped running, all sorts of thoughts caught up with her. “No way she would have told us we had stepsiblings if she knew Ava and Jackson are just . . .
things.
”

“I bet Michael lied to her,” Nick said. He snorted.
“The man's a
computer
expert. Robots are just overgrown computers. He probably goes to bed every night laughing at what a big trick he played on Mom and us.”

“Not anymore,” Eryn said, pulling out her phone.

We'll show Michael,
she thought.
Nobody messes with
our
family.

“I knew all along he was despicable,” Nick agreed. “I just didn't know why.”

“Mom will thank us for saving her,” Eryn muttered, her finger hovering over two choices: Mom's cell or work number.

Cell,
she thought, stabbing her finger at the screen.
I don't want to talk to her secretary. Just her.

The phone rang. Mom picked up.

“I'm on my way,” she said, without even a hello. “It's just taking forever.”

“Mom, you won't believe this,” Eryn said. She felt Nick beside her pressing his head against hers so he could hear too. “Michael's been lying to you all along. We met Ava and Jackson.
We
know the truth. We know they're—”

“Hang up!” Mom screamed. Eryn had never heard her sound so frightened. “Don't say anything else! Hang up and go home
right now
!”

The line went dead.

TWENTY-TWO

“That was weird,” Nick said.

He really wanted to say,
That was scary
, but there were certain things you couldn't admit after about the age of seven. Fear, for example.

And yet he could feel terror coursing through him. He started shivering, and it had nothing to do with the snow packed against his back and shoulders and rump and blowing into his face.

Mom was terrified,
he thought.
I've never heard her sound like that.

That scared him even more.

Eryn bit her lip and squinted down at her phone.

“I'm calling her back,” she said. “She's got to explain.”

Nick shoved Eryn's phone lower, back toward her pocket.

“I think we should go home,” he said. “I think something's really wrong.”

“Yeah, Michael's kids and ex-wife are robots!” Eryn said. “That's really wrong!”

“Something worse,” Nick said.

He stood up and put a hand out to help Eryn up too. His legs had gone stiff just from the few minutes of sitting. They were sore, too, from running through all the deep snow behind them.

Somehow the snow ahead of them looked even deeper.

“Mom needs to explain, if she knew about this all along,” Eryn said angrily.

But Nick noticed that she tucked her phone back into her pocket and began taking long strides toward the center of the park. Toward home.

The park seemed to have multiplied in size since the last time they walked through it. The snowdrifts seemed exponentially deeper. And once they reached the opposite side of the park, they still had to struggle through barely passable sidewalks along one neighborhood street after another.

They were finally, wearily turning onto their own street when Nick remembered that they'd planned to go back and quickly reshovel Mr. Cohen's driveway and sidewalk.

Then he remembered that they'd left their shovels back at Ava and Jackson's house. At the robots' house.

“Oh no—our shovels!” he said.

Eryn looked down at her hands like she was surprised not to still be clutching her shovel handle.

“Who cares?” she said, shrugging. “We already told Mom we were at Ava and Jackson's house. We don't need a cover story anymore. It's not like the shovels being under that tree are going to ruin anything.” Her face took on the set, stubborn expression that always meant she'd made up her mind. “
I'm
not going back for them.”

There was no way Nick wanted to go back either. But he was a little shocked. Mom and Dad had always drilled into them that they needed to take good care of their possessions. He could hear Mom's voice in his mind:
It's a part of being a good steward of the Earth's resources—and of your own resources. . . .

He and Eryn were just breaking rules right and left today. Where would it end?

They came into view of their own house. The driveway was mostly covered again; the snow and the wind had erased practically every sign that Nick and Eryn had ever shoveled. There were also no tire tracks in the snow, no interruption in the drifts blown against the garage door.
So Nick knew neither Mom nor Michael were home yet.

Oh no—how will we ever face Michael again?
Nick wondered.
How could
he
ever face
us
again?

Maybe they wouldn't have to. Maybe Mom would just quietly divorce Michael for lying, and they'd never have to see him again.

Eryn started taking long steps across the yard, even as she fumbled in her pocket for the house key. His legs ached and his muscles protested, but Nick forced himself to catch up to his sister.

Her hands shook as she tried to put the key in the keyhole.

“Here,” Nick said, putting his hand over hers, helping out.

But maybe his hands were shaking too. Or maybe some sort of ice crystals had formed inside the lock, blocking the key. Because he couldn't get the key to work right either.

Suddenly the door swung open and there was Mom, dressed half in her work clothes (silky red blouse, black pants) and half in gear that would be appropriate in a blizzard (fur-lined boots and a parka.)

“M-mom?” Eryn stammered. “We didn't see your car. Or any sign of it. We thought—”

“I walked,” Mom said. “I left my car in a parking lot off Apple Tree Boulevard and I walked.”

Nick braced himself for Mom to start yelling at them. He braced himself for Eryn to start yelling back.

Instead, Mom left the door hanging open and stepped out onto the porch with them. And then she gathered them both into a massive hug, holding them tight against her parka and not letting go.

This definitely wasn't the way she usually hugged them when they'd done something wrong and she wanted to punish them. This was a new kind of hug, one Nick had never even had to imagine before.

This,
Nick thought,
is how you hug someone you thought you'd never see again.

TWENTY-THREE

Mom's flipping out,
Eryn thought.

That was strange, because Mom
never
flipped out. She was a rock, a pillar of strength, the person you'd want beside you in any emergency. One time when Nick and Eryn were little, another kid had pushed Nick off the climbing structure at the playground. And Mom had managed to pull out all the mulch from the cuts on Nick's knees and elbows
and
scrub away
all the blood
and
bandage all the wounds even as she calmly lectured the other kid about the importance of playing nice and being kind to other people and treating others as we ourselves would like to be treated.

And that was while both Nick and Eryn were screaming at the top of their lungs—Nick, because he was hurt, and Eryn, because she was worried about Nick.

So why was Mom acting crazy now? Leaving the door open, stepping outside without even buttoning
her coat, abandoning her car in a terrible storm, hugging Eryn and Nick like she'd been afraid they were going to die . . .

Or maybe, is still afraid we might die?
Eryn thought, her head trapped under Mom's trembling arm.

Eryn shoved away from her mother.

“Explain,” Eryn said.

Mom plastered a large, fake smile on her face.

“Why don't we shovel the driveway again first, so Michael can get into the garage safely?” she asked.

Eryn wanted to scream,
Who cares? Michael's a liar! I guess maybe you already know about the robots—you're not acting like you want us to tell you—but
he
sure lied to
us
! Showing us pictures of his beloved “children” . . .
 
The way you're behaving, isn't that proof that you've been lying too? And now you want us to act like nothing ever happened? Like we're such good, happy stepkids, eager to help our stepdad?

Eryn would have screamed all that, except that Mom lifted her hand toward her face and touched her forefinger gently to her lips. And then, just as quickly, she put her hand down and gazed cautiously out toward the street.

Mom doesn't want anyone to see her telling us to be quiet?
Eryn thought.
What's that all about?

Eryn looked toward Nick, hoping he'd been able to figure out more than she had. He'd also pushed away from Mom's suffocating hug. He was standing with his arms crossed.

“We can't shovel the driveway,” Nick said. “We lost the shovels. We left them back at Ava and Jackson's.”

Mom winced.

“Right,” she said, “Michael's ex-wife told me she'd found them. I talked to her right after I talked to you.”

“You did?” Nick said.

That wasn't Michael's ex-wife!
Eryn wanted to scream.
That was a robot!

Mom gave a little shake of her head to both of them.

“Nick, would you go ask a neighbor if we could borrow their shovels?” she suggested in a bright, artificial voice.

“Which neighbor?” Nick asked, staring at Mom suspiciously.

“I don't care!” Mom said. “Just go!”

That wasn't like Mom either. Normally she would calculate a whole complicated rubric about which neighbor they'd borrowed from or loaned something to most recently, which neighbor acted friendliest, which neighbor would be most forgiving if something broke. . . . Eryn
figured wars had been fought with less advance planning than Mom put into borrowing a wrench.

Nick stumbled off the porch and headed toward the house next door. Right now, Eryn couldn't even remember who lived there.

Mom took Eryn's arm and began tugging her toward the driveway, away from the sheltered porch and back into the wind and driving snow.

“Let's get into position so we're ready when Nick comes back,” Mom said.

“Aren't you going to close the door?” Eryn said, because she could feel the heat seeping out of the house.

“Oh, right,” Mom said, pulling the door shut. “This cold makes me light-headed.”

So why are we still out in it?
Eryn wanted to scream. But she held back because Mom obviously wanted to stay outside. Mom was the one with answers; if Eryn wanted to hear them, Eryn had to keep Mom happy.

They reached the middle of the driveway, out in the open, at the mercy of the wind and snow. And ice pellets. Eryn was pretty sure there were ice pellets mixed in with the snow hitting her face.

Mom huddled close to Eryn and cupped her hand over Eryn's ear.

“What if we agree never to speak of what you found out about Ava and Jackson?” Mom whispered. “In exchange, you could get to see them every now and then. I'm sure they'll start . . . behaving better soon. After a while, you'll forget they're . . . different.”

Eryn jerked away from Mom's grasp. She wasn't cold anymore. Fury made her feel like her body temperature had quadrupled.

I have to show Mom that's not going to work,
Eryn thought.
I have to show Mom she
has
to tell us. . . .

Eryn leaned her head back and screamed up at the sky, “Listen up, everyone! My—”

Mom's hand clamped over Eryn's mouth with an iron grip before Eryn could finish her sentence:
My stepbrother and stepsister are robots!

“My daughter and I are going to build an igloo!” Mom took over shouting at the snowy world around them, as if dozens of people were listening and hanging on to every word. She leaned closer to Eryn and whispered, “I'll tell you everything in the igloo. It'll be safe there.”

Eryn narrowed her eyes at her mother.

“Promise?” Eryn asked.

“I promise,” Mom whispered back.

This was
Mom.
Mom who lectured them about keeping their word, Mom who became almost physically ill in the presence of liars, Mom who was trustworthy and honorable and kind.

Eryn believed her.