Torn

8. PAYBACK

So we were civilized about it. No tantrums. No shouting. No one threw anyone else’s clothes out the window. We simply went back to Riley’s place, and—because Zo and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, and because I could tell Riley had no stomach for throwing us out—we lived like we’d been living before. Except that I spent nights in the bed and Riley stayed on a chair by the door. Sari and Zo kept a wary eye on both of us. I hadn’t told Zo exactly what happened, only that Riley and I were done, and that I was fine, he was fine, everything was fine. I didn’t know what he’d told Sari. That wasn’t my business anymore.

How mature of us, I thought as we sat silently in the apartment, watching the orgs eat, or brainstorming with Jude to figure out what to do next. How civilized.

That was civilization, apparently. Playing the part, wearing the smile, keeping your mouth shut. Centuries built on etiquette and deception. You hurt an animal, it hurt you back—no thought, no hesitation, just a snarling beast, a rabid lunge, a bite. We were better than that. We nursed our wounds, circled each other, waited for something to change.

“No reason we can’t be friends,” Riley had said before we stepped back into the apartment that first time, so different from when we’d left.

I had nodded; I had agreed. And, granted, it had been a while since I’d had a friend. Maybe this was what it was like.

We were arguing for the fifth day in a row. We, the three of us—Jude, Riley, and me. Three dysfunctional musketeers. The apartment had become our war room. We’d been going round in circles for too long—as Jude pointed out, it seemed only likely that BioMax had recorded our intrusion, that they knew what we knew. The longer we waited, the more time they would have to take care of the problem.

But if they knew, why hadn’t they already done something to stop us?

Jude wanted to go to the network. Reveal the truth to the masses—though even he had to admit that the masses seemed unlikely to stand behind us, not when BioMax could promise them AI tech beyond their wildest dreams and, with it, luxury, plenitude, security. “It’s not even hurting us,” Jude said. “Not really.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t see—”

“That’s what they’ll say,” Jude cut in. “And if it’s not hurting us, what do they care? What do they care either way?”

“We can’t go public,” Riley said. “Once we do that, we’ve got nothing left.” He didn’t look at Jude. If he was carrying any guilt for what had happened at the temple, he didn’t show it. If anything Jude was the one who looked guilty. I wondered what Riley had told him about me—and whether they’d talked about all the things he no longer remembered. But I wasn’t allowed to ask Riley, and I wasn’t about to ask Jude. “Secrets are power. You don’t just give them away.” Now he did look at Jude—and at me. “I say we go to BioMax. Tell them what we know, and what we want.”

Jude perked up. “Blackmail?”

“Reciprocation,” I said. Call-me-Ben’s term for it.

“BioMax owns us,” Jude said. “We piss them off, that could be it. No more repairs, no more replacement bodies…”

“Scared?” Riley sounded scornful. “Since when are you afraid to die?”

“I’m just laying out the facts,” Jude said.

“Sure.”

“For blackmail to work, you need leverage,” Jude said.

“We’ve got files, pics, what else could we need?” Riley asked.

“If we know the public won’t care, don’t you think they know it?”

“Then why keep it a secret in the first place?”

“I’m not saying they want it public,” Jude said. “I’m just suggesting they have a contingency plan. We don’t.”

“Exactly.” Riley turned to me. “We have no other plan. You want to go to the secops? To the government?” He laughed at his own joke, like there was anyone who wasn’t under the thumb of BioMax or one of its allies. “You want to go to the Brotherhood?”

“Lia? What do you think?” That was Jude asking, uncharacteristically. And Riley watching, waiting for me to choose the wrong side.

“I think… it could work.” Lie. BioMax was too big, we were too small, and walking into the lion’s den, showing our hand, seemed insane. But I didn’t have a better idea. And I didn’t want to argue.

“Two against one,” Jude said. “Guess that’s the plan.”

Unless he’d made a miraculous conversion to the democratic process, Jude going along with this meant he believed it was the best way to go—or else he was giving Riley his way as a gift, because for some inexplicable reason he felt indebted. The last time Jude had let loyalty and guilt guide his instincts, Ani had led us straight into an ambush.

“Guess that’s the plan,” I repeated.

Because, all other things aside, I wanted it to work.

I voiced Kiri, requesting the meeting. I said I had something important to discuss, that she should bring call-me-Ben, call-me-Ben’s boss, anyone who had decision-making power at the corp. Anyone who wasn’t my father. Kiri agreed to set it up, and I cut the link, wondering if she knew.

I spent the morning before the meeting at the waterfall. It should have been a toxic zone for me, but somehow that day with Riley had purged it of the past, and it was just a waterfall again. I sat on the edge of a wide, flat rock, dangling my feet in the water and shrouding myself in the thunder of the falls, white noise that drowned my capacity for rational thought. I burrowed into myself—or maybe it was the opposite; maybe I was climbing out of my skin. Fusing somehow with the rock and the trees and the open sky. Time ticked by, and I let myself forget what I was waiting for. Until it arrived.

Zo insisted on accompanying me to the corp headquarters—to wait outside, she said, just in case. I let her. When we arrived, I discovered I wasn’t the only one who’d brought moral support. Riley was already there—with Sari. I gave him a thin smile and ignored the barnacle. Zo followed suit. But Jude, when he showed up a few minutes later, took a different tack. “What’s with the skank?”

She had an arm around Riley but kept her eyes on me, smiling, and I knew the pose was for my benefit. He’s mine now, that arm said. He may not know it yet, but I do, and now you do.

“She’ll wait outside,” Riley said.

Jude scowled. “She doesn’t belong here.”

“You want to kick out the orgs, why don’t you start with her?” Riley nodded at Zo.

“It’s not because she’s an org,” Jude said. “And you know it.”

“I brought her. She stays.” Riley leaned in and whispered something in her ear.

Was he doing it to hurt me? The thought was nearly unbearable. But not as bad as the alternative. That he’d brought her because he wanted her here. “Let’s go,” I said.

Sari gave him a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek. “For luck,” she chirped.

Zo caught my eye and blew me a kiss. “For luck,” she said, a drop too sweetly.

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about leaving Zo out here alone with Sari. My little sister could fend for herself.

I’d been in the conference room before, the one reserved for very rare face-to-face meetings of the top BioMax executives and their favorite cronies. And I had met M. Poulet before, the chief operating officer, the highest ranking BioMax figure willing to show his face to the public, though it was a poorly kept secret that every corp kept its ultimate rulers hidden. For our purposes Poulet was BioMax, and despite the fact that he was built like a walrus, with a mustache to match, I’d never seen anyone face him with anything less than poorly disguised terror. Jude, Riley, and I sat on one side of the long table; Kiri, call-me-Ben, and M. Poulet sat on the other. Three of us—three of them. It didn’t feel like an even match.

“Here’s what we know,” I began. It had been surprisingly easy to convince Jude that I should be the one to speak. No doubt because I’d make a convenient scapegoat when we failed. I doubted any of us had much hope that this was going to work. But I didn’t let it show.

I projected the basics onto the ViM embedded in the conference table. Files popped up, and photos of the corridors we’d seen. This was it, I thought. There was no more hiding now, and no more pretending to buy the crap that BioMax was selling. Which meant they wouldn’t have to pretend either. If this body broke, they were the only ones who could fix it, or replace it.

But that mattered only if I let myself care.

“You’re stealing downloaded neural patterns, lobotomizing them, and turning them into cyber slaves.”

I waited for them to deny it.

Call-me-Ben shifted in his seat—that familiar org weakness, the inability to keep his feelings, his guilt, his surprise, to himself. But the other man, M. Poulet, didn’t move. His gray, stony face betrayed nothing. It was Kiri who reacted, pivoting between the two of them, obviously waiting for a denial of her own. She didn’t get it.

“This is true?” she exclaimed, rising to her feet. “You’re actually doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” M. Poulet said calmly. “Or have you forgotten who deposits the credit in your accounts?”

“No,” Kiri said, “I didn’t sign on for this. Lia, trust me, I didn’t know.”

I was concentrating on keeping my own reactions under wraps. So I couldn’t admit I believed her—and I couldn’t reveal my relief.

M. Poulet looked at her like she was exuding a bad smell. “If our discussion is making you uncomfortable, you’re perfectly free to go. You can drop off your security credentials on the way out.”

I didn’t expect her to actually go. I appreciated the moral outrage, just not as much as I would have appreciated the moral support. She didn’t ask my opinion. Her chair scraped back, the door slammed, and then she was gone. Call-me-Ben looked perturbed; M. Poulet looked bored. “Can we get back on track, please? We’re well aware of your hijinks at our recent event, and your intrusion into private property. But we’re willing to overlook it. Keep it between us, as it were.”

“Private property?” Jude said angrily. I hoped it was for show, because if his real emotions were bleeding through, then he’d been thrown more off balance than I thought. “You want to talk about private property? How about the theft and destruction of our private property? Are we supposed to overlook that? While you kill us off one by one?”

“We’re doing nothing of the sort,” M. Poulet said, indignant.

“You’re stealing copies of our brains,” I said quietly, before Jude could fire back. “And then you’re stripping them. There are people in those machines. Don’t you get that?”

“They’re not people.” It was the first time Ben had spoken. He leaned toward me, elbows on the table, his best earnest expression fixed on his face. “That’s what you’ve got to understand. Without the crucial subroutines that control emotion, memory, all the things that make a personality, these are nothing but arrays of electronic data. There’s no consciousness.”

“How do you know? What if they can still think? Or feel?”

“They can’t. They’re machines, computers. Nothing more.”

“Did you join the Brotherhood while I wasn’t looking?” I snarled. “Because your Savona impression is awesome.”

“This technology is a miracle,” Ben said, eyes shining. “It’s brought you—all of you—back from the dead. And that’s only the beginning. We’re talking about the fusion of man and machine—the possibilities of this technology are limitless.”

He didn’t have much future as an evangelist. Though even Rai Savona lacked the rhetorical prowess to gloss this over.

“We’re not technology. We’re people.”

“You’re people, yes—but we’re not talking about you. How does it hurt you to donate a copy of your brain to a good cause? How does it change anything to know that a copy of some of your synapses is helping protect the nation or heal the sick? How does that do anything to you, except perhaps make you proud?”

“Funny,” Riley said softly. “Almost sounds like we volunteered.”

“If this is such a wonderful advance for orgs and mechs alike,” I said, “then why keep it a secret?”

“You see how you’ve reacted,” Ben pointed out. “We needed to ease the way. Help people understand. Once they do—”

“Enough,” M. Poulet cut in. “We don’t have to defend ourselves to…” He flicked a hand at us. “These.” He stood up and pushed in his chair, as if to say, Meeting’s over. “I would think that with popular opinion of you and your kind at such alarmingly low levels, you’d have better things to worry about than trivia like this. I’d suggest you focus on the bigger picture here.” “Trivia like you turning us into war machines?” I said, disgusted.

“Lia, enough,” Jude said. “They obviously didn’t come here to reason with us, and we didn’t come here to reason with them.”

“Ah, finally,” M. Poulet said. “We get down to it.”

Jude stood up too. A beat later Riley and I joined him on our feet. Only Ben stayed seated, looking bewildered about how the meeting had slipped out of his control. “You’re going to stop this,” Jude said. “Stop abusing the stored copies. Stop experimenting on us like we’re animals. And then you’re going to give us the means to store our own uploads, and to repair and replace our own bodies. You’re going to set us free.”

“I assume there’s an implied or?” M. Poulet asked dryly.

“Or we go public,” Jude said. “And it doesn’t matter what you try to do to us here—there are people waiting for my signal. If they don’t hear from me in the next hour, they’re going to release everything we have on the network. You’re done.”

It was no bluff. Zo was waiting.

“Do to you?” M. Poulet sounded like he was holding back laughter. “What exactly would we do to you?”

“What wouldn’t you do?” Jude said.

Now the peals of laughter burst through, cold and hollow. “I don’t know what kind of gangsters you children are used to dealing with, but this is a business. You come in here, wasting our time, making your petty little threats, acting as if we could ever have something to fear from you.” As he spoke, the joviality drained from his voice, until all that remained was steel. “Let me be perfectly clear: We have nothing to fear from you. You’re children—not even that: mechanical copies of children. While we are a multinational corporation offering the world a new and exciting technology that will improve the lives of millions. You think anyone’s going to repudiate that because we’re ‘inconveniencing’ a few skinners?” He smiled coldly. “And you’re assuming that releasing information on the network is your right, rather than a privilege you’re accorded by the corps who sponsor the zones. You’re assuming that BioMax has neither the power, the technology, nor the will to scrub the network—every inch of it—of any inconvenient allegations.”

They couldn’t. The network was teeming with billions of zones; it was a sprawling kingdom several times more populous than the flesh-and-blood world. It would take a massively sophisticated search-and-destroy algorithm, not to mention ridiculous computational power, to scrub our posts before they leached into the fabric of the network. Not to mention the fact that zones were supposed to be impregnable. Everyone knew there were hackers, and even the best news zones fell prey almost daily to prank posts and attacks, but the whole point of the network was supposed to be the accessibility of information, the impossibility of locking up any truth that wanted to be free. Thousands of potential truths jockeying with one another for supremacy, maybe, but that was supposed to be the democracy of modern life, the freedom to choose our own reality. The freedom to know.

Then again, maybe it was time I stopped relying on supposed-to-bes.

“What could you possibly be thinking right now?” M. Poulet said, clucking his tongue with fake sympathy. “Perhaps you’re wondering where else to turn. Surely someone can help you, am I right?” He leaned across the table and skimmed his hand across the screen, bringing it back to life. “Him, perhaps?”

The Japanese man who appeared on the screen was someone I’d never seen before. He looked to be about my father’s age and wore a neatly tailored suit with no visible tech, but his red pupils indicated this was no Luddite. I’d seen a prototype of the same lenses at a recent BioMax show-and-tell—they were some kind of artificial cybernetic implant that, among other things, allowed their recipient to process and index visual stimuli as if they were text in a network database. So while I was a stranger to him, his glancing at my face would trigger an automatic network search that would, within seconds, relay to his neural implants anything he wanted to know about Lia Kahn.

But he wasn’t looking at me. Neither was M. Poulet. They both had their eyes fixed on Jude. The Japanese man smiled and offered him a shallow bow.

“I think you know M. Sani,” M. Poulet said. “Go ahead, congratulate him. Just this morning he and I put the finishing touches on a partnership that will enrich both our companies, not to mention all who benefit from our technological innovation.”

Jude just stared.

“I suppose we owe it partially to you,” M. Poulet said. “BioMax and Aikida have been rivals for far too long. You helped us both see that our interests lay in cooperation, rather than competition.”

Finally, I understood why Jude looked like he was about to fall over. We hadn’t just been outplayed. We’d been laughed off the field.

“We had a deal,” Jude growled.

“And now we’ve made a better one,” M. Poulet said.

“It will be a great endeavor,” M. Sani added, enunciating crisply to make up for his slight accent. “We are all looking forward to it.”

M. Poulet gave the screen a bow, and it went dark. “Not all of us, I assume,” he said to Jude.

Jude didn’t say anything. None of us did.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d actually let you follow through with your pathetic little plot,” M. Poulet added. “You’d do well—all of you—to remember that we’re in control here. Surely, Lia, at least you understand how much control we have. And what we can do.”

I suddenly understood. This is the man who sentenced me to death. He was practically bragging about it. So disgustingly certain that there was nothing we could do to him.

Maybe he was right.

“Will that be all?” M. Poulet concluded. “Because if so, I have some actual business to attend to today.”

Call-me-Ben cleared his throat. “Lia, if you and your friends would like to discuss this further—”

“I think they’ve wasted enough of our time today,” Poulet snapped. “We’ve both got busy days ahead of us.”

His meaning couldn’t have been clearer if he’d fitted Ben with a leash and muzzle.

“My assistant can show you out,” Ben said, cowed. Pathetic. Though no more so than we were.

“We can find our own way,” Jude said.

“Oh, I think it’ll be best for you to have an escort,” M. Poulet said. “Don’t you? Wouldn’t want you wandering off and getting lost on our property again, now, would we?”

So we lost even that battle. We followed Ben’s assistant, not speaking, avoiding one another’s eyes. We did as we were told.

We retreated to the outer edge of the parking lot, which was nearly empty but for our two cars. It must have been obvious from our expressions how the meeting went, because neither Zo nor Sari asked. They just watched us warily, waiting for someone to make a move.

“Assholes,” I finally said.

Jude snorted. “Can we skip the ritualistic licking of wounds?”

“Right, no point in dwelling on past mistakes,” Riley said. “Especially when they’re yours.”

“Mine? This was your idea.”

“My idea to go, yours to talk—and talk, and talk, and talk, and say nothing. As usual. And then there’s Aikida.” He shook his head. “You’re some master strategist.”

It took me a second to identify the expression on Jude’s face, as I’d never seen it there before: humiliation. And almost as soon as I caught on, it faded away, replaced by pure anger.

Sari draped herself over Riley, her head on his shoulder. “Is anyone going to tell me what happened?”

“What do you care?” Jude spit out. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

“Leave her alone,” Riley said.

Jude scowled at Sari. “She’s a big girl. Let her defend herself.”

“She shouldn’t have to.”

“And Lia shouldn’t have to deal with this crap,” Jude said. “But you bring that here and rub it in her face. Nice.”

“Can we not do this?” I said.

“She’s none of your business,” Riley warned him.

Jude smirked. “Which she are we talking about?”

“Jude, don’t.” Knowing as I spoke that it wouldn’t do any good. “We’re all a little tense after—”

“Let him talk,” Riley said, loudly.

“Oh, I really don’t think you want that,” Jude said.

“Try me.”

“What should we talk about, Riley? The way you turned me in to the secops? Tried to blame it on her?”

“I did not,” Riley insisted.

Jude laughed. “Not out loud. But I know how you think, remember? There’s always an excuse. She talked you into it; she lied to you. So you throw her away instead of just sucking it up and accepting what you did.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Riley growled.

Jude wouldn’t stop. “You ran away when she needed you. Why am I not surprised?”

I didn’t need him standing up for me, especially when he was only doing it because he was spoiling for a fight. “Jude, shut up.”

“Always on her side these days, aren’t you?” Riley said, a nasty edge to his voice.

Sari tugged at his arm. “Forget them. Let’s just go.”

That was my job—had been my job—the peacemaker, the conciliator, the one who would stand between Riley and the wrong choice, and try to turn him the other way. Now there was nothing I could do but watch as he shrugged her off and finished what he’d started.

“He’s the one that should go.”

“Where do you get off?” Jude asked. “You should be on your knees, begging me for forgiveness.”

“Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? I crawl around after you, begging. When’s it going to be enough?”

“I never blamed you.”

“Not out loud.” Riley threw his words back at him. “But I know how you think, remember? Nothing’s ever enough.” With every word he took a step closer to Jude, until they were only inches apart. Riley, his body built to its original specifications, was several inches taller, but it wasn’t just that. He was bigger, his shoulders broad, his muscles straining against his shirt. Jude’s lanky, angular form had always seemed like a reflection of his power, all sharp edges and stealthy grace. But next to Riley he suddenly looked small.

“What are they talking about?” Zo asked in a low voice. Not low enough.

“They’re talking about the past,” Riley said loudly. “They’re always talking about the past.” He poked Jude in the chest, hard enough that Jude stumbled backward. “Right?”

Jude shook his head.

“Everyone else’s past is irrelevant,” Riley said. “But not mine.” He turned to Zo. “Because I hid.”

I couldn’t believe he was about to say it out loud, here. “When they came for me, I hid, and I let them have Jude. Isn’t that right?” He turned back to Jude now, face ugly with anger. “They broke you, while I watched. And you never let me forget it.”

Jude shook his head again, harder this time. “We were kids,” he said. “I got over it.”

“Got over it?” Riley laughed. “Got over being stuck in that chair, letting me wheel you around, letting me feed you, clean up your shit?”

When Jude spoke, we could barely hear him. “Because we were friends.”

“Because I felt sorry for you. I kept thinking, if I do this one more thing, we’ll finally be even. I’ll be free.”

“You’re lying.”

“I did everything you said, didn’t I? Followed every order. Wasn’t for me, you’d have rolled into a gutter and died a long time ago, and it’s still not enough.”

“Don’t do this.” Jude said it in a strangled voice. That was the moment I understood what I think he’d understood the whole time. Riley was doing it on purpose. Digging his fingers into the wound. Anything to make Jude lash out.

Because he thinks he deserves it? I wondered. Or because he wants an excuse to hit back?

“He likes to pretend he’s strong,” Riley said, nearly shouting now, his voice rising as Jude’s dropped. “He pretends he’s tough, he’s in control… what a joke. You think a new body changes anything? You think just because you’ve got your pretty little legs and pretty little face that anything is different? Nothing is different. You’re still that sad little boy, all twisted up and useless.”

“Riley, please—”

“You’re still weak.”

Jude’s fist landed squarely between Riley’s cheek and jaw. Riley’s head snapped back, but he didn’t even sway on his feet.

Jude didn’t swing again. Instead, he looked back and forth between his fist and Riley’s unmarked face, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done—as if, because there would be no bruise and no blood, nothing to prove it had really happened, maybe it hadn’t.

So he didn’t see it coming: Riley’s arm, Riley’s fist, the full force of Riley’s rage. Jude stumbled with the impact, and then with the next, and the next—until his own fists rose, as if of their own accord, and he finally began to fight back.

I’d been a target before, experienced sharp knuckles jabbing into my flesh and boots kicking my stomach, had my arms twisted back; I’d tucked into a ball, protected my soft places, soaked in the pain—I’d felt it all but had never watched it before, not for real. Never stood on the sidelines as two people tried to tear each other apart—and because in this case the people were mechs, they were having to work all the harder, clawing at flesh so slow to tear, bashing noses that refused to bleed, bones too hard to break. It was different from the fake fights intended to please a vidlife audience; it was wild.

There were no clean punches; there was no delicate dancing around each other like boxers in a ring. They were on each other, arms gripping necks and waists, and then they were rolling on the ground, a cloud of grunts and snarls and thuds—and sometimes a crack as a head slammed into the pavement.

All that in seconds, and even as I was watching, I was moving, my legs as autonomous as their fists, no longer in my control. I was moving toward them, I was shouting “Stop! Please! Stop!” and my hands were on someone’s shoulders, someone’s waist, tugging uselessly, and then someone’s elbow caught my jaw and I was flying backward and I was on the ground.

They didn’t stop. They didn’t notice.

When the ringing stopped and my vision cleared, Zo was by my side. Saying something about sitting down, but I stood up, wondering whose elbow it had been.

Stood up, but stayed where I was. Not because I was afraid, but because I wasn’t stupid. I couldn’t stop them, and they couldn’t hurt each other, not really. None of us could hurt each other anymore.

It lasted longer than it would have if they were orgs, but it couldn’t have lasted as long as it felt. And then Jude was on his back, arms splayed, done. Riley knelt over him, fist drawn back.

“Go ahead,” Jude urged him. Jagged gashes laced his skin, and his fingers jutted at angles fingers weren’t supposed to. Strange to see so much damage and yet no blood. No repercussions. “Finish it.”

And for a moment I thought he was going to. But then Riley dropped his fist. His shoulders slumped, and he stood up.

“Finish it!” Jude shouted. He raised himself a few inches off the concrete, then dropped back again.

Crack.

“I am finished,” Riley said. He held out a hand, but not to Jude. For a moment I wondered if he was holding it out for me—wondered if I would take it, if it was offered—but then Sari stepped in and wrapped her fingers in his, and they walked away together.

“Wait,” I said.

“Don’t go,” I said.

Even though he was already gone. I was working on delayed reaction; I was frozen.

Zo was saying something to me, but I couldn’t hear it, or didn’t want to, not if it would distract me from staring at the space Riley had left behind. I wouldn’t listen to Zo, but I let her take my hand and deposit me carefully on the curb. And then I watched her kneel beside Jude, her knees resting where Riley’s had been. Her hand brushed the hair from his forehead, with a gentleness I didn’t know she had. She spoke his name, once, twice, then—getting no response—bent her head to his chest. Listening.

“No heartbeat,” Jude said. She flinched, and jerked backward. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Zo helped him to his feet and led him, silent and dazed, to the curb. Then sat him down next to me and joined him on the other side.

“You okay?” I said.

He turned his head to look at me, then turned away. I didn’t know if it was disgust for the question, or the closest he was willing to get to shaking his head. No.

I rested a hand on his shoulder, lightly, thinking, This is wrong; he’s not the one I should be comforting; this isn’t my job.

But the one I should have been comforting was gone. Still, I took my hand away.

Jude didn’t move. He mumbled something.

“What?”

“He said he shouldn’t have started it,” Zo said.

“You didn’t start it.”

“I start everything.”

“What happened in there?” Zo nodded at BioMax. “Why was he so angry?”

There was a long pause, long enough that I thought Jude wasn’t going to answer. “It wasn’t about what happened in there.”

“Was he right?” I asked. “Have you been holding it over his head all this time?”

“It took about thirty seconds for you to start accusing me of things,” Jude snapped. “That’s a new record.”

“I’m not—” But I was. “Maybe if you’d bothered to talk to him, rather than letting him feel guilty so that you could use him—”

“We talked,” Jude said. “Yesterday.”

“About what?”

“Things.”

“What things?”

He raised his head and turned to me again, golden eyes blazing. “You, for one. Want to know what he had to say? What I had to say?”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I didn’t even know what I was afraid of.

Even his smile looked broken. “Didn’t think so.”

“I’d like to hear,” Zo put in.

That got a more authentic smile, but not a response. “It doesn’t matter,” he told me. “This was going to happen eventually. It had to.”

“You’re pathetic,” I said. “Both of you. This had to happen? Like this was some kind of manly rite you both had to go through? A guy thing?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Right. Because I’m sane, and I don’t go around punching out my best friends.”

“Maybe because you don’t have any.”

“Screw you.” I jerked my head at Zo. “Let’s go. We’re out of here.”

Zo didn’t move. “I don’t think we should leave him like this… .”

She may have been right, but I didn’t care. “He’ll be fine; won’t you?”

“I’m always fine,” Jude said.

“See?”

Zo didn’t respond. She wasn’t even looking at me—she was looking past me with an exaggerated expression of horror.

“Nice try. What is it this time, monster behind my back?”

“Worse,” Zo muttered.

Of course, I thought. What else could make this perfect day complete? What else could make Zo tremble?

“Girls,” our father said. “Is this a bad time?”