Part 22 (1/2)
87.
The kid quickly started typing in commands, muttering, ”I'm gonna track this down. . . .”
Fang and I watched, but a couple minutes later the geek stopped, flicking his computer in frustration. He looked at us with narrowed eyes, taking in everything: the drying blood on my chin, the other kids sleeping near us.
”I don't know how you're doing it,” he said, sounding resigned and irritated. ”Where's your gear?”
”We don't have any gear,” Fang said. ”Spooky, isn't it?”
”You guys on the run? You in trouble?”
Jeb had drilled it into us that we shouldn't ever trust anyone. (We now knew that included him. him.) The geek was starting to make me extremely nervous.
”Why would you think that?” Fang asked calmly.
The kid rolled his eyes. ”Let me see. Maybe because you're a bunch of kids kids sleepin' in a sleepin' in a subway tunnel. subway tunnel. Kind of clues me in, you know?” Kind of clues me in, you know?”
Okay, he had a point.
”What about you?” I asked. ”You're a kid sleeping in a subway tunnel. Don't you have school?”
The kid coughed out a laugh. ”MIT kicked me out.”
MIT was a university for brainiacs-I'd heard of it. This kid wasn't old enough.
”Uh-huh.” I made myself sound incredibly bored.
”No, really,” he said, sounding almost sheepish. ”I got early admission. Was gonna major in computer technology. But I spun out, and they told me to take a hike.”
”What do you mean, spun out?” asked Fang.
He shrugged. ”Wouldn't take my Thorazine. They said, no Thorazine, no school.”
Okay, I'd been around wack-job scientists enough to pick up on some stuff. Like the fact that Thorazine is what they give schizophrenics.
”So you didn't like Thorazine,” I said.
”No.” His face turned hard. ”Or Haldol, or Melleril, or Zyprexa. They all suck. People just want me to be quiet, do what I'm told, don't make trouble.”
It was weird-he reminded me a little bit of us: He'd chosen to live a hard, dirty life, being free, instead of a taken-care-of life where he was like a prisoner.
Course, we weren't schizo. On second thought, I had a voice talking inside my head. Better not make any snap judgments.
”So what's up with your computer, man?” Fang asked.
The kid shrugged again. ”It's my bread and b.u.t.ter. I can hack into anything. Sometimes people pay me. I do jobs when I need money.” All of a sudden his mouth snapped shut. ”Why? Who wants to know? Who wants to know?”
”Chill out, dude,” Fang said, frowning. ”We're just having a chat.”
But the kid had started to back away, looking angry. ”Who sent you?” he asked, his voice rising. ”Who are you? You just leave me alone! You just stay away!”
Fang raised his hands in a ”calm down” gesture, but the kid had turned and run. In about fifteen seconds we could no longer hear his sneakers on the ground.
”It's always refres.h.i.+ng to meet someone crazier than us,” I said. ”We seem so normal afterward.”
”We?” Fang said. Fang said.
”Wha's up?” Iggy asked sleepily, pulling himself upright.
I sighed but forced myself to tell Iggy about the kid's computer, the Voice in my head, the images that flashed through me during one of my attacks. I tried to sound nonchalant, so he wouldn't know I was quaking in my boots.
”Maybe I'm going crazy,” I said lightly. ”But it will lead me to greatness. Like Joan of Arc.”
”But controlling other people's computers?” Iggy said skeptically.
”I don't see how,” I said. ”But since I have no clue about who or what could possibly be causing it, I guess I can't rule anything out.”
”Hmm. Do we think it's connected to the School or the Inst.i.tute?” Fang asked.
”Well, either that or I was born this way,” I said sarcastically. ”On the off chance I wasn't, wasn't, let's really, really try to find the Inst.i.tute tomorrow. At least now we know what name to look for.” let's really, really try to find the Inst.i.tute tomorrow. At least now we know what name to look for.”
The Inst.i.tute for Higher Living.
Catchy, huh?
88.
Have you ever woken up about a hundred times more exhausted than you were when you went to sleep?
The next morning-at least, I a.s.sumed it was morning, since we were all waking up-I felt like one of the twelve dancing princesses, who danced all night, wore holes in their shoes, and had to sleep it off the next day. Except, oh, yeah: a) I'm not a princess; b) sleeping in a subway tunnel and having another brain attack aren't that much like dancing all night; and c) my combat boots were still in good shape. Other than that, it was exactly exactly the same. the same.
”Is it morning?” Angel asked, yawning.
”I'm hungry” were, predictably, Nudge's first words.
”Okay, we'll get you some chow,” I said tiredly. ”Then it's off to find the Inst.i.tute.”
Fang, Iggy, and I had agreed to not tell the younger kids about the hacker or about my latest brain attack. Why make 'em worry?
It took a couple minutes for us to wend our way through the subway tunnels, back up into light and air. You know you've been breathing something less than primo when the New York street smells really fresh and clean.