39

One week later . . .

Lars was going to drop Brit off at my house—we’d made a plan to study, which meant we’d probably just paint our nails and watch TV. Albert was on the couch, thinking about stuff. He never did start chattering away after he whispered in my ear. It was a gift for me, and I knew it. Maybe he’d talk more someday, and maybe he wouldn’t. That was up to him.

We didn’t know how to explain it all to Ma. It seemed so unlikely and crazy. But half the garage was gone, and our front door had bullet holes in it. Plus the four of us were pretty beat up—I still had a black eye, and Albert’s head was swollen and bruised. So we told Ma and Meemaw most of the story—minus the information about the role Ma played in how Albert turned out. I didn’t want her to know. I was sure she’d feel rotten and blame herself for participating in the one stupid experiment that changed Albert’s life forever. And anyhow, it was Albert’s story to tell. When he wanted to talk to Ma about it, he would.

When Meemaw heard the bizarre tale, she took it well. She said, “I figured it was something like that.”

What? How could she possibly? That made me laugh.

Agent Saunders talked to Ma on the phone and insisted that Albert get checked to make sure his head was okay. Saunders said the “Bureau” would cover it, as well as medical visits for the Stickles. Plus there’d be money for the damage done to our property from some “federal claim group.” Saunders was all official about the deal, so Ma had to accept the incredible story.

The weirdest thing was that nobody (not even Ma or Meemaw) recognized me as the girl in the commercial. Albert memoed me that the SMHR units had an app or something that altered the sound and the picture. They’d done it this way because I guess they picked up on how I wouldn’t like the attention, which was true. I was grateful. The SMHR units saved me from being pestered by tons and tons of people. Pretty thoughtful, for machines.

Most of the world thought it was just a show or a stunt—and the triad was so smooth there was no way to trace it to them. The mass hysteria and the violence that occurred beforehand couldn’t be explained. It was chalked up to just that—mass hysteria; a viral blip of madness that happened one shameful New Year’s Eve.

And the amazing fireworks of good thoughts that followed? Well, that couldn’t be explained either. I had to admit that the fireworks could have been another trick of the SMHRs’s technology, but I liked to believe it was the people who did it—just regular people creating something beautiful in a moment of goodness and unity. Those who were there and who experienced it said that they felt wonderful. They said the wonderful feeling lasted for a long, long time. I could still feel it, that sense of joy and wonder. But I guess I felt like that a lot of the time anyway, which was a super nice way to feel.

Most of the snow had melted, and with it, the evidence that we’d waged a battle here at the end of Myrtle Road. All that was left was a shrinking snowman that Brit and I had made the day after. We’d dressed him in an old trench coat and put dark glasses on him and called him Agent Saunders. Later we added a red plastic squirt gun and a broken earmuff that was supposed to be his communication device. The fun-relativity factor was still working because we definitely got some good giggles out of making that dumb snowman.

I went out to meet Brit by the road. She was climbing out of Lars’s truck just as a black car pulled up behind them.

It was the real Agent Saunders.

He got out of his car and gave us a curt nod. His overcoat was crisp and his suit was impeccable, but his handsome face was definitely worse for wear after the beating he’d taken from the Partner.

“I wanted to check on you kids in person,” he said, very proper and businesslike. “Agent Guy couldn’t be here; he’s still in the hospital with a concussion.”

Brit grimaced.

“He’ll be fine,” Saunders said quickly. “He’s getting tip-top care.”

“I was sorta worried,” Brit confided.

“I’m glad to see the four of you are recovering. I brought some compensation for your mom, and for the Stickle family.” He patted some envelopes in his pocket. “The Bureau’s going to pay for medical expenses plus damages.”

“The Bureau, huh? That’s pretty nice,” Brit said. “Thanks, Saunders. Hey, could I get, like, a whole check-up and some prescriptions if I needed them?”

I knew what Brit was thinking—something for her skin!

“I would expect nothing less,” he assured her.

“How are you feeling, Saunders?” I asked.

“Excellent.”

He said this like, why wouldn’t I be excellent? Then he furtively glanced left and right. “I have something I want you to see.” He made a curt nod to the briefcase he was carrying.

“Well, come on in. I know how to make coffee—oh wait, you don’t like coffee.”

Lars came in, too, and after an awkward pause in the front room, Lars said, “Agent Saunders, I wanted to thank you for knocking me out when you did. I was losing it.” He held out his hand for Saunders to shake.

“It was hell,” Saunders said. He clutched Lars’s hand and shook it. “I don’t know how you did what you did, Lars. Even from where I was standing, I could barely hang on to my sanity.” Saunders gave Lars a formal nod, like he’d won an award or something. Lars blushed pink but he stood straighter.

“Ma is still at work,” I said. “And Meemaw is at Mrs. Zucker’s. Sorry you can’t meet them.” Secretly, I could picture Meemaw commenting about Saunders looking uptight—or she might pop off about a stick being up his you-know-what. So I guess I was relieved she wasn’t here.

“Actually, I knew your mother and grandmother wouldn’t be at home.” (Saunders just couldn’t resist the chance to be a know-it-all.)

Brit arched her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

Saunders promptly set his briefcase on the dining room table and opened it. He pulled out a laptop and opened that, too. Then he navigated to a file he’d saved. Once again he looked around cautiously as if he had something to hide. The four of us gathered around him as he clicked PLAY on the screen.