We’re on Market Street near the big park next to City Hall. Corina’s in front of me with a basket saying “Help us out” to people. I’m lying behind her, searching for good targets. It took me all morning to learn how to sort sheets and find the right ones quickly, but once I developed a method for it, it was easy.
For the last hour I’ve been focused on learning how to change people. It turns out it’s not that different from before. When I was seeing them as strands in the Jungle, I just had to find the dark spots—the places where there was doubt and fear and there wasn’t a note playing.
It took me a little time to see it—fear and doubt don’t show up as blank spots on the sheet music, just as notes that are written with less force. The deeper the uncertainty, the more faintly written the note. The more faintly written the note, the easier it is for me to overwrite it, change it. Rearrange the song.
Even so, I’m finding that some people are hard to change. It’s like everybody’s got their own key. I can add some notes, change some others around, but I can’t write things that don’t fit with their overall music.
I lay behind Corina with my eyes closed while she rattles the bucket. I’m listening for people who are already keyed to give. I just write me and Corina into their generosity.
Once I figure it out, we pull in nearly three hundred dollars in the space of twenty-five minutes before a couple of cops take an interest in us. They’re focused and I can’t get them to go away. They’re intent on harassing us. “We gotta go,” I tell Corina.
“We’re making good money.”
“Those cops aren’t gonna let us be.” Then: “I can’t talk to cops.”
“You can’t make them stop?”
“Nah, they’re too focused.” I stand up, reach down for her. “We’ve got money for the bus to LA. That’s what we needed.”
She shakes her head, shoves the money from the can into her pocket, and stands up without my hand. We start walking. The cops lose interest.
We’re crossing up over the big open field by City Hall when I feel someone watching me. I slow and look around.
“What’s up?” Corina asks, looking around herself.
I wave her off, still focused on my feeling. “Sec . . .” Then I see him.
When you see Bicycle Man, run up the hill!
A blond guy, his hair barely contained by his helmet, is drinking coffee from a paper cup, watching us from the other side of the park. Even at a distance, I recognize him. He nearly ran into me on the night the Locust killed my parents. Bicycle Man. I make myself look away like I didn’t see him, didn’t recognize him. I make myself smile like everything’s good and start walking again, falling in right next to Corina.
“Don’t act weird, but we’re being followed.”
She doesn’t miss a step. She doesn’t turn around. “Who?”
“Bicycle Man. I warned myself about him on my self-glide . . .” I trail off because I can’t finish my thought out loud. Suddenly, I know the truth: He’s the guy who delivered the Live-Tech. He’s the guy who brought the Locust to my house. He’s the guy who arranged for my parents to be killed.
“He’s working with them.”
She’s quiet until we reach the corner. While we’re waiting for the light, she looks around. “I see him.” Then: “Ideas?”
“When I warned me about him?”
She looks at me: “Yeah?”
“I told myself what to do.”
The light’s ready to turn. “What?”
The walk sign lights up. “Run up the hill!”
We dash across the street. It’s crowded in the crosswalk, so we leave the lines, running between waiting cars, getting to the far side.
“This way!” Corina shouts, pointing up the big hill to our right.
She takes off before she finishes, catching me flat-footed. I jump after her, not wanting to get separated. Bicycle Man is on the far side of the street. He’s got his bike and he’s starting up the hill parallel to us.
But the hill’s getting steep and it’s easier to run than bike. He starts to fall behind. My legs feel heavy and my lungs hurt, but we push on. Corina’s still ahead of me, creating a path through the pedestrians. By the time we reach the top, he’s two blocks behind us.
“There!” Corina’s pointing at a hotel with a line of driverless cabs in front. We dash to the first one, tell it to drive, but it doesn’t move.
“We don’t have the App, Plugzer—we aren’t going anywhere.” She starts to get back out of the car.
I dive. The guy at the valet stand. He’s an easy rewrite and by the time I open my eyes, he’s got his screen up against the tap pad.
“Thanks!” Corina says to him, closing her door.
The cab pulls into traffic.
“Where we going?” Corina asks me when she sees my eyes open.
“Back across the bridge, then I don’t know.”
She looks out the back window and I do, too. We both duck down suddenly. Bicycle Man is cresting the hill. “We should get out of town.”
“Yeah.”
She doesn’t say anything for a bit, but then she looks at me. “I don’t want to take more busses, so you’d better find somebody to rewrite into giving us a ride.”