Orfyn
I’m in the backseat of the Flem Van with my arms straightjacketed around the humming cube, mentally sending the Traveling Protection Prayer to Archangel Michael so Stryker’s driving doesn’t send it flying.
“Now that we have Bat’s prototype, do you think the Darwinians will unmerge Angus?” I ask.
“I’ve been … questioning that, too,” Lake says.
“For good reason,” Stryker says, not exactly upping my faith in them.
“We can all refuse to tell them what’s happening in our dreams unless they do it,” I suggest.
“Then we’re five loose ends who can easily be made to disappear,” Stryker says. “There has to be a different solution.”
“I wish there was a way to get a message to Marty,” I say.
“And tell him what?” Lake asks.
“What do you think happens if a Mentor gets killed in their dreamspace?”
They both reel around to look at me.
“We are not using violence to get our way,” Stryker states in a tone that ends all discussion.
After miles of uncomfortable silence and the metallic smell of Lake’s gum, I have to ask. “Stryker, how do you know how to hotwire a car?”
“I looked it up on the Internet.”
I could’ve done that, too—if I’d thought about it, which I didn’t.
“Why does your dad need a palm reader for his office?” Lake asks, saving me from doing it.
Stryker drums his fingers on the steering wheel for so long, I don’t think he’s going to answer. “He didn’t want me to have access to a computer without supervision.” His voice has none of its usual confidence.
“Will you tell us why?” Lake asks.
Stryker’s eyes stay glued to the road.
“How about we play an honest game of One True Thing?” I say. “If you tell us about you, Stryker, I’ll tell you both the truth about me.”
I’m done beating myself up for who I was before The Flem. If I hadn’t been a street artist, Bat would never have known about me, and I wouldn’t be driving back with the solution to unmerging. So what if I didn’t go to art school? Like Bat says, no one can teach you how to have natural talent. And just because they can’t put a score on artistic intellect doesn’t mean I’m not as smart as the others. If being a Nobel has taught me anything, it’s that everyone is smart in their own way.
“You go first, then I’ll think about it,” Stryker says.
That’s his idea of fair? I’m sure Stryker’s life before The Flem was filled with stories that’ll impress Lake. But it’s time to come clean.
I lean in closer to Lake. “I was a street artist.”
She cocks her head. “You weren’t joking about that?”
I make myself look into her eyes. “No.”
Stryker says, “He’s actually pretty famous.”
“You know about me?” I ask.
He nods. “Anna told me after the party.”
“But you never told Lake.”
“It’s your secret. And just so you know, I threatened to divulge her secret if she told anyone else.”
“Thanks for that.” Every time I write Stryker off, he does something to change my mind. But what is Anna hiding? And how does Stryker know about it?
I consider ending it there, but I want Lake to know everything. “They wanted to make an example of me, so I was only days away from getting arrested. If it weren’t for Bat, I’d be in jail. For creating art.”
I’ve built up my secret so big in my head, I no longer know how to feel about it. I watch Lake’s face. She doesn’t look shocked or turned off, or even disappointed.
“Why didn’t you want me to know?” she asks.
“I didn’t want you to think less of me,” I admit, feeling my cheeks flame.
“Why would I do that?”
Her reaction helps me reveal the truth. “When I first got here, it felt like everything was stacked against me. Everyone is working on really important things, and you’re all so smart. Then you guys talked about how graffiti is disrespectful and—”
“And I said it takes away a city’s beauty,” Lake adds in a voice so soft I can barely hear her.
That memory still stings. “I wanted a chance to fit in.”
“I’m sorry,” Lake says, “I … I judged something I didn’t know anything about, which wasn’t fair to you.”
It feels like a flock of pigeons flies out of my chest, releasing the shame I’ve been carrying. How did I let their opinions change what I thought about myself? Before I got here, I was never ashamed of who I am—Sister Mo made sure of it. I’m never letting that happen again.
“Why did you choose the name Orfyn?” Lake asks.
“Instead of being something people can hold against me, I turned the fact that no one wanted me into a name I can be proud of.”
“I get that,” Stryker says.
He does?
Lake says, “My mom always told me that from the moment she first looked into my eyes, she knew what to call me.” She gasps.
“What?” I ask.
“People who have Alzheimer’s can perfectly roast … I mean, recall their memories from the past. It’s the most recent ones I’m forgetting.”
Does she realize what she’s admitting?
“You’re too young to get Alzheimer’s,” I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m talking about.
“What about Sophie?” Lake says to Stryker. “That could explain a lot.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
Stryker answers for her. “Sophie doesn’t realize she’s been merged. She believes Lake is a grad student she can fire.”
Holy crap! Lake never let on. Stryker obviously knew about it. Why didn’t she think she could tell me?
“You know how much I trust the Darwinians,” Stryker says. “But even I don’t believe they’d insert someone with brain damage into your mind.”
“Thanks. I needed to hear that.” Lake reaches over and touches his arm.
My stomach knots up when he gives her a reassuring smile.
“Your turn, Stryker,” I say. “What’s your One True Thing?” Please don’t say it’s that you and Lake are secretly together.
“If I tell you, my story stays here,” he says.
“Deal,” I say.
“You don’t want to cross me on this one, Art.”
“You didn’t spread around my secret, and I won’t share yours.”
He holds my eyes in the rearview mirror and finally nods. “Okay. Last year, I started this blog as an experiment to see if I could get people interested in doing something about our dysfunctional government. It took off after I started managing an online forum where the merits of different ideas were debated. Some pretty important people started to follow it, and at times they even added their opinions.”
He slowly exhales. “Then I got the idea to coordinate flash-rallies at the state capitals. I’d select an idea from the forum and tell my followers where to meet up. We got the influencers to start listening, and it seemed like real change was starting to happen.”
Stryker stops talking, and just as I’m thinking his One True Thing is more about boasting, he says, “At one of the flash-rallies, this guy showed up with an assault rifle. He killed three people and wounded twelve others.” His head drops.
“Oh my God!” Lake’s hand flies to her mouth.
I stare at Stryker, trying to match what I just learned with the image of him I’ve been carrying.
Stryker continues, “I was arrested for inciting violence, but before my identity went public, the Darwinians cut a deal with government officials who didn’t want it getting out that they’d unknowingly been following a teenager’s direction.”
“That’s why you want to end gun violence,” I say, finally understanding. This is not the conversation I thought we’d be having.
“I chose the name Stryker to remind me that no matter how well-meaning your intentions, there are people out there who will take offense and strike back, so you’d better be ready for the fallout.”
“Stryker is your alias,” Lake says. “I forgot about that.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I promise.
Lake adds, “Me, too. And I’m sorry you had to experience something so heinous.”
“There’s not a single day I don’t regret what I did.” He hits the gas, pressing us into our seats. He stares into the miles of road ahead, every so often wiping away a tear.
Lake eventually falls asleep, and I spend the rest of the drive thinking about what I just learned. I thought the others had it so easy, but I’m starting to realize everyone has things from their past they keep hidden. Good or bad, we wouldn’t be who we are today without them.
When we creep up the gravel driveway to the old garage, the building is blazing with lights. I really want to believe Anna didn’t rat us out, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve been caught.