Thirty-Eight

Emma

Emma took off racing toward the cafeteria.

An ally! she thought. We’ve found another ally besides Lana!

Didn’t it logically follow that anyone who had coins would be on their side?

She could hear the others running behind her, Chess calling, “Emma, be careful! Maybe we should think about this first. . . .”

Emma did not slow down. Nobody had caught them on their drive to the TV station—or when Finn was on TV—so she wasn’t concerned about being caught now. Especially not if there was a chance to get help.

Emma burst into the cafeteria, panting from her long run. Her gasps for air sounded hideously loud in the quiet cafeteria. But nobody even looked at her until she strode out in front of the crowd—between them and the TV. Then everyone began to mumble and complain:

“No, no, sit down. . . .”

“Sit down and join us. . . .”

“Join us and watch. . . . The next instructions will be coming soon. . . .”

“Who said the next instructions will be coming soon?” Emma demanded, even as she scanned the crowd looking for the man she’d seen with the coins. She could ask questions in her sleep; it took no effort to ask about the TV while she was also trying to find help.

People from throughout the crowd answered this time.

“TV . . .”

“TV always has more instructions. . . .”

“We do what the TV says. . . .”

“TV makes everything official. . . .”

“Nothing’s real if it’s not on TV. . . .”

“TV is what our leaders want us to know. TV’s the only thing we can trust. . . .”

It was almost unbearable to listen to these answers.

“Newsflash: That TV’s not saying anything!” she shouted, pointing to the TV overhead even as she shifted to the side, still looking for the man. Where was he?

It really would have helped if she’d seen his face, rather than just the back of his head.

And if he’d been wearing something besides a navy blue hoodie and jeans.

Lots of men in the crowd were wearing hoodies and jeans.

Wavy dark hair, she told herself. Look for the hair that matches—and that guy definitely had a bald spot.

She started to circle toward the back of the room, so she could look for bald spots. But just then, the crowd let out a sigh of contentment, in unison. Emma turned her head: The TV had flickered back to life. It made Emma think of a zombie in a horror movie—some monster that couldn’t be killed. Emma squinted, trying to figure out how it all worked.

On the screen, people huddled under a broken, sagging roof while flashes of light exploded around them.

Ooooh . . . bombs, Emma thought. Who cares how the TV works? It’s just good that it does, to warn us. A war must have started outside after we all came into the TV station. And after the crowd came back in. Probably because of people from the other world. It’s so good that the TV is telling us what’s really going on, so we know to stay here and be safe. . . . And we have to keep watching. . . .

“Emma!”

That was Chess, shouting in her ear. He began pulling on her arm, pulling her toward the door out of the cafeteria.

Emma’s feet wanted to stay in place. Her heels tried to dig into the floor.

“We watched the security footage again—it doesn’t look like that man came back inside!” Chess yelled.

“Ooooh . . . ,” Emma moaned. But her brain was fighting back against the TV’s influence again.

To steady herself, she stared at Chess’s face: his ordinary, entirely familiar face. One of his nostrils was ever so slightly larger than the other, and he had a tiny, tiny scar in his right eyebrow, where Finn had accidentally hit him once with a hockey stick. Emma knew the whole story; she knew Finn had been so sorry he’d apologized every day for a month.

Emma knew Chess. She knew he loved her, and wanted good things for her.

The TV did not love her. It did not want good things for anybody.

I can think that now, she thought. I can think with my own brain again, even though the TV’s still on. And that’s just because of looking at Chess.

Chess began tugging Emma toward the door. Emma’s feet kept fighting her—once or twice, Chess’s feet seemed to be fighting him. But finally they were on the other side of the cafeteria door, out in the hall.

Chess slammed it behind them, shutting out the noise of the TV.

“You rescued me,” Emma murmured. “You saved me. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d still be there, even with all the coins I have. Why am I so . . . susceptible?”

“We all are, Emma—don’t be so hard on yourself,” Chess said. He grinned in a way that almost seemed happy. At least temporarily. “This makes up for the times you were right during our other trips to this world, and we needed to be braver, or we needed to solve some extra code. We’re a good team. We balance each other out. So does Finn.”

“Chess, Emma, come on!” It was Finn shouting from down the hall. He, Rocky, and Kona were clustered around the desk in the entryway again. But they were staring out the front window instead of looking at any of the security footage. “That guy’s right outside. Let’s go meet him!”

“Is it safe?” Chess called back, and Emma almost laughed because her brother was so predictable.

Of course, if it weren’t for him, she’d still be stuck in front of the TV in the cafeteria.

“Maybe we should wait a few minutes?” she called, to back up Chess. “Spy for a few minutes, until we can tell what that guy is up to?”

She and Chess caught up with the others. Lana had the duffel bag of coins strapped over her shoulder again. Finn had picked up Emma’s bag with the lever inside—how could she have dropped it and left it behind? Rocky and Kona were handing Kafi back and forth, as if they needed to do that to keep her out of trouble.

Outside in the parking lot, the man was slowly rotating toward the building.

“In just a moment, we’ll see his face,” Emma breathed. “We’ll be able to tell if we know him or—”

“In just a moment, he’ll see us,” Lana muttered back. She ducked down behind a potted plant, and motioned for the others to take cover, too.

Emma slid down beside a waiting room couch. She could see the man’s ear. She could see the first part of his eyebrow. She could see the profile of his nose.

And then Rocky bolted straight up, crying, “I know who that is! It’s my dad!”