Forty-Seven

Emma

Finn’s idea wouldn’t work.

Emma knew that.

But it wasn’t like knowing Fibonacci numbers or the Pythagorean theorem or pi—that was knowledge that made her happy.

This knowledge made her want to cry.

I guess I’m not actually smart enough, she thought.

Emma had always been smart enough. She’d been plenty smart enough for school. She’d been smart enough for her own brothers to call her a genius. And she’d been smart enough to figure out Mom’s trickiest codes, even when they were layered one on top of the other.

This time around, though, she hadn’t even been smart enough to sit down with the coded coins and the uncoded coins to figure them all out. FIND US, SEE US, HEAR US, HELP US, TELL OUR STORIES. . . . She could have found anagrams in the translated words; she could have scrambled and unscrambled the letters and looked for all sorts of extra codes.

But that had never felt necessary. FIND US, SEE US, HEAR US, HELP US, TELL OUR STORIES—that was all the people from this world had asked for. They thought that was enough to change their world.

And things had only gotten worse.

Maybe the real problem is, it’s not enough to be smart, Emma thought with a pang.

She was smart, and she’d still nearly been trapped by the TVs three times. The first time, they’d all been lucky, and Kafi had unplugged the TV. The second time, Emma had been saved by thinking about Finn, and not wanting him to be trapped, too. The third time, she’d been saved by looking at Chess.

And, oh yeah, I had coins that third time, too, but . . .

But the coins weren’t enough, either.

Hmmm, Emma thought.

She tucked herself more tightly into the space between Chess and Finn. All of the kids had their backs pressed hard against the SUV now. All of them had their feet braced against the pavement like they were playing tug-of-war with an invisible rope.

Their opponent wasn’t invisible. Or silent.

Through the entryway to the stadium, Emma could see a swath of the giant screen, the cameras panning across one face after another. Emma was glad she couldn’t see Other-Natalie or the Judge; she wouldn’t have been able to bear seeing their familiar, beloved faces looking so blank and lifeless and obedient. Not when they looked so much like the Greystones’ friend Natalie and her mother—and their faces were always so alive and expressive.

And if we went into the stadium—even with a good plan, even with the best of intentions—we’d end up looking lifeless and blank and stupid, too, Emma thought hopelessly. We’d end up falling under the spell of the screen and that loud voice telling us the leaders know everything, and we should never ask any questions or think for ourselves.

It wasn’t like they could blindfold themselves to avoid peering at the screen. And they didn’t have earplugs to block out the voice.

But . . . I am actually managing to block out the voice now, Emma thought. How?

Was it because she was thinking so hard about people she loved?

Was it because she hadn’t given up?

Emma dared to glance once more toward the giant screen. She fought against the thought, Finn’s idea won’t work, and wondered instead, How could we change Finn’s idea to make it work? For the first time, she noticed a railing at the top of the screen. She couldn’t quite focus her eyes on it. Staring toward the screen was too much like staring into a black hole. Just looking made her feel like she was being sucked in.

That would happen to all the kids if they tried to enter the stadium, if they tried to stand in front of the screen to throw coins at the cameras.

But what if they climbed above it?