Fifty-Seven

Emma, Back at the Alternate World’s Cuckoo Clock Building

“You might as well take Kona and me over to the stadium and arrest us alongside everyone else,” Emma said to the guard who was starting to snap handcuffs around her wrists.

Kona flashed her a puzzled look, and tilted her head to indicate the alternate-world Cuckoo Clock building behind them, with its open tunnel back to the better world. Emma could tell Kona was asking, Don’t we want to stay close to the tunnel? Close to at least the chance to escape? And a chance to get back to your mom and my dad?

“You know, there’s this story,” Emma said, pretending she was still speaking only to the guard, not Kona. “It’s called ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’ Have you ever heard of it? It’s about how kids are better than anyone at giving compliments to political leaders.”

Kona gave a snort of laughter that she quickly turned into a cough. Emma could tell that the other girl understood: Emma wanted to stay close to the Mayor in case they got the chance to expose his lies.

What Emma didn’t expect was the guard’s reaction. He met her gaze, his eyebrows arched.

And then he took off the handcuffs.

“Hurry along,” he said, giving her a little shove. “Catch up with the Mayor then.”

Wait—does the guard know the “Emperor’s New Clothes” story? she wondered. She’d just assumed it was something that wouldn’t have been allowed in this world. She’d thought she was safe using it as a code with Kona. But is that why he let me go? Because he wants the Mayor to be unmasked as a fraud?

She looked around, paying closer attention to all the guards streaming out of the alternate world’s Cuckoo Clock building. Or maybe they were police or soldiers—she couldn’t quite make sense of the varying navy blue uniforms, all trimmed in orange. All the people in uniforms clearly worked for the Mayor or this world’s other leaders. Just the sight of the blue uniforms brought her terrifying flashbacks from her mother’s trial at the Public Hall, and from the fund-raising party at Other-Natalie’s house, which had ended in gunfire.

But the guards swarming around her and Kona now seemed more . . . independent . . . than the guards and police and soldiers she’d seen in this world before. They weren’t rushing to obey the Mayor’s every command with a snappy salute. They weren’t moving in lockstep, keeping their eyes trained directly ahead. They were sneaking furtive glances here and there. Some of them were even whispering, though they fell silent when Emma edged closer.

Have they stopped being so loyal? Emma wondered. Have they stopped being so brainwashed and afraid?

But they were still marching toward the stadium. They were still carrying weapons: nightsticks and handcuffs and holstered guns.

Emma linked arms with Kona again and followed along with the guards and the police and the soldiers.

She and Kona reached the stadium just as the Mayor approached the stairs up to the stage right beneath the giant screen. An attendant handed him an official-looking navy blue coat, which he slipped on and buttoned up to his chin before mounting the stairs. Emma expected the guards to hold her and Kona back from the stage and the Mayor. But, oddly, the guards all stepped aside.

Emma and Kona raced up the stairs. They reached the stage only a few steps behind the Mayor.

“I think I preferred the catwalk,” Kona groaned.

It was dizzying to be on the stage in front of the giant screen—to see the Mayor striding relentlessly ahead of them while a seven-story-tall version of the same man calmly smiled and waved from the screen.

This is like at Mom’s trial, Emma thought, her heart sinking. The crowd’s seeing an entirely different version of what’s really happening.

But the crowd wasn’t reacting the way the crowd had at Mom’s trial. They weren’t even reacting the way everyone had in this stadium before the coins dropped. People were leaning their heads together and mumbling, frowning and squinting doubtfully.

It gave Emma hope.

She and Kona caught up to the Mayor just as another group of people rushed toward him from the other side of the stage. Emma’s heart clutched: It was Chess and Finn and Kafi; Rocky and Gus and another man who looked almost exactly like Gus—could it possibly be Mr. Gustano? And with them were two identical mother-daughter pairs: Natalie and her mom; Other-Natalie and the Judge.

But we left Natalie and her mom behind in the better world, Emma thought, desperately trying to figure out what had happened. Mr. Gustano should still be back there, too. . . .

The Mayor turned to glare at Emma and Kona just as Emma began tallying up who was missing.

He probably meant his glare to be fierce and forbidding, enough to silence any kid.

But Emma was done with being silent.

“What did you do to my mom and Kona’s dad?” she shouted at the Mayor. “What did you do with the rest of the Gustanos?”

Her words seemed to echo, to boom out much louder than Emma was normally capable of speaking.

Just past Chess and Finn and the others, Emma saw Lana and another girl who could have been her twin—Other-Lana, perhaps?—both shouldering professional-looking video cameras. Emma turned her head—and saw her own face. Only, it was multiple stories high, taking up a vast section of the giant screen.

Lana—both Lanas, maybe—had just made sure that everyone in the stadium heard Emma’s question. They were making sure that everyone in the stadium would see and hear the Mayor’s answer.

Or were they broadcasting even farther than that?

What if all the people of both worlds were listening and watching?