Mr. Fahrenheit (12 page)

And it was beautiful.

“We were just cruising.” Benji shrugged. “I better get to class.”

McKedrick's gaze trailed over Benji's shoulder. Benji realized: His skin actually
was
vibrating. The silver saucer shrapnel was buzzing in his backpack.

McKedrick saw Benji's utterly shocked expression before Benji could disguise it.

“What have you got in there, kid?” McKedrick said in response to Benji's strange reaction. McKedrick stood, and for one millisecond, something flashed in his eyes that shocked Benji: something like compassion, or pity.
I know you're in over your head, Lightman. Don't you lie to me.

“I dunno,” said Benji. “But it came from . . .”

. . . outer space
. . .

“. . . it came from
you
,” Benji finished, and moved so smoothly that McKedrick did not notice Benji's hand retrieving a small silver object from his coat pocket. Benji reached up and pulled that object from McKedrick's ear, and showed it to the agent.

A joy buzzer.

McKedrick gave a single dry, confused chuckle.

And Benji, filled with a gorgeously reckless courage, said, “Out of this world, right?”

Benji strolled into the hallway and rejoined the stream of students, feeling an urge to shout to the population of the planet,
GUESS WHO IS A BADASS?!
He settled on smiling, the fantastic metal of adrenaline filling his mouth. Even when the tardy bell rang and a group of stragglers jostled into him, he felt untouchable. Lighter.
So this is how CR always feels
, Benji thought. He stopped walking, just paused right there in the middle of the main hall, watching the last kids rushing into classrooms while the echo of the bell faded. And then the doors shut and the hallway filled with that almost-eerie almost-silence that you hear only and always when you're walking through school with no one else around. It was oddly exhilarating, that feeling—like you had this power or freedom that all the kids tethered to their desks didn't, even though really you were just going to the bathroom.
So this is how I'm always going to feel
, Benji thought.

He went to the bathroom.

Nobody at the urinals or sink; no feet in the stalls. He locked the last stall behind him, kneeled on the scuzzy floor, and tore open his backpack. The silvery cylinder lay at the bottom of it, smushed between his tuxedo and community college brochures. The curve in the metal looked a little like a kid's drawing of a smile.

No
, Benji corrected himself.
Like a question mark.

And now the Question was silent. Cautiously, he put his index finger on it. Buzz-less.

So he lifted it. The Question caught the bathroom fluorescents, bathing the interior of the backpack with a video game treasure-chest glow. He turned it in his hands. Fractals of light washed over the graffitied stall walls.

Here's a question: What the ass just happened in the office?
Benji didn't know. All he knew was that rather than feeling powerless, he'd felt almost mighty. And the Question had
seemed to somehow respond to that intense emotion.

Like magic.

Presto.

And for once, I kept my magic secret.

Change-o.

T
he rest of the morning felt a month long. When the lunch bell finally rang, Benji not-quite-jogged to the new wing of the school. The school's main building was really old, like days-of-disco old, but in the early 2000s it seemed like Bedford Falls's future was one big fat check from the natural gas companies, so the city cut down some forest land to build the new football stadium, and also added this new wing with computer labs and a huge auditorium. A plaque beside the auditorium double doors read:
To all fine arts, this theater is dedicated
. It was currently occupied by the football team, who were watching a video, projected on a portable movie screen, of rival Newporte High's latest game. Coach Nicewarner stood by the screen, illustrating Newporte's weaknesses with a laser pointer.

Benji spotted Ellie at the small audiovisual control booth in the middle-back of the auditorium. There were several boards covered in the buttons and sliding switches that controlled the auditorium, but Ellie was focused on her laptop.

Benji wove through the plushy blue-and-gold seats. “You've got your independent study period this afternoon, right?” he
said when he reached her.

Ellie glanced up. “Howdy to you, too.”

“Sorry, hi.”

The glowing red eye of a laser pointer hovered on Benji's chest. “You got something real important to say to all of us, son? You got a message from the pope?” Coach grumbled.

Benji waved without apologizing, took the stool next to Ellie, and mostly whispered, “I need your help.”

“Ellie,” Coach called, “fast-forward to the end of the fourth quarter, would'ja, hon?”

Ellie offered Coach a plastic smile, punched a key on the control panel, and told Benji through her teeth, “When a man asks a question that ends with ‘hon' or ‘sweetie,' I always want to answer, ‘Ew.'” She punched another key; on the movie screen Newporte resumed pummeling the other team at normal speed.

“I'll write that in my diary to make sure I remember, Tootsie-Wootsie,” someone whispered to Benji's right. It was CR.

Ellie casually scratched her cheek with her middle finger—
not
smiling, Benji noticed.

“You need to watch the game, don't you?” Benji asked CR.

“Nah, I already did, like, three times. I had a double period of Phys Ed this morning.” Ellie laughed under her breath. “What?” CR said.

“Two gym classes,” Ellie said, “because you simply can't fit all there is to learn about the intricacies of indoor kickball into a single ninety-minute block?”

“Damn, Eleanor, moody much? I guess I'm not the only one having a double perio—”

“Nope!” Benji said warningly, raising his hand in front of CR's face like a stop sign.

CR stared at it for a moment, then at Benji, like he didn't understand what Benji was doing. Then, with a confused
tentativeness, CR gave the hand a high five.

Ellie snapped her laptop shut, and just before she did, Benji saw that a Word document named “Short Film Narration” was open—a
blank
document. She slid the computer into her backpack. His chest tightened. It wasn't like he'd never been caught in the crossfire between CR and Ellie before. When they'd dated sophomore year, they'd bickered practically all the time. Benji had been the Switzerland of those conflicts: studiously neutral. During their rare post-breakup fights, Benji was always reminded of their prior relationship, which was unpleasant on a number of levels.

“Ellie, don't go,” Benji said. “CR, apologize. Right now.”

CR's mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Do it,” Benji said. His voice was strong, free of the anxiety that usually tethered it. “I'm serious.”

CR stared at Benji another moment, then cocked an incredulous (and condescending, frankly) half smile. “Oh, I'm
very
sorry, Eleanor.”

CR
, Benji thought angrily,
can you just not be yourself for a while?

Ellie might have left anyway, but right then the door at the back of the auditorium opened. The silhouette of a skinny guy in dad clothes carrying two full-to-bursting duffel bags stepped through. Benji smiled. Zeeko made his way to them and dropped the bags to the floor, breathing and sweating pretty heavily.

He held his hand out in front of Benji. “That'll be a zillion dollars,” he said.

“Did you get everything on the list?” Benji asked.

“You're welcome,” Zeeko said.

“Sorry, thank you.”

“I'd say ‘Don't mention it,' but you already didn't.” Zeeko sounded maybe a little hurt, actually, but he went on. “How's it
going, kids? Ellie, dahling, you look upset, which is upsetting me.”

Ellie smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah. It's Christopher Robin.”

“Uh oh, a two-name offense! His social skills do leave something to be desired—specifically, social skills.”

“Ha-ha,” CR said. But he was grinning, and whatever tension lingered in the air had gone.

“I got most of your list, Neil deGrasse Tyson,” Zeeko said to Benji. “If I took any more, the hospital would notice. And I need it back tonight.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper covered in Benji's handwriting from his pocket. “What's with leaving a note in my locker, though? Did your phone break?”

“Oh my
God
,” Ellie whispered. She had opened one of the duffel bags and found some of the inventory. Benji had a moment to worry about how she would react, but when she lifted her face, it was lit with a kind of nervous delight. “Are we doing a science project, Benji Lightman? Are we going on a
field trip
?”

Benji nodded, feeling the happy zing of that “I have the ultimate hall pass” freedom.

“I left the note,” he told Zeeko, “'cause we need a rule: no texting about anything even slightly related to Thingy Thang. If we
absolutely
need to talk about it, call. But no voice mails. Also, Ellie, before we go, make sure you turn off Find My iPhone. And Find My Friends. And Foursquare and Whisper. And Frequently Visited Places on Google Maps and location-based reminders, and, umm—”

“Why the paranoia?” Ellie said, looking concerned.

“Just being absurdly careful,” Benji replied, quoting Ellie from last night, because he'd already concluded he shouldn't say anything about Agent McKedrick, at least not yet. And Benji really
wasn't
paranoid, at least not exactly. He just wanted answers, felt an extraordinary urge to go to the pod and try
to make sense of everything. All his life he'd carried a vague anxiety that he was Missing Out on the Good Stuff. Now, for the first time he could remember, he thought he might know how to make that anxiety and longing vanish. If he could just understand the pod, just make sense of why the saucer had come . . .

Ellie nodded at his response, the sides of her mouth twitching adorably at the secret code.

CR, playing catch-up, asked, “When's this happening, Banjo?”

“Now.”

“'Kay, I'll drive.”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean, it's just, it might take a while, and I know you've got class.”

“Just computer lab, and I was gonna skip anyway. Besides, I don't want you spending time with that thing without me.” CR might just be acting protective. But he almost seemed more
defensive
, like he was trying to say
My hall pass is bigger than yours.

Well . . . whatever.
Benji was taking a day off from soothing CR's insecurities. To keep things light, he said, “Thanks.”

Zeeko excused himself, saying he had to go help his dad in the community health truck, which that afternoon was hanging out in the Kroger parking lot.

Benji picked up the duffel bags filled with (among other things) stethoscopes, scalpels, bone saws, and radiation detectors. It was showtime.

Papaw's cruiser wasn't in the driveway, but Benji still told CR to wait in the truck. Ellie hopped out with Benji, and after they'd verified the house was empty, Benji helped CR back his truck up the driveway to the tree house in the backyard. The feelings of excitement grew stronger as he physically got closer to
the tree house. Images of touching the pod again grew clear in his mind, like a video unpixelating on a better internet connection. He kept thinking of the years of carnival mornings with Papaw, and how although the world right now had none of that predawn visual mystique (it was just typical Indiana winter afternoon weather, low steely skies binding the brutally cold air), it
felt
like he'd always hoped those carnival mornings would.

As CR turned off the truck, wind gusted. The oak limbs around the tree house chattered. Wearing a fashionable-but-way-too-thin thrift store peacoat, Ellie shivered.

“Want to borrow my scarf?” Benji asked.

“What scarf would that be?” He wasn't wearing one.

He reached up his sleeve, pulled out a long, rainbow-colored “infinity scarf,” and wrapped it gently around Ellie's neck. “You keep that for a while,” he said. “You make that look better than I do.”

Maybe it was just the cold, but roses appeared in Ellie's cheeks. “Benji Lightman,” she said, laughing a little, “you can be so damn cheesy sometimes.”

“I'm not sure if that's a compliment.”

“It is.”

For once, she was the one who broke eye contact.

As CR got out of the truck, his phone beeped.

“Stow it in the car, buddy,” Benji said.

CR checked the screen. “Coach wants to know why I left. Also he's telling me for the billionth time not to do a revenge prank against Newporte this week. Which, I dunno, are you guys
sure
you don't want to do it?” CR frowned when Benji and Ellie nodded. “Well, thank you, World, for pooping my party. Just let me text him back.”

Benji sighed inwardly and took out his own phone to turn
it off. But actually, it already was. When Ellie checked, hers was off, too. He remembered how so many metallic and electronic objects had gone bananas at the quarry when the saucer arrived. He realized he was closer to the tree house than CR—maybe fifteen feet from the ramp.

“Come over here first,” Benji said to CR.

CR, texting, took a step forward and,
beep
, his phone went black. “The hell?”

Benji couldn't help but feel a small thrill. “It's the pod, I think. It's like a force field.”

“What, seriously? Thanks for telling me! I don't have Apple-Care, bro!”

“No, the phone's fine. It just won't work while you're close to the pod.” CR still looked annoyed or something, and Benji thought,
YOU CAN BUY A NEW PHONE. YOU CANNOT BUY A NEW POD.

“Oh,” CR said. “Well, I guess at least I don't have to worry about pictures getting online again.”

Benji felt a reflexive disappointment that the pod was unphotographable—the phrase “pics or it didn't happen” flashed in his head like an obnoxious neon sign. But, after a moment, he really
liked
the idea. He wasn't sure whether he eventually wanted to tell the world about the pod, but until he decided, it was comforting, even exciting, to know it was unsharable (and un-Share-able).

It was almost, he thought, like the pod
wanted
to be kept hidden.

They donned the radiation protection Zeeko had given them: three thick lead-lined aprons used by X-ray technicians in hospitals. Benji pointed out the little green card under a plastic sheet on the chest of the aprons. On the off chance that the pod
was radioactive, he explained, the green card would turn yellow. On the off-off chance that it was
dangerously
radioactive, it would turn red. “But don't freak out. The card changes colors before the radiation gets strong enough to hurt people.”

Then, duffel bag in hand, he led the way to the tree house ramp, the upward spiral to their chamber of secrets.

The snow on the ramp was untouched, the lock on the door still in place, just as he'd left it last night. He didn't think McKedrick knew about the pod or anything, and certainly didn't expect McKedrick to come kicking in the door to the tree house shouting, “REACH FOR THE SKY, YOU POD-HARBORING SONS OF BITCHES!”

But seeing the smooth powder on that ramp was a relief, partly because Benji's own footprints from last night had been erased. Not that Papaw would have spotted the prints, rubbed his stubble, and instantly deduced, “Oh, dear God above, my grandson is concealing wreckage from an alien vessel in my very own backyard!” But Papaw
might
wonder why he was suddenly interested in his abandoned tree house.

Benji spun the combination into the lock, unhooked it, and opened the door. Ellie and CR followed him inside.

Light leaked through the boarded windows and gaps in the walls. When the door sealed shut behind them, the nostalgic smell of pine bloomed with such intensity that Benji had to momentarily close his eyes against the feeling: a joy that hurt.

He still couldn't see much when he opened his eyes. He pulled out the matchbook he'd grabbed from the kitchen and dragged a match across the strip.
Lumos!
some part of him whispered as it sparked.
Where did
that
come from?
he wondered, half smiling.

Then the pod glimmered into view, quicksilver in firelight, and as Ellie drew a sharp breath beside him, Benji's half smile
went full. Snow had slipped into the tree house and spread a thin, bright carpet across the floor; the pod itself tossed the match light in a hundred directions, the firelight whirling over the walls like a carousel. It all gave the tree house the slightly otherworldly feel Benji'd always associated with holidays at night, and the pod was the Christmas tree.

“CR, could you pass me that lantern?” Benji asked. He was struck by an in-church feeling that he should be polite and reverent, and added, “Please?”

CR grabbed the scuffed red camping lantern off the trunk in the corner. Papaw had gotten it for Benji when he was maybe eleven. They always had two birthday parties for Benji: one for his friends (or, until CR moved in,
friend
) with a grocery store cake that came under a plastic bubble, and another “for the family” . . . which always comprised an awkward slice of cobbler split between Benji and Papaw at Dave's Dine-In out on the highway. Papaw would slide his gift, wrapped neatly in newspaper, across a tabletop that was checkered like a picnic blanket; Benji would open it and begin the time-honored childhood ritual of pretending to be happier with your gifts than you really are.