Still Point (6 page)

“Friends don't treat each other like that.” My mom looked at me. “They don't get up and walk away just when things get hard. I know you didn't do this, Maddie. And even if you did do it, honestly, I don't care. I'm proud of you. You've never done anything wrong. Maybe we're the ones who are doing it all wrong. I don't really know anymore.”

My mom let go of my hand. I sat back in my chair when the emcee came onstage to introduce my dad. I snuck a look at the security guard, and he was holding his phone under the table. He pointed to his screen, and I glanced down. There was a message there. It read, “Tell Maddie, I never got the chance to tell her something. It's three words. They're too personal to say over a screen. But she knows what they are. ~J.”

The guard and I shared a smile before the lights dimmed.

Parents show you life is a paved road. Friends show you the road isn't there yet, it's waiting for you to carve it out. Parents show you life is a handbook, with rules set in place. Friends show you how to break the rules you're handed.

With my dad I always felt like I was living life in the passenger seat, watching it go by. Justin always put me in the driver's seat. He never gave me directions, he just showed me how to accelerate. The steering was up to me.

Family has the greatest influence, but friends make the greatest impact. That's something I've learned over the last year. Influence and impact mix together, like ingredients that shape us into who we are. Influence only goes so far. It lays the foundation. But impact disturbs the foundation. It makes it crack or sink or rise, maybe topple altogether to start over again. I guess that's why parents are so protective about what kinds of friends we make when we're young. They seem to be in on this secret.

“You've been home for forty-eight hours, and you've already managed to have two guns pointed at your head,” my dad informed me during breakfast the next morning. He was dressed in his usual uniform of a business suit. My pink hair was tied up in a ponytail. I felt like a color photo displayed next to something black and white.

This was a conversation I had hoped to avoid. I had the naïve wish that my dad would let what happened at the benefit the night before be a blip in my otherwise perfect behavior. I watched the wall screen in front of the table, where the morning news was on.

My dad cleared his throat. He wasn't going to ignore the topic. I busied myself with stirring loose pieces of cereal off the sides of my bowl until they all swirled together in the center.

“Technically, I've been home for seventy-two hours,” I said. “And technically, those guns were pointed at Justin's head.” I asked him a question that had been bothering me all morning. “Why didn't you just have Justin arrested last night?”

Dad set down his coffee. “And give him the publicity he wants? That would have been doing him a favor. If we tried to arrest him, it would have sent a mob of rioters to the building. All it would have done was draw attention to his cause, and it probably would have pointed back to you.”

We were interrupted when a local news story flashed on the screen. An animated cartoon of a reporter spoke to us behind a desk littered with advertisement banners. Although the voice of the reporter sounded mature, the cartoon character depicted a woman closer to twenty-five, with long, golden hair that curled in waves around her tight, black blazer. Her eyes were so large and crystal blue, they looked like a pool you could dive into.

“Due to the declining use of public transportation, half of the city's ZipShuttles will be retired this month,” the voice informed us. “Also, all ZipTrains will be rerouted to account for fewer stops needed around the city. The south-side Langdon Street offices have closed downtown, deciding to go completely online, which is fantastic news, as this will save on electricity, fuel, and energy bills. Now you can find anything you need on their websites.”

I frowned at the screen.
This is great news?
I thought. That the world, every day, is drying up? And we were supposed to feel like this was a positive sign? Maybe, if we were robots running on electrical wires.

My dad surprised me by turning off the kitchen wall screen. We always had it on while we were eating. I glanced down at his black suitcase.

“Business trip?” I asked.

“I have meetings with lawyers about the detention centers.”

I leaned forward. Now, this conversation interested me.

“Are you finding the evidence you need to shut them down?” my mom asked, and Dad shot her a look.

“You know I can't talk details of the case,” he said. My mom nodded, backing down, but I wouldn't settle.

“When are they freeing the rest of the centers?” I pressed.

My dad finished his coffee. “They're still on lockdown, Maddie. Last I heard, the centers were going to keep operating.”

“What?” my mom and I said in unison.

“Changes will be made,” my dad said in a simple tone, as if the only changes they had to make were remodeling buildings, not dealing with chemically brainwashed kids.

“Dad, where is Richard Vaughn? Why isn't he in jail after what he did to the people at the detention centers?”

My dad's eyes shot straight into me. “He isn't your concern, Maddie. This is out of your hands. Don't make Vaughn your responsibility. You don't know who you're dealing with.”

My dad's eyes were so severe, I lost the nerve to argue. My mom stared into her coffee cup, and the room was silent except for the hum of lights and machines and wires.

I watched my family fall apart, slowly, like a sunset, all the brilliant colors fleeing and stretching and shrinking until they can't compete with the dark sky. It was strange that the structure of our house could be so strong and solid when all of the energy inside it was crumbling. It made me want to save my mom.

“Before I leave, I'd like to talk to you in my office,” my dad said, and stood up. I followed him down the hallway, past the foyer, and into his office. He pulled a chair over to his desk and motioned for me to sit down. I sank onto the cold leather cushion.

“I'm still doubtful you weren't involved in what happened last night,” he said, getting to the point. I met his questioning eyes. I wasn't in the mood for one of his interrogations.

“Is this when I shamefully retreat up to my room so I can think about what I've done wrong? Is this the part where you ground me again, instead of trying to listen to my side?”

His eyes regarded me.

I crossed my legs casually. “Well, that's not me anymore.”

He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Is that why you came home? To prove me wrong? To make me look bad? Is that what this is, a game of right versus wrong? Good versus evil?”

“I'm here to finish what I started when I was fifteen. You said that you were open to listening. I didn't come home so you could ground me. I'm not your property. And I'm not a kid anymore.”

He unlocked a side desk drawer by scanning his fingerprint. He pulled out a white square box and took off the lid. Inside were narrow strips of paper, the size of Band-Aids. He took one out and peeled off its backing.

“I'm putting a skin tracker on you,” he said, and held the sticker out to me.

“Dad—”

“The adhesive lasts for one month.”

“No,” I said.

“It's safe,” he assured me. “It dissolves in your skin.”

“I don't care if it gives me superhero powers,” I said. “I'm not letting you track me.”

“Maddie, I don't want you to run off to Eden, or back to
him.
That's what worries me. I know you're wired to run on your emotions, but that's what gets you into trouble. You need to try to control your flight reflex. That's why I don't want you interacting with your friends, especially Justin. They'll just tempt you.”

I looked skeptically at the tracker in his hand.

“If you can use it to track me, what would stop the police? Or Vaughn? Couldn't someone else trace this?”

My dad shook his head. He pointed to the second tab on the paper.

“It has a twin signal. The only way I can follow you is by keeping the other half. I'll wear it, just like you. There's no way for a third person to track it.”

I looked down at the bird tattooed on my wrist. I rolled my fingers into a fist and squeezed to make my blood flow faster.

My mom stood watching from the door. I looked up at her and her eyes were sympathetic. She walked around to the side of my chair and leaned down next to me.

“It's temporary, Maddie. This is all very temporary.”

Great,
I thought.
My life will suck, temporarily. For the time being, my life is going to be claustrophobic and awful and lonely and desolate and depressing. Temporarily.

She put her arm around my shoulder.

“You have me and Baley, and you can start looking into college classes. I found an online soccer team you can join. The team you played on last fall ended. They couldn't find enough girls interested to keep it going. I dusted off your running machine.”

I wanted to shrug her arm off me. All of these things felt like a punishment now. But she didn't understand. Her hand slipped off my shoulder.

“Dad, what prison movie are we starring in right now?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. It was one of his mannerisms that showed he was losing patience—subtle, but one that I had picked up on, since he usually did it in response to me.

“I'm sure it seems strict after you've been running around in Eden for the past month with all the other invalids.”

“Strict?” I said. “Where do you get your parenting ideas? Dictatorship dot com?”

My dad almost cracked a smile, but it was more of a lopsided frown. “I take it you aren't willing to cooperate?”

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. I was trying to read into his movements, into all the things he wasn't saying. He was fidgeting more than usual, that much was evident. Something was at stake here.

I pressed my feet against the side of his desk and swiveled the office chair back and forth. My dad wanted me home for his own reasons, reasons he wasn't willing to discuss. I realized my bargaining chip was
myself.
My dad had one goal: to keep me under his watchful control, as if the future of digital school rested on his ability to keep me in check. Instead of being frustrated that he was trying to lock me down, for the first time in my life I was intrigued. It was a compliment that my dad was so afraid to let me loose. This gave me a power of negotiation I hadn't realized I had.

I had always felt like a chess piece to him, but one that was easily dismissible. Now I knew I had high stakes. Maybe I was a queen—one sudden move could alter his strategy. Maybe we're all that significant in life, we just have to realize it.

“Here's my rule,” I said. “I'll wear your skin tracker.
If.
”

My dad raised his eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“There are a few things that I want in return.”

My mom was still watching us. She looked amazed at my tenacity.

“Such as?” he asked.

“Your files,” I told him.

He leaned his head toward me like he hadn't heard me right.

“The same ones that I stole from you when I was fifteen. The files with all the digital school contacts. I won't steal them ever again. I promise.”

“Then how do you plan on acquiring them?” he asked.

I raised my hands. “I want you to give them to me. Willingly, because you want to do the right thing.” I sat up straighter in my seat. “You could consider it my eighteenth-birthday present.”

He laughed out loud. “Those are confidential, Maddie. I can't share those, with
anyone.
Family connections and birthdays don't apply.”

I leaned closer to my dad and smiled. “No one would have to know about it. I know people who can help. We can make it look like your computer was hacked. We'll be careful to keep you innocent. We just want to spread a message, Dad. People have a right to know what else is out there.”

His mouth tightened. He looked away and nodded once. “I'll think about it.”

I exhaled a long breath. Internally I was screaming. Justin was right. There was no point in talking to my dad when he can't listen. “Got it.”

“Your mother will keep an eye on you while I'm gone.”

“Terrific,” I said, and stood up. “Good talk, Dad.” I turned sharply on my foot and stomped out of the room and up the stairs. It was bratty, I knew, but so was his pathetic effort at communication.

Two could play the dismissive game.

I sat on my bed and soft footprints padded down the carpeted hallway and into my room. I looked up and expected to see my mom, her neutral eyes pleading for a truce. She was our live-in peacemaker. But instead, my dad stood a few feet inside the doorway and looked as surprised to be inside of my room as I was to see him there. He hadn't been in my bedroom in years. He walked over to my window seat and sat down, next to a pile of books. He picked one up and flipped the pages, his eyes looking wistful for a second before he set it down.

“I'm not trying to hold you hostage. I'm trying to protect you. That's all. You always see protection as control, Maddie. Please try to understand the difference.”

“You don't need to protect me,” I said.

“It's not because I don't trust you. It's because there are people outside of here I don't trust,” he said, and glanced through the open window blinds to look out at the empty street. “That's why I want you home.”

I knew exactly who he was referring to, and every time he showed that he would never accept Justin it was harder to take, because it was the same as saying he would never accept me. I wanted to love my dad. But how do you love someone who doesn't see you? How do you become close to someone so set on changing you?