The Unidentified (19 page)

“Look, I didn’t know they were branding me to somehow get to you guys. I didn’t know.”

“Get used to getting used,” she said quietly.

“That’s me there,” I said, pointing to my driveway. All the lights were off at home.

Cayenne turned into the driveway and let the car idle.

“Just…” she began. “It’s not easy to know who your friends are. So don’t take it personally.”

friends are. So don’t take it personally.”

“Don’t take what personally?”

“When I go back to pretending you don’t exist.”

I laughed because I thought she was joking, but she sat there gripping the steering wheel, staring out the windshield, waiting for me to leave.

“Right,” I said, getting out of the car and slamming the door.

The car stood there humming quietly, like it wanted to say more, but wasn’t going to.

I climbed the steps to the front door before I remembered that the cardkey to my house was tied to my orange shoelace, tied to the belt loop of the pants that lay crumpled in a pile in Ari’s bedroom. I just hoped Mom wouldn’t get pissed at me for waking her up so late.

I rang the bell. I rang it a couple times.

The lights didn’t go on, but I heard the keypad tones and locks slide out of place. Mom opened the door.

“What’re you doing home? I thought you were staying at Ari’s,” she said when she saw me. “Who’s that?” She watched Cayenne’s unfamiliar car pull out of the driveway.

“A friend from school,” I muttered. “I didn’t feel like staying out,” I lied. “And she offered to bring me home.”

Mom looked at me, apparently unprepared to come up with a lecture on the dangers of coming home. I kissed her good night and hurried to my room before she could ask me about my night.

I checked my intouch(r) just to see if Ari apologized or something for ditching me.

The last message from her was the link for the
Rate It!

site. I went to it.

There was the picture Ari took of me in my new clothes looking startled and uncomfortable.

According to votes, it said I was a 2.5. Halfway between
You’re a Skeezy Crack Whore
and
You Are One
of the Unwashed Masses
.

Most of the Craftsters got sixes—
Yeah, You’re Pretty
Cute
—except Avery, who got an eight,
You Are a Classic
Pinup Girl
.

Some of the anonymous comments on my picture were vicious. I couldn’t stop reading and rereading them. I didn’t understand why people would say things like that about me when they didn’t even know me. Then I finally closed it down.

There was a message on my Network page.

Apologies.
by mikes
Mikey never said the words “I’m sorry.” I stared at the message, thinking about what Cayenne had said.

Sometimes it’s hard to know who your friends are.
But sometimes it was really easy.

In the glow of my Network page, I sent a private message to Mikey.

Are you sleeping? Say no.
by kidzero.

I never sleep.
by mikes.

I laughed. I’d seen Mikey fall asleep in the most uncomfortable places—hunched over a desk in Math Attack, sprawled out on a bus stop bench, cuddled up beside Lump—but he would always maintain that he never slept.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. So many times tonight I wished I could talk to Mikey, and now that I had him here I didn’t know what to say.

I was kind of afraid. Afraid of what he could say.

Say something,
by kidzero.

Like what?
by mikes.

Like that we’re ok?
by kidzero.

We’re ok,
by mikes.

I stared at his words for a while, trying to feel if they were true. It felt true. He sent another note.

I’d ask how things went tonight. But I really really really don’t want to know.
by mikes.

After Hours. Bleh.
by kidzero.

But how was the music?
by mikes.

The music was win win win win win. But I got ambushed by the Hit List guy. They tracked us down.

by kidzero.

What did he want?
by mikes.

He wanted to know if we wanted to play at After Hours.

by kidzero.

Really? And do we want to?
by mikes.

I thought about it. What did I really want?

I wouldn’t mind playing. But I’m not that excited about doing it at After Hours. Or for Hit List.
by kidzero.

What did Ari say?
by mikes.

I didn’t want to admit that she ditched me. Even to Mikey. Maybe especially to Mikey.

Hey, when did you tell Ari about what happened in Cosmonova? Rocket asked me about it?
by kidzero.

Awkward. And I didn’t tell her. Ari started blabbing about what a big drama it was. Like OMG! DID YOU HEAR? PALMERROCKETEVA. OMG! And I told her I already knew. That we were unfortunate enough to witness the disheveled aftermath of the unholy union firsthand.
by mikes.

Yeah, well. Like you said. AWKWARD. And speaking of unholy unions…Eva Bloom? Why?

But I deleted it before I sent. Delete, delete, delete. I wanted to know, but I never wanted to know.

I sent: Yeah, well. Like you said. AWKWARD.
by

kidzero.

I told him about all the DJ sounds at After Hours, joked with him about stupid details to cover up the painful truths. I didn’t mention Jeremy. Didn’t tell him about Cayenne.

You coming to the War Game on Sunday? I’m cheering for the Princesses. 150%.
by mikes.

I thought Swift was your boy.
by kidzero.

I thought he was yours.
by mikes.

Whatever. Save the Princess 4ever!
by kidzero.

YEAH! Swift can take a virtual sniper bullet to the groin.
by mikes.

Wow. That was…um, graphic.
by kidzero.

We spent the next forever writing back and forth. He made me forget the hollow hurt of being left. Helped me untangle the complicated everything that had been overwhelming me since I got branded. He wasn’t here, but he felt close.

I got up way late the next day. In the living room I noticed a Trendsetters delivery box that must’ve come for me when I had been getting ready at Ari’s. I opened it to find some clothes and a note from Anica.

I think you’ll enjoy our new look.

A Lass The box was filled with I AM A TARGET MARKET T-shirts. A skirt silk-screened with the Unidentified face, and a dress with an intricate question mark pattern. The worst thing about the package was that I
would
wear these clothes. If I didn’t know the cynical backstory to these products, I would buy them.

I went to the kitchen to get breakfast, leaving the box like a guilty conscience. While I ate, Mom ran through a droning monologue about being where I told her I’d be, punctuated with high-pitched
Are you listening to me?
s.

“And keep your intouch(r) on at all times,” she added.

“You told me to keep it off after closing time because of roaming fees.”

“Don’t tell me what I told you to do!” she shouted, completely unreasonable now.

I stood up and flipped on my intouch(r). “There!” I shouted. “Now you can see that I’ll be in my room.”

“Go to your room!” she shouted back, a little too late.

I slammed my door and locked it. I tossed myself onto

my bed and opened my notebook(r). I scrolled through the chat I had with Mikey last night, thankful again that our conversation was password-protected. While I was in the middle of composing a passionate critique of all my mother’s failures as a logical being, I got a new message.

39.954276N 75.165651W 15:30

by anonymous I clicked over to the mapping software to check the coordinates. It was a park in the city center.

I wish I could say I hesitated. That I remembered all the Protecht security tips. That I thought over all the pros and cons of sneaking out right now to meet some people who I knew had less-than-legal extracurricular activities. But I didn’t.

I punched the coordinates to my room into my notebook(r) and synched my intouch(r) to the mapping software, trusting Elle’s Alibi to keep my secrets safe.

Mom would be leaving for Aunt Gillie’s soon. I turned my music on, checked the door again. I’d spent so many countless hours alone in my room listening to music nonstop that this was the easy part of my alibi. From the speakers, the fly buzzed against the glass in my
Background Checks
song.

I opened the window.

Mom didn’t think it was safe for me to ride my bike, but it was the only way I could get into the city. She forced me to do it. If she had been reasonable and authorized my Game card to be accepted on the metro, I wouldn’t have to take drastic actions to get out of the house.

But my intouch(r) was keeping my secrets. I was moving fast and no one knew my trajectory. This was probably what Mikey meant when he talked about “breeze.”

I always thought he was referring to simple speed, but there was probably this feeling of freedom in his word choice.

I rode to the city, enjoying the breeze.

It wasn’t until I got closer to the park that I started to feel the doubt about what I was doing. I mean, this was my mother’s worst nightmare
exactly
.

When I got to the coordinates, I bent over to lock my bike. Someone leapfrogged over the bike rack and landed close beside me. I stumbled backward, scared.

“Not regretting meeting up with a stranger from the interweb, are you?” he said, grinning. “Come on.”

He was wearing the Urban Climber harness over his dark anti-scenester clothes. He turned and took the steps two at a time, hustling up a low dividing wall .

I couldn’t believe I was following him.

He hopped down from the four-foot ledge in a move both skillful and reckless. “Cayenne said you helped her through security last night.”

I slid down after him, resting my foot on the back of a park bench and stepping down carefully.

“I guess,” I answered.

“Why?”

I shrugged. I didn’t have a good answer, or any answer. “There was a scene at After Hours. They made it look like an Unidentified stunt.”

“Yeah, I heard.” He took a seat on the bench. “Well, next time we have to make sure there’ll be no mistake,” he said, squinting up at me.

I sat down beside him, my fingers played with a carved into the bench. “What does this mean?”

“It’s the symbol of our disinterest in what they’re telling us. That we are not impressed.”

“Yeah, well, what’s it going to mean when they start using it to sell stuff to people who are disinterested and generally unimpressed?”

“This is a movement,” he said. “It’s something real.”

I was getting kind of nervous again. “Where’s everyone else? Cayenne and Tycho and the others.”

He laughed. “Sophia told me you used the Network’s friends list to track them down. It’s an inherent flaw in their system. They use your connections to trap you in a social web. But there are ways to get free of their control.”

He smiled, but I was still uncomfortable. I looked around. “Aren’t they coming?” I asked again.

“No, but we’re going to meet them.” He grinned. “You don’t want to get caught loitering here, do you?”