"That totally sucks."
"Anyway," she says. She waves her hand like none of it matters, but you'd have to be pretty dim not to see the pain in her eyes before she pushes it away. "I guess I am kind of like a Welcome Wagon. I just wanted to talk to you—let you know some of your options."
"I know my options," I tell her.
I'm not interested in talking about all that again. Cory already did and I don't need a bigger dose of paranoia than I already have.
"Where do you live?" I ask, to change the subject. "How do you get by?"
And do you have a boyfriend?
I add to myself. Not like it'll make any difference, but I'd still like to know.
My questions get me yet another shrug.
"I live wherever," she says, "and I get by. Did Cory tell you how some of us are working to make this a better world?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. He talked about how we're all connected by our animal blood and how some Wildlings have been around forever. I guess the old ones don't really like that the new Wildlings have kind of screwed up the secret existence that they had."
"Yeah," she says, "but they need to look at the bigger picture."
I look past her. There's a guy who's been standing with his back to the balustrade a little way down the pier, elbows on the railing. He's looking everywhere except at us and I find myself remembering what Desmond said about the Federal agents.
They're not always going to be wearing black suits and driving SUVs. They could be
anybody.
This guy doesn't seem much older than me, but it's obvious he's been living hard. He's got the dark tan of a beach bum and he's wearing a dirty white T-shirt, baggy shorts, sandals, a small olive-green backpack hanging from one shoulder. His hair looks like he slept on it badly and didn't bother to comb it when he got up. I've seen his type on the beach before, but there's something off about him. I can't quite put my finger on it.
"Don't look," I say quietly, "but I think we're being spied on."
Of course, she looks.
"Oh, don't worry," she says. "That's just Danny. He's with me."
So she does have a boyfriend. I mean, I know why she's really talking to me—she's on some sort of a recruitment drive, just like Cory warned me about—but until she said that, I could pretend otherwise.
"He doesn't have to stand way over there," I say.
She smiles. "He kind of does. The Feds have ID'd him, so I don't want him close. But he kept insisting that I shouldn't meet you by myself. I guess he followed me here."
"Why? Do I look dangerous?"
Her smile fades. "You should know by now that our bodies can hide any kind of Wildling."
"Sure," I say.
I haven't been thinking any such thing. Mostly, I've been trying to figure out how to get my life back. I know it's not going to happen, but it's kind of like when I hit that ball through our front window. There's that moment when you know it's happening, but you still have this impossible hope that it's only going to bounce off the glass. Of course, it just smashes right through.
I want to believe that I'm in that moment where things aren't completely screwed up yet. I know they are, but that doesn't stop me from wishing I could still wake up from all of this.
"So you and Danny," I start.
But then I don't know where I'm going with this—or rather, I do, but I think better of it and end up just letting the words hang there.
She looks at me, the smile is back. "Are you asking if he's my boyfriend?"
"I guess."
"I don't have time for boyfriends."
"Right. Of course not. You're too busy trying to round up Wildlings for some cause or other."
"Why would you think that? Wait, why do I even ask? That coyote sticks his nose into everybody's business. What did he tell you about us?"
"That depends on who 'us' is," I tell her. "But you in particular? Nothing."
"I'm surprised."
"I take it you don't much like Cory."
"Nah, he's a good guy in his own way. He just doesn't see the big picture."
"I don't think I do, either."
"He didn't mention the ferals?"
My stomach does a little flip. Ferals? I don't like the sound of that. I shake my head.
"Do I really want to know this?" I ask.
"Sure," she replies. "It's one of the good things about the change. We—the ferals that is—think this is happening so that the world can revert back to what it was like before people came along. We're working toward helping that process. There aren't a lot of us yet, but I hope we can get more Wildlings involved. It's important."
"The environment
is
pretty messed up," I say. "But tearing everything down and starting at scratch isn't really a solution. Unless you don't care about a lot of people getting hurt."
"Oh, it's not going to happen all at once, of course. But really, you have to admit that people have messed up this planet pretty bad and it's only going to get worse if we let things go on this way."
"Well, sure. We need to do something—all of us, not just Wildlings. But I love my mom and my friends too much to let them die just to make it happen."
"Who says anybody has to die?"
"Kind of goes hand in hand with the whole getting rid of all the people part of your plan."
"I ..."
"Tell me you thought about that."
"It's people who are the problem."
"Maybe they can be the solution, too," I say.
"Don't be so naive."
"Yeah? And what about your family and friends? Are you willing to sacrifice them as well?"
"They all turned their backs on me."
"Even your brother?"
Her eyes flash. "Screw you, Saunders."
She gets up, her back stiff with anger.
"Wait," I say before she can go.
She shakes her head. "I don't think we have anything more to—"
I cut her off. "No, it's your friend."
She turns and sees what I see. Danny has wandered down to the end of the pier. But as soon as he gets there, the doors pop open on a white van that's been parked in one of the disabled parking spots. Men in SWAT gear fan out from the van. Behind them are a couple of guys in dark suits.
I want to shout a warning but I don't have to. Danny sees the men and he bolts toward the boardwalk.
And then it happens.
I've never seen it for real before—except for that thing Cory did with his head, switching from human to coyote and back again. This is different. Surreal. One moment there's a kid trying to escape, the next he's changed into—I'm not sure what. Something like a deer, but with small, spiral horns.
The SWAT guys shoot him—
bam, bam
! It sounds like a car backfiring. Almost before he hits the ground, they're throwing some kind of net over him. They roll him up in it and toss him into the back of the van.
Elzie leans against the railing as though her knees have gone weak.
"Oh, Danny," she says. "Why couldn't you just have stayed away?"
I look back at the van, feeling sick.
"They killed him," I say. "They just up and killed him."
Elzie shakes her head. "No, those were tranq guns. They just want him down for the count so they can take him away. Not as harsh as using Tasers, but damn!"
She smacks the railing with her palm.
Everything has happened so fast that it's over before most people even have the chance to notice. Some kid on the boardwalk has his phone out, shooting a video, but one of the agents runs over and grabs it away from him. The kid protests until the agent opens his suit coat and shows the kid something. I don't know what it is. His badge, maybe? His gun? Whatever it is, the kid shuts right up.
The other men are talking, then they look down the pier. The one who took the phone from the kid starts toward us.
Elzie gets up and starts to walk away from me. "Got to go," she says. "What's your cell number?"
The argument we were having appears to be forgotten.
I tell her the number.
"I'll call you," she says and heads briskly toward the restaurant at the end of the pier.
I turn to watch her go. Though she doesn't appear to be exerting herself, she's really motoring along. But it's not going to do her any good. There's nothing on the other side of the restaurant except for the Pacific Ocean and it's a ten- maybe fifteen-foot drop to the water.
When I look back, the man in the suit has almost reached me. I brace myself for whatever he's going to do to me, but he goes right by my bench, talking into his Bluetooth. He's chasing after Elzie, not me.
I realize that's my cue to leave.
I stand up, pop my skateboard into my hand and go the other way, toward the parking lot. As I walk by the van, an itchy nervous tension has me feeling like I've had too much caffeine. I drop my skateboard to the pavement, but before I can push off, a hand falls on my shoulder.
I almost growl at the touch, stopping myself before the sound actually comes out of my mouth. I turn to find the other guy in a suit has stopped me. The guy back on the pier was white, this one's Hispanic. He drops his hand and flashes me a picture ID billfold with the letters "FBI" prominently displayed on it.
"That girl you were talking to," he says.
I give him a puzzled look. "You mean the one with the dreads?"
He nods. "How do you know her?"
"Am I in trouble?"
I let some of my nervousness spill into my voice. I hope it sounds like anybody would when a Federal agent stops them, not that I'm guilty of anything.
"I want to know what your relationship is."
I use Cory's advice again.
The best way to lie is to have your story be mostly true
.
"I just met her," I say. "She's some kind of eco-freak, but she was pretty cute so I let her go into her spiel."
I can't tell what he's thinking behind those dark sunglasses. I don't let myself look at the van where they've got Danny tranquilized and wrapped up in a net.
"What kind of spiel?" the agent asks.
I shrug. "You know, the usual. Save the whales. We're destroying the planet. Don't eat meat."
"So you've never met her before?"
"No, sir."
He starts to say something, then puts a hand to the headset in his ear, obviously listening to something.
"I'll be right there," he says.
I pretend I don't know what he's talking about.
"Excuse me?"
"Not you," he says to me. He takes a business card out of his pocket. "If she should approach you again, please call the number on the card."
I look down the length of the pier.
"What's going on?" I ask. "Is she in trouble?"
"Just call the number if you see her again."
Then he motions to a couple of the SWAT team guys and the three of them set off at a jog down the pier. I watch them for a moment, then I put a foot on my board and get the hell out of there before someone changes their mind.
We have band practice that evening in Desmond's garage. While Desmond and I are tuning up, I tell them what happened.
"I've seen that girl around," Marina says from behind her drum kit, "with her dreads and that tattooed necklace. She's a total skank."
"What makes you say that?"
"You know the kind. She's just always mooching for stuff. Like she's trying to get guys to buy her a coffee or lunch, panhandling along the boardwalk, or she's trying to borrow stuff. One time she actually asked Stu if she could use his board."
"Not cool," Desmond says.
"She's homeless," I tell them.
Desmond shrugs. "So how's that our problem?"
"Her parents kicked her out of the house because she changed," I say. "What happened to me happened to her, except her parents just threw her out to fend for herself."
"Dude," Desmond says, "I hate to rain on your parade, but your mother doesn't even
know
you're a Wildling."
"Yeah, but if she did, she wouldn't do that to me."
"Probably not," Marina says. "Yours should give good-mom courses."
Desmond nods in agreement. "Except for the jerk boyfriends thing."
That hurts, but it's true, so I let it slide.
"And while I can see why you sympathize with that girl," Marina goes on.
"Elzie. Her name's Elzie."
"Okay. Elzie. I just think you should be careful if she comes around again. Some people are takers and she seems like one of them."
"I don't know," I say. "She seems to care a lot about the environment and stuff. So that doesn't seem like a taker to me. I don't really agree with everything she says, but you can't pretend things aren't pretty messed up."
"Things are totally messed up," Marina agrees.
I nod. "And at least she seems committed to do something about it."
"I just don't trust her."
"You don't know her."
"And neither do you," Marina says. "I get it. You're both Wildlings. But that doesn't mean you have to automatically get involved in whatever she's doing."
I'm a little surprised. Marina usually sees the best in people, so I can't figure out why she's so down on this girl she really doesn't know anything about.
"Guys, guys," Desmond says.
We both turn to him.
"You know Marina's just looking out for you," he says to me. "It's not like she's jealous or anything. And Marina. Come on. Cut the dude some slack. He's just had his world turned on its ass. So let him enjoy a bit of attention from some cute little Rasta girl. It sure beats him mooning over Rachel Armstrong."
I look at Marina. Jealous? That'd be the day.
"You're right," she tells Des. She gives me a peace sign. "We're cool, right?"
"Of course we're cool."
"So let's play some music."
Marina
Every beat on my drum kit lets me blow off some of the steam I feel about Josh hooking up with that girl Elzie. I hate the fact that it's her and Josh making Wildling alliances instead of him and me. I know. It's my own fault. But still.
I am so not a fan of jealousy, but it's one of those emotions that worms its way under your skin. I've never been all that bugged by his mooning over that stupid jock-magnet Rachel Armstrong. She never gave Josh a second look before he was on the news.