“Of course.” Chandler motioned to the far door. “There’s one down the staircase in the hallway to your right.”
Cassius stood, the black pouch clutched tightly at his side. He looked down at Madame, knowing he wouldn’t see her again until he’d captured Fisher.
She kept her face forward, ignoring him. “Would it be all right if he stays downstairs for the remainder of the meeting? I don’t wish him to be subjected to any more of this.”
Buchanan chuckled. “You brought him up here.”
“And I regret it.”
“Sure.” Chandler flashed Cassius a patronizing smile. “There’s a waiting room in the same hallway with some old Wi-Fi pads. Make yourself at home.”
Cassius nodded, then looked back to Madame. He waited for a show of support. A smile. Something. Her eyes never left the papers in front of her.
Rather than wait around, he turned and walked away, moving down the aisle until he exited the meeting room. Once down the stairs, he found the restroom and darted inside. Although it was empty, he stepped into the nearest stall and locked the door behind him just in case. Then he quickly unbuttoned his jacket and slipped into the plain suit he’d brought with him.
Stuffing his government clothes into the now-empty bag, he quickly checked the skin graft on his right wrist that covered his hexagonal identification socket. If it peeled off during his stay in Skyship Territory, he’d be instantly revealed as a Surface inhabitant.
Next, he ripped the light blue passport from the lining of the bag and placed it in the breast pocket of his suit. He was now Michael Stevens, born and raised on Skyship Orion. His life could depend on remembering that information.
His heart raced as he realized the full ramifications of what he’d just done. He was no longer an invited guest on Atlas. He was an undercover agent. If he was caught before finding Fisher, he’d be punished like one, thrown into one of the prison ships down south.
Still, what had transpired back in the meeting room made him even more anxious. Madame had often talked about the Tribunal and life after the bombings, but had never offered details outside of what was written in the instructional databases. He’d never seen her so angry before. So angry that she hadn’t even paused to pat his shoulder or smile at him.
Forgetting her, he pushed open the stall door and stepped out to check his new appearance in the mirror. He’d have to be careful. He’d be wearing the same clothing until the Academy’s Visitation Day and needed to stay presentable.
Satisfied, he left the restroom and turned down the hallway, looking for a subtle, unguarded exit. After a few close calls, he stumbled upon an unmarked side door and snuck outside. Once he felt the sunlight on his skin, he knew he’d made it. Next came a long shuttle ride to Skyship Polaris before he could board the school ship to the Academy the following morning. He darted into the nearest alleyway and headed into the city, keeping his face down. He was ready. Madame wouldn’t be disappointed.
11
“Paulina was totally checking me during Bunker Ball yesterday.” Skandar reclines in a shady spot under a transplanted oak tree at Lookout Park. A vast green field stretches out beneath us, empty except for a team of students playing soccer in the distance. “Couldn’t take her eyes off.”
Lying on my back, I toss an antigravity ball up into the air. It hovers aimlessly for a few seconds before whirling around the nearest branch and dropping back into my hands. “There wasn’t much else to look at. The view from the bench is pretty boring. I should know.”
“Last guy standing.” He whacks my shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of there. The fainting? Well, that’s a different story, isn’t it. Now let me see the note you found.”
I set the ball on the grass and pull a crumpled note from my pocket. “It was slipped under my door when I came back from breakfast.” I hand it over. “It’s from Avery.”
Skandar unfolds it. “ Jesse Fisher,” he reads, “ Meet me in the library at six-thirty. I’ll kill you if you don’t come. ”
I quickly grab it back. “Okay, maybe it’s not the most romantic note ever written.”
He grins. “Man, she mass wants you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding,” he continues. “Tonight you’ve just gotta wait for the right moment and then lay one on her.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, trying to imagine the alternate reality where that would happen.
“I’m serious. Girls love that kind of stuff. You’ve gotta take control. How long have you guys been all buddy- buddy?”
“About two and a half years.”
“See? You’re practically married.”
“When we met, I was twelve and she was almost fifteen. I don’t think she thinks of me that way.”
He shrugs. “All I’m saying is take a chance. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I sigh, picking up the antigravity ball and tossing it. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to look like an idiot. Again.”
“Trust me,” he replies, “You’ve got nothing to worry about with that girl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He scoffs. “She’s as spazzy as you are, mate. Did I tell you I saw her outside the training room last week?”
“So?” I chuck the ball over a branch. “She gets bored. She’s all over the place.”
Skandar reaches over and grabs the ball as it falls, yanking it away. “It was the middle of the night.” He pauses to let his little revelation sink in. “She’s a weirdo. But hey, you’re into weirdos. That’s cool.”
I glare at him. He grins back.
“You gotta put some more spin on it, mate. Watch.” He crouches down and winds up his arm, tossing the ball in a curved pathway around the trunk. It spins up the tree, looping around three branches and back again before returning to his outstretched hand. “It’s all about the wind-up.”
I sit up. “Hey, that was-”
A soccer ball bashes into the side of my head, knocking me halfway onto the grass. Skandar’s first instinct is to laugh. Mine is to groan in pain.
The ball settles at the base of the tree. I rub my head, disoriented.
“Fisher!” A familiar voice cuts through the otherwise silent park. I turn to see August Bergmann jogging up the gentle slope to meet us. I don’t make eye contact, hoping that he’ll go away. It’s been the same since Year Seven. Just because he’s a year older than me and a Grade-A specimen of agentdom, he’s taken it upon himself to remind everyone exactly how much I pale in comparison to him.
“Fisher,” he repeats, closer now. “Hey Fisher, I’m talking to you!”
He stops a few feet away, panting. It’s not training time, but he’s still in full jock regalia. I think the outfit’s permanently affixed to his body. Sweat dampens his buzzed hair.
“So you gonna give me my ball back?” He crosses his chiseled arms, grinning.
Skandar grabs the soccer ball and holds it captive. “You mean the one you chucked into his head?”
He shrugs. “It was an accident.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Sure.”
He watches me cradle the side of my head, barely containing his laughter. “Jameson’s got one hell of a power kick. I guess you guys shouldn’t be sitting here.”
“It’s a free park,” Skandar replies.
August smiles. “Hey, at least you didn’t faint this time, right Fisher?”
I keep my eyes fixed on the grass. Bergmann knows about my little training room disaster-just what I
