The Jump, page 14
Alarm bells go off in my head.
“Wait, Jax is here?” I demand. Then it sinks in that what he just said was hella weird. “And who throws a gun at somebody?”
“I’ll explain later,” he says. “We have to get him—”
An associate with flushed cheeks and dark curly hair is looking at us strangely, like he knows us. But I’m less concerned about him as I am about what I see behind him.
Jax, staring at the ground as he walks, hands behind his back, shoved intermittently by a huge boy in blue toward a police SUV with flashing red and blue lights.
“Spider?” I ask, still so confused. Why the hell is Jax getting arrested?
But his hand is around my wrist and yanking me backward.
I hear the vroom of a car—a specific vroom with a bit of sputtering mixed in for personality—a Toyota Camry that we all know well.
I turn around to see Han in the driver’s seat, wrist resting on the wheel as he waves us over with his other hand. I look back at Jax just as he’s being shoved into the SUV, and I’m remembering Freddie Gray, and knowing that the next time I see Jax, he could be…
…well…
I have to do something.
“Yas, come on!” calls Spider’s voice.
Surely he doesn’t want me to just leave him! Our captain! Spider and Jax are the closest I’ve had to little brothers. I wouldn’t leave either of them in the hands of 12, not while I’m alive and breathing and conscious. But as the cop slams the door shut and looks at me, and I hear the store associate yell, “Hey, it’s the kid who was with him!” while pointing in my direction—most definitely at Spider—and I see the cop level his eyes at me before launching into a sprint, I realize I don’t have a choice.
“I’m sorry, Jax,” I whisper before turning, running, and throwing myself up on top of Han’s car, slipping down through the sunroof and scrambling to buckle up before Spider climbs into the back seat and Han peels out of the parking lot.
The sirens start almost immediately, and Han launches the car out into the street so fast, I swear we go airborne. I hear the screams of two people—one is Spider’s and the other I don’t recognize as my own until we land.
My organs feel like they’ve been shaken in a jar, and we’re surrounded by honks, but we fly through Bellevue like the road is ours, and I hear Spider’s voice in the back seat yell:
“Are we really running from the cops right now?”
Han doesn’t answer, but I see him look up into the rearview mirror. I hear the sirens grow louder and turn around to follow his gaze. Blue and red lights flicker far behind us, so far that when we whip around the corner, I’m not even sure they saw us. But we can’t outrun the cops. There’s just no way.
“Han, stop the car!” I urge.
“You have a better plan?” asks Spider.
I don’t, but I know that I’ve never seen a police chase end in anything except somebody getting arrested, spike stripped, PIT maneuvered, tased, or shot. We have to pull over. Now.
“Han, stop the car or I’m jumping out!” I’m hollering now, and Han flinches against my voice before swerving so hard around a corner that the wheels screech against the pavement. The smell of burning rubber fills the air, and I can’t believe we’re still doing this. I can’t believe he hasn’t stopped!
I look out the window and down at the pavement zooming by.
Am I really about to jump out of a moving vehicle?
I look at the rearview mirror. No cop lights, for now. If I’m going to do it, now’s the time. I reach up, grip the frame of the car left exposed by the open window, and sit on the sill, feeling the wind flutter through my hijab, whip through my hoodie and leggings.
“Yas, what the hell are you doing?” shrieks Spider. But I don’t have time to think. As long as Han doesn’t turn left—
And suddenly I’m flying backward, out the window, away from the car. I scramble to grab the car frame again, but my fingers find open air, and I realize I’m going to hit the ground. Of all the things that could happen at that moment, Han turned left.
A yelp escapes from somewhere around me before I can realize that I made the sound, and I feel my feet catch something inside the car. I’m upside down, the blood rushing to my head from the centrifugal force of the car turning, and I look up, which for me is down, to see my forehead only inches from the pavement.
But something’s holding me to the car as we finish the turn, and I’m pulled up, slowly, legs first, back into the car.
I’m plopped into the passenger seat as Spider’s words finally start to register in my ears.
“What the fuck were you thinking, sitting in the window?! We’re going sixty-plus in a forty and you want to try ‘spinning’ for the first time?!”
“I—I—” I begin, but I have no idea what to say now. The car is moving slowly between rows of parked cars, most of them similar, all Camrys or Accords. The sky is getting darker and darker as sunset fades into night. I turn to Han, who’s hunched over the wheel, eyes darting back and forth around this place like he’s hunting for something. “Han, where the hell are we? We need to turn around and turn ourselves in.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Spider still hasn’t calmed down, clearly.
“We are fugitives of the law, genius!” I holler back, my temper flaring up inside me like wildfire.
“For what?” he spits, gripping each of the front seats. “For witnessing some white guy shoot a window in a Thirty Foods? We didn’t do shit! Jax didn’t do shit! We need to find out where he went and make sure he’s okay!”
My blood is surging. I glare over my shoulder at him and feel the flames gathering at the tip of my tongue.
“They’ll have warrants for our arrest, Spider, and then what? We end up in the same place as Jax? Locked up in a jail cell? Is that what you want? Because that’s what you get when you run from the cops!”
My heart is thumping in my throat as I stare at Spider and he stares back at me. His eyes are flashing, and I’m sure mine are too, and I wonder what’s prompting such a stupid decision. He’s not thinking properly, because our friend was arrested. And he doesn’t want to be next. But neither do I! How do I make him understand that I don’t want to end up dead after being forcefully arrested or shot? I hate 12 just as much as the next person, but I know when to bow down when I need to.
I’ll run, I’ll climb, I’ll jump.
But above all else, I’ll survive.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I haven’t even noticed the car has stopped. I glance over my shoulder to look through the rearview window to see a wall of trees. We’re parked between two Camrys identical to Han’s, only different in color—one white, one green.
“Han,” I whisper as he turns the key and the engine hushes into silence, since the darkness makes whispering seem appropriate, I guess. “What are we doing here?”
His eyes are shut tight, and his hands are moving inside his sweatshirt pocket, spinning his phone over and over. His shoulders are hunched up to his ears, and my chest tightens. He’s afraid. He’s terrified. And why wouldn’t he be?
“Han,” I say, holding out my hand for support, but careful not to touch him. “I know you don’t do hugs, but I want you to know we’re here for you, and we’re grateful. Thanks for helping us back there. Who knows where we’d be without you?”
Spider leans forward and nods between us.
“Yeah, man,” he says. “Thank you.”
Without a word, and without even opening his eyes, Han pulls out his phone and hands it to me. I examine the screen, hoping to find some kind of explanation for what the hell the plan is, but instead I find a clue.
THE NEXT CLUE IS UNSTEALABLE.
THE ORDER SEES.
FIND THE BAR ON THE GOPI.
GET YOUR PHONE AND SAY CHEESE.
I read the first part again. Does that mean that the clue is behind glass or something? Or maybe that it’s posted too high for anyone to reach? Or behind bars maybe, like Jax?
Focus, Yas, focus.
I read the next line. The Order sees. Of course they do. That’s a surprise to exactly no one. The next line is more promising. Find the bar on the gopi.
“Gopi as in gopi cheese and yogurt?”
I hear a clattering behind me and turn to find Spider collapsed dramatically against the back seat, and his phone—still lit up—bounces against his thigh and falls to the floor.
“We could’ve just asked you the whole time?!” he asks, sitting up again and looking squarely at me. I feel a bit of triumph at that.
“I’m good for more than just parkour, you know,” I say before getting back on subject. “So, they wanted you to take a picture of some yogurt?”
“Close,” he says, reaching into his messenger bag and pulling out a palm-size cellophane-wrapped white block of paneer.
I raise an eyebrow.
“They sent you on an excursion to Thirty Foods in Bellevue for cheese? Why?”
Spider shrugs.
“Not sure, but we got it.”
None of this feels right. It feels like there’s a worm weaving its way through my intestines, knotting everything up inside. We’ve been led to an alley in South Lake Union, a downtown parking lot, an expensive grocery store in Bellevue, and now—
“Wait, back to the subject—where the hell are we?” I demand.
“Isn’t it obvious?” asks Spider with a knowing smile, gesturing to Han. “This kid’s a genius. Look around! We’re camouflaged! They’ll never find us here.”
I look up at the sign over the tiny building in the corner of this lot to find the name EASTERN PINE AUTO CONNECTIONS. I hear sirens down the street, growing increasingly louder, but before I can react and swing my door open, jump out, and tear across the parking lot like I want to do, a flurry of red and blue lights flies by, sirens blaring and fading into the distance just as quickly as they arrived.
“See?” asks Spider just as I see his Doc Martens fly up between Han and me, landing on the console with a jarring smack! Both Han and I jump at the noise and look at each other.
“Han,” I start, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “This is a brilliant idea.”
He grins back at me and gives the slightest nod before reclining his seat, narrowly missing Spider. He folds his arms across his chest and gets comfortable, and that’s when everything comes flooding back to me.
“Wait a minute—you can’t mean to just stay here,” I say, although it comes out sounding more like a question. What about Jax?
“I know, I know,” says Spider. “You want to keep playing the game—”
“I most certainly do not want to keep playing the game!” I thunder. “Don’t you think this has gone far enough? These people have us wandering through the weirdest places for clues in dangerous spots. Under a trash can? In an expensive store—”
“The first clue was on a pole in broad daylight.” Spider’s words cut through mine with a finality that demands I shut up, and pain rips through my chest at his tone. But I keep my face even as I stare him down.
“Broad daylight means nothing for us,” I say, and his face tells me he knows what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter how much daylight is out. I’m still Black and Pakistani. He’s still Korean. Jax is still Black.
And in jail.
If he’s not dead.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I decide I won’t wait another second.
“I’m going to find him,” I say, swinging the passenger door open. “Every second matters when it comes to us being arrested. You know that.”
“And how exactly do you plan to find him?” Spider asks, stepping out of his door and folding his arms before leveling his eyes at me. “You just gonna walk on up to the front doors of the jail and say ‘Hello, yes, my name’s Yasmin—yes, the same one wanted for evading several officers earlier today, and I’m here to find my friend Jax, who was seen with a gun at the crime scene—”
“Shut up!” I yell at him, feeling my eyes burn. One stubborn tear rolls down my cheek. I have no idea how I’m going to get to Jax, or get him out, but I have to try. And then a thought hits me.
The game.
Spider must see something change in my face, because he raises an eyebrow. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.
The game isn’t just the answer to the future of Abba’s store. Or Spider’s mom’s restaurant. Or Han’s dad’s kayaking business, or even Mama’s garden.
This game might just save Jax’s life.
Two words bounce around in my head. Political power.
Fuck!
WE MAKE THINGS HAPPEN.
They’d said.
I pray they’re right and hold out my hand to Spider.
“Give me the cheese.”
“What?” he asks in surprise, his eyes darting back to the car. “What for? Now suddenly you’re interested in playing?”
“My friend is in jail,” I hiss. “And I’ve always wanted to play the game, within reason. We’ve been out of ‘reason’ for a long while now.”
Excuse me for having a healthy amount of apprehension about being strung along all over the city and put in precarious situations, all for an ambiguous prize. All I know is that the “power” promised better be able to bust Jax out of jail.
I didn’t even get to reconcile our differences.
I remember the last thing I said to him.
I’m just not willing to sell out to ANOTHER multinational power to do it, least of all a secretive, unverified vigilante group.
I called him a sellout.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath before wiping away tears.
“Give me the fucking cheese, Spider.”
Spider’s eyes go back to his car door, and my eyes go to my open window, and just as he dives for the door, I torpedo myself headfirst through the passenger window. My arms are outstretched into the back seat, and my fingertips graze the package of cheese, just as Spider yanks it away with a grunt.
“I can’t let you leave right this second. If you get caught out there,” he says, pausing in hesitation before motioning to Han, who’s staring at both of us from the driver’s seat in shock, “we all get caught.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and he glances at Han before speaking again.
“It’s safer to wait until the cops have called off the search, or at least until morning when this dealership opens.”
Han nods, and I realize I’m alone in this.
But if I leave right now, Spider might do something chaotic like follow me, or Han might drive after me, and then I’ll really have gotten us all caught.
I’ll have to go sneakily.
“Fine,” I say. I climb back into the passenger seat and fold my arms. My rage is immeasurable. That Spider would just abandon Jax like this. That he would climb back into this car, curl up on the seat, and pull out his phone to text god-knows-who about god-knows-what, while Jax is probably getting his mugshot taken if he’s lucky enough to still be alive….
I want to throw up.
But instead, I wait.
I wait for the moon to rise higher and higher into the sky, praying for my friend who’s been incarcerated. I wait and pray and make every dua I know for protection, begging for Jax to be safe. I wait for text after text from Abba asking where I am, always giving a cryptic answer that he’ll believe but isn’t quite a lie.
I’m with Spider and Han.
In car, can’t text.
Be home soon.
And I wait till Han’s breathing has deepened and lengthened, one arm stretched across his face, and until Spider’s snores roll like gravel through my ears. And then, finally, I ease the door open, slip out, and slide it closed again without shutting it completely and causing a ruckus.
And I’m off to catch the last bus to South Lake Union.
Where I’m going, I won’t need the Thirty Foods cheese.
* * *
Abba’s store is closed, but the lights are still on. He’s slumped over the counter, his back heaving with snores that I can hear through this locked door. I turn my key and ease it open, holding the bell cord so it won’t ring to life and disturb him. I walk past the fridges full of heat-and-eat food, made with love by his hands, probably going to waste, thanks to Roundworld and their cafeterias and on-site gyms and nap rooms and dry cleaners and doctors and yoga teachers and—
I feel the rage rising up again, and I pause before approaching the counter.
This is why I’m playing. This is what I’m playing for.
This place.
I reach my hand up, but just before my fingers find his forearm, I hear a familiar voice whisper harshly behind me, “Don’t.”
It cuts through the silence and makes me jump.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I say. “What are you doing down here anyway, creeping around in the aisles?”
Ranya steps out from the back of the store and reaches into a crinkly bag.
“Eating Cocomos,” she whispers casually. “Want one?”
She tosses one in my direction before I can answer, and I catch it and pop it into my mouth, crushing it between my teeth and letting the crunch and the chocolate wash over my tongue.
“Thanks,” I whisper, stepping closer so we can talk without waking Abba.
“So, why are you down here so late?” she asks. “Shouldn’t you be home by now? It’s almost your bedtime.”
She’s only nineteen—two years older than me. It’s not like she didn’t have a “bedtime” just last year.
“Shouldn’t you be home sulking in your room?” I ask. Her face stays deadly still, but she suddenly loses her taste for Cocomos. She carefully rolls up the bag and slips it into the pocket of her black leather jacket. She leans against a nearby shelf and tilts her head at me. The shimmering silver-and-diamond brooch pinned to her burgundy hijab sparkles in the dim light, and between that and her flawless makeup, she looks like a princess.
“Why are you all dolled up this late at night anyway?” I ask.
“My therapist said doing my makeup might help with my depression,” she says curtly. Instantly guilt floods my chest.
“Oh,” I say, softening, “I didn’t know.”
