The Jump, page 16
A pang of sadness hits me square in the chest. All at once I remember how frayed Jax’s and my relationship has gotten lately. The searing things I said to him. The scathing things he said to me. And how now, I’d do anything to get him back.
Back. Alive. And well.
Sigge’s eyebrows knit together, and her eyes flicker in the light of her phone screen. I can tell she’s reading the puzzle, and I step forward and turn to look over her shoulder with her.
YOU’VE PROVEN YOUR WORTH. NOW PROVE YOUR DEDICATION.
TAKE BACK THE TOP. ONE LAST EVALUATION.
COUNTLESS LIVES FOR FORTUNE 5 ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE.
KICK A CAN. BURN A BARREL. BANG A DRUM. BE THE CHANGE.
WELCOME TO THE END. YOUR FINAL DESTINATION.
A KNIFE IN THE HEART OF AN EVIL CORPORATION.
One word, one name, hums through my head.
Holy shit. It’s Roundworld.
No.
Maybe.
What would Jax do?
He’d prove it, Yas.
So many questions fly through my head at once at the same rate as alarm bells fly in.
Question: How has participating in this puzzle thus far not proven our dedication?
Alarm: Has Roundworld been “evaluating” us? What the hell for?!
Question: “Kick a can”? “Burn a barrel”? What the hell does that even mean?
Question: The end of what? The game? Is this really the last clue?
Alarm: The hell do they mean by “final destination”? I’m not dying tonight!
Question: What knife? A literal knife? What heart? A literal heart? Roundworld’s heart?
Alarm: Are we really going to have to take down Roundworld to win this puzzle?
“Shit!” exclaims Sigge suddenly, turning and sprinting down the street. She only makes it twenty feet before she stops and turns to look at me. “Yas, I know you know the answer. You know I know the answer. I can’t let this happen. I… This is so fucked up.”
Her voice is breaking.
“Why are they going after us? After my father?”
I step forward, jogging to her.
“Listen,” I say. “If you win this ‘power,’ you won’t even need Roundworld. Right? Maybe you could get your dad a new job with medical benefits. Maybe you could pull some strings to get your brother free treatment. Who knows what the extent of this power is, right?”
Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she sniffs and holds her arms close to herself.
I know it’s not enough.
“If I win,” I say, afraid to touch her, but fighting the instinct telling me to hold her hand, “whatever this ‘power’ entails, I’ll do my best to protect your family, okay? And wipe Karim’s and Jax’s records clean, like I promised.”
She looks up at me and blinks. Her wet eyelashes are clumped together and more tears fall.
“You’d better be telling the truth.” She repeats my words with a sad chuckle, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve.
“I don’t lie,” I say.
A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth, and she takes a few steps back.
“Let’s do this, then!”
Wait… what? I can’t have heard her right.
I take too long to answer, apparently.
“What’s the matter? Afraid I’m faster than the parkour master?”
Too many things run through my head.
Is she… inviting me to finish this last clue with her?
Why did “faster than the parkour master” make for such a delightful rhyme?
And finally:
“Are we doing this together now?” I ask, pulling my hoodie tighter around me and zipping it up against the chill in the air. I assume yes before she can answer, and I turn to open the door to Abba’s store, glancing inside to find the whole place dark and empty. Even the auxiliary lights that he always leaves on are shut off. Ranya must have dragged him out to the car and begged him to take her home for the night. I smile and make a quick dua of gratitude and blessing for her, and then I grab my backpack from the little utility closet just inside the door.
“Better than doing things apart, I feel,” says Sigge.
I realize she’s wearing only a black long-sleeve shirt that shows a sliver of midriff, and black jeans, and I have to ask.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Where I’m from, we swim in ice water.”
I make it a point to ask her where specifically she’s from. Her accent sounds Russian, but even if I did guess right, Russia is a big place.
“Belarus,” she clarifies, probably seeing the thinking going on behind my eyes. “In Minsk we hold ice-swimming competitions.”
“Seriously?” I ask, bewildered.
“Sure! You’re welcome to try it if you’re ever in Belarus,” she says, as if ice swimming is as normal a thing to do as going for a walk.
“In case you haven’t realized, I’m Pakistani. I’m not going anywhere near a pool of ice water.”
She smiles as I fall into step beside her and marvel at just how strange this whole situation is. Me, walking with this Belarusian girl—a member of Team ROYAL—headed to the last clue in a puzzle I didn’t wholly trust at first. Now I have no choice. From the corner of my eye, I see her glance at me expectantly several times before offering some comfort.
“We’ll get them out,” she assures me.
“How do you know?” I ask, still skeptical. “How do you even know where we’re going?”
“Read it again,” she says. “I know you’ll get it by the time we get there. I won’t ruin the love of the game for you, but we also need to get moving if we’re going to make it there before Lucas.”
Sure, I know pretty confidently it’s Roundworld, but… where at Roundworld?
She hands me her phone, and I read it again. This feels so wrong, puzzling this out without our puzzler. JERICHO is so empty without Jax. But I have to try my best. For him.
YOU’VE PROVEN YOUR WORTH. NOW PROVE YOUR DEDICATION.
Still looks like a pointless line to me. What could possibly come of that?
TAKE BACK THE TOP. ONE LAST EVALUATION.
Take back the top. Does that mean to make it there first? We’re not playing for points or anything, so to be in the lead, you have to get to the end of the game first. Right?
WELCOME TO THE END. YOUR FINAL DESTINATION.
We’re on the last clue. I get that.
A KNIFE IN THE HEART OF AN EVIL CORPORATION.
There are so many corporations around here, in Puget Sound, many in tech, some in hated industries, like cable providers.
And health insurance.
This could be talking about any one of them.
Think, Yas, think!
“Want a hint?” she asks as we walk farther and farther from Abba’s store, the Space Needle rising high into the sky just a few blocks ahead of us.
“Nah,” I say.
“I knew you’d enjoy the chase,” she says, smiling at me slyly.
Was that more flirting? Is that— Yup. Her eyes are practically glowing. Definitely still flirting. Chest feels tight. Can’t breathe. How am I supposed to focus when she’s looking at me like that?!
“Um,” I say, clearing my throat. She pulls out an ORCA card and holds it up between us, inched between her index and middle finger. So we’re taking the bus. Or the Link Light Rail. That doesn’t narrow it down at all.
What would Jax do?
He’d work some wild magic and make it all fit together into a way forward.
He’d rearrange some letters and words until something magically clicks.
So I try that.
I already have a jumping-off point—the Fortune 5 list. So, the “evil corporation” they’re talking about is somewhere huge. Somewhere very significant. Like, Amazon significant. Like Roundworld. I look back at the clue, at the one line in the middle that’s bothering me.
KICK A CAN. BURN A BARREL. BANG A DRUM. BE THE CHANGE.
So, kicking a can down the road. Burning a barrel, like for warmth? Banging a drum, like sounding an alarm? And “Be the change,” a phrase Jax has told me he hates viciously, since it’s often what people tell you when they want to pass the onus back onto you for enacting the change you want to see, so they don’t have to examine their own bias and dismantle the structures in place that uphold their privilege.
I hate it too.
But it can’t be that straightforward. It can’t just be a throwaway line. This is The Order we’re talking about. Everything has to mean something, Jax said.
“You can do it,” says Sigge. “Left here.”
We turn left, and I see the bus station just ahead.
Then, when I look back down at the puzzle, I see it.
The words seem to jump off the screen at me.
KICK A CAN.
BURN A BARREL.
BANG A DRUM.
BE THE CHANGE.
I read it again.
CAN.
BARREL.
DRUM.
CHANGE.
Only one word can go before each of those. A word that tells me exactly which corporation we’re talking about here. Exactly the company.
It has to be Roundworld.
“I did it, Jax,” I whisper softly enough that only I can hear.
Sigge scans her ORCA card against the swiper until it beeps, and then she looks back at me.
“Well?” she asks as I hear the hiss of the bus somewhere behind me.
“Oil.”
She nods.
“Did you catch where on their campus?”
The heart, of course. The heart of a company. Its headquarters.
I nod.
“Race you to the finish, then.”
I pause for a moment before nodding back. I forgot for a moment that we’re still in a competition. Sure, Sigge gave me the clue, like I gave her the cheese. But she still has a brother with leukemia, and I still have an abba with a doomed livelihood. We’re both still in this.
It’s her vs. me.
It’s gymnastics vs. parkour.
I board the bus and sit next to her, clutching my bag in my lap, having no idea what to expect in about twenty minutes.
* * *
Bzzzt.
Bzzzt.
Bzzzt.
In a tiny store tucked away in a corner of South Lake Union, a forgotten phone buzzes on the counter.
Jax
If holding a gun in front of a shattered window in the Thirty Foods specialty cheese aisle wasn’t on my cryptology bingo card, I certainly didn’t expect to be standing in a jail cell with a phone to my ear and forehead to the wall, praying somebody picks up before I have to spend a whole night in this place.
Ring, ring. Ring, ring.
“Come on, Yas, answer,” I whisper.
Ring, ring. Ring, ring.
Yas’s voice rings out, stringing together a phrase in Urdu that she’s told me says, “This is Yas, but if you’re not a scammer, you already know that. Leave a message if it’s important.”
Dammit.
If I leave a message, it counts as the last phone call I’m allowed here for the night. But if I don’t, I’m out of call attempts. This is call number three. First was Mama, who didn’t answer because she’s probably asleep. Then Spider—who knows where he even is right now? This voicemail is my last hope.
“Yas,” I whisper, unable to hide the urgency in my voice. “It’s me! Listen, I’m at King County Jail. They fingerprinted me, took my mugshot, put me in a jumpsuit, everything.” At the word “everything,” my voice shatters. I run my hand over the elastic around my waist and pull the navy blue pants they got me in up higher. They’re just big enough that they keep sliding down, and they feel like scrubs but thicker.
Itchier.
And I’m so used to Mama’s gentle homemade lavender detergent that these things smell like I just walked out of an industrial paint factory.
“Yas, please come get me. I’ll pay you back for whatever my bail is, I promise, just… I’ve gotta win this puzzle. I have to. And I’m sorry for what I said. You were right. This was a bad idea. I was too invested. I—”
“You have reached the maximum time permitted for recording your message,” interrupts the automated voice. My heart stops as another voice joins in, this one right beside me.
“All right, young man, time’s up,” says the guard, arms folded over his chest, careful not to wrinkle his khaki uniform decorated with a few pins that I’m sure mean something.
“But no one picked up,” I say. “Can’t I call my aunt or… or a cousin? Anyone?”
He shakes his shiny bald head no and says robotically, “Sorry, son. Rules are rules. They’ll call you in for questioning in a moment. Give me the phone, please.”
He holds out a hand as dark as mine, and I look from his hand to his dark eyes. There’s a look in them that I can’t quite place. Something that’s hardened over years, like pearls that once had a single grain of pity at the center. I’m sure this guy’s heard all the excuses—my mom’s sick, my dog died, my girlfriend’s pregnant, yada yada.
Whatever I say right now, I doubt he’ll care.
I hand him the receiver and turn back toward the center of the room, where I find about a dozen inmates sitting around in blue jumpsuits just like mine. Some are chilling in chairs around a table, three of them with a spread of cards in their hands. Two sit several chairs apart in front of a TV in the corner that’s playing old-school cartoons. Most of them are my shade or darker. A few are white, but…
… yeah, a few.
“No way,” comes a voice to my right. I flinch, cursing my nerves. If there’s one thing I know about jail, it’s not to let on that you’re jumpy as shit…
…and I’m clearly jumpy as shit.
But this guy walking toward me, a tall kid about my shade with loose curls up top and the faintest shadow of peach fuzz under his chin, steps right up to me with shimmering eyes, like he’s meeting an old friend.
“Do I know you?” I ask as politely as I can. I don’t want anything to do with anyone in here. I don’t want to make friends or enemies. I just want to get to whatever this guy wants and get the hell up out of here. I know as soon as Mama answers her phone—even if that’s tomorrow—I’m outta here on bail.
He leans in closer, and I take a step back as he examines me excitedly.
“You’re Jax,” he says. “Captain of JERICHO?”
I freeze, staring up at his face. Is this guy… from the forum?
“Sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met before,” I say. He chuckles and rests a hand on his chest.
“I’m Rodrigo,” he says. “Captain of the DUCKLORDS. Wild seeing you here. Did you get canned after looking for one of ‘The Order’s’ clues too?”
This guy is from the forum! And he’s another captain! Of the one and only water team—the DUCKLORDS, the team that organized the last puzzle. The “chromedome” puzzle, the puzzle that sort of got overshadowed by the Order’s dramatic entrance with the fire alarms. But the thing that shocks me most is his use of air quotes when saying that name—The Order.
“What do you mean, ‘The Order’?” I ask, returning the air quotes.
Some of the brightness leaves his eyes, and his shoulders fall.
“So, no one out there knows yet, do they?” he asks.
“Knows what?”
I have to know. Did the Order make a move I hadn’t heard about yet? Or my worst fear…
Did they choose a winner?
“Did someone… win?” I ask, wondering if I really want to know the answer.
“No way to know,” he says. “They confiscated all our phones, and all calls in and out are monitored.” He tilts his head in the direction of the phone on the wall—the one I was just using. “I hope you didn’t say anything about the puzzle while you were making your call.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Wh-why, um…,” I begin, scratching my neck, afraid to inquire further. “What happens if they… you know… might have heard something?”
“Jax, there’s something you need to know,” he says, lowering his voice and clamping his huge, strong hand around my shoulder. “Something you need to post on the forum as soon as possible, and tell your friends if you can, if they’re still playing.”
I listen closely as he continues, still whispering.
“This whole thing is a setup,” he says, his eyes locked onto mine with a gravity that I didn’t expect from a guy who was so smiley and cheerful just a few moments ago. “The whole thing. They booked me in here a few hours ago, and when they pulled me into that room to interrogate me, they was pulling ultimatums out they ass, bruh. I’ve been to juvey before, and it wasn’t this bad. They told me here that I could either help 12 identify people on the front lines of these protests, or I can deal with whatever sentencing comes my way. Snitch, or be a prison bitch. Simple as that for these pigs.”
Wait, wait, wait.
What?
“Nah,” I say. There’s no way the Order would do this. Why would they set up a puzzle just to get us arrested? They’re for the protesters. They want the refinery taken down like we do! Nah. Nah. I know a setup when I see one. And this ain’t it.
“I get that you want to win, Rodrigo,” I say, narrowing my eyes up at him. “But to be this desperate? While we’re both in here? That’s low.”
“What?” he says, his thick eyebrows knitting together in shock. “Bruh, I’m telling the truth—”
“The rest of the DUCKLORDS are out there solving clues right now, aren’t they? Racing to get through the puzzle while you’re trapped in here, and this is all you can do to help them. I get it, I really do, but you’re going to have to do better than that.”
I turn and walk away, feeling my shoulders trembling with rage. His exasperated sigh booms from behind me, and I hear him turn and walk away too.
The loudspeaker roars to life and startles me so bad, I’m suddenly shaking. Yup. Still jumpy as shit.
“Inmate 3-8-1-26.” My number. “Please report to Bay 1.”
There’s a room along the far wall with a big sign above it labeled “Bay 1,” so I walk to it, but not before locking eyes with Rodrigo again, who’s now sitting in a chair against the wall with one leg resting on the other, giving me a wide-eyed, raised-eyebrow look that says You ’bout to find out.
