The Jump, page 6
“Cap,” she says.
Meanwhile, I’m over here pulling up past info about the Order—articles, breaking news, tweets, posts, texts I’ve accumulated, and most recently, a cryptology forum discussion all about who they might be, and what they might want. The comments are full of wild ideas.
“They’re probably a lobbying firm,” reads one. I have to smile. The Order is many things—a secretive group of hackers, a team of social justice vigilantes, my idols in a way. But a lobbying firm? Nah. They rarely influence politics directly, at least through the regular channels that a lobbying firm might. What kind of lobbying firm pours buckets of red paint down the front steps of a Confederate museum?
Yes, they really did that once.
I love them.
I think back to what Mama told me this morning.
The best way you can help is by voting when you turn eighteen, and by “being the change” in the meantime.
But like Ava said, what does that phrase even mean? “Be the change.” Wouldn’t competing in a citywide cryptology puzzle hosted by a social justice vigilante group count as “being the change”? Could Mama really be mad at me for something so… passive? We’re not hurting anyone or disturbing anyone’s peace.
It’ll probably be like every other puzzle we’ve done on the forum anyway, except maybe a little harder. In all the puzzles I’ve built and hosted, I’ve never made people look through source code to find an answer to a clue. But now I’m thinking maybe I should!
The history teacher on Spider’s computer is still lecturing away. Mrs. Brandywine, thank goodness, lets her students keep their cameras off. “Long as you get your homework in,” she told us on day one of the school year, “and show that you’re understanding the material, the rest is your business.”
So here we sit, the four of us, lost in our phones as her voice fills the room with talk of the Clinton administration and all that was done to catapult the “tough on crime” movement into mass incarceration, a.k.a. legalized slavery. Law enforcement ain’t sneaky. My people know what’s up.
“With regard to the Roundworld refinery going up in Beacon Hill,” Mrs. Brandywine continues, “there’s much talk about its environmental impact, specifically on air quality in surrounding neighborhoods—”
“And,” cuts in Spider, “why that shit would never fly on Mercer Island.”
Yas scoffs in agreement, and Han nods without taking his eyes off his phone.
He’s right. Ooh, and it makes my heart race with rage when I think about it. The whole system is twisted as hell, and Mama won’t let me do a thing about it. I think back to all those crowds of people gathered in downtown, holding signs and chanting in unified conviction that we the citizens of Puget Sound will not stand by while another multinational corporation comes in and mucks up our economy.
I reach up and clasp my fingers around that amethyst stone she gave me. One of her precious crystals.
For protection, she had told me.
Like I need protection from anything as long as I do what she says.
I’m surprised at my own rage, and I sigh and try to release some of this steam. I love Mama and Zaza to death. Ava too. But I can’t sit by and just let this oil refinery steamroll over everything my family loves, everything we’ve worked so hard to build. Mama’s garden, it’s our home. It’s where we go for peace and abundance. It’s where we meet our friends. I’ve seen people fall in love there, celebrate babies there, let their children play there.
Maybe I can’t march. Maybe I can’t be on the front lines swinging signs and chanting “No blood, no soil, only water, no oil” like I want to. But I can still do something.
I can win this puzzle.
I can join the Order.
I can help them take down Roundworld with my new “power.”
“Han, you’re brilliant!” I exclaim, and I look around at my three friends and remember they haven’t been in my head for the last few minutes. I clear my throat and try to recover. “Sorry. I, uh, I’m in. Definitely in. In fact, I want to join the Order. Like, even more so now.”
Yas blinks in surprise and shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
“Wait, you’re actually not doing this, Yas?” I ask. She has to be in. We can’t win without her.
“Come on,” says Spider, hands held out pleadingly. “How are we going to get to these clues first without our acrobatic makeup guru?”
“Whoa, no,” she says, holding up her hand for silence. “Parkour. Not acrobatics. I’m no gymnast.”
“You’ll have to explain the difference to me one day,” says Spider. Han nods in agreement. “Anyway, what if the clues are in weird spots that don’t include the sewer or creepy alleyways?”
Han nudges Spider’s leg.
“What? I’m just saying, you’re master of the night, Han. Dark places no one else would ever think to look. Yas is the squirrel, you’re the bat. I’m the spider, and Jax is…”
He pauses and looks at me blankly. Then smiles sheepishly.
“An octopus,” says Yas.
“What the hell?” I ask. “Everyone else gets to be shifty and cunning and sharp, and I’m stuck as a slimy brain with tentacles.”
“Precisely,” says Spider, apparently agreeing with her. “You’re a brain with tentacles. The most strategic brain of all of us. If you’re in this to win this puzzle, Jax, we’re with you. At least, I am.”
We all look at Yas. Not as a peer pressure thing, but like… we need a decision, and we all know it.
She knows it.
“Ugh, fine, I’m in,” says Yas.
My heart jumps, and I can feel a smile creeping across my face.
“That’s it!” says Spider, turning to Han. “You’re in too, Han?”
He looks up from his phone with a nod and a grin.
“Yeah,” I say. All four pillars of JERICHO are standing. And we’ve figured out the first clue first, from the looks of these comments. “Let’s get these oil refinery assholes out of here.”
“JERICHO in full effect,” says Spider, holding out his fist. We all take turns bumping it, except for Han, who holds out his phone screen instead.
“What’s this, Han?” asks Yas, taking it from him and looking at the screen.
Her mouth goes flat. Her eyes go a sliver wider for a second, so quick that I’m pretty sure only I caught it.
“Let me see,” I say, just as Spider holds out his hand for the phone. Yas appeases both of our curiosity by holding the phone up so we can both see it. We lean in so fast, we almost bump heads, and I can’t read the comments quick enough. Just one that says “On our way.”
“That’s ROYAL,” I say.
Team ROYAL.
Bunch of rich kids from Mercer Island with endless money and time, who can ditch school to chase internet puzzles for shits and giggles. They can probably access the history stream from their phones with unlimited data plans. Meanwhile, Wi-Fi is Team JERICHO’s friend. Resources aside, though, these people are good. ROYAL’s element is fire, like ours is earth, so all of their puzzles have clues on things like bags of charcoal, propane tanks, steam vents in the sides of buildings, bonfire barrels, a “Smoking Area” sign. Once, they even left a clue on a bottle of hot sauce.
A dirty trick, if you ask me. Hot sauce doesn’t count as fire any more than a packet of rock candy counts as earth.
“Oh, hell no. We need to get there now!” says Spider, muting his computer, cutting off Mrs. Brandywine just as she says, “Neutrality helps—”
We all know the end of that.
The oppressor.
In silent agreement, we all sling our bags over our shoulders and head for the door and down the stairs to the front entryway, where we politely left our shoes earlier. It’s not that we’re all okay with playing hooky, but when an oil refinery is moving into our neighborhood—a refinery that would threaten Spider’s apartment, Yas’s store, Han’s living situation, and my garden—we all agree that missing half a day of virtual school is a small price to pay.
But as we all slide our feet into our sneakers and sprint out the door and down the street, through throngs of businesspeople and colorful folks in protest gear, my eyes begin to notice the vibes around us. Most of these people leave us alone and let us on our way, but a few, almost all of them white, stare us down with raised eyebrows and pursed lips like they think we must be running like this to get away with stealing something.
Because running to catch the bus for any other reason is a totally implausible scenario.
I look up. The sun will be going down by the time we get there in an hour or so.
And we’re running to catch a bus to South Lake Union, arguably one of the most upscale spots in all of Seattle. Techies. Fusion restaurants. Grocery stores that feel like a farmers’ market with prices double that of Pike Place Market.
And three of us are kids of color.
I wonder if this is a good idea.
But if it’s to save our garden, our store, our homes…
I’m still in.
Yas
Abba’s store has been on the corner of Eighth and Republican for the last forty-nine years, just around the corner from the Space Needle—he always mentions proudly when talking to anyone about it. Prime real estate—he always tells me, as if trying to convince me. He started reminding me more often when property developers first showed up with offers to buy him out of the area. And even more often when construction workers rolled in and built an apartment complex over and all around the store so that it’s now nestled into the big shiny silver building like an afterthought, as if the apartments came first.
Grandpa started working at this store when he and Gran had just a few hundred dollars and the clothes on their back. That was when you could support a family with a convenience-store job. He saved and saved until he could buy the place and run it himself.
“My own abba went through so much to keep this place. What kind of son would I be if I sold it off at the sight of a few big bills?”
A smart one, I always want to say but never do. The area is worth so much now. We live only a few blocks away from South Lake Union—in low-income housing at Navigation House, right by Denny Park, where techies go for Yoga in the Park and to walk their Shiba Inus and French bulldogs and feed them organic dog treats from the grocery store across the street that looks more like an Apple store.
Ever since that grocery store went up, traffic at Abba’s store has been meager at best. Things in cans are starting to expire. Cans. They’re called “nonperishables” for a reason. Some pets don’t even last that long.
But he says, “It just means nobody wants pickles from a convenience store anymore.”
“Or tuna,” I say.
“Exactly. Everybody’s going vegan now. I’ll roll with the punches. A good businessman always rolls with the punches. And he waits.”
Abba is waiting for a miracle, and he doesn’t even realize it.
I sigh and look out the window of the South Lake Union Trolley as it announces that we’re at Westlake and Ninth. We’re the next stop.
My heart starts pounding all over again.
I know this puzzle will probably be inconsequential for me. I’m not joining an online vigilante group shrouded in mystery, just personally, even if it does take out those refinery plans. But Jax seems to trust them with his life. And he needs JERICHO to win. So here I am.
And just maybe, if we win, and some of this “power” keeps Abba’s delusions from sinking us completely, I’m in.
Besides, JERICHO is a team. What kind of friend would I be if I just dipped because… what… I didn’t feel like playing this one?
Plus, prize or not, playing the game is always the best part.
I wonder what we’ll find at the corner of Dexter and Republican. A sign? A serial number? Team ROYAL?
I clutch my bag a little tighter at the thought of that. I’ve seen them post forum puzzles a few times, and they’re always tricky. The fire element. Once, when the Discovery Center featured a poster on the outside window about plasma. Which, arguably, is a questionable source of fire. Apparently, someone on the team was under the impression that plasma was closely related to hot lava. That was the day I learned that plasma is actually a state of matter. Fluorescent light is technically plasma. Not even remotely related to fire. Doesn’t count as on theme with the fire element.
Jax gave them a strike for that one.
Rule one of the forum: The rules must be followed.
And if ROYAL didn’t follow their own rules, they couldn’t expect other teams to follow them either. I’ve never met the three of them in person—yes, there are three of them and four of us—but I mostly know their roles. Purple Suit Guy—the mastermind, Red Cap Guy—the muscle, and the blond girl. She must be new. Not quite sure what she does.
We could run into any of them here, which isn’t a problem necessarily. Everyone on the forum is pretty civil in person. That’s rule three. Fellow humans must be respected, especially by those in power.
I look up at the sky, fading into a watercolor painting of orange and purple. I’m going to miss Maghrib prayer. I wince. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head chiding me to be more mindful of prayer times, something I promised myself to be better at. I’ll have to make it up later. Abba will be looking for me at the store unless I text him.
ME: Abba, I’ll be home a little late tonight. Studying with Spider, Jax, and Han.
He always takes forever to text back. When you’re at work, you work, he’d say. I don’t bother waiting for a response. The trolley announces we’re at the Discovery Center, the doors open, we all pile out onto the street, and the trolley glides off down the rails.
Since it’s evening, South Lake Union is growing hazy, lazy, and slow.
The sun has just set over the Olympic Mountains, and all the people who work locally are walking their thousand-dollar dogs back to their four-thousand-dollar-a-month condos—I’m not joking—that’s the equivalent of a car paid in full every six months.
I shouldn’t generalize, I know. The apartment I live in is provisioned for people like… well… my parents, and it’s just around the corner. But all the tech badges I see hanging on hips and around necks, all the flashy cars I see speeding down Denny toward the Needle and Belltown, where all the bars are bumping on Friday nights, and all the designer clothes I see everywhere… I feel some kinda way about my parents’ store being boxed out of this area.
I walk down Westlake, leading JERICHO past a fitness center that looks like a space station inside and a sandwich spot that costs eight dollars for half an order. We hang a left at the secondhand store that takes donations from the local rich and sells it to the poor and disenfranchised at a profit under the guise of being a charity. I could walk this route in my sleep. That’s part of what makes JERICHO such a force around here. We know Seattle. And I mean, we know it. We’ve all got a different zone. I’ve got South Lake Union. Jax has Beacon Hill. Spider has Capitol Hill, downtown, the Market, and Belltown, and Han has the whole east side where his dad works, and most of Tacoma, since that’s where his mom lives.
Oh, and pretty much the whole underground and sewer system.
That’s helpful too.
“Do you have to walk so fast, Yas?” asks Jax, the faintest hint of exhaustion in his voice.
“You’re welcome to wait at Abba’s store until I get back with the second clue,” I say. He’s like a little brother to me. If our friendship had a contract, there’d definitely be a clause somewhere in there about me teasing him. But Jax is full of surprises.
“You mean the same Abba who gives us gulab jamun and jalebis the second we walk in? Sign me up.”
Spider audibly shudders somewhere behind me. I know he’s not a fan of sweets, so Abba’s generous mithai offerings often go… strategically dodged. With gratitude, of course. But maybe I could convince Abba to give him some biryani instead. After all, Spider’s mom did give me a steaming bowl of tonkotsu ramen. With two eggs.
We round the corner at Westlake and Thomas, turning left and preparing to walk the last few blocks north to our destination.
Dexter x Republican.
Tricky of the Order to use such a play on words. I wonder how many players immediately googled the phrase as a name, pulling up no matches, and how many thought “Dexter X” might be the name of a Republican politician or billionaire. Not a bad deduction. I guess one has to know Seattle fairly well to excel at this puzzle. Between the four of us, we’ve got this one.
That “power” they promised might just be enough to run these oil tycoons out of Puget Sound. Might be enough to send their employees packing, away from their provided cafeteria buffet lunches and catered meetings. Abba’s preassembled lunch packages cut back into the market a little, but not nearly enough to bounce back from the pull of that glittering eatery. Even though him closing down the store is a long shot, if he’s determined to keep it open, running it shouldn’t feel like hell.
I look up at the shiny glass building. Now that afternoon is fading into twilight, I can see into one of the cafeterias up there—full of people even though it’s almost five p.m. Abba says that’s prime snack time—another market he’s lost out on with the cafeteria’s presence. And he used to get another wave of people around five thirty, leaving for the day and in need of a predinner dinner.
Those folks are gone now too, bellies full of fresh salad and ancient grain bowls with quinoa and hummus and snap peas and endive.
I hate that cafeteria.
If there’s no oil refinery, there’s no oil. If there’s no oil, there’s no Roundworld. If Roundworld disappears, so does the cafeteria.
If the Order can get these oil people out of here, then playing their game this one time will be worth it.
I’m in.
I just hope Jax enjoys joining them alone.
I want the refinery out of our backyard like everyone else, but as soon as I’ve accomplished that, I’ve got goals to attend to, and they don’t include going undercover with a secret organization. How am I supposed to open my own parkour studio while sneaking around on the internet, bringing down multinational corporations and exposing sinister government plots? Parkour wins. Every time.
