The Jump, page 7
Just as the light of Abba’s shop flickers to life for the night—“Abba’s,” Grandpa had named it—the blaring sound of a buzzsaw drills straight through my head, and I swear amid the whirring noise I thought I heard a cheery, “Ho, hey!”
I know that voice.
I look to Spider, Jax, and Han for confirmation, but they’ve already spotted Jeanine, not at her usual spot on the ground outside the espresso place on the corner, but in the doorway of the luxury furniture boutique next door to Abba’s. She raises a dusty hand to us with a hello, and my heart melts.
“Sup, lovely?” calls Jax. And I know he means it. Jeanine is a constant bright spot in an ever-evolving tech metropolis.
“Nothing much, lovelier!” she calls back. Han steps out into the road first, and we all seem to collectively decide that whatever happens with this puzzle, we can spare a moment for her company.
“What brings you out to this spot?” asks Spider. “Coffee shop owners being assholes again?”
“On a whole ’nother level,” she says, her shoulders falling a bit. She glances back at the espresso shop with the little black-and-white man traced around the word “Southtown,” and points toward the door. “Look at the ground.”
All our eyes follow her direction, and I spot them. Rows and rows of metal pins poking up through the concrete along the side of the building.
“What are those?” asks Jax.
Han steps forward and lays his head down sideways on his hands with his eyes shut. Then he taps one hand with his other thumb over and over, finally opening his eyes again.
Jax’s eyes grow wide in realization, and he turns back to Jeanine.
“They put those pins on the ground so you can’t sleep there?” he asks, his voice soft with compassion. Han, the infrastructure expert, nods. Spider slides his hands into his pockets.
“Hostile architecture,” he says sharply, angrily. “A true injustice. You know how they just replaced those benches in Denny Park? The new ones have those weird bars down the middle.”
“I thought those were there to keep strangers separated in case they wanted to share a bench without bumping hips,” offers Jax, forever the optimist.
“Nope,” says Spider. “They’re designed to be unsleepable.”
I’ve encountered a few examples of such architecture in my parkouring. Pins in the ground, park benches with bars down the middle, bus stop seats tilted at a 45-degree angle, which is inconvenient for sitting and impossible for sleeping. Even blaring music during the night if it’s far enough away from homes.
By design.
Who does that?
“I’m sorry, Jeanine,” I say. “That’s awful. Do you know where you’re going to sleep tonight?”
“No idea,” she says. “S’posed to rain, so maybe up on Fifth Street by the mural?”
“Across from police headquarters?!” exclaims Jax. “Bad idea.”
Then I notice the furniture shop behind Jeanine and take a good look at it. There she stands, in the doorway of this place that sells beds for as much as Abba and Mom’s rent, next to a café that won’t allow their front porch to become a haven for someone who can’t afford one overnight. An idea strikes me.
“This place sometimes tosses foam padding from damaged furniture in the dumpster behind the stores.”
The same dumpster where Abba tosses his garbage. I’ve seen them—thick yellow rolls of memory foam from display sofas, old cushions, and sometimes even mattresses.
“You could grab one and lay it over the top of those pins so you can sleep here tonight,” I offer.
“Without getting impaled,” adds Spider.
“Thanks,” says Jeanine, running her hand over her forehead, glancing back at those pins and sighing. “All the money they pour into telling us where we can’t sleep. The money they’d save if they gave us a place where we can.”
Jax, Han, Spider, and I all look at each other as Jeanine turns and walks up the street. Two strangers walk right past her, laughing and engrossed in their conversation. All I catch is:
“Well, yeah, I wouldn’t pick an oil company as my first choice either, but the benefits. Do you know they sent their employees skiing in the Swiss Alps last year?”
By the time they get to “last year,” their voices are trailing off into the distance behind us. None of us have a comment about the conversation, but we all know what it must be about. Roundworld. How are we supposed to fight a force so big and powerful and full of money that people feel like they can’t say no to pouring eight-plus hours per day into ensuring that it flourishes?
We walk as a group, and after moments of silence that seem to stretch on forever, we reach Abba’s store, and I lead the group right on past it.
“Uh, Yas?” asks Spider. “Aren’t we going to stop for a little smackerel first?”
I stop to turn around and answer that the store will be here but the chance to win this puzzle might not be, but Jax walks right past me.
“Nah,” says Jax. “What if ROYAL’s already found—”
He stares past my face and freezes, and I whip around to see what he’s looking at, just in time to catch a large white poster being yanked from a wooden telephone pole by a white hand belonging to a white kid in a white T-shirt and a backward red snapback.
The kid in the red hat glances over one shoulder, then the other, in our direction, and we lock eyes.
My heart starts thumping out of control. Did this kid just steal the first clue? He lowers the poster as if he’s hoping I won’t put together what he’s doing, and I make my first mistake.
I take a step forward.
He bolts.
I bolt after him.
“Yas!” comes Jax’s voice behind me. I hear the pattering of swift footsteps behind me, but they’re not as swift as mine. I round the corner at Republican and sprint past the University of Washington Clinic, toward Mercer Avenue—a three-lane highway that bleeds traffic straight from I-5 into bustling South Lake Union.
And it’s rush hour.
And the crosswalk is counting down from forty-two seconds.
Which means he’s either going to sprint across the street and hope he can dodge traffic fast enough, or—
He darts right.
I dart right, narrowly missing a strikingly tall man talking uncomfortably loudly into his wireless earphone and holding a bag of groceries with the other hand.
“Sorry!” I call behind me.
I hear him growl, probably frustrated at my carelessness, when people go for runs through here all the time. Maybe not at fourteen miles per hour, but still.
I keep my eye on Red Cap as he glances over his shoulder at me. I smirk. Rule number one of parkour: Never look back. I’m gaining on him, closing the gap. I’m so close now that I can make out a symbol on the poster as it flaps in his hand.
An eye.
A cat eye with three lashes. Strange-looking mark. It’s not elemental, since all four of the element teams are preoccupied with playing the Order’s puzzle instead of hosting. Could be one of the anatomy teams since it’s an eye. When people play a JERICHO puzzle, they know to look for a hammer.
I guess in the Order’s puzzle, we’re looking for eyes.
Red Cap is sprinting down this darkening alley so fast, I’m worried a truck will come backing out of one of these loading docks in the covered bays behind the street-facing stores we just sprinted past. We’re not supposed to be back here.
That sound of a buzzsaw rings out again, and… what the hell? We’re making a huge circle! We’re heading straight back toward the coffee shop that won’t let Jeanine sleep on the public property outside their door anymore. With any luck, maybe I can chase this guy back to where Han, Jax, and Spider are waiting. Han is probably trying to cut him off around a corner somewhere as we speak. I’m still gaining on him.
“Stealing clues, asshole?” I call after him. He glances over his shoulder again as I realize I’m just about close enough to touch him. To grab that poster…
A muscular white arm shoots out from the darkness and clamps around my right arm, yanking me into the shadows as I watch Red Cap grow smaller and smaller down the alley.
“Let go of me!” I shriek. I yank my arm away and get a good look at my roadblock. A man maybe a foot taller than me in a white T-shirt and yellow construction hat.
“Just what are you doing out here this late at night, sprinting through here? You know this is a construction site, lil’ miss?”
Every hair on the back of my neck bristles at that last bit—“lil’ miss.”
I wonder under what circumstances Red Cap might’ve been grabbed aside like this and called “lil’ mister.” But I quell the blood boiling up in my chest and take a deep breath.
“That guy stole something of mine, and you let him get away!”
It’s not entirely a lie. He did steal something. Something that belongs to the forum. He broke a cardinal rule of cryptology—leave clues intact for those behind you. It’s the whole fun of the game. Otherwise, it’s not a scavenger hunt but a simple race to swipe it first.
And where’s the fun in that?
Red Cap has now made it to the end of the alley, where he’s hopping another fence with that white poster in hand. Goddammit.
“Oh, did he?” asks Discount Bob the Builder, crossing his arms. He’s close enough that I can smell the sweat on him. And the aftershave.
“Yes,” I hiss. “He did. And I would’ve caught him if you hadn’t interrupted.”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow and looks me up and down.
“Why are you out here?”
I prickle at that question. What does he mean by “out here”? Out here in a loading dock behind a building? Out here in the middle of a construction site? Out here in South Lake Union?
“Out here on campus,” he says, as if he can hear my thoughts. “You got a badge?”
A badge… fuck… no. I wish Jax were here. He’d be quick with the retorts. Who’s asking? he’d say. Who do you think you are, asking to see my badge? Do you have a badge?
“That’s my business and none of yours,” I snap. I smile inside in spite of myself. Not bad, Yas. “Now, excuse me. I have to get home.”
I step forward to continue down the alley. Maybe there are remnants of the poster on the pole that will give us some clues. Anything at this point.
But Construction Man tightens his folded arms and steps in front of me.
“What if I think security might want to hear about this?”
There’s been a shift in his tone that sends my blood cold. Is this guy really trying to report me to some authority? For what? Being in a construction area in the early evening on a weekday? So I hopped a fence. Big deal. As far as he knows, Red Cap stole my purse. Who wouldn’t hop a fence to get that back?
“Gee, wish I had the time to talk to them,” I say, attempting to step around him. But of course, he steps aside to block me. I start surveying my surroundings. There’s a dumpster to my left with another fence behind it. No idea what’s on the other side of that, but if it gets me away from this man, in this dark alley, who’s threatening to report me to the campus authorities, it might be worth it.
Or, Yas, you could take the most efficient route.
Without glancing over my shoulder to give him a clue about my next move, I turn and bolt back down the alley toward Mercer.
“Hey!” he hollers after me. I hear his footsteps, but I don’t look back. A man crosses the opening at Mercer, wheeling a stroller nonchalantly and talking on the phone at the same time. I don’t have time to slow down. But I do have time to make the jump.
I force all the energy in my body into my arms, dive forward, and push off the ground with a labored grunt, tucking my knees up against my chest as I tumble in a tight little ball through the air. The bottoms of my spotless white sneakers just barely miss the topmost tendrils of the man’s coiffed hair, and I kick my feet out, leading with them to propel me as far as I possibly can.
When my feet land, they find the pavement, and my hands follow for stability. But I don’t have time to look up and around and explain to all these shocked pedestrians why Black Pakistani Spider-Woman in a hijab just leapt out of an alley and over a man with a stroller.
I have a red-hatted boy to track down and a puzzle to solve.
“Stop right there!” I hear from the alley behind me. But I’m down the street and around the corner so fast, Construction Man’s voice fades like a vapor behind me.
A very bothered vapor.
Han
By the time the guy in the red hat climbs over the fence across the street, I’m the only one still standing here outside Abba’s store. Once Yas took off, I knew there was no catching her—I have my older brother’s text conversation up, and I’m halfway through asking him if he has access to security footage anywhere within a two-block radius of here.
He works for Roundworld. We haven’t let it come between us.
He’s a big reason why we—him, me, Dad—can still afford our place, so I’m not allowed to be mad at him for selling out and joining the bad side.
And now my restraint is coming in handy.
ME: Do you have footage of anywhere in a two-block radius of Republican and Dexter?
KYLER: …mayyyyybe…
ME: What does that mean?
I wish he wouldn’t talk in riddles like that. Does he mean “mayyyyybe” as in “I’m not sure, but I’ll check,” or “Yes I do, but I want to see if you’ll give me something in advance for my services,” or “Maybe, but I’m not going to tell you because I’m mad at you about something”?
Sussing out hidden implications in words is hard enough in person when I can actually hear them, let alone doing it via text. Why can’t people just say what they mean? He takes forever to text back. Cars fly past, the whirring sound of their engines swelling and dying as they go by. The beeping of the walk signal rings rhythmically in my ears. Is it… is it getting louder? A dog barks behind me, making me jump. My heart pounds as I look over my shoulder at the culprit—a small dog with tight, shiny curls. Looks part poodle. The leash holder is a young woman with earbuds in, a cup of coffee in one hand—why is she drinking coffee so late in the evening?—and bright red lipstick. The dog jerks forward at me and barks again, making every hair on my body go rigid. My hands instinctively slide into my sweatshirt pocket, and my fingers find my phone. I flip it over and over in my hand, sliding it smoothly against my palm with one hand, then the other.
“Sorry about that,” says the woman. “Gigi isn’t usually like this around people.”
I don’t talk. I can’t talk right now. So I just stare at her. My shoulders are up. Tense. This is all too much. Too much sound. Too bright. My skin feels hot. Feels like the world’s on fire. Feels like I need to get out of here.
The dog barks again, and I take steps back.
“Come on, girl,” she says. “Stop bothering people.” She turns back to me again and says, quieter this time, “I’m so sorry.”
I bite my lip and stare at the ground as they leave.
I hear footsteps running up to me, and without looking up, I see Jax’s shoes on the ground beside me.
“Hey, man, you okay?” comes the out-of-breath voice of Jax, which makes me jump from the sheer volume. Why is he talking so loud?
I glance up.
The look on his face is one of shock, and then of pity, I think. I nod reflexively, but he shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me. Spider runs up behind him, and I keep twirling my phone in my pocket. Both of their eyes fall to where my hands are and then back up to meet mine.
Jax leans in close and whispers to me, “You’re stimming, man. Do you want to go somewhere quiet for a while?”
We’re in the middle of chasing down the guy who stole the second clue of a puzzle that’s very important to all of us, and Jax and Spider took the time to stop and make sure I’m okay. I… don’t know how to feel. I want to keep going. The last thing I want to do is slow down our progress. But a bus goes by, the driver leaning on the horn, making the blaring sound rattle through my head like a radioactive blast. My heart skips and I shut my eyes. Too much input. Too much light. Too much everything. My phone buzzes in my hand, and I can’t even bring myself to look at the screen.
I pull it out, screen still open to my conversation with Kyler, and hold it out to them, eyes shut tight, hoping they get the message.
I don’t want to slow down the puzzle, but… I need a minute.
Spider takes the phone from my hand. I know his hands. They’re soft and smooth.
Once the phone is out of my hand, and my contribution to getting us past this roadblock has been made, I peek my eyes open and spy a nearby bench, and I realize how good a seat would be right about now. But it would still be too loud. So, I look at the cross-street signs. Eighth and Republican. There’s a garage nearby—one with green doors and a keypad. I’ve seen people come through here and enter numbers on that keypad. I know the code.
I look both ways before crossing the street.
“Hey, take your phone, Han!” calls Jax.
Where I’m going, I won’t need it, but they will. I hope they keep talking to Kyler. If anyone can get them intel on what went down with that guy in the red hat, it’s him. Maybe it’ll lead to some clues about who he is, why he sabotaged the clue for everyone else, and why he wants so badly to win this puzzle from the Order.
* * *
I enter the code and slip quietly into the pitch-black garage. The noise of the street—the hum of it all, is muffled as I shut the door quietly behind me. I’ve never been here before, but I love it. It’s dark. It’s quiet. It smells faintly like something familiar… bread? It smells nice. It feels cold in here, but it smells warm.
I take a minute. I breathe. I try to remember the face of the guy in the red hat and wonder if I’ve seen it before. He looked our age but muscular, and maybe as athletic as Yas if he’s able to scale a six-foot fence like it’s nothing, while holding a poster. As I think, I feel my heart rate slowing. The world feels clearer now. I feel less frazzled. You know how when you’ve been wearing something itchy all day? Or something’s been rubbing the wrong way? Maybe a pair of underwear that’s too small, or a piece of jewelry or something? And then you come home at the end of the day and take it off?
