Not Your Backup, page 9
Nick and Collette are travelling again, this time to the South on more Grassroots business. It’s frustrating, checking in with Sean to hear from Bells’ parents confirming the meeting, but at least it’s something. Emma alternates between going with Bells to the radio transmission room and working out in the gym.
“Sean just heard from my dad,” Bells says, interrupting Emma’s latest round of sit-ups.
“That’s great! Are we all set to go to Grassroots? Are they ready to help with the network and everything? This could completely change the tide—”
Bells’ eyebrows knit, as if he’s about to tell her something she’s not going to like. This is exactly the face he made before they had that huge argument about Pluto in seventh grade. “Well, he agreed to convince the plenary board— that’s, like, their version of the Council—”
Emma grumbles. “So much bureaucracy.”
“Yeah, well they agreed to hear you out at the headquarters in the Louisiana region. The location is secret, but Dad will meet us in New Orleans, and Grassroots will meet with us near there.”
Emma’s already packed; it feels like she never unpacked to begin with. Her instincts tell her not to split up the Sidekick Squad again, but when would she get another chance to pitch to Grassroots?
“That’s a great idea!” Jess says, ever-optimistic, when Emma presents her the idea. “Bells, this is amazing! Oh, tell them Chloe says hello! And that the crops are doing better than expected.”
“Will do.” Bells looks at Emma and gives her a cheeky grin.
“Okay.” Emma can’t help smiling back at Bells. “We’ll be gone for a week. During that time, we’ll meet with the leaders of Grassroots and ask about tapping into their communication system. Since they already have one, we won’t have to recreate a system from scratch.”
“Sounds good,” Jess says, sighing.
A note in her voice makes Emma wonder if Jess actually believes it’s a good plan. Having a friend who always believes everything will work out can be stressful because Emma doesn’t have a scale. Jess is hopeful about everything. But she does seem down now.
A door opens and shuts, and Abby flies in. She greets Jess with a wet kiss and turns around, her eyes bright. “Bells! Emma! Hey, sorry I’m late! I was in the lab with Michael. We’ve got this in the bag, it’s gonna be awesome; how are you, Jess told me about the Grassroots plan, that sounds so cool, do you think I could come? Wait, I think Michael needs me here—” Abby is speaking so fast Emma can barely keep track of what’s she’s saying. She’s always known Abby was ambitious. When she was class president and captain of the volleyball team, she was very driven, but this feels different.
Bells’ eyebrows seem to jump off his head. Emma glances at him, and he seems to wordlessly agree: Abby’s acting really strange.
“Hey, Abby,” Emma says. “Thanks. We’re getting ready to go. How are you?”
“Great!”
Abby does not look great. There are bags under her eyes, and her face is pale and drawn, and she looks much thinner.
“Jess says you haven’t been getting a lot of sleep.”
“How can I sleep when there’s work to do? Come on, this is the Resistance! There aren’t enough hours in the day to take care of all the things we need to do! Oh, that reminds me, I gotta see if the results for our latest experiments are done. Bye! Have fun in the South! We’ll catch up with you in a week!”
Abby turns around in a whirl of red curls, and the door slams shut behind her.
“So, yeah,” Jess mumbles. “I’m worried about her.”
“I think she’s probably just excited about her research,” Bells says. “It’s, like, the newness of it all; she’ll crash and then sleep for three days, probably. Is she still trying to use her powers?”
“No, she told me— I know, we don’t want a repeat of what happened last time.”
Rushing Abby to the hospital after she collapsed was terrifying. Emma drums her fingers on the control panel, trying to appease her nerves. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” she says. “Just tell her to lay off the coffee and get some rest, okay?”
Jess sighs one more time and hugs Emma and Bells. “Be safe. Set up a radio as soon as you can and call me.”
“Same frequency, same time,” Emma says.
“I’ll be there every Wednesday, like clockwork,” Jess says. She squeezes them tight.
“Take care of Abby,” Emma says. “And say goodbye to your parents and everyone for me.”
“I will.”
Jess gives them one last glance before shutting the door, and Emma and Bells are alone in the supply room.
“It’s going to be fine.” Bells steps closer. He picks up a strand of her hair and curls it around his fingers. “You know, we don’t leave for another half hour and once we’re down South my whole family will be there and we won’t have a minute alone together—”
“Oh, you’re right,” Emma says.
Bells grins at her; his blue hair shifts to purple. “What do you want to do until then?” He leans forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes and then he ducks his head; a small smile starts on his lips.
It’s adorable, so very Bells. She’s always wondered about moments like these. People say “attraction” can be those feelings that make you want to kiss someone else, right?
A surge of affection rushes through her, and, now that they’re here, that they’re together, Emma can try to figure out, yet again, what all of these feelings mean and what she can do about them. When Bells tried to save everyone on that train after they destroyed the Registry, Emma thought she might lose him for real. She knew she needed to tell him how she felt.
Feelings churn inside her now; doubt creeps in. Did she do the right thing? She loves him. What do you know about love, anyway? A small voice in her head counters.
Emma tells the voice to shut up. This is a moment when she wants to kiss him—when the person she cares about is being soft and sweet and cute—and Emma just, Emma wants to show him how she feels, wants to be close to him.
So she does kiss him, pulling him close to catch his lips with hers. Bells makes a surprised, pleased noise, kisses back softly, and tangles his fingers in her hair. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright, his cheeks are flushed. “Hello,” he says softly.
“Hello,” Emma says, looking into his deep brown eyes. She’s hyper-aware that they’re alone, sitting together on the couch, and Bells is smiling at her in that incandescent way that makes his whole face shine.
She smiles, starting to relax, when doubt creeps up on her again. She thinks about moments like this one, and how everyone she’s dated has eventually expected things from her. It’s the normal process for a relationship, right?
Emma takes his hand and smiles, despite the nervousness churning in her stomach. “So, do you, uh—” Emma hopes her tone is light and playful. They’ve kissed before, and she’s enjoyed it, but it’s probably time for their makeout sessions to progress, especially now that they’re in a relationship. She trails off, hoping he understands, and waggles her eyebrows at him just to be sure he does.
Bells laughs, pulling her into a comfortable position with both of them cuddled on the couch. “I’m not ready for sex,” he says.
“Oh, me either,” Emma says, relieved.
Bells lifts one eyebrow. “Then why did you ask? We had this conversation already, Em!”
“Like a month ago!” Emma throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know if you changed your mind and wanted to now or something! You’re the one who was, like…” She lowers her voice and attempts a sensual drawl. “…we’re all alone and we won’t get to have another chance.”
“To make out.” Bells rolls his eyes. He puts his hands on Emma’s shoulders and looks into her eyes intently. “Is that okay? We talked about kissing and cuddling before—”
“Yes.” Emma pulls him forward and kisses him again. It’s warm and safe and Bells and soft and sweet.
Bells hums, drawing patterns on her arm. Emma’s feet are propped up in Bells’ lap, and she’s cozy and comfortable and doesn’t ever want to move.
“Hey,” she says, suddenly nervous.
“Hm?” Bells has a hand in her hair, stroking it. It feels nice, his fingers massaging her scalp, relieving all the tension she’s been feeling this week.
“What if I won’t ever be ready? Or don’t want to ever?”
Bells’ hand keeps stroking her hair, and he presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “That’s okay. Just let me know what you want and don’t want.”
“Isn’t sex, like, something you’d want, though? In the future?”
“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”
Emma sits up, intending to curl up into a ball, but he’s holding her other hand and giving her a soft, focused gaze. “I just— I thought it’s something we’re supposed to—”
“Hey, hey, c’mon,” he says. “Whatever we both put into this, it’s gotta be something we both want. And I never want you to feel like you have to or are supposed to do anything you don’t want to.”
“Okay,” Emma says quietly.
He leans forward and doesn’t kiss her as she’s expecting, just presses his forehead against hers. Emma closes her eyes, taking it all in.
She doesn’t know how long they sit there. It could be minutes or an hour, just Bells gently stroking her back, Emma breathing slowly and inhaling his scent.
Beep.
“Hang on,” Bells says. It’s his tablet, forgotten on the floor.
Emma nods. It should be important; the only people who can access their private network and would be within range are members of the Resistance or Bells’ family.
“It’s Dad,” he says. “He’s here. You ready to go?”
Emma takes a deep breath. “This is gonna be great. We can do this.”
“Me and you, the Sidekick Squad, an unstoppable team,” Bells says with an infectious grin.
“I thought you didn’t like that name.” Emma smirks, holding back a laugh.
“It’s growing on me,” Bells says, taking her hand and squeezing it, and Emma feels that warm surge of affection again. She squeezes back. This will be great. They’re a team, they’re together, and it’s going to work out perfectly.
Ch. 8…
New New Orleans is bursting with colors and tantalizing smells. After their high-speed train ride, Emma woke to warm sunshine and people everywhere. Striding through the Jackson Square hoverstation, she yawns. She tosses the burner DED with the train ticket information in the trash and jogs after Bells, who’s stopped to wait for her by a pillar.
Emma’s already lost sight of Nick and Collette, Bells’ parents, who’ve changed disguises subtly at least twice since they met at the station. She spots them wearing different hats, and Bells’ brothers Simon and Sean have changed their jackets. Emma’s trying her best to stay inconspicuous using her wigs, and Bells— well, Bells has that covered. Emma’s proud of him for learning to shift so fast. There used to be a visible difference when he shifted, but now he can change in the time between breaths.
As they pass through the central transit station and away from the train platforms, Emma is overwhelmed with the sheer amount of movement. Emma follows Bells through the square and down the street, through several types of markets: fresh produce, handmade gifts, clothes. People call out prices, beckoning passersby to come look at the wares in their shops. Musicians play lively tunes, drawing crowds who swipe their DEDs at collecting ports. Above them, buildings old and new seem to shine in the summer light, surrounded by monorails and the flow of people in a constant, moving rhythm.
Emma can barely keep up; she wants to see everything.
New New Orleans is one of the few cities in the North American Collective that retains much of its rich history from before the Disasters. Emma isn’t sure about the “New New” moniker, although Bells assures her it’s a thing. The people of New Orleans rebuilt so many times in the face of storms and floods even before the Disasters that rebuilding again after the World War Three didn’t faze them. Bells still has family here, descended from those who didn’t evacuate with the other Broussards in the post-X29 hurricane that devastated the city.
The plaza is bustling with the morning going-to-work crowd, college kids on their way to class, and street vendors with delicious smelling carts. Any other day Emma would be glad to amble through the city center, but they aren’t sightseeing today. Bells eagerly points out art and history museums as they pass, and Emma makes a mental note to try to make some time to do fun things together.
It’s hard keeping up the brisk pace, especially when Emma wants to look at everything. The city is so beautiful, and this area is filled with musicians playing merry tunes and the delicious smells of fresh seafood. Bells looks as though he wants to follow his nose, too, and winks at her when she does a double-take at a vendor shaking powdered sugar onto beignets fresh from a fryer. “We’ll go later,” he mouths at her and takes her hand as they catch up with the rest of his family.
Emma takes in the archways and cast-iron balconies, the mix of ancient brick and gleaming chrome, the walls painted in bright, warm hues. Emma wants to linger, but there’s no time.
The monorail train is crowded. Children press their noses to the windows to take in the city and the expansive view of the buildings built high above the older historical districts.
A shrill whistle sounds.
“What?” Emma blinks as no one seems to notice.
“High tide,” Bells says. “Come on, you look like a tourist.”
Emma feels like one, gasping at how the lower buildings automatically rise up around the square to meet the other buildings on the sky-street platforms as the square fills with the gentle waves of the tide coming in.
Emma gasps, watching avidly as all the people just go about their business as usual, either walking briskly through the knee-high water or taking lifts up to the elevated monorail platforms or the sky-street.
“Does this happen all the time?”
Bells laughs. “Yeah, whenever the tide crosses over the levees. Back when the sea level was lower, I think the original plan was just to keep making the levees higher and higher, but every time it rained the city would have to pump water out. The Historical Preservation Society found a way to preserve these ancient buildings by working with the tide, not against it.”
Emma watches the city rise; she remembers reading about the engineering marvel that keeps the city afloat. She peers out the window, trying take in the complicated tech that makes living in this area possible.
The car is filled with conversation; Emma overhears bits of French, Spanish, Japanese, English, and Portuguese throughout the train, and is comforted by the familiar sounds of multiple languages overlapping one another.
Emma reaches for the handhold, but she can’t quite reach the bar. Bells gracefully grabs it and smiles at her. He jerks his head at his arm, and Emma takes it. She rolls her eyes at him before he can tease her about her height. They sway with the motion of the train as it curves through the city, and Emma can’t keep her eyes off the changing landscape. It’s easy to be captivated by the constant flow of energy, the bright columns of the old architecture, the steep roofs and parapets that are dwarfed by the shining glass and chrome steel of the new buildings.
As the train leaves the center of the city, its passengers empty out: children going to school, people on their way to work, people with bags of groceries. After a man holding a chicken delicately in his arms exits the train, the Broussards and Emma are the only ones left in the car.
“This is our stop, come on,” Nick says, beckoning them.
Emma squeezes Bells’ hand and tries to practice the speech in her head one more time. This is it; they’re going to meet the contact waiting to take them to a Grassroots headquarters.
Here on the outskirts of New New Orleans, it’s quieter. Emma’s footsteps on the cobbled streets seem to echo with uncertainty. She catches her reflection in a shop window and winces. She looks like a child; it’s her height, she knows, and her round face. Maybe they won’t take her seriously. Maybe she should have worn heels.
Emma grits her teeth; no, that could have gone horribly wrong, too, looking as if she’s trying too hard, like a child playing dress-up.
On a nondescript street corner, Collette stops and reads a sign outside a bakery. Emma follows her lead and pretends to be totally immersed in chatting with Bells. Nick steps backward, closer to the corner outside the bakery, and ever so slightly jerks his head. Emma follows his gaze and sees the reflective shine of a small camera that’s embedded in the wall.
Bells’ parents step out of the frame, and Bells takes Emma’s hand, following them. Her heart is thudding with excitement. All the secrecy surrounding Grassroots and how they work is fascinating; she can’t wait to learn more and apply that to the Resistance.
A solarcar that’s seen better days pulls up. Its panels are worn and scratched, and the paint on the metal is long faded. The window rolls down, and a man with bright, dangling earrings regards them with a bemused look. He nods at the Broussards and gives Emma a quick glance, as if he’s sizing her up. It seems like a test; she’s not sure if she passed.
“Angel, so good to see you!” Collete says warmly. “Thank you for picking us up!”
“Of course, of course,” Angel says. “Bells, you’ve gotten so tall and handsome!”
“It’s a burden I must bear,” Bells says, saluting Angel theatrically. “This is Emma, Angel.”
“Great, great,” Angel says, with barely a nod.
