Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,103

— here, Weston — she finds somewhere to perch, somewhere that’s hers, and sticks to it, drinking tea and chain-smoking her way through the day.

I shrug. “S’pose.”

Even though she never seems to move, she don’t miss a bloody thing, Nan, but I’m not ready to tell her everything about school. Not yet. She don’t need to know I’ve made an enemy and met a girl.

Junior don’t bother me, not his threats, anyway. I’ve had knuckleheads like him saying things like that to me my whole life. If he wants me to give him another pasting I will. I’m not scared of him. His number, though, that’s something else. I wrote it down at break time, but I still can’t get it out of my head. It’s a nasty death, and soon. And the feelings are so strong; they make me think things I don’t want to. Like maybe I’m there when it happens. Maybe I’m the one holding the knife.…

Even now, standing in the kitchen, leaning up against the bench, the sweat’s breaking out on my skin, and I think I’m going to pass out. What if my number’s the same as his? What if it wasn’t his death I was feeling, it was mine? Not knowing my own number bothers me, more than anything. I’ve tried to see it. Done all the obvious things — looking in mirrors, reflections in windows, even in water. But nothing works. It has to be eye to eye and the only person in the world I can’t look at…is me.

S’pose that’s what really worries me about the twenty-sevens. There are so many of them, the chances are pretty high I’m one of them, too. There are hundreds at school. There are thirteen in my tutor group.

“Wake up, Adam, I asked you a question.”

Nan’s voice breaks through my thoughts and my mouth goes into action before my brain has time to stop it.

“Thirteen.”

Shit! Have I really said it out loud?

“Thirteen what, love?” Nan asks.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about something…from math.”

She narrows her eyes, and blows a plume of smoke up toward the ceiling. I’ve got to distract her, so I ferret in my bag and whip out the palm-net they gave me when I finally registered. I’ve been trying to use it in lessons, but I’ve never had my own computer before, Mum wouldn’t let them in the house, so I’m way slower than everyone else. I could see people watching me, snickering — a hick from the sticks.

Nan glances at it, but she don’t seem interested. She’s locked in on me and it’ll take more than somefreebie IT to knock her off target.

“You like math, do you?” she says. “Like numbers?”

Do I like numbers? Like them? She’s watching me now, and all of a sudden, I’m not sure what she’s asking me. I’ve never told anyone about the numbers except Mum, and one teacher at school when I was little, before I knew what they were. Mum always said they were our secret, something special between me and her. And I kept it like that. I didn’t tell. When she died, I thought that left just me knowing. I was on my own. Now I’m not so sure.

“I don’t think I like numbers,” I say carefully. “I think they’re important.”

“Yeah,” Nan says. “Yeah, they are important.”

We look at each other for a minute and neither of us speaks. The radio’s on — some news report about the government coming clean over the Kyoto targets being missed by miles — and next-door’s dog is yapping away as usual, but the silence between us is electric.

“I know you’re special, Adam,” she says finally, and a shiver runs down my spine. “I seen it in you, the day you were born.”

“What?”

“I saw, I see, a beautiful boy. They’re there in you, your mum and your dad. Oh God, there’s so much of my Terry in you. Sometimes, I swear I think he’s here again…it’s like he never…” She trails off. There’s an extra shine to her eyes, and the rims are pink.

“What else, Nan?” I know there’s something. She swallows hard, and looks deep into my eyes.

“Your aura, I’ve never seen nothing like it. Red and gold. My God, you’re special. You’re a leader. A survivor. There’s courage, right through you. You’re strong, you have spiritual strength. You’ve been put here for a reason, I swear it.”

I take a risk. I have to know.

“What about my number?”

She frowns.

“I don’t see numbers, son. I’m not like