Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,61
I was so mad, I just went for him. I forgot about my blade — should’ve pulled that and finished him there and then.”
“What good would that have done? Killing him? It would’ve just meant more trouble for you.”
“I don’t care. He don’t deserve nothing different for what he done. He had no right…”
“I know. But I’m glad you didn’t. Anyway, he—” I was going to say, Anyway, he’s going to die today, but I stopped myself just in time. Surely, if Tattoo Face was going to die, it would have happened; Spider would’ve knifed him, or he would have split his head open on the rail when they were wrestling, or the train would’ve hit him. I was certain I’d seen his number, certain it was today. I didn’t get it. I wasn’t sure anymore — were the numbers just in my head or were they real? If I’d just made them up, that was cool — I could ignore them, try to change them, whatever. I could stop the clock ticking Spider’s life away. If they were real, though, that meant Spider’s nan was OK — she had years to go. It was getting all muddled up in my head. Whatever the truth of it, though, there was one way I could comfort Spider.
“I think she’ll be OK, your nan.”
“Really? I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”
I turned around to face him. “Spider, I know she’ll be OK.”
“Because of her number?”
“Yeah.”
“But what if you’re not the only one to see numbers? What if someone else sees completely different ones? What if her number’s changed?”
“They don’t.” I hesitated, checking Spider’s number again — yeah, it was still there, still the same. “They don’t change.”
“So, the date we’ll die is set from the minute we’re born. Is that what you’re saying?”
He was starting to piss me off now. I was trying to make him feel better, and he was giving me the third degree. Questions I didn’t have answers for.
“I’m not saying anything.” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “You’re the one saying it all.”
“But I want you to say it, ‘cause it doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“What?”
“How everything is fixed for us. It’s like it don’t matter what I do because the end will be the same.”
“P’raps that’s how it is. Things happen.” I wanted him to stop it, but he was like a dog with a bone.
“So everything’s preset? It’s all meant to be?”
“I dunno.”
“That bomb was meant to go off. That bastard was meant to beat up my nan. That’s not right, Jem, is it? That can’t be right.” He was raising his voice now. He’d taken his arm away from me and was waving it around. He seemed bigger than ever in this confined space.
“’Course it’s not right.”
“It don’t make any sense.” A bit of his spit hit my face. He was well worked up.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“What?”
“Nothing makes any sense. Nothing means anything. You’re born, you live, you die. That’s it.” My philosophy in a nutshell.
That shut him up for a while. We sat, side by side, backs against the wall, both of us with our arms folded. But while I was still, Spider was shaking his head back and forth — it made his whole body move, his shoulder joggling into mine. Knowing, as I did now, how still he could be when he was happy and relaxed, it was disturbing to see him so agitated. He was out of his mind with worry. It felt like my fault. I wanted to reach him; I wanted to take his distress away.
“Spider, listen. Maybe I’m wrong.” I was scared of what I was about to say. The words crept out of me like quiet little mice.
He was still shaking away, caught up in his own dark, mad world. I sat up on my knees, facing him, and put my hands on both his shoulders. “Spider.” He couldn’t hear me. I moved my hands up to his face, held him firmly, slowing but not stopping his movement.
“What I said. That’s not right, either.” At last he was listening. His face was still and he looked up at me, his eyes haunted and sad.
“Why not?”
“It’s not all random. It can’t be.” I took a deep breath. “Because I was meant to meet you, and you were meant to meet me.”
His eyes filled with tears. Without saying a word he unwound his arms from around his ribcage and wrapped them around my waist,