Redemption Prep - Samuel Miller Page 0,18
be under my bed?”
“She could be anywhere. Students here are too smart for their own good.”
“So it’s a she.”
The flashlight reached its farthest point under the bed, the light swallowed to a single spot by a blanket, and Evan took three silent steps into the room. His body must have pushed an air current, because as the light came leaking back out, Zaza’s head turned to the hallway. Evan breathed through his nose, watching from between the door and the wall.
“When will the lights come back on?” Zaza asked. “I’ve got three sets due tomorrow morning for O-Chem.”
The man hoisted himself back up. “Don’t you guys have stuff for candles?”
“Yeah, but I can’t really compare three forty-cell spreads by candlelight.” On Zaza’s desk was the school’s basic-issue set: two wax candles, a copper holder, and a small box of matches. They were told in Year One that given the frequency of power outages and maintenance sweeps, they’d need to get used to working by candlelight.
“I’m sure previous generations had it much worse than you.”
“They also knew a lot less and died a lot younger.”
The maintenance worker didn’t respond, so Zaza lit his candle. The man used his flashlight to scan the room once more, down to the carpet, up to the exposed stone in the ceiling. Evan held his breath, praying.
“Sometimes,” he said, the beam hovering two feet over Evan’s head, “I think the people who built this place had never been inside an actual building before.” The light whipped back to Zaza’s face at the desk. “Lights will be on when we’re done.”
The door slid shut with a soft click behind him. Zaza leaned back with a heavy sigh, S2—Subtext suggesting a release of tension, his fingers, legs, and neck dropping to assume the curvature of the chair. From his inside jacket pocket, Zaza pulled out a baggie of silver pills and dropped them on his desk. He fell forward, burying his face into them, letting out a guttural moan.
“It’s Emma.”
Zaza shot up. “What the fuck?”
“That’s who they’re looking for,” Evan said quietly. He’d moved to the bottom of the bed.
“Evan?” Zaza recognized him immediately. They’d met twice, once during his Year One orientation, and once when they were placed on the same team during a physical activity day. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for her.”
“Who?”
“Emma. I just told you.”
“Okay,” Zaza said. “But what are you doing here? Actually—how are you here? There’s a sweep going on. Did they not see you out there?”
“It’s not complicated.” Evan talked to his thumbs.
“Jesus.” Zaza took a breath. “How’d you know that they’re looking for Emma?”
“Because she’s missing.”
“Pretty sure I saw her in church.”
“She disappeared before it was over.”
“And you came to see me, because . . .”
Zaza slid the candle toward Evan’s face, and he felt the heat curling against his cheek, leaking into his eye. It hurt so he backed away, blocking the direct wave with his hand and wincing, shorter than his shadow. “You saw her,” he mumbled.
Zaza was slow to nod. “Yeah, I mean, I saw her before church. I don’t know how you know that, but you’re right.”
“Why?”
The siren outside shifted pitch and grew louder. “Are you gonna get in trouble for being here?” Zaza asked. “Not in your dorm?”
“I have four minutes.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“What did you say to Emma?”
Zaza stood for a moment, then sat back against the top of the desk, blocking Evan’s view of the bag of silver pills. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen.” He kept looking directly into Evan’s eyes, while behind him, his left hand slid the pills behind a photo on his desk. “That’s young. So you must be crazy good at something.”
Evan rocked back and forward a few times. “Chess,” he said.
“That’s right,” Zaza said, smiling. “Second kid to beat the chess computer. Champion of the robots. I forgot that was you. Chess is pattern recognition, so . . .” He thought for a moment. “You’ve figured where they’re starting and how fast they’re moving, built a model—” He pointed to Evan’s watch. “And you know that you have four minutes to talk to me.”
“Three. Please tell me why Emma came to see you.”
“You know,” Zaza said, “any analyst would tell you that there’s way too many variables for the level of certainty you’re demonstrating now.”
“I just want to find her.”
Zaza sighed. “I bought some books from her—”
“You don’t have any classes,” Evan cut in. An S6—Honesty reflex.
“Fiction books, man.” He reached across his desk, holding