Six Page 2

  “Mind if we sit here?”

  Parker looked up and saw three girls standing next to him. He recognized them all from his English class that morning. Becky, the one with the long red hair and freckles, had been at the front, giggling when he’d been talking. Next to her was Jenna, the Missy May fan. He couldn’t remember the third one’s name. This was the first time any of them had spoken to him.

  Parker hesitated before deciding that it would only cause him more problems if he refused.

  “No, go ahead,” he mumbled.

  “Thanks,” said Becky. She placed a tray next to Parker’s and climbed over the bench. Jenna and the other girl sat down opposite him and started talking between themselves.

  “I’m not saying I don’t like her, but I don’t think her last album was the best one.”

  “Are you crazy? Did you actually listen to it?”

  “Yeah. I just didn’t like it that much.”

  “Fine, but you’re wrong. ‘Lipstick Your Love Away’ already won a ton of awards.”

  “That doesn’t mean . . .”

  I really need to get out of here, thought Parker. He picked up his sandwich and took as big a bite as he could manage, gulping it down with a large swig of orange juice. Before he had swallowed properly, he was already taking another bite. He was about to wash it down with another gulp of juice when Becky, sitting next to him, interrupted him.

  “Are you from England?”

  The two other girls stopped talking to listen.

  Parker, his cheeks stuffed so full of food that he looked like a hamster, nodded.

  “Where?”

  Parker couldn’t answer, at least not without spitting his half-chewed sandwich out onto the table. The prolonged silence grew awkward as he tried to chew his food as quickly as possible while the three girls stared at him. Finally Parker swallowed.

  “A place called Kent. It’s near London,” he said at last.

  As soon as he spoke, the girl next to Jenna giggled. Parker’s jaw tightened. Here we go again, he thought. Here, however, unlike in class, he didn’t have to stick around to be laughed at. He picked up his cup, took another swig of juice, and looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. He would have to leave it unfinished. He took ahold of his tray and was about to stand up when Jenna interrupted him.

  “Your accent is—”

  “Really funny. Yeah, I know,” said Parker.

  “No!” said Jenna. “It’s awesome!”

  Parker rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “It is!” agreed the girl next to her. “It’s cool. Say something else.”

  Parker narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

  “Say ‘egg,’  ” said Jenna.

  Parker looked confused. “Egg.”

  Jenna looked disappointed. “Oh, it’s kind of the same.”

  The girls went quiet and, seeing an opportunity to escape, he went to stand up again.

  “I know! Water!” said Jenna. “Say that!”

  Parker hesitated and looked at Jenna. She was smiling with what looked like genuine interest.

  He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Water,” he said finally.

  The girls giggled again but, Parker realized with some surprise, they didn’t appear to be laughing at him. He allowed himself a small smile. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad, he thought.

  For the next few minutes the girls quizzed him about life in England.

  “Does it always rain?”

  “Have you been to Buckingham Palace?”

  “Did you wear a uniform at your old school?”

  “Is it weird driving on the wrong side of the road?”

  Parker answered their questions, and the girls listened to him, completely fascinated. As he loosened up, he began to wonder if he might have been overreacting about the incident earlier. No sooner had he thought that than a group of boys from his year came over and sat down at the other end of the table.

  “Hey, Aaron!” called Jenna.

  “What?” asked Aaron.

  “Listen to this. He . . . What’s your name again?”

  “Parker.”

  “Yeah. Parker sounds like Shakespeare or something. Say ‘water’ again, Parker.”

  Parker looked over at the group of boys staring at him.

  “I really don’t want to,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, come on! Please?”

  Parker hesitated. They’re just interested, he told himself. No harm.

  “Water,” he finally said with a shrug.

  The boys didn’t react.

  “Isn’t it cute?” asked Jenna.

  Parker tensed. Cute? He felt himself turning red.

  Aaron shrugged. “It’s just a stupid accent.”

  Jenna flicked her head in disgust, and her plaits flew behind her. “You’re just jealous.”

  Aaron’s jaw clenched. “You’re such a loser, Jenna.”

  “Whatever, Aaron. At least I don’t sound like . . .”

  There was a pause as Jenna searched for the right insult.

  “A donkey.”

  Everyone burst out laughing, and Parker, horrified at the way the conversation had suddenly turned, decided that this might be a good moment to leave. He stood up.

  “Don’t let him bother you,” said Becky, turning to face him. “He’s always like that.”

  Parker looked over to see Aaron glaring at Jenna.

  “Actually,” said Parker, “I have to go. I, uh, have to get something from the library.”

  “Oh, okay. Sure,” said Becky.

  Parker stood up and grabbed his tray. Becky and the girl opposite waved, and Parker nodded back. Jenna was too involved in her staring match with Aaron to notice him hurrying off.

  What was that all about? he thought as he cleared his lunch off into the trash. He put the empty tray on top of one of the lunch carts and was about to walk away when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned.

  “Hey,” said Aaron, with a nod.

  Parker nodded back, his mind racing to assess the situation. Was Aaron planning to start a fight? Though they were the same age and looked similar (well, they were both the same build and had brown eyes and messy short brown hair), Aaron was a couple of inches taller than he was. He was also on the wrestling team. Parker straightened and pushed his shoulders back.

  “What do you want?” asked Parker.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” said Aaron.

  Parker hadn’t expected that.

  “Those girls are just idiots,” continued Aaron. “Your accent is cool.”

  Parker stared at him for a moment as he thought about how Aaron had been whispering and laughing during his presentation. Was he being sincere now? Parker had no idea.

  “Um, okay. Thanks,” said Parker.

  “What was the word they were getting you to say?” asked Aaron.

  Oh, right, thought Parker, his eyes narrowing. It was obvious where this was going.

  “I’m not stupid,” he said. “I have to go.”

  He turned to leave, but Aaron stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Oh, come on,” said Aaron.

  Parker paused and stared at Aaron.

  “Seriously, I’m really sorry,” said Aaron. “It wasn’t about you. It’s just Jenna—she drives me nuts.” He couldn’t be sure, but Aaron did seem to look genuinely apologetic. Parker didn’t reply but he didn’t leave, either.

  And to be fair, thought Parker, Jenna was kind of annoying.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything about your accent,” continued Aaron. “I just came over to apologize.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks,” said Parker, shrugging.

  Aaron looked relieved. He smiled. “So, what was the word they were getting you to say?”

  He hesitated for a moment and then decided to give Aaron the benefit of the doubt. “Water?” he asked.

  Aaron’s smile widened into an unpleasant grin. “Sure,” he replied.

  * * * * * *

&nbs
p; In Parker’s mind, the events of the next few seconds felt like they played out in slow motion:

  Aaron swinging his right arm out from behind his back.

  Parker looking down and seeing the full cup of water in Aaron’s hand.

  Parker realizing what was about to happen.

  Parker also realizing that it was too late to do anything about it.

  Parker’s eyes following the arc of Aaron’s arm as the contents of the cup were flung forward, directly into his face.

  * * * * * *

  Someone screamed.

  Parker stood, frozen, his mouth open in shock as the water ran down his face. In front of him, Aaron burst into laughter just as a voice from behind called out.

  “Aaron, are you crazy?!”

  Parker turned and saw Becky running toward them, her face red with what looked like a mixture of concern and fury.

  “I was just kidding,” said Aaron, a wide grin still on his face. “It was a joke. No hard feelings, right?” he said, turning to Parker. He gave Parker a playful punch on the arm.

  Parker looked down at where the punch had landed and then slowly up to Aaron as his shock began to turn to anger. His hand began to curl up into a fist. In twelve years, he had never once punched anybody but, he thought, if there was going to be a first time . . .

  Aaron looked down at Parker’s fist and the smile vanished.

  “Whoa! Calm down. It was just a joke. Don’t get so weird about it.”

  Parker’s mouth dropped open. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had done nothing to this boy. Nothing! Now Aaron had thrown water in his face and he had the nerve to call him weird.

  It was the last straw.

  “Weird?” he shouted. Aaron jumped back in surprise. “You think I’m the one being weird? What is wrong with you? All I said was ‘water’ . . .”

  As soon as Parker said the word, Aaron’s eyes turned to the cart next to him. In that split second, Parker knew exactly what Aaron was going to do. As Aaron grabbed another cup and swung it in Parker’s direction, Parker was already jumping out of the way. He was quick enough to avoid a second soaking but, in his haste, he forgot about the pool of spilt water already at his feet.

  Parker’s eyes widened in shock as he felt his foot slip out from under him. There was nothing he could do to stop it. With every person in the cafeteria watching, Parker flew up into the air and then, with an enormous thud, he landed on the floor faceup.

  This time, nobody laughed. Not even Aaron. There was complete silence. If there was any pain, Parker’s body hadn’t yet registered it. Too shocked to move, he lay on the floor as water seeped in through his clothes, wishing only that he could close his eyes and make everything disappear.

  And then Parker’s wrist began to vibrate.

  Parker knew exactly why it was happening, and he knew, even before she forced her way through the crowd, that the cause of it was his sister.

  Emma was not going to see him like this.

  The thought sent a jolt of furious determination through him. He jumped up and found himself once again face-to-face with a now nervous-looking Aaron. Maybe it was the expression on Parker’s face—thunderous, his jaw clenched tight—or maybe it was the fact that his little prank had suddenly turned more serious than he had expected.

  “Hey,” said Aaron, holding his hands up. “I’m sor—”

  Parker didn’t want to hear it. Before Aaron had a chance to react, Parker rushed forward and slammed into him. Aaron stumbled backward into the crowd that had gathered. He may have fallen, but Parker didn’t turn to see. Instead he grabbed his now wet schoolbag by his feet and then, with his wrist still vibrating, Parker ran out of the cafeteria.

  CHAPTER THREE

  70:31

  As Parker raced the corridors of his school, sweating, frantically searching for somewhere to disappear to, his father—in complete contrast—was sitting utterly still at the desk of his laboratory, his eyes fixed on the equally static page of numbers lying on the desk in front of him.

  Where am I going wrong? he thought, his frustration building.

  Dr. Banks squinted, and the stark, sharp black numbers dissolved into a pool of gray haze. When his eyes refocused, the small illogical part of his mind—the part that he relied on only in desperation—was disappointed to find that the numbers had not somehow managed to rearrange themselves into a different conclusion. Everything that Dr. Banks had always loved about numbers—their certainty, their total reliability—was what he hated them for now. No matter how much he wanted it, deep down he knew that there was nothing he could do; the numbers would not be changing, and the rat lying on the counter behind him would not be coming back to life.

  “Dr. Banks?”

  Lina’s voice was hesitant—not because she was worried about how he might react to being interrupted, but because she seemed to have an uncanny ability to understand the way he worked. Though only a year out of graduate school, she was possibly the most competent and intuitive of any assistant that Dr. Banks had ever had. And, though she had been his assistant for only three weeks, he already trusted her completely. It was a good thing, too—there was no way he was going to be able to carry out what he needed to do without being able to confide in her.

  Dr. Banks looked up and saw that Lina’s eyes were fixed on the rat behind him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “I just don’t know what I’m overlooking,” said Dr. Banks. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”

  “That’s what people have been saying for thirty years,” replied Lina.

  “I know,” said Dr. Banks, “but those people didn’t have as much to lose as I do.”

  Lina didn’t say anything. She walked over to the lifeless body of the rat, picked it up carefully, and gently stroked its head.

  “Do you want me to get you another?” she asked.

  Dr. Banks shook his head. “Maybe later. I can’t bring myself to do that again right now.”

  Lina nodded. She, like him, hated this part of the job. In the past some of Dr. Banks’s colleagues had teased him for being too soft about testing procedures on animals.

  A small sacrifice for the greater good, they’d said.

  And, with regard to the majority of the work that Dr. Banks had carried out over the course of his career, this may have been true. Nevertheless—perhaps influenced by his wife and now his daughter—the taking of a life, even a rat’s, was not something that had ever sat easily with him. So much so that, as soon as he had enough authority to demand it, Dr. Banks had refused to work with any more living animals. This, for the first time in years, was the exception—and only because he had truly believed that he would not be doing any killing. Unfortunately, it turned out that his perception of his own ability had been misguided.

  Lina gently placed the rat into a small white plastic box and then turned to face Dr. Banks.

  “I came in to let you know that the shipments go out this afternoon. I’m going to go to the terminal in about an hour.”

  “What did you tell them?” asked Dr. Banks.

  “Just that you’re very particular about who handles your work and you want me to ensure it gets sent fine. They all think that everybody who works in this department is odd anyway, so nobody questioned it.”

  Dr. Banks shrugged. “Better odd than suspicious, I suppose. Good work.”

  He leaned down, reached into the open briefcase at his feet, and pulled out a small black memory stick. As Lina looked, he opened the long desk drawer and pulled out a small bottle of Wite-Out. Then, on the body of the memory stick, he began to carefully brush a simple outline of a diamond with a smiley face inside it. When he had finished, he replaced the lid of the Wite-Out bottle and blew on the glistening white lines.

  “It’ll need a bit longer to dry,” he said as he carefully handed the stick to Lina.

  “Is it . . .” Lina paused, as if unsure whether to finish the question.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it t
he letter you told me about?”

  “Yes,” replied Dr. Banks. He bit his lip. “But also, I asked Parker and Emma to write letters too.”

  “They know?” asked Lina.

  “No, they don’t know. I told them it was for something else.”

  Lina nodded. “So I just put it with the others?” she asked. She was looking at the memory stick.

  “Yes. But it really shouldn’t arouse any suspicion, even if they were to look at its contents—I disguised it all well enough.” He gave a small laugh. “I can’t tell you how long it took—Emma got a bit carried away.”

  “You should have asked me—you have enough to think about. I can do it next time, if you’d like.”

  Dr. Banks considered the offer for a moment.

  “It’s just that . . . ,” he began.

  Lina raised her hand to stop him. “No need to explain. I completely understand. I’m sorry—forget I mentioned it.”

  Dr. Banks pursed his lips in a tight smile. “Don’t apologize, Lina. Perhaps I’m being too hasty—it would be helpful.”

  “All you have to do is ask,” replied Lina.

  “I’ll have to show you the code, but it’s very simple.”

  “I’m sure I can pick it up.”

  “I have no doubt,” said Dr. Banks. “And you . . . well, you wouldn’t say anything, not to anybody?”

  “Of course not.”

  There was a pause, and Lina, perhaps sensing it was time for her to leave, picked up the plastic box containing the dead rat and crossed the room without another word. She was about to turn the handle of the door when Dr. Banks interrupted her.

  “Is it wrong to do this?” he asked.

  Lina stopped and turned to face him. She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”