So I keep quiet.
“What I did yesterday was for your own good.” Mama sighs. “I miss him too. I really do. But right now, it’s just you and me. It seems harsh, but it’s my job to give you the best possible future. That can’t happen if you keep your whole life on pause wishing for something that may never happen.”
“I get it,” I say quickly. Anything not to have that argument again.
“Then you’ll also understand why you’re grounded until I decide you aren’t.”
I nearly spit out my cereal. “Seriously?”
“You know better than to go around shoving people. Even if they deserve it.” Mama stands up from the table and grabs her purse. “I’ve got to get to work a little early today. One of the girls has a sick baby at home. Don’t let me find out you’ve been out that door. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The words stop Mama in her tracks, and she gives me a good looking over. “Only time I’m ma’am instead of Mama is when you’re up to something.”
I put on my most innocent expression and shake my head.
“Well, before you get any ideas, I’ve got Mrs. Walters watching the place while I’m gone. And you know she don’t have anything better to do than worry about what everybody else is doing.”
“I understand,” I say. Mama only said not to let her find out. She never actually said I couldn’t go.
Back in my room, I spread out everything from the briefcase on my bed—the greenandpurple suit jacket and pants, two sheets of paper that were tucked inside the envelope, and the shades that triggered last night’s Wakeful Dream. I try on the shades for like the tenth time this morning, but I still can’t get them to work again.
I settle for reading over the paperwork from Quinton’s envelope one more time. The first page reads:
(Mandatory: Staple atop all outgoing paperwork)
WARNING
WARNING
(in case you somehow missed the first one)
WARNING
(surely you get the idea by now)
The following information is classified, as it refers to a location that handles several million very well-kept secrets. As a result, reading this file without the proper permissions may result in any number of dire consequences that include but are not limited to:
Death by bottomless pit
Being locked inside a metal canister and shot into space
Being fed to a certain creature, in a certain underwater lair, that shall, for the purpose of keeping its existence a secret, remain nameless
I reread that first paragraph like three times. I mean, bottomless pits and secret underwater creatures?
Now then, should you happen across this paperwork by accident and wish to know how to avoid such consequences (and we’ll know if you’ve peeked), you are to do the following:
Seal it up in an envelope, wrap that envelope in no fewer than three yellow blankets (preferably all the same shade), stuff it all in a box, tape that box shut, and mail it to the following address:
None of Your Business
Don’t Ask Which St.
New York, NY 54321
Of course, if you have been deemed special, and thus do have the proper permissions, please feel free to move on to the next page.
—C. Kretts
Before last night, I would’ve laughed at that warning. But something tells me that whoever these people are that Quinton works for, they mean every word. Thankfully, Quinton made it pretty clear that this was meant for me. The second page confirms it.
Nomination for Consideration
Nominating Party: Quinton Javon Peters
On behalf of: Amari Renee Peters
To be used no sooner than the latter’s twelfth birthday and no later than the latter’s eighteenth birthday.
Please bring this nomination, in person, to: 1440 N. Main St., Atlanta, GA 30305, for the requisite interview.
Upon arrival at this address, enter the leftmost elevator alone. Once the doors close, press the basement button (B) twenty-six times and await further instruction.
Now it’s just a matter of getting there. Unfortunately, that warning isn’t the scariest part of what was inside the briefcase. One more Postit is attached to the leg of the pantsuit:
Wear this suit to the interview.
Clearly, Quinton has lost his mind. He wants me to go around this neighborhood in a greenandpurple suit? I won’t make it out of the building before someone cracks a joke. And I can’t afford to get into another fight. I sit down on the bed, biting my lip.
It all feels so unreal. This whole thing is crazy.
But what if it is real? What if this is my one chance to find out more about my brother? My one chance to bring him home.
Fine. I’ll check it out. And I’ll wear this hideous suit too.
I creep down the stairs of our building as if I’m hiding from the bad guy in a scary movie. The nomination is tucked inside my jacket pocket. Thankfully, the street is clear. Until a bunch of smaller kids rush out of the next building. They point and giggle, and I’m so distracted I forget to duck beneath Mrs. Walters’s window. She looks right at me and gets to jotting in her little notebook. I’m so dead when Mama gets home from work.
Stupid ugly suit. I get to the bus stop in the worst mood and plop myself down on the bench. A peek at my phone tells me the bus should be here any minute. It can’t come fast enough.
A clean, cherryred Camaro screeches to a stop in front of me. The windows all roll down at once, and some boys around eighteen or nineteen poke their heads out.
One boy with long dreads grins at me. “Hey, lil mama, you lost or something? I think the circus left last week.” The whole car bursts into laughter.
“Just leave me alone,” I say, cheeks burning.
“Where the rest of the Skittles at?”
More laughter.
“Don’t you have someplace else to be?” I growl.
That’s when the back door on the other side of the Camaro opens. Jayden hops out and jogs around the car. “Y’all leave my little buddy alone.”
The guys in the car make some more jokes about us being boyfriend and girlfriend before speeding off.
Jayden takes a seat next to me on the bench. He looks like he’s grown another six inches since I last saw him up close like this. Still seems way too young for all that height. His gold chain sparkles in the sunlight and those Jordans are brandnew. “Looking good, ’Mari. I’m feelin’ the curly fro.”
“Thanks,” I say with a smile. “Feels like forever since anybody called me that.”
He shrugs. “You don’t hang with us anymore. Not since Quinton . . . you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Truth is, even though we’re in the same grade, I only know Jayden through the tutoring program at the rec center where Quinton used to volunteer. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but all my old friends were kids my brother knew first.
Jayden laughs suddenly. “So I gotta ask. What’s up with this suit? Is this how them rich folks dress?”
“Ha ha,” I say. “No, this is for an interview. It’s . . . well, it’s hard to explain.”
“Oh, so you trying to get a summer job or something?”