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“Really,” said Vari. “Then what is your name?”
He was about to answer, when suddenly he drew a blank. It only lasted for a second, but a second was way too long to not remember your own name. It was a profoundly frightening moment. “Uh…Uh…Nick. My name is Nick.”
“Okay,” said Vari. And then he asked: “What’s your last name?”
Nick opened his mouth, but then closed it again and said nothing. Because he couldn’t remember.
When Mary arrived, she noticed the distressed look on Nick’s face immediately.
“Vari, have you been teasing our new friend?”
“We were just talking. If he thinks that’s teasing, that’s his problem.”
Mary just shook her head, and gave Vari a kiss on his curly blond hair. Vari threw Nick a gloating grin when she did.
“Will you escort me to the lobby? There’s a Finder waiting for me, and I suspect he has some interesting things to sell.”
Vari stepped forward.
“No, not you, Vari. You’ve seen Finders before, but I thought Nick might like to learn how to barter with them.”
Now it was Nick’s turn to gloat.
Once the elevator door closed, and Vari was out of sight, Nick put him out of mind, dismissing what he had said—not just about his name, but his certainty that Mary would tire of Nick. Vari, after all, was only nine years old. He was a little kid, feeling little-kid jealousy. Nothing more.
What Nick didn’t realize was that Vari had been nine for 146 years. Little-kid emotions do not sit well after a century and a half. If Nick had realized that, things might have gone differently.
Lief stood in the arcade, staring at the video-game screen, and didn’t dare blink. Move the stick right. Up. Left. Eat the big white ball. The little hairy things turn blue. Eat the hairy things until they start to blink. Then run away from them.
Lief had become a Pac-Man junkie.
ck felt that anything was wrong, it was lost beneath everything that was right about Mary. The way she always thought of others before herself, the way she made the little kids all feel loved. The way she took an interest in him.
Mary always made a point of coming over to Nick and asking what he was up to, how he was feeling, what new things he “was thinking about. She spoke with him about a book she was working on, all about theories on why there were no seventeen-year-olds in Everlost, when everyone knew eighteen was the official age of adulthood.
“That’s not actually true,” Nick offered. “That’s voting age, but drinking age is twenty-one. In the Jewish religion, adulthood is thirteen, and I know for a fact there are fourteen-year-old Jewish kids here.”
“That still doesn’t explain why kids older than us aren’t admitted into Everlost.”
Admitted to Everlost, thought Nick. That sounded a lot better than Lost on the way to heaven. Her way of thinking was such a welcome relief from his own propensity toward gloom and doom. “Maybe,” suggested Nick, “it’s a very personal thing. Maybe it’s the moment you stop thinking of yourself as a kid.”
Vari, who was lingering at the door, snickered. He had snickered at every single comment Nick made.
“Vari, please,” Mary told him. “We value a free flow of ideas here.”
“Even the stupid ones?” Vari said.
Nick couldn’t really see why she kept Vari around. Sure, he had musical talent, but it didn’t make up for his attitude.
Mary took Nick to show him how her books were made. The sixty-seventh floor was the publishing room. There were thirty kids there, all sitting at school desks.
It looked like a classroom with kids practicing their penmanship.
“We’ve yet to find a printing press that’s crossed over,” she told him. “But that’s all right. They enjoy copying by hand.”
And sure enough, the kids in the publishing room seemed thrilled to do their work, like ancient scribes copying scriptures on parchment.
“They find comfort in the routine,” Mary said, and Nick accepted it, without giving it much thought.
