Chapter 32: THE SPY
The middle school parking lot was nearly empty when I pulled in three days later.
Max had texted—called, technically, from the school office—asking for a ride because her skateboard had broken during lunch. The request was unusual; she normally preferred to handle transportation herself, jealously guarding her independence. But a broken board was a broken board, and I had nothing better to do.
I parked near the exit and waited, watching students trickle out of the building. Normal kids with normal problems, complaining about homework and planning weekend activities, blissfully unaware of the tunnels spreading beneath their feet.
Max appeared at the entrance and held up a finger. Five minutes.
I watched and waited.
The Party emerged together—Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and Will, the core group I'd been observing since the arcade. They clustered near the bike rack, engaged in what looked like an intense conversation. Normal, for them. These kids had faced monsters and survived; intense conversations were probably their default mode.
Then Will stopped walking.
The change was subtle at first—a hesitation in his step, a slight stiffening of his posture. Then his whole body went rigid, that thousand-yard stare I'd witnessed before settling over his features like a mask.
But this time was different. This time, his lips were moving.
I couldn't hear what he was saying from this distance, but I could see the reaction of the other boys. Mike stepped close, asking questions, his hands on Will's shoulders. Dustin pulled out a notebook and started scribbing furiously. Lucas scanned the surroundings, watching for threats, protecting his friends the way he'd protected Max at their first meeting.
They were documenting it. The episodes, the visions, whatever Will was seeing—they were treating it like data, like evidence, like something that could be analyzed and understood.
Smart kids. Smarter than most adults gave them credit for.
Will's lips stopped moving. He gasped, stumbled, caught himself on Mike's arm. The others crowded around, voices carrying just enough for me to catch fragments: "...same place?... tunnels... getting bigger..."
Dustin pulled out what looked like a hand-drawn map, unfolding it to show Will. They compared whatever Will had described to locations on the paper, arguing in the way kids argue when they're trying to solve a puzzle that matters.
The wrongness spiked during the episode. I felt it like a cold hand pressing against my chest, the Upside Down's presence bleeding through Will's connection to our world. The fire in me churned in response, recognizing an enemy.
But I stayed in the car. Watched. Catalogued.
The kids were already investigating. They had documentation, maps, a system for tracking Will's visions. I wasn't the only one preparing for what was coming; I was just the only one with fire.
Max emerged from the building, broken skateboard tucked under her arm. She tossed it in the backseat and dropped into the passenger seat with the dramatic sigh of someone whose day had been thoroughly ruined.
"Wheel snapped off during a trick. Just snapped. Like, completely."
"I'll fix it tonight."
"You know how to fix skateboards?"
"I know how to fix most things." Back in my old life, I'd been the kind of person who learned skills because they were useful, not because they were interesting. Skateboard repair wasn't complicated—just required patience and the right parts.
Max launched into a detailed account of the trick she'd been attempting, the injustice of wheel failure, and her plans for revenge against gravity itself. I half-listened, mind still on what I'd witnessed.
"You're doing the brooding thing again," Max said.
"What?"
"The thing where you stare at nothing and look like you're planning a murder." She poked my arm. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how to keep you safe." True enough, even if it wasn't the whole truth. Everything I did—the training, the investigation, the alliance-building—was about keeping the people I cared about alive. Max. Steve. Robin. Eventually the kids and their families.
Max studied me for a moment, that sharp awareness working behind her eyes. She knew I was hiding something. She always knew. But she didn't push.
"You're weird," she said finally.
"Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
At home, I found a quiet corner and started sketching my own map. The wrongness had a shape—I'd felt it pulling me toward certain locations, spiking at others. If I could plot those points, compare them to what I knew about the tunnel system...
The convergence was coming. All the pieces moving toward a collision point I couldn't quite see yet.
But I was ready. Or I would be, when the time came.
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