Course, we weren’t schizo. On second thought, I had a voice talking inside my head. Better not make any snap judgments.
“So what’s up with your computer, man?” Fang asked.
The kid shrugged again. “It’s my bread and butter. I can hack into anything. Sometimes people pay me. I do jobs when I need money.” All of a sudden his mouth snapped shut. “Why? Who wants to know?”
“Chill out, dude,” Fang said, frowning. “We’re just having a chat.”
But the kid had started to back away, looking angry. “Who sent you?” he asked, his voice rising. “Who are you? You just leave me alone! You just stay away!”
Fang raised his hands in a “calm down” gesture, but the kid had turned and run. In about fifteen seconds we could no longer hear his sneakers on the ground.
“It’s always refreshing to meet someone crazier than us,” I said. “We seem so normal afterward.”
“We?” Fang said.
“Wha’s up?” Iggy asked sleepily, pulling himself upright.
I sighed but forced myself to tell Iggy about the kid’s computer, the Voice in my head, the images that flashed through me during one of my attacks. I tried to sound nonchalant, so he wouldn’t know I was quaking in my boots.
“Maybe I’m going crazy,” I said lightly. “But it will lead me to greatness. Like Joan of Arc.”
“But controlling other people’s computers?” Iggy said skeptically.
“I don’t see how,” I said. “But since I have no clue about who or what could possibly be causing it, I guess I can’t rule anything out.”
“Hmm. Do we think it’s connected to the School or the Institute?” Fang asked.
“Well, either that or I was born this way,” I said sarcastically. “On the off chance I wasn’t, let’s really, really try to find the Institute tomorrow. At least now we know what name to look for.”
The Institute for Higher Living.
Catchy, huh?
88
Have you ever woken up about a hundred times more exhausted than you were when you went to sleep?
The next morning—at least, I assumed it was morning, since we were all waking up—I felt like one of the twelve dancing princesses, who danced all night, wore holes in their shoes, and had to sleep it off the next day. Except, oh, yeah: a) I’m not a princess; b) sleeping in a subway tunnel and having another brain attack aren’t that much like dancing all night; and c) my combat boots were still in good shape. Other than that, it was exactly the same.
“Is it morning?” Angel asked, yawning.
“I’m hungry” were, predictably, Nudge’s first words.
“Okay, we’ll get you some chow,” I said tiredly. “Then it’s off to find the Institute.”
Fang, Iggy, and I had agreed to not tell the younger kids about the hacker or about my latest brain attack. Why make ’em worry?
It took a couple minutes for us to wend our way through the subway tunnels, back up into light and air. You know you’ve been breathing something less than primo when the New York street smells really fresh and clean.
“It’s so bright,” the Gasman said, shielding his eyes. Then, “Is that honey-roasted peanuts?”
Their incredible scent was impossible to resist. You could have an Eraser selling those peanuts, and we’d probably still go. I focused my eyes on the vendor. No. Not an Eraser.
We got some peanuts, and then we walked down Fourteenth Street, chomping, as I tried to figure out a sensible way to comb the city. First, a phone book. We saw a phone kiosk up ahead, but it had only a chain where the phone book had been. Would a store let us use theirs? Hey! Information! I dug some change out of my pocket and picked up the phone. I dialed 411.
“In New York City, the Institute for Higher Living,” I said when the automated operator came on.
“We’re sorry. There is no listing under that name. Please check and try again.”