“But Bryson,” Michael said, hearing a slight whine in his own voice. “Like you said, we have to find him. We can’t just hang him out to dry.”
Sarah patted her knees again. “I know. Look, we can use our NetScreens every once in a while. Kaine can’t physically hurt us there; he can just use it to trace our location. Right? So we use it against him, logging on sporadically and in weird places. Hopefully Bryson will be just as smart. Let’s send him a message. Come up with some kind of code.”
She smiled, a sweet attempt to make things seem a little less crappy. Michael was glad for it.
“Okay,” he agreed. “It’s a plan. Stay smart and run. Sounds like a sweet life.”
“Should we use my NetScreen or yours?”
“Yours. I think Kaine might have a little better chance of finding me no matter how many times I make a new and improved version.” He thought of Jackson Porter then, and hated himself a little for being so glib.
Sarah squeezed her EarCuff, and as soon as the screen projected out in front of her, Michael could almost hear a clock ticking. With every passing second, Kaine might be on to them, moving in, sending someone to kill them.
“What do we want to say?” Sarah asked. “I’m drawing a blank.”
Michael’s palms were sweaty. “I don’t know. I’ve never met Bryson in the Wake. He could live in China, for all we know.”
Sarah scoffed. “Did Kaine fry your brain? We’ve talked about this before, all those times we were supposed to hook up somewhere. You were always the farthest away, so he should be close, even if he’s hiding out. We just need to be smart. Come on.”
Michael sighed and pushed his brain to actually work. Dan the Man Deli popped in his head, as did his favorite food there—the bleu chips. Stupid, maybe, but that was the connection that stood out the most, one Bryson would know for sure.
“Are there any restaurants in the Wake around here that serve bleu chips?” he asked Sarah. “That are, I don’t know, famous for it or anything?” His stomach growled when he imagined the heaping plate of baked potato chips smothered in bleu cheese and bacon.
She looked at him sideways. “Are you really that hungry?” But then she nodded to show she’d caught on. “There is, actually. Stoneground. Not as tasty as the virtual ones at Dan the Man’s, but Stoneground always yaps about how theirs are the best in the world.”
“Then that’s it,” Michael said. “How about this: Dan the Man’s. Wake. Mmmmm, dee-lish. My favorite. Especially for breakfast.”
She agreed, sent it, then logged out. They walked away from the park as quickly as they could without looking suspicious. Just in case.
It took three days for Bryson to show up. It felt like three years. Sarah had a picture of the real version of their friend that he’d sent her a long time ago, prominently displayed in her wallet as if he were a boyfriend; Michael was jealous, but he’d studied it a million times. They both needed to know what he looked like if—when—he did finally appear. Bryson wasn’t much different from his Aura. A little thinner, a little less … muscly.
Every morning, Michael and Sarah went to Stoneground and sat on a bench across the street, taking turns keeping watch. The restaurant didn’t even open until eleven o’clock, but that was to their advantage. It made it less likely that someone who figured out the message would pinpoint the place, since they’d mentioned breakfast. He just kept hoping Bryson was as smart as he always claimed.
The days were brutally long. Especially with no school, no job, and worst of all, no VirtNet. And the constant fear that a Kaine-controlled Tangent might show up at any time, ready to tie up loose ends. It made Michael’s nerves feel like piano wires, tightening every hour. He and Sarah talked. A lot. They also found an old bookstore and read actual paperbound books for the first time since they were little kids. They gave up on Bryson each day at noon—he’d come in the morning or not come at all—then trudged back to the apartment. Food tasted bland, no matter what it was, and time crawled along like a dying sloth.
So when Bryson came shuffling down the street at nine-thirty-four on the morning of the third day, hands in his pockets, head down, glancing around every few steps, Michael jumped off the bench. He had to stop himself from shouting with joy and running at his friend like a crazy person.
“What are—” Sarah started to say, but then she saw him. “Holy crap. He actually made it.”
“Go to the bridge,” Michael whispered, though no one else was close by. They’d found a nearby park with a narrow river, the water rushing along just enough to mask their conversations if they stood on the bridge that crossed it. “I’ll get his attention and have him follow me there to meet you.”
“Okay.” Sarah stood up and jogged away, disappearing around the corner.
As Bryson approached the front door of Stoneground, Michael casually walked across the street at an angle, heading to a spot ahead of his friend. When Bryson saw him, he didn’t flinch or change his gait, just kept walking. Michael did the same, not looking back again. Who knows, he thought. Someone could be watching us. Better safe than sorry.
Despite the circumstances, Michael was excited for their long-awaited reunion in the real world. He picked up his pace, heading directly for the park.
Sarah was waiting just where they’d planned. She stood leaning over the railing of the wooden bridge, looking down at the water rushing by. The bridge had once been painted red, but all that remained now were flecks of old paint clinging to the dull-colored wood for dear life.
Michael reached her and plopped his forearms on the railing next to hers.
“It’s about time he showed up,” he whispered.
“About time,” she echoed with a smile.
“Quite the romantic spot you picked out here.”
Michael turned to see Bryson for the first time, up close and personal, in the real world. He’d aged since the picture had been taken, thinned out even a little more. His blond hair was on the shaggy side, and he had at least three days’ worth of stubble on his face. But his blue eyes were bright, and it only took an instant for him to transform in Michael’s mind to the Bryson he’d always known.
“Glad you figured out our amazingly brilliant clue,” Michael said.
Bryson shrugged. “I won’t mention all the money I spent dogging it to the wrong spots before I finally found it. Oops. Guess I just did.”