getting excited about.”
“Nobody's laughing at you,” said Jordie.
“Near you. We're laughing near you. Your enthusiasm really comes out
when you facilitate, you know? It makes people want to keep working,
just to get more of that energy splashed their way.”
She was so pleased, she was sure it showed
in a yellow cloud around her head like a ring of light. I can do this,
she thought. I can. I can take this to Al Iskandariyah and it'll be
mine. She could almost love Ko for giving her this thing, this balance
to the confusion and fear. If this work was really part of being a
Hope, then perhaps she would survive to fool the world. Save her family
and her web. Maybe even make the CEO smile for her one day. She
wondered if she could ever tell Neill how much difference he had made.
And where was he? The digital display over
the white board read 10:04, and everyone had begun to shift in their
chairs.
The door banged open.
“What's wrong with him?” Jordie muttered.
Jackal did not answer: she was too busy staring. She'd never seen those
particular lines in Neill's face, and so it took a longer moment to
realize that—
“He's sharked,” she whispered back. Neill
must have heard, the way he heard and saw everything in his territory,
but he gave no notice. He took a minute at a window with his back to
the room. Jackal knew when he was ready to turn, because his shoulders
ratcheted down a notch under his shirt.
“I am late. I apologize.” That didn't
sound like a word he was used to saying. “I was delayed by an
administrative matter. Before we proceed, I want to let you know that
unfortunately Mr. Sawyer is no longer with us.”
She scanned the room before she could stop
herself, as if Sawyer might be there, eyebrows raised with the rest of
them.
“Jackal, Sawyer's project passes to you.
We'll discuss it this afternoon.”
Jackal nodded. Great, more work. She
wasn't particularly thrilled with Sawyer right now, but she wished him
well. Surely this was not the first time that someone had been removed
from a class. Sawyer was a pretty good facilitator, but he wasn't on
the team, not really. She hoped he wasn't in too much trouble.
Two hours later, she discovered Neill had
actually meant that Sawyer was no longer with Ko.
She learned from the most unlikely source:
her father. She and Snow met him for lunch, as they did at least once a
week, in the large kitchen at the back of her parents' house. Carlos
always cooked: today there was a quiche of scallions and bacon and goat
cheese, a bowl of acid-green spanish olives, and a salad of sliced
valencia oranges, red grapes, and yellow apple slices. Jackal watched
him conjure the preparations so that everything was ready together,
with just enough time left to pour cream over Snow's fruit, the way she
liked it. It was all delicious: the meal; her father's favorite dishes
with an Etruscan pattern in blue and burnt umber; the cool green light
that hung lazy in the kitchen, slow-moving like the goldfish in the
pond outside the window; her father's laugh, even though Snow's joke
was told all backwards; Snow herself, awkward in motion as always,
scattering bits of quiche onto the table.
She blinked. Her father and Snow had
stopped talking and were staring at her.
“Not hungry?” Carlos asked.
She blinked again, then shook her head
vigorously. “No, no, it's great.” She spiked a huge mouthful of fruit
to prove she meant it. Then she replayed the last ten seconds of
conversation in memory. “You said something about Sawyer? Which Sawyer?”
“Jeremy Sawyer from Biotech,” her father
said, with a look that told her he didn't like having to repeat himself.
“He was in my class. My workshop with
Neill.”
“I know, that's why I'm telling you.”
“What happened to him? I know, I'm sorry,
I was thinking about something else.”
“He's gone.”
Gone? Was Sawyer dead? No, her father
thought euphemisms were tacky. “Gone where?”
“Gone elsewhere. Gone from
“Nobody's laughing at you,” said Jordie.
“Near you. We're laughing near you. Your enthusiasm really comes out
when you facilitate, you know? It makes people want to keep working,
just to get more of that energy splashed their way.”
She was so pleased, she was sure it showed
in a yellow cloud around her head like a ring of light. I can do this,
she thought. I can. I can take this to Al Iskandariyah and it'll be
mine. She could almost love Ko for giving her this thing, this balance
to the confusion and fear. If this work was really part of being a
Hope, then perhaps she would survive to fool the world. Save her family
and her web. Maybe even make the CEO smile for her one day. She
wondered if she could ever tell Neill how much difference he had made.
And where was he? The digital display over
the white board read 10:04, and everyone had begun to shift in their
chairs.
The door banged open.
“What's wrong with him?” Jordie muttered.
Jackal did not answer: she was too busy staring. She'd never seen those
particular lines in Neill's face, and so it took a longer moment to
realize that—
“He's sharked,” she whispered back. Neill
must have heard, the way he heard and saw everything in his territory,
but he gave no notice. He took a minute at a window with his back to
the room. Jackal knew when he was ready to turn, because his shoulders
ratcheted down a notch under his shirt.
“I am late. I apologize.” That didn't
sound like a word he was used to saying. “I was delayed by an
administrative matter. Before we proceed, I want to let you know that
unfortunately Mr. Sawyer is no longer with us.”
She scanned the room before she could stop
herself, as if Sawyer might be there, eyebrows raised with the rest of
them.
“Jackal, Sawyer's project passes to you.
We'll discuss it this afternoon.”
Jackal nodded. Great, more work. She
wasn't particularly thrilled with Sawyer right now, but she wished him
well. Surely this was not the first time that someone had been removed
from a class. Sawyer was a pretty good facilitator, but he wasn't on
the team, not really. She hoped he wasn't in too much trouble.
Two hours later, she discovered Neill had
actually meant that Sawyer was no longer with Ko.
She learned from the most unlikely source:
her father. She and Snow met him for lunch, as they did at least once a
week, in the large kitchen at the back of her parents' house. Carlos
always cooked: today there was a quiche of scallions and bacon and goat
cheese, a bowl of acid-green spanish olives, and a salad of sliced
valencia oranges, red grapes, and yellow apple slices. Jackal watched
him conjure the preparations so that everything was ready together,
with just enough time left to pour cream over Snow's fruit, the way she
liked it. It was all delicious: the meal; her father's favorite dishes
with an Etruscan pattern in blue and burnt umber; the cool green light
that hung lazy in the kitchen, slow-moving like the goldfish in the
pond outside the window; her father's laugh, even though Snow's joke
was told all backwards; Snow herself, awkward in motion as always,
scattering bits of quiche onto the table.
She blinked. Her father and Snow had
stopped talking and were staring at her.
“Not hungry?” Carlos asked.
She blinked again, then shook her head
vigorously. “No, no, it's great.” She spiked a huge mouthful of fruit
to prove she meant it. Then she replayed the last ten seconds of
conversation in memory. “You said something about Sawyer? Which Sawyer?”
“Jeremy Sawyer from Biotech,” her father
said, with a look that told her he didn't like having to repeat himself.
“He was in my class. My workshop with
Neill.”
“I know, that's why I'm telling you.”
“What happened to him? I know, I'm sorry,
I was thinking about something else.”
“He's gone.”
Gone? Was Sawyer dead? No, her father
thought euphemisms were tacky. “Gone where?”
“Gone elsewhere. Gone from
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