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it. That’s what I do, and that’s the reason I’m
 here now, in this beautiful dress, on my way to the opera. A true
New Yorker.”
76
    I raise my cuffed hands and let them plunk down onto the
 table. I’m wearing a tank top, jeans, and a beat-up pair of sneakers
 held together with duct tape around the toes. I have dirt under my
fingernails and I smell like the streets, like bus exhaust and urine.
I say nothing. I’m very sure that this woman in the flouncy purple
 dress has no idea what the real New York City is.
I’m New York City. I sneer at her to let her know I think she’s
 a pathetic poser.
“You could learn a thing or two from me, Sarah. You really
 could. About determination. And commitment.” She adjusts a
 small, diamond-encrusted C brooch on her dress. “But of course
 you won’t learn. Which is unfortunate for both of us.”
I stretch my neck back and forth. My arms are still achy. I’d
 been hanging on to that crane for an hour when the police finally
 showed up. How could they have known where I’d be?
“Have you been listening to me, Sarah?”
“What? Yeah, sure. You were poor. Now you’re not. Good for
 you. Is this little pep talk over now?”
She smacks the table with the palm of her hand and I jump. I
 glance at the dark glass, wondering if someone is going to come in,
 but no one does.
“Who are you? My new case manager?”
But as soon as I say it, I know it can’t be true. This woman is
 not like anyone I’ve ever met. Not in school, not in the foster care
 system. Whoever she is, she’s not here to spew the usual hopeful,
 encouraging pile of garbage they’ve tried to feed me regularly since
 my mother died.
“Who am I?” she says.
77
    She extends her hand to shake mine, laughing lightly as if she’d
 completely forgotten I’m cuffed and shackled and can’t possibly raise
 my hand to meet hers.
“My name is Evangeline Hodges, and sweetheart, right now
 you are ruining my whole damn life.”
A loud burst of static jolts me fully awake. I roll onto my
 side, off the mattress, and then try to stand up.
Was I dreaming?
No. I was remembering—remembering the red-haired
 woman’s voice. It’s the very same voice I just heard come
 out of the radio before it landed on the other side of the
 yurt. Pierce startled when I got up, and the walkie-talkie
 he was cradling in his lap flew six feet.
“Hey! Careful! It took me an hour to figure this out.”
“What?”
He picks the walkie-talkie up carefully by the antenna.
The back of the radio has been removed, and some of the
 wires are sticking out. “8-Bit’s radio. Those soldier dudes
 are using an encryption program. It changes frequencies a
 hundred times a second.”
I’m hardly awake, and even if I were, I wouldn’t under-
 stand what he’s saying.
“I slowed down the interval that their frequency changes
 and . . . never mind. Point is, we can hear them for about
 a minute before the frequency hops again and we lose the
 signal. Assuming they’re in range.”
“What?”
78
    “I’m explaining the way this—it doesn’t matter. We can
 hear them talking, and they don’t know it.”
I sit down on the edge of the mattress, and we lean in
 close over the radio. It squelches and buzzes, and we hear
 nothing but static. Then, suddenly, a deep, digitized voice
 breaks through. The words are garbled, and the signal cuts
 out a couple times. A woman answers back. It’s Hodges.
“Where is he?” she demands. “I want him found.”
“We think he’s on the sixth floor somewhere. We’re
 searching room to room now, ma’am.”
“Get him out of there. I don’t care how. He’s messed my
 plan up enough as it is.”
“Most of the offices up here have coded locks. It could
 take some time.”
“I don’t want to hear excuses. Don’t you people have
 things that go boom? Use them!”
I look up at Pierce. “Who are they looking for? Did