Free Coda by Emma Trevayne Page B

check out that one on the blue sheet? I think—” He stops suddenly.
    The pencil scrapes over the paper. “Think what? Johnny?”
    The couch creaks again and I look up. Headphones are clamped over Johnny’s ears, his eyes rolled back into his head, his body swaying, but not to the music. It’s the oscillating swing of someone about to fall, lifeless, to the floor.

Johnny Shell is dead.
    I stare out at the milk-white sky, gray buildings, and streets tarred black. The blue sign of a water bar flickers on and off. Guess the Grid needs more power.
    Dead. He was young, even by normal standards. Only a few years older than me. I hit the button for a med-pod so hard it cracked, but nothing could’ve made them get to us in time.
    My hands shake. I fold them in my lap. Johnny did for me what I wish I could do for everyone—found me, trusted me, and showed me that something different was out there. A way to satisfy a need I’d only barely identified at the time. Under Johnny’s influence, what had been a strange, yearning kind of frustration found its cure.
    He helped me figure out who I am.
    “What’s wrong with you two? Do you need to track or something?” Haven asks from the step above mine outside my building. Scope’s at the bottom, legs bent awkwardly up to his chin, expression serious. I shoot him a warning glance.
    “Nothing,” he says. Relief loosens something inside me at the same time as guilt tightens somewhere else for lying to her. Again. “Just”—he winks—“long night.”
    “Ew. Forget I asked. What’s your excuse?” A sharp fingernail lands between my shoulder blades. I lean back, prolonging contact that’s good just because it’s with her.
    “Tired,” I say. Sleep was impossible last night.
    Haven touches my back again, gently this time. “Okay. You up for the club later?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Choice,” she says, standing to brush lower-Web grime from her short black skirt. I keep my head turned just enough to stare at her legs. “I’m going home to change.”
    She walks away, pulling her tablet from her bag to send a message. I know she’s calling her personal pod, telling her driver to pick her up somewhere away from my place. I’ve never bought that she doesn’t want her family to know where she is; I’m sure they do anyway. But I appreciate the gesture.
    For once, Scope doesn’t make any of his usual comments when he watches me watch her.
    “Johnny,” is all I say.
    “I don’t get it. I mean, OD’ing, sure, we’ve all seen that, right? But when was the last time someone died from it? The techs are pretty good at patching people up.”
    “Maybe he was sick already. I mean, more than usual for his age.” I hate the idea that Johnny wouldn’t have told me something like that.
    Scope looks as doubtful as I feel. I lean back on my elbows to look up. A single pigeon flies across the sky, ugly in form, beautiful in rarity.
    He eventually leaves to get ready and take care of his mother. I don’t move after he’s gone; I just sit and watch the street. It’s like losing an older brother, one who had the balls to give me the guidance I needed.
    Fable answers the door to the apartment below mine, and the twins run to hug me. I just glare at the kid. I don’t have the energy for anything else. Upstairs, I sit Alpha and Omega down at the table to do their homework while I hoist my father off the couch and hold him under a shower. Every day he’s less able to keep himself upright, and the icy spray doesn’t do as much as it used to for bringing backperiods of lucidity.
    After dinner, the news channel tells me about pod upgrades and mainframe enhancements, which isn’t worth much but is better than silence.
    Message received: the Corporation is strong, powerful, and doing all it can for us.
    Through my open bedroom door, the console screen glows. My nails dig into my thighs, I grit my teeth, my jaw aching from every time I’ve tried and failed to resist since Johnny died.
    If I