Free While You Were Gone by Amy K. Nichols Page A

whispers, “It is important.”
    “It’s just letters and numbers.”
    “Those letters and numbers could change your life.” He raises an eyebrow and nods slowly.
    “Yeah, well, you could have changed my life by getting me in trouble. If my dad had seen you passing me a note—”
    He waves away my complaint. “You’re just stalling now.”
    “Fine.” I unfold the note and read it again. And again. Then shake my head. “Still don’t get it.”
    He falls back in his chair. “You’re hopeless as a spy.”
    “News flash: I’m not trying to be a
spy.
” I flop my science binder open and pull out my study guide. “I’m trying to be an
artist
who can pass her science class.”
    “Not nearly as fun.”
    Last month I helped him prepare for his test on art during the Cold War, when the movement toward protecting Americans from countercultural ideas began. He aced it, of course, because he had me in his corner. Now I’m the one who needs help. This unit on atoms is just not meshing. It’s not that I’m bad at science. It’s just that my brain works better with images than words, and Warren is really good at translating scientific jargon into pictures. “We really should get started.” I slide my study guide across the table.
    “First promise you’ll try to figure out the code.”
    “Fine.” I raise my right hand. “I promise. Now, can we…?”
    He moves his glasses down onto his face and looks over the study guide, muttering words as he reads. “Matter…atoms…polarity…” He sets it down. “Electromagnetic repulsion. Fascinating stuff.”
    “Enlighten me, Einstein.”
    “Atoms are ninety-nine percent empty space. They get their shape from the negatively charged electrons spinning around the nucleus. Now, the human body is made up of approximately seven octillion atoms—”
    “That’s not a word.”
    “Yes it is. Seven octillion atoms, which means you are mostly empty space.”
    “
You’re
mostly empty space.”
    He scowls. “Pay attention. Everything is made of atoms, so everything is mostly nothing. Empty space. And that means you’re not actually sitting on that chair.”
    “Is this that thing where you’re just showing off how much you know? Or does this actually have to do with my test?”
    “Listen.” He sticks out his hands like he’s holding an invisible ball. “The closer atoms are together, the more they repulse each other. Like when you try to force magnets to touch pole to pole. You feel that resisting force between them, right? So, the same thing is happening right now between your butt and that chair. It feels like you’re sitting, but you’re actually floating above it.”
    “Suspended by the repulsion of my seven—what was it?”
    “Octillion.”
    “Seven
octillion
atoms.”
    “Exactly. Which means there isn’t really such a thing as touching.” He puts his hand flat on the table. “I’m not actually touching this. There is an infinitesimal amount of space between the atoms of the desk and the atoms of my hand.”
    “But you feel it.”
    “And yet, I’m still not
actually
touching it.”
    He continues working his way through the concepts, and forty minutes later, I feel like I have enough of a grasp to take the test.
    “Coulomb’s law is the foundation of electromagnetism. And electromagnetism is the foundation of the new Skylar system.” He hands me the study guide. “Coincidence?”
    I think back to the explanation they gave during the DART demo, before Nina passed that wand over my head. “You mean, you think we’re studying this stuff now because of that?”
    He gives a small shrug. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you start to see it cropping up more and more. Introduce an idea, then disseminate it through the populace until it becomes a new norm.” He looks at his watch and begins packing up his things. “That’s how I’d do it, at least.”
    I gather up my stuff, too. “If you’re such a skeptic, why do you work for them?”
    “I