Undivided

Sonia struggles to her feet. “Keep your voices down!” she growls. “Do you want people in the street to hear you?”

Grace, a bit anxious at the storm brewing around her, slips past Co

Sonia tries to stop her—“Grace, wait!”—but she’s not fast enough.

The printer’s power cord, which is still plugged in, goes taut and the printer flies from Grace’s hands.

They all leap for it. Risa is closest. She gets a hand on it, but her momentum only serves to slap it away. It tumbles toward the open trapdoor, bounces once on the edge, and falls through. The cord goes taut again. And the printer dangles in the hole for a painful instant before the plug pulls free from the outlet.

Co

•  •  •

Grace is inconsolable.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” She wails desperate apologies while her eyes let loose a typhoon of tears with no sign of clear skies any time soon. “I’m so stupid, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Risa does her best to comfort her. “You’re not stupid, and it’s not your fault, Grace.” She rubs Grace’s back that now hunches under the weight of their loss.

“It was, it was,” wails Grace. “Argent always says I ruin everything.”

“Risa’s right, it’s not your fault,” Co

Risa meets his eye, but Co

Co

“What’s the big deal?” asks Jack. “It’s just some old printer.” He, like the other kids in the basement, is totally oblivious, and bewildered by the sudden air of despair, even more potent than the usual air of despair that permeates Sonia’s basement.

“It belonged to Sonia’s husband,” Co

“Right,” says Beau. “Sentimental value.” And he slowly draws a finger along the broken plastic casing, coating his fingertip with the bioslime he risked his life to retrieve. He holds that finger up to Co

Grace, her face in her hands now, sobs more quietly, and Risa leaves her long enough to assess the damage with Co

“You can fix it, can’t you?” Her voice has none of its usual confidence. It’s not a question; it’s a plea. “You’re good at fixing things.”

“This isn’t a TV or a refrigerator,” he tells her. “I have to know how something works before I can fix it.”

“But you can try.”

Before, Co

“Mostly?”

“I can’t be sure about anything, Risa. It’s a machine. It’s broken. That’s all I know.”

“Well, someone somewhere’s got to know how to fix it.”

The thought that comes to Co

“My father could fix it,” he says.

Risa leans away, as if trying to escape the deadly gravity of the thought.

“I mean, I’m good at fixing stuff because he taught me.”

Risa doesn’t say anything for a long time. She lets Co

Co

“Did you forget that these are the people who tried to unwind you? How can you forgive them for that?”

“I can’t! But what if they can’t forgive themselves either? I’ll never know unless I face them.”

“Are you entirely delusional? What do you think they’ll do—take you back into their home and pretend like these past two years never happened?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know! All I know is that I feel as broken as this machine.” He looks at the fragmented device on the table before him. He may be whole, but there are times he feels unwound in the deepest possible way. “I can fix myself, but part of that means facing my parents on my own terms.”

Co

“And it’s not just my parents, it’s my brother, too. I never thought I’d say this about the little snot, but I miss him, Risa. I miss him like you can’t believe.”

“Missing your brother is not a reason to forfeit your life!”

And then it occurs to Co

“I put a lot of trust in your opinions, Risa,” he tells her. “Most of the time you’re right. But not this time.”

She studies him, maybe looking for a crack into which she can inject some doubt. What she doesn’t know is that he’s all doubt—but that doesn’t change his need to do this.

“What can I say that will talk you out of it?”

Co

“They’re unwinders, Co

“They were parents first.”

Risa finally backs down, accepting it with mournful resignation. Fu

Risa stands up and suddenly the gulf between them feels immense. “When your parents turn you in to the Juvenile Authority—and they will—I will not shed a single tear for you, Co