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the one with all the secrets, Gaia," Ed said, lifting his chin in an obvious attempt to arrest her line of vision. "Whatever they are."
    Gaia scanned the hallway again. No one suspicious. Nothing out of place. "Aren't you glad I won't let you ask questions? You're safer not knowing."
    "Somehow I don't feel all that safe." Ed started moving again, narrowly missing the open-toed sandal of an oblivious freshman.
    "God! Where are they?" Gaia blurted, covering her watch with her hand as if she could make time stop. "What if they sent another e-mail?" She started bouncing again, as if she were a boxer psyching herself up for a fight. "I can't just stand around like this. I have to find him."
    They continued down the hall in silence, Gaia staring every passerby in the eye, glancing over her shoulder every third of a second. When she reached her second-period class, which she had no intention of sitting still through, the teacher met her in the doorway.
    "Ms. Moore, I just received a note asking me to send you to the main office to pick up a package," Mrs. Reingold said with a vapid smile.
    Gaia's heart gave a leap of actual joy. Good. Let's get on with it.
    "Receiving gifts at school, are we?" Mrs. Reingold continued. "Do we find this appropriate?"
    Gaia was about to tell the teacher exactly what we could do with our idea of appropriate when Ed pinched her leg.
    "You must have left your lunch at home this morning," Ed said.
    "Yeah," Gaia snapped, glancing at the withered old teacher. "My parents don't like me to go through the day without three squares."
    When Mrs. Reingold closed the classroom door, Gaia spun on her heel and practically flew to the main office. Ed was right behind her.
    She burst into the office, told the principal's secretary who she was, and was handed a sealed envelope. Ed was waiting for her back in the hall. For a moment she just stared at the envelope.
    "Please tell me you're about to read the nominees for Best Picture," said Ed, his face a little pale.
    "I wish." Gaia leaned against the water fountain. She slid her finger beneath the flap and tugged, then pulled out a sheet of paper and began to read it aloud: "'Kudos on the successful completion of Test One.'" She looked up from the paper and frowned at Ed. "Kudos? Oh, great. So the guy's not only a maniac, he's a dork."
    "A dangerous dork, Gaia. Keep reading."

SAM
Wrrrzzzzzzzz .
    I am Sam Moon.
    They said my name. I heard them. Good, because maybe I forgot it. Sam Moon, Sam Moon, Sam Moon.
    Sam Moon.
    Wrrrzzzzzzzz. Clank. Wrrrzzzzzzzz.
    They grabbed me. That much I know. But who? Why?
    Wrrrzzzzzzzz. Clank.
    If that damned noise would just . . . stop. It comes in through a window I can't see. That . . . noise. That . . . grinding, scraping, scratching, humming, rumbling.
    WrrrzzzzzzClankWrrrzzzzzz.
    NearFarAlwaysLouderSofter . . .
    Wrrrzzzzzzzz.
God! Numbing my brain.
    Not just the noise the questions my own questions I have never wondered so hard It's making me queasy all this not knowing my blood is screaming It's pounding in my temples I can taste my own bile I keep shaking and I want to peel my skin off--
    And I want to kiss Gaia.
    Did I? Once? I did, I think. She was soft. Her eyes took me. Took me right in. Nothing bluer, ever. Nothing so generous, or alone and . . .
    Wrrrzzzzzzzz clank wrrzz.
    Shit, what the hell happened to my face? Oh Yeah, Guy With A Fist With A Ring. And the voice. Not the Fist's voice, somebody else's.
    Pokey? Smokey? Low Key? Loki.
    His voice, then the fist. Damnthathurt.
    Then how come they haven't killed me yet? Or have they? Maybe I'm supposed to be headingforthelight already.
    Jesus, I'm losing it. I'm not dead. Okay?
I'mnotdead
. Just ... focus. Right, that's right. Focus.
    I amSam MoonI am Sam . . . Sam I am.
    Remember? Yes. I remember. I am sitting on my mother's lap yesterday last week now later. Athousandyearsago. Letters are new, words are strange. I am small--
    And safeAnd she is reading to me. Something about . . .