No Safety in Numbers (4 page)

T
en more minutes, and Ryan would have been out of Toxic, zombie makeup in hand. He would have been at Shep’s Sporting Goods, maybe already halfway up the climbing wall. But no, the security situation had to shut down the mall and here he was, stuck with the emo kids between racks of studded collars, fake leather pants, and T-shirts with things like “Black Death European Tour” on them. Not a store Ryan would normally shop in.

But Ryan’s brother Thad, the quarterback, had said the West Nyack High School varsity football team would go as zombies for Halloween practice before heading out to the usual party at Mike Richter’s house. As the newest and youngest member of the varsity team, and younger brother of the QB, Ryan felt a lot of pressure to do everything right—no, not right. Better than right. On the field and off. Ryan owed everything he was to Thad, given their parents’
inability to do anything besides lay into each other over money, a crap dinner, or nothing at all. He wanted to make his brother proud with the big stuff and the stupid, like this costume.

Having nothing else to do, Ryan flipped through the nearest rack, which was packed with flowing skirts in acid green, fuchsia, black.
Who would wear this stuff?

“Do you mind?”

The rack had spoken.

Ryan stepped back. “Hello?”

Two hands appeared from inside the wall of material, separating two skirts and revealing the most stunning face Ryan had ever seen or even dreamed of. The face smiled.

“I’m only joking,” she said. “But you did smack me in the eye with a string of beads.”

The girl stepped out from between the skirts. She had rosy brown skin and huge, weird green eyes rimmed in black lashes, and this waterfall of black hair. She wore some strange, shiny golden cut-off top over a flowing, flowered see-through muumuu with skinny jeans and black boots. Thin gold chains with charms dangling from each circled her long neck, which featured a tattoo of a vine curling around it, ending at a flower that bloomed on her left cheek.

“I’m Shay,” she said, sticking a hand out.

Ryan was pressed against a glass case full of silver skull rings.

“And you are?” she asked, arching a perfect black eyebrow.

“Ryan,” he finally managed. He took her hand. Her skin was warm and smooth.

“It’s the tattoo, right?” Shay said. It wasn’t just the tattoo, but Ryan was happy to let her start with that.

“It’s henna,” Shay continued. “Like my parents would ever let me get a real tattoo. But that’s the plus of living with your Indian grandmother. There’s always lots of henna.” Shay looked through the front windows of the store at the corridor. The only people visible were two mall security guards patrolling the other side of the hall. “Where’d everyone go?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Ryan asked, still trying to get a hold of his heart rate. “The mall cops ordered us to stay in the store. Some security thing in the garage.”

“Oh.” The smile faded from Shay’s face. “I should find Nani and Preet.”

“Who and who?” Ryan asked.

“My grandmother and sister. I left them in Aéropostale. Preeti takes forever to pick out a pair of socks.”

Ryan suddenly felt the need to keep Shay from moving. “We can’t leave,” he blurted out. “The mall cop said so.”

“The mall cop?” she said, smiling. “I think I can face the wrath of the mall cop.”

She reached into the rack and pulled out a book and her iPod.
So that’s why she missed the announcement.
The book was a ratty thing; the yellowed pages curled and the cover was so faded, Ryan could barely make out the name.

“Tagore?” he asked, desperate to keep her there, even if it meant talking about a book. “Is that, like, foreign or something?”

“Or something,” Shay said, smacking him lightly on
the arm with the book. “He’s only the most famous Indian poet. He won the Nobel Prize.”

“Oh.” Ryan could not have felt like a bigger idiot. He’d maybe read one poem. Ever. And he thought maybe it was some kids’ book thing about farts. “You reading it for school?”

“No,” Shay said. “I’m reading it for me.” She held his eyes for an intense moment. “Here.” She handed the book to him. “You look like you need this more than I do.”

He took the book from her, letting his fingers brush her skin. Their eyes met again. The green of hers was flecked with gold. Ryan looked away, patted the book. She started again toward the door.

“How can I get this back to you?” he said, following her as she weaved through the racks.

“You can have it,” she said without turning.

“You’re just giving me your book?” A hanger jabbed him in the ribs.

“That’s what they’re for,” she said. She stopped at the entry and looked at him. “Books are meant to be shared.”

“At least give me your email,” he said. “So I can tell you what I thought.” He waved the book at her.

Shay half smiled, like she knew what was really going on here. “You can come with me,” she said. “If you’re done skirt shopping.”

Ryan felt everything in his body relax.
I can go with her.
“I think I have enough skirts at home.”

Ryan felt like a criminal stepping over the threshold into the abandoned corridor—the guards must have moved on. Shay simply walked out onto the carpeted hallway and
turned toward the escalators. Her strange shirt twirled behind her like a pennant.

“You coming?” she asked, placing a foot onto the stairs. And she was lifted up.

Thad would have told him to just wait, what was the big deal, the last thing Ryan needed was to have a police altercation that might make it back to Coach. Ryan ignored his inner-Thad; he stumbled forward the last few steps and hopped onto the escalator behind her.

Shay explained to him why Tagore was so special. It was her nani who had introduced her to the poet when she was ten, after her grandfather had died. Shay had been miserably sad because her grandfather had been her favorite. Nani said Tagore had been his guide.

“His poems are so lyrical and wise,” Shay said. “They speak to my soul.”

The last time Ryan had heard someone discuss his soul was in church. He’d never heard anyone sound this juiced about poetry. And no girl, not even his girlfriend, had ever opened up to him like this. He felt drunk. He wanted to tell her things.

He was way out of his comfort zone.

Aéropostale wasn’t far from the escalators. Ryan waited by the entry, where he was scowled at by the clerk while Shay circled the store. He was beginning to wonder what Toxic demon had possessed him; the Ryan he knew would not engage in criminal wandering with a girl who talked about her lyrical soul.

Shay appeared at his side. “They must have left.” She pulled out an old-school flip-open phone. “Dead, dead, deadski,” she said, flipping it closed. “Can I borrow yours?”

Ryan pulled out his Droid and handed it to her.

“Whoa,” she said, fake-frowning. “
Fan
-cy.” She turned the phone over. “Where are the buttons?”

Ryan slid his finger across the
LOCK
button.

Shay watched, eyes wide. “We really live in a magical age.” She took the phone from him and dialed.

Ryan had never spoken to anyone who said things like “magical age.” Or who didn’t know how to use a touchscreen. This girl was from another planet, another galaxy. He wondered what she would say next.

“Nani’s not answering,” Shay said, handing him back the phone. “They might be waiting for me at the car.” She took a step, then turned back and hugged Ryan. “Thank you for being so gentlemanly.”

He didn’t breathe for fear that it might make her let go.

But she did and began power-walking for the exit.

Ryan raced to catch up with her. “What kind of gentleman doesn’t walk a girl to the door?”

Shay held out her arm. “My carriage awaits,” she said in a playful, British accent.

Ryan slid his arm into hers. “Onward.”

What kind of idiot had he become that he was saying things like
onward
?

The closest mall exit was down a floor, at the end of a short hallway, and consisted of two sets of glass double doors. In the vestibule, two big cops—actual cops with guns in their belts—leaned against a vending machine. Shay didn’t so much as blink: She just pushed the first set of doors open and walked in.

The nearer cop blocked her path. “You were told to wait in your store,” he said.

Shay looked him in the eyes, her jaw set. “I have to find my grandmother.”

Through the glass, Ryan saw that a wall of fencing was being set up around the edge of the mall parking lot.
What the hell kind of security situation is this?

“You’ll have to wait like the rest of the people.” The cop crossed his arms. “We going to have a problem?” He looked at Ryan.

“No problem,” Ryan replied quickly.

Shay looked at him, tilting her head and pursing her lips. Ryan shrugged. What was he supposed to do, kick the cop’s butt?

Shay turned back to the cop. “They said the security problem’s in the parking garage,” she said. “I just want to go out to the open air lot.”

The second cop shuffled over. “I’m going to ask you one more time to go back to your store.”

Ryan’s phone rang. He pulled it out—a strange number. He tapped Shay on the shoulder. “Maybe this is your grandmother?”

Shay instantly withdrew from her standoff with the cops and took the phone. “Nani?” she said, then began speaking in Indian.

The first cop got on his walkie-talkie. “Security, we have two civilians in the hall at exit one.”

The second cop jutted his chin at Ryan. “I’ve seen you play ball,” he said.

Ryan froze.
What if this guy knows Coach?

“You Jimmy Murphy’s kid?”

He knew Dad—
even worse
.

“I’m really sorry,” Ryan began. “I mean, she was just really upset and I was trying to help.”

The cop clapped him on the shoulder. “Girls, kid,” he said. “Don’t let them get in the way of what’s important.” He pushed Ryan through the glass door and let it close between them. He stared hard into Ryan’s eyes.

Ryan stepped back and stumbled into Shay.

“They’re still here!” she said. “Preeti got hungry, so they went to the food court.” She pushed the phone into his chest and began to jog back down the hall.

The cop pointed vigorously at the entrance to the nearest store: PaperClips.

Ryan jammed his hands into his pockets and shuffled into PaperClips.

Shay didn’t follow.

S
haila Dixit drove a French fry through the puddle of ketchup on the crumpled wrapper in front of her. It’d been hours since she’d left Ryan in the corridor, but she couldn’t stop replaying every second of their half hour together in her mind. The whole day had felt blessed—and then he’d abandoned her.

She’d come to the mall to get out of the house. The place was still a cluttered mess from the move. Shay couldn’t sit for five minutes anywhere without being asked to unpack something or
get out of the way, I’m vacuuming!
She was losing her mind.

As if moving itself weren’t enough of a nightmare. All her friends had been like, Edison’s only an hour away, we’ll come visit all the time, but none had come in the four months she’d lived here. More than that, though, instead of Shay the Actress or Shay the Poet—in Stonecliff, she was Shay the Indian Chick.

Shay tried to put on a brave face about it all. During lunch at school, she joked about Mom overdoing it with the cumin. She fashioned outfits out of her Indian garb to better look the part. But her weekends were still an endless expanse of time with no one but Preeti and Nani to fill it. So when she needed to escape, she came to the mall like every other teenager in America. Here, she was normal. Anyone who saw her would think friends were coming to meet her later, maybe they were waiting in another store and she only had to finish this purchase before joining them. When she could no longer pretend, she excused herself and went somewhere to hide in music and poetry. Toxic had seemed as good a place as any.

But then this gorgeous guy had pulled her out of her loneliness. For thirty whole minutes, she’d had a friend. She’d felt ready to explode out of her skin with happiness. But she’d pushed it too far. How could she have expected him to keep following her? Especially when she was basically asking him to disobey the cops. She couldn’t have expected it. But she’d hoped.

“Shaila-bhen, when can we go home?” Preeti whined, slumping into the seat next to Shay. They’d been stuck in the food court for hours, staring out the wall of windows at the parking lot as the sun set.

“When they tell us,” Shay answered, shoving a fry into her mouth.

Why had she given him her book? He who turned out to be less knight in shining armor than coward with good hair. He’d seemed so enthralled by her—yet another instance of her radar being way off. Ever since the move, Shay felt like she’d been stumbling in the dark. Maybe
if her friends had visited like they’d promised, it would be easier to fake the smiles. Maybe if the theater program at her new school didn’t suck. Maybe, what if, whatever.

Nani flipped open her phone, then slapped it shut again and shook her head. Their parents had called Nani’s phone every fifteen minutes. It was funny to watch her grandmother’s surprise and confusion each time the phone rang, like she hadn’t noticed the thing existed, even though it was clenched in her fist.