Pulse

Tablets.
    Hawk’s was no longer there.
    “Uh-oh,” Liz said.
    Hawk didn’t say anything. For once he was speechless. His emotions got the better of him, and his breath started to come in waves as he picked up the note that had been left behind. It was written on a small piece of tattered paper that had been torn off what had once been a full sheet.
Get used to living without it.
    “I’m sorry, Hawk,” Faith said. “This is all my fault. I’m really, really sorry.”
    “Sorry won’t get it back!” Hawk yelled. He was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. He moved his hands in phantom swipes on a Tablet he no longer had, and then he began to run. He was at the window before Faith and Liz could catch him, and by the time they got outside, Hawk was far enough away that they could barely see his silhouette moving fast along the distant tree line.
    “Hawk!” Faith called out. “It’s okay, we’ll find it! We will!”
    “God, this is terrible,” Liz said. “Who would have taken his Tablet? It doesn’t make any sense.”
    They both felt uneasy about staying in the school any longer. It was too confined now, like someone could nail the plywood over the entry and seal them in for good. Faith went through the opening first, then Liz; and when the cool night air hit them in the faces, they felt a little bit better. They walked in silence, hoping the Tablet had satisfied whoever had followed them.
    “You know what,” Liz concluded as they came to the fork in the path where they would normally part ways. “This is going to be good for him. He’s too attached to that thing. I bet he’ll even thank us later.”
    Faith wasn’t so sure. They walked around the lake, and Faith thought of messaging Hawk to see if he was okay. But of course she couldn’t. He didn’t have a Tablet. And then her Tablet vibrated. A message was there, one she hadn’t expected but had been hoping for. Wade Quinn was back.
Come see me tomorrow, gym, watch me high-jump?
    “Um, it’s Wade,” Faith told Liz. There was an awkward pause as they kept walking, and then Liz stopped.
    “Go ahead, you know you want to.”
    Liz stepped away, and their hands pulled apart like something snapping in half.
    “I think I’ll go on home,” Liz said, and before Faith could stop her, Liz was a shadow disappearing into the darkness. Faith knew better than to try to change Liz’s mind when she got this way. She tapped out a message and felt her spirits lift a little. Hawk would have a new Tablet before he could hardly grow to miss the old one; she was sure of it. And Liz would come around. It was all going to be fine; she just had to keep telling herself that. She took a deep breath and hit SEND on her message to Wade.
I hope you jump better than you draw daisies. What time should I be there?
    Faith continued along the path that skirted the lake, a nervous energy in her steps as she thought of who or what she might encounter. It had been a weird night in more ways than one, and she just wanted to get home and lock the door behind her.
    As she came around the final turn that would lead to her house, she saw a familiar park bench. She’d sat on it many times, drawing the lake and the birds on the pond with her finger on her Tablet. Something on the bench was fluttering softly on the breeze, though it was too heavy to be blown away entirely. Its edge lifted and fell as she arrived at the bench and realized what it was: her drawing of Green Eggs and Ham , the drawing she’d done at the librarian’s desk in the library. The bottom third of the paper was missing. Get used to living without it.
    Faith’s hand was shaking as she ran for her front door.
    How was it possible?
    How had someone gotten the sheet of paper with her drawing on it, torn off the bottom, and left the note for Hawk? And all while they were still in the library?
     
    An hour later, in another part of town, Hawk was lying in his bedroom, a small lamp over his left shoulder. There was something in his hands, but it wasn’t his Tablet. It was a little wider and taller than that, but not much. It had fit perfectly in the backpack he carried around everywhere. The pack wasn’t designed to carry much—two straps over his shoulders, a thin sheath of foam around an oblong pouch against his narrow back.
    He turned the pages of The Sneetches ever so slowly, and as he felt the coarse paper on his skin, he started to breathe a little easier.

Chapter 4
Wire Code
    It took Faith a