Swipe

you, boy.”
    “Dad,” Erin said. “I can explain.”
    “Oh yeah?” Mr. Arbitor said. “And what exactly do you think I don’t already know? What, precisely, is it about this situation that eludes me? Because if there’s anything—anything at all—that does, then you have my word—I’ll retire right here and now.”
    “Dad—”
    “Because to me, this is the simplest cut-and-dry case in the books. To me, this is a little girl who found a boy she liked . . . and decided to make a little adventure for herself.”
    “Peck’s after me,” Logan said. “She saved my life—”
    “ I know that, boy. I’m not talking to you! ”
    “You know it now!” Erin yelled suddenly. “You know it because of me! Because of us! We led you here! We did this. We deserve a medal!”
    “Mr. Arbitor,” Logan butted in. “With all due respect, whatever punishments you have in store for us—they have to wait.”
    “Was that an order, Logan Langly?” Mr. Arbitor laughed at the thought of it.
    Logan gulped. “Yes! Actually, it was! My friend is back there and he’s in danger! Now either stop wasting your own time or stop wasting ours—because one of us has to help him!”
    Mr. Arbitor smiled. “Your selflessness is admirable, for someone carrying so many treasonous charges.”
    “Please,” Logan begged, feebly now.
    “We have two men back there,” Mr. Arbitor said. “If you’re right about any of this, they will be more than capable of handling it.”
    “Just like you’ve handled everything else so far?” Erin shot back. “Because it seems to me that we’re the two best agents you’ve got!”
    But something about that statement struck a nerve. Mr. Arbitor didn’t look angry anymore—he looked crazed.
    “Cuff them, Johnson. Cuff them both.”
    6
    The smaller of the two boys jumped up and down, and his voice echoed in the quiet hall. “Ooh! Here’s a pen! I have a pen!” The girl took it from him and handed the thing to Dane. It wasn’t a stylus. It was an actual pen. Dane couldn’t remember the last time he had held one like it, if he ever had.
    “Uh . . . so where’d you like me to sign?”
    “I don’t have a tablet,” the girl said. “So how about just signing right here?” She held out her hand, strangely, and pointed to her wrist, which was blank. Dane looked up at her face. This girl was a teenager. There was no doubt about it. This girl was a Markless.
    Dane cleared his throat. “Right . . . uh . . . right there, huh?” He took the girl’s hand and held the pen above her wrist, right above where the Mark should have been.
    “What’s the matter?” she said. “Don’t you wanna Mark me, Dane?”
    Dane glanced uneasily at the men asleep down the hall. His own hand began to shake.
    The girl frowned at him. “I’m sorry about this,” she said.
    “Oh, don’t be!” Dane laughed, nervously now. “I can catch up to my bandmates in just a minute, it’s no problem.” And he put his head down to scribble his signature onto the girl’s wrist.
    “No, I’m not sorry for keeping you,” she said.
    Dane looked up and met her eyes. They were very sad.
    The next several things happened quickly. The world went black behind a thick, dirty pillowcase, and an awful sweetness filled Dane’s nostrils as the pillowcase went damp. Dane flailed wildly.
    “You screwed it up!” one of the boys said.
    “Then you try!” said the other.
    “It’s not as easy as it looks!”
    “Why won’t he pass out?”
    All the while, a rotten aroma was stifling every breath Dane took. Three . . . four . . . seven . . . ten of them, shallower and shallower. Weaker flailing from Dane. Knees beginning to buckle. Hyperventilating now. Hard to breathe.
    “He’s tougher than the agents!”
    “That’s ’cause we’re trying not to kill him.”
    “It isn’t like the movies!”
    “Pour some more on!”
    “Blake said not to waste it!”
    “You suck!”
    “Let me try!”
    “You just did!”
    More flailing. Swinging dizzily into blackness. Not connecting. Weaker and weaker.
    Then the girl’s voice. “It’s working.” Another breath. Stars inside the bag. Euphoria. Bright white fireworks.
    “You killed him.”
    “I didn’t kill him.”
    “Jo wins.”
    “It wasn’t a game.”
    “Everything’s a game.”
    And Dane slipped off into a happier place.
    7
    “There was shouting. I heard shouting!” Logan pushed against the agent holding him, trying desperately to peek around and through the