“I think it’s high time we had a group hug,” Sarah said.
The three of them wrapped arms around shoulders and squeezed. They pulled apart and just stared at each other, an awkward moment that Michael knew wouldn’t last long. Though they all looked a little different—a lot, in his case—they were the same smart-aleck, know-it-all, best-hackers-in-the-Sleep, teenage troublemakers they’d always been.
Bryson broke the silence. “So what’ve you guys been doing since … our little journey through the magical worlds of the mighty VirtNet? Wasn’t Kaine so nice to sponsor that?”
“Lying low,” Sarah answered. “Sick about my parents. Waiting on you.”
“We didn’t want to do anything until we were all together again,” Michael added. “And Sarah’s pretty insistent we don’t Sink. You know how she is once she makes up her mind.…”
“I don’t blame her,” Bryson said. “I thought we were good, guys. Until we met this Kaine snake.”
Sarah folded her arms and leaned back against the railing. “So what’ve you been doing?”
“Me?” Bryson replied. “I’ve been hiding my family, sending them all over the place. I told them everything, and I don’t care who finds out. It was the only way I could talk them into getting away.”
Sarah shifted her gaze and stood up straighter.
“Sorry,” Bryson murmured. “Dumb thing to say when your …” He didn’t need to finish.
“It’s okay,” Sarah said, breathing in sharply and visibly shaking herself a bit. “All the more reason to get working. Kaine made it sound like they’re still alive. We’ll find them.”
“Amen,” Bryson whispered.
Michael thought of their narrow escape from the KillSims. “How did you do it, anyway?” he asked Bryson.
“Do what?”
Sarah sucked in a gasp. “Whoa! Write this down, Michael! Bryson’s being humble! There’s a first for everything.”
Michael smiled, but Bryson looked genuinely confused.
“What’re you guys talking about?” he asked.
“Oh, come on,” Michael said. “You want us to get on our knees and bow down, praise you for saving us?”
“Saving you? You mean from Kaine? Our picnic with the KillSims in the Land of Purple?” Then he laughed, and not the contagious kind that made you feel good. For some reason it creeped Michael out.
Now it was Bryson’s turn to see the look of confusion on his friends’ faces.
“What? You’re serious?” he asked.
Michael rubbed his temples and closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. “Why do I feel like I just got sucked into another dimension? What’s going on?”
Sarah took charge. “Bryson, we saw you messing with the program. We know you pulled us out of there somehow. I don’t know how—I could barely even see the code—but whatever you did—”
Bryson cut her off. “Guys. Guys. It wasn’t me. Yeah, I was trying like a madman, but I didn’t crack anything. I just assumed you heard the same thing I did.”
“Heard?” Michael repeated. “Heard what?”
Bryson laughed again. “Wow, that is so awesome that you two thought I’d saved the day. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and taken all the credit.”
“What?” Sarah insisted. “What did you hear?”
“A voice.” Bryson’s face had smoothed into something more serious. “Right before we were whisked away, back to the Wake. I heard a voice, clear as a bell.”
“What did it say?” Michael asked.
Bryson grinned. “ ‘You have friends among the Tangents.’ ”
By that night, Michael had two roommates, not just one. Bryson had stashed a couple of bags with clothes and such, and after retrieving them, they’d all headed to the apartment with a million things to talk about. Michael thought a lot about Bryson’s revelation as the day wore on, wondering about these mysterious Tangents that had freed them from the KillSims. He was curious, fascinated. And worried that somehow Kaine had just tricked them again.
“Check this out,” Bryson said as they finished their dinner, a gourmet selection of hot dogs and hamburgers. He rummaged through one of his bags and pulled out a rectangular device. One side was glass; the other was metal. He placed it on the table and it landed with a sliding hiss. “This, my friends, is called a NetTab.”
“What?” Sarah asked doubtfully, dragging out the word. “People haven’t used those things in years.”
“Well,” Bryson replied. “My dad is what you might call a collector. You see, Sarah, he collects things.”
She just rolled her eyes at her friend’s lame wit.
Michael picked up the device gingerly, as if it might fall to dust like some ancient Egyptian scroll. It seemed just as archaic.
“Is that really what this is?” he asked. “I’ve never even seen one, they’re so old.”