A what-if question: What if everything you’re doing is pointless?
This was what Theo was thinking as Jaime texted his grandmother and Tess called their parents to tell them they were going out for the afternoon. And it was what Theo was thinking when the elevator looped in confused circles before depositing them in the lobby. He was still thinking it as they walked over to 72nd Street, and then headed toward the Underway entrance on Broadway. Pointless, pointless, pointless. Like building the entire Tower of London plus the London Bridge, only to kick it to rubble.
But Tess was bouncing on her toes the way she did when she was excited, and Nine bounced alongside her. Maybe this trip wasn’t so pointless if it could make Tess bounce like that, at least for a little while. He just hoped she wasn’t too devastated when it all came to nothing. Because it would.
Grandpa Ben growled in Theo’s head: The only thing that’s truly pointless is kvetching about the pointlessness of things. What is the real point: the destination or the journey?
So, Theo tried to focus on the journey, which helps when you’re trying to run for the train without tripping. They shoved their tokens into the turnstiles and burst onto the platform just as the Number 1 arrived. The cars were the same sleek, silvery steel they had been in the time of the Morningstarrs—the cars never broke down and so never needed to be replaced. They could travel below-or aboveground, with some routes suspended high over the city, wound like vines around the buildings.
But today’s ride would be belowground, so they settled into the spotless, plush red seats. No one dared eat or drink on the immaculate trains, because if you did, you would be thrown off at the next stop, no questions asked. In the corner of the car, a uniformed Guildman, sallow and sullen, sat in a glass box, glaring at the passengers as if every single one of them were an interloper, an intruder in his clean and perfect world. The Guildman’s gaze lingered on Nine the cat, but the cat was wearing her service-animal harness and was perched still as a sphinx. No out-of-control behavior, no gacked-up hairballs, no reason to toss them all off. Nine didn’t even chase the delicate metal caterpillar parading up and down the train car, scouring the dirt left by so many shoes, as it did every hour. The Guildman watched Nine lifting one paw, then the other, to let the caterpillar clean beneath, and frowned. Theo couldn’t be sure, but the Guildman seemed disappointed.
Theo wasn’t the only one to think so. Jaime pulled a small notebook and a pencil from one of his many pockets and did a quick sketch of the Guildman, giving the guy a blue cape, a mouth like a nutcracker, and a thought bubble that said, “No vermin on the train.”
A good sketch, if you liked comic-book kind of stuff. Theo said, “Where’s the vermin?”
Jaime shrugged. “We’re the vermin.”
They were, sort of. Scuttling underground, not very different from the rats that used the Underway tunnels to get from one place to another. But Theo had also seen lower Manhattan from above during a solarship tour, seen the way the tufted green carpet of Battery Park spread at the feet of the winking glass towers of the financial district. Grandpa Ben had been okay then. Mostly.
“Look, Theo,” he’d said, pointing out the window. “Aren’t humans capable of the most amazing things? Isn’t nature? Look how blue the grass is!”
“You mean green?”
Grandpa laughed. “Yes, green. Of course.”
Theo didn’t know whether it made him feel better or worse that Grandpa Ben would never know how truly rotten humans were. Or maybe he had known all along and tried too hard to forget it. Grandpa remembered everything until he didn’t. What kind of journey was that?
Tess nudged his knee.
“What?”
“You’re doing that thing with your lip.”
“I am not.”
He was, though. Pinching and pulling on the bottom lip like he trying to yank it over his head. He let go. Next to him, Jaime ignored the Weird Things Theo Was Doing to His Face and kept drawing. He added the outlines of passengers and a picture of Darnell Slant in the middle of his drawing. Cartoon Slant announced that he’d just bought the Underway and they all needed to get off the train forever. The speech bubble said, “Walking is good for all you commoners!”
A half hour later, Theo and the rest of the commoners walked out of the station and onto the esplanade that bordered the park. Sunbathers and Frisbee players dotted the lawns while the sun blazed the nearby Hudson silver. They dodged Starrboarders and bladers and hordes of giggling teenagers all punching one another for no good reason. They hauled Nine away from all the curious babies who wanted to hug her and away from all the parents afraid that Nine wanted to make snacks out of the babies.
They passed a group of girls, black and brown, jumping double Dutch and singing the Cipher song:
“Lady Liberty was number one,
Clue, clue, who’s got the clue?
City hall where George had fun,
Clue, clue, you’ve got the clue.
A diary in a library,
Clue, clue, who’s got the clue?
Puzzle out the penitentiary,
Clue, clue, you’ve got the clue.
John Bowne House, Quaker, Quaker,
Clue, clue, who’s got the clue?
Prison Ship, gonna meet your maker,
Clue, clue, you’ve got the clue. . . .”
The rest of the song faded away as they walked. At Castle Clinton, Theo and Tess and Jaime lined up to get tickets for the ferry. When this place was still called Castle Garden, Theo’s great-great-grandfather Emil Adler had lined up here, too, with only the change of clothes and a pocket watch—all he’d brought with him from Germany—to sell for food and lodging. Theo had never been that desperate, never been that hungry. He tried to be grateful for that the way his parents and grandparents always reminded him to be, but today, gratitude seemed impossible.
They bought their tickets and boarded the ferry, squeezing their way through the crowd to the railing. He’d ridden the ferry so many times with his grandparents that the press of the wind and the smell of the water made him feel less weird, more like himself. In the distance, the Liberty Statue rose out of the water, as familiar as a member of the family. Made out of copper, still gleaming bright and reddish brown because of a special treatment that kept it from oxidizing, she stood on a pedestal, a book curled in one arm, a torch held high in her other hand. On her right, an eagle perched on a tree branch, its wings just beginning to spread. On her left, a globe topped a short pillar. One foot was chained, the other had broken free.
“The last time I came here I was in kindergarten,” said Jaime. “I forgot how big she is.” He turned to a fresh page in his book and drew the statue. In his version, she was grinning. Her speech bubble said, “Yo!”