The Testing (The Testing 1)

“What’s your point?” Nate shrugs. “Jack didn’t really need a phone, but he got one.”

“Yeah, but . . .” But what? I’m not exactly sure. There’s something about this whole setup that bugs me. Or maybe it’s just the question we’re asked—What do you need? Because I know what need is, and it’s not another phone.

Nate gives me an annoyed look and I feel a twinge of guilt. When Nate heard my mom and brother weren’t home, he dropped what he was doing to come over and keep me company. And knowing Nate, he probably had a zillion offers for something more entertaining to do with his night. At some point he’s going to realize that and start accepting those invitations. Then what will I do?

So I slide my glasses back on and say, “I guess I’m just surprised your brother sent you an invitation.”

“He didn’t.” Nate flashes a wide grin. “He forgot to log out when he left to meet his friends, and I borrowed his computer and sent an invitation to myself.” Nate rolls out his shoulders. “The network assigns a profile name to every user, and as far as I can tell, no one is allowed to say anything on the site that will reveal their identity or to disclose online or in real life whether their need has been fulfilled.” He clicks the mouse several times and then points to the screen as he reads: “Doing so violates the terms of use and voids any possible fulfillment of requests in the future.”

“But Jack—”

“Yep.” Nate laughs. “Jack already violated the terms. He’s going to be displeased when he tries to get something else and the NEED fairy godmother gives him the finger. I can’t wait.”

“You’re assuming the people who operate the system know Jack told his friends,” I say. “The odds of that occurring have to be pretty low.”

“Yeah. What a bummer.” Nate lets out a dramatic sigh. “Still, there’s always a chance someone will learn about Jack breaking the rules, which is good. It gives me something to dream about when he’s being a jerk.”

“So, basically, you’ll be dreaming about it a lot.” I laugh.

“A guy has to have a hobby. We can’t all have brothers we actually like and get along with.” I see Nate’s eyes shift to the framed photograph on my desk of me, Mom, and DJ from this summer. DJ’s blond hair shines in the sunlight. His face is filled with delight. Mom and I look happy too, but our brown hair makes us look less bright. Or maybe it’s just that I know how much we both wish we were more like DJ.

“Have you heard anything?” Nate asks.

I bite my bottom lip, pull my phone out of my back pocket, and check to make sure I didn’t miss a message. Nothing. “Mom took DJ to the ER at All Saints Hospital, and her phone doesn’t always get the best reception there. I’m sure she’ll update me soon.” The tests won’t say he’s had a relapse. They just can’t. He deserves better than that. He deserves better than everything he’s gotten up to now. Karma owes him. I’d be there with him now if I’d been allowed to go. Instead, my mother insisted I stay here. Out of the way. Alone.

Nate reaches out and I step toward him. He takes my hand and webs his fingers through mine. No. Not alone. Behind him, I can read the word NEED shining in large red block letters at the top of the computer screen, which is appropriate. Because in my life, Nate is someone I need. Without him, I’m not sure how I would get through nights like this. If he ever finds a serious girlfriend, I’ll be sunk.

“So . . .” Nate’s voice is once again filled with mischief as he lets go of my hand and swivels toward the desk. “Back to the really important stuff. What should I ask the great and powerful NEED network for? A car would be nice.”

“You live two blocks from school,” I say. “You don’t need a car. Not to mention that you’d have to get a job to pay for gas and insurance.”

“Sad but true. And since I’m not interested in hard labor, I’ll have to ask for something else.” Nate tilts his head to the side. His expression turns serious. “You know what I really need? A B on my physics final. Before break, Mr. Lott told me I have to get at least an eighty percent on that test or I’ll fail the class and end up in summer school.”

“I don’t think the people running NEED can take your final for you.”

“No, but whoever created this thing must have skills. He might be able to hack into the system and change my grade. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?” Nate types An A on my physics final into the box and hits Enter. The message in the box changes. Now it reads: NEED REQUEST BEING VERIFIED. PLEASE STAND BY. The image of a clock appears.

“I thought you said you needed a B.”

“Why settle?” Nate taps his fingers on the wood of my desk as the second hand of the clock on the NEED site travels from twelve to one. Then two. As it travels to the number three, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. My stomach lurches. My legs are unsteady as I stand and pull out the phone.

“What does it say?” Nate asks.

I try to breathe, but I can’t as I click the Talk button, praying that DJ is okay. Thankfully, my mother doesn’t draw things out and tells me in the first sentence that he is. No relapse. He’s still sick, but it isn’t worse. With every relapse it can get so much worse. So this is good. Still, my voice shakes when I put down the phone and say, “The doctor is going to run one more test, but they think a virus caused the fever. Everything else is stable.” For now.

“That’s a relief. Hey, I haven’t asked in the last week, but your father . . .”

I shake my head. “I still haven’t been able to find him. The Christmas card he sent had a Kenosha return address and postmark, but when I called the apartment complex they said they’d never heard of him.”

“You’ll find him, Kaylee.” Nate gets up and puts his arms around me. “If not, we’ll convince more people around here to get tested. Someone will step up and help.”

I lean into Nate and close my eyes. “I hope so.” I used to think so. Then I learned the truth. People say they care, but they just don’t give a damn. Not my father. Not the people in this town. Not the school psychologist my mother insists I see to deal with my “issues.” No one. Opening my eyes, I see the screen behind Nate change and am grateful for the distraction. “The clock on the site stopped ticking.”

Nate’s face lights up. He gives me one final squeeze before sliding into the chair in front of the computer screen. “Score. My request has been processed. Now, according to this, I just have to invite six qualified friends to the site and my need will be met. That’s easy enough.” Nate types my name and email address and hits Send before I can object. He then types five more addresses.

“Who did you just invite?”

“I’m not telling. Unlike Jack, I plan on following the rules.” After hitting Log Out, Nate shoves back the chair and stands. “Now, did your mom say when they’ll be home?”