It could be.
It was clear from the start that Coates was not run by the administrators or the teachers, but by an intelligent, attractive, charismatic boy named Caine Soren. Caine ruled Coates like a gang boss. His chief enforcer was a boy who was also attractive, but the kind of attraction you might feel for a cobra. Drake was mesmerizing. It was hard to look away from him, and when you did you could feel his eyes following you.
Caine was a rotten bastard. Drake was evil. And between them they ruled Coates and made Dekka’s life a misery.
And then had come the dome.
Dekka had been rescued from Coates, that’s the way she saw it. Rescued by Sam Temple, and not just rescued but raised to high status, made over as Sam’s strong right arm.
Dekka had suffered, but she had suffered for a cause. Sam had never cared whether she liked boys or girls; he’d cared whether he could count on her in a fight. And he could, her and Breeze and Edilio. And yes, Astrid, though Astrid always played games within games. And every nasty fight, every vicious battle, had been fought to keep the kids in the FAYZ alive and as free as they could be. Dekka had been given responsibility . . . no, she corrected mentally, she had taken responsibility. She had picked a side and done what needed to be done.
Isn’t that what you’re doing now?
Yes, she had taken this responsibility on, but she would have gladly given way for Sam, once he appeared in New York. Dekka had been happier as his lieutenant than as a general.
It’s what these stars on my shoulders are about—sending good young people into harm’s way.
And losing. Getting beaten. Feeling helpless and inadequate and overwhelmed. Watching people die or live in agony and being able to do nothing about it. All of that.
In a million years it never would have occurred to Dekka that she’d end up feeling sympathy for a four-star general. Or that she would try to step aside to make room for a white boy. The truth was that Peter Parker’s uncle was only half right. With great power came great responsibility; and with great responsibility came a weight so massive it threatened to crush you.
But I’m not crushed. Not quite.
Not yet.
Sam Temple’s life had also been shaped by a dome. He’d been an average student in a mediocre school whose only real passion in life involved getting up at four thirty in the morning, carrying his board down to the beach, stuffing himself into a clammy wet suit, and paddling out into freezing water to wait and wait for the opportunity to ride a wave for thirty seconds.
He’d had no plans. He’d had no real goals aside from the vague notion of a career that would leave him plenty of time to surf. He’d had no girlfriend and only one real male friend, Quinn Gaither.
When the FAYZ had come, Sam had tried to avoid taking any sort of leadership role. But Sam had an event in his past that had been largely forgotten but that took on new saliency when every single adult, every parent, teacher, shopkeeper, doctor, and cop was suddenly . . . poof! Gone. Sam had once saved a school bus full of kids when the driver had suffered a heart attack. He’d never thought it was a big deal, and neither did anyone else once the excitement of the moment wore off. But in a world suddenly without responsible leaders of any sort, a world falling under the sway of a sociopath and his psychopath enforcer, people had looked to Sam.
Slowly, reluctantly, Sam had become a leader. He’d made life-or-death decisions on an almost daily basis. He had been attacked, hurt, hated, mistrusted. But also admired and relied upon and even loved. And he had stored up enough nightmares to last ten men ten lifetimes each.
Then, suddenly: no dome. Sam the reluctant hero had been transformed into Sam the fall guy and then Sam the media hero, and Sam the guy in a book his wife wrote, and Sam the actor who played Sam in the movie. He still had no goals and no plans. He intended to go to college eventually. He intended to get a job and a career and live the rest of his life—yes, in the shadow of his past, but hopefully with a brighter path ahead.
He had started drinking. He was a happy drunk, never a bully or a bore, but when he drank, the darkness he’d experienced came seeping out of the mental box he’d stuffed it all in. He cried when he got drunk, then got drunker to numb the memories.
With the help of therapy and Astrid, his rock, he’d gotten the drinking under control. For now. No alcoholic—and he admitted that’s what he was—could ever be completely safe from a sudden stumble and a long, long fall.
But not today.
Now everything he’d escaped four years earlier was back. The threat was bigger. The horror even deeper. The possibility of survival even lower.
And the thing was, he was happier than he’d been in a long while. Especially knowing—though with a twinge of guilt—that the bulk of the weight was on Dekka’s shoulders now.
He was back! School Bus Sam, who became Sam Temple, the hero of the FAYZ, had acquired a new power, and surfing would once again be delayed.
Sam Temple 3.0.
Was a part of him itching to be in charge? Yes, but it was a very, very small part. It was someone else’s turn.
He looked down at han
ds that once had fired killing beams of light. He’d half expected the rock to regift him that same power, but, as always, the rock seemed to have its own agenda.
Now, sitting apart from the others in a dark corner of the armory, Sam began to change, subtly. He became shiny, like he’d been run through a car wash and opted for the clearcoat. Shiny, and slick, and hard to the touch. He had taken a selfie and studied the effect. He looked like himself, yes, but himself dipped in clear plastic.
He raised his right hand, palm facing up. And a transparent sphere appeared, just six inches across and hovering like a soap bubble waiting for a breeze. With his left hand he flicked the sphere and felt its solidity.