The Measure(51)

Nina steeled herself with a cleansing breath. “Well, on a brighter note, this would be a pretty good date spot, right? Sharing tapas is very romantic.” Nina nudged her sister with her eyebrows. “Maybe you can bring someone here, and then Mom will stop pestering me about your lack of love life.”

Amie shook her head in mock frustration while reaching for a piece of bread. “She has no idea how weird it is to date now. As if it weren’t hard enough before! It’s like there’s this string-size elephant in the room the entire time.”

Nina just nodded. The old times were gone, and she was foolish to want otherwise.

“So, I’m guessing there isn’t anyone special right now?” Nina asked.

“Only you, my dear sister.” Amie grinned as she bit into the slice of bread.

“Well, maybe if you stopped hogging the bread basket and learned to share . . .” Nina teased, pulling the dish closer to her.

“Hey!” Amie dipped two fingertips in her glass of water and flicked a drop at her sister, like they were two kids back in their parents’ kitchen, fighting over the last french fry on the plate.

“Don’t embarrass me!” Nina smiled. “This is a nice restaurant.”

Amie laughed. “Okay, Mom.”

The old times were gone, Nina thought. But at least this remained.





Jack




Jack missed the old times. Before graduation, before the strings, before he and Javi were forced to open their boxes and reveal their strings to the army. Before his uncle became a household name.

Anthony was never supposed to get this famous. He was never supposed to have this many fans—and a worrisome number of opponents. After the strings arrived, Jack assumed that Anthony’s limp campaign would barely last through spring. But here he was, in August now, less than a year out from the conventions and only gaining momentum.

Ever since the June debate, Anthony’s speeches earned more and more attention, and Katherine kept pressuring Jack to attend their events. (Apparently it was crucial, in the wake of the controversial STAR Initiative, to showcase Anthony’s military support.)

Katherine had just invited Jack to join them at a massive rally in Manhattan, but he was still deciding whether or not to go. He hadn’t yet told his aunt and uncle about his “short string,” and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stall. Eventually someone would ask.

Jack was trying to delay that talk as long as possible. He had already suffered through one false admission, last month at the army recruiting office, the memory of which continued to haunt him: Jack sitting in the chair across from Major Riggs, his thighs starting to sweat, worrying that the droplets might seep through his pants and expose him as a hideous imposter. He had tried to lift his legs up slightly, imperceptibly, so they wouldn’t press quite as closely against the seat.

“Have you already opened the box yourself?” the major asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And?”

“It’s quite short, sir. Five or six more years, at most.”

Major Riggs noiselessly slid the box toward himself—the chest bearing Jack Hunter’s name, holding Javier García’s fate—and measured the string for himself, his lips pursed tightly, his focus intent. He didn’t seem to enjoy this particular assignment, invading the lives of his fellow soldiers. But he wore a tough face.

“I’m very sorry about that,” said the major, recording the official length for his notes. And Jack realized, then, that it didn’t matter if he was visibly anxious. It didn’t even matter that the pen had nearly slipped out of his hand as he struggled to sign the affidavit. Major Riggs would simply assume that he was upset about his string.



Jack turned on the TV in his apartment, desperate for a distraction from thoughts of his uncle and memories of Major Riggs, and happily landed on the Nationals game. But the fourth inning had barely begun when the game cut to commercial and a new “Rollins for America” ad started playing.

The face of a petite blonde woman filled the screen.

“My name is Louisa,” the woman said, “and I was walking near the Capitol on the morning of June tenth, when the bomb went off. When a short-stringer set off the explosive that he had spent weeks building.”

The camera pulled back to reveal that the woman was seated, missing one of her legs.

“I understand the pain this man must have felt after seeing his short string. But why did he have to thrust that same pain onto so many others?” Louisa’s eyes glistened as she spoke. “I trust Congressman Anthony Rollins to keep our cities safe, so no other innocent bystanders will have to suffer what I went through.”

Anthony was really laying it on thick, Jack thought. What happened to that woman was undeniably terrible, but it wasn’t exactly a daily occurrence. Nor had the country been some bastion of peace before the strings arrived.

Toward the end of the ad, Anthony himself appeared. “That’s why I’m a proud member of the presidential task force created in response to the strings, as well as an original supporter of the STAR Initiative and future legislation that will protect all Americans, like Louisa, from further violence,” he said. “I’m Anthony Rollins, and I approve this message.”

Jack was shocked. Anthony was a part of the president’s task force? Anthony helped create the STAR Initiative?