The rapturous cheers of the audience reverberated within Javier. For the first time since he agreed to the switch with Jack, he felt convinced that he had made the right choice. He would make his impact on the world. He had the will, like Johnson said, and Jack’s string would pave the way.
The moderator turned to Congressman Rollins, and Javi frowned at the sight of Jack’s uncle, his hair stiffly parted and glistening under the stage lights, a phony grin chiseled into his smoothly shaven face—right down to the dimple. A man had been killed at Anthony’s rally in New York, and it hardly seemed to affect him.
“Well, I would first like to applaud Senator Johnson on the courage and . . . vulnerability . . . he showed tonight,” Anthony said. “I know that some people have been critical of my response to the recent violence plaguing our country and believe that I am acting unfairly toward short-stringers. But this is not a matter of fairness; it is a matter of national security. As the target of a thwarted attack myself, I will do whatever it takes to keep America safe. As our string-measuring capabilities become even more precise, this task becomes even more urgent. But to those who claim that I don’t have any sympathy for short-stringers, you couldn’t be more wrong. My nephew is a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army, and I am proud to be his uncle. He also has a short string. When I am president, I will lead not only with the strength of someone who will protect our nation, but also with the compassion of someone who has felt the impact of the strings in my very own family.”
As the audience clapped for Rollins, Javier sat dumbfounded on his bed, the uplift of Johnson’s speech instantly swept away.
Jack’s uncle was parading around Jack’s short string—which was actually Javi’s short string—for his own political benefit.
Javi felt sick. His personal misfortune had been corrupted into something that might actually bring to power this greedy, selfish man.
Had Jack known about Anthony’s plan tonight?
Jack had barely mentioned his aunt and uncle in recent weeks, but Javi knew that he had finally started telling his family about his “short string,” which Javi assumed was the reason why Jack had been spending more and more time sitting somberly on the couch, nursing a beer, lethargically eating barbecue chips. Clearly, he had shared the news with Anthony before tonight. But did Jack know that his uncle was going to use him like a fucking pawn on national television?
Javier was too angry to keep watching the debate, so he shut his laptop, pulled on his sneakers, and set off on a run, darting out of his building and across the neighborhood. He kept on running until he reached Georgetown, where his body dropped, tired and panting, on the steps outside Dahlgren Chapel.
Javi gazed at the students conversing and studying and flirting on the lawns around him, the red-brick campus humming with the early autumn energy that can only be felt at a school. Many colleges had apparently doubled the number of on-campus counselors for the coming year, including some specially trained to help students navigate their twenty-second birthdays. Javi heard that plenty of college seniors had vowed not to open their boxes when they arrived, the hashtag #KeepItClosed briefly trending online. But it was easier tweeted than done, Javi thought. Even after four years of training, Javi knew it was impossible to predict exactly how he might react in a high-stress situation. No matter how committed these college kids may feel, the true test was coming face-to-face with the box.
Javi wiped the sweat off his chin, then turned around to look at the small chapel behind him, squinting against the sunset.
He was slightly embarrassed to think that he hadn’t gone to Mass that whole summer. When he was growing up, his parents brought him to church every Sunday, and his mother would slip him little tamarind candies to keep him from squirming in the pew. At the academy, he still attended most major holiday services, but gradually he started forgetting to go.
The strings had apparently sparked a resurgence in faith for many lapsed followers like himself. Javi recalled seeing multiple news reports that worship across all religions had increased in the months after the boxes arrived, accompanied by photos of packed churches and synagogues. His own parents had even remarked that their parish was more crowded than ever, a welcome reversal after years of shrinking patronage.
Javi had spent his childhood steeped in religion. He understood why attendance would be rising now, why people would turn here for help. For many, the strings were either proof of predestination, or just another reminder of the stark randomness of life, the inequities of luck. But surely the chaos didn’t feel so chaotic if you believed it was part of God’s plan.