Sylo

by D. J. MacHale

  “Tucker!” called a sweet voice.

  Olivia Kinsey was waving to us from the porch of the hotel. On a table next to her was a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses. On her body was a tiny red bikini.

  “That looks great,” Quinn said longingly. “The lemonade looks pretty good too.”

  We dragged our sorry selves over as she poured some icy-cold drinks.

  “You guys look like you could use a break,” she said sweetly. “It is so hot.”

  “Really,” Quinn agreed while giving me a sideways look. “Really, really hot.” He wasn’t talking about the weather.

  Olivia was from New York City and had been spending the summer on Pemberwick with her mother. It was her first time on the island. All season I volunteered to work at the Blackbird because, well, Olivia was there. That’s how we met. I was weeding the garden one day and—bang. She appeared like somebody out of a magazine ad for ridiculous hotness. Dad figured out my motives pretty quick and warned me about getting involved with an off-islander who I might never see again. We were actually having that conversation one day when Olivia returned from the beach in the aforementioned bikini. Dad took one look at her and said, “Uh…never mind.”

  Dad was cool.

  Olivia was really out of her big-city element on Pemberwick, so I volunteered to show her around the island. Come to think of it, she came right out and asked me. I wasn’t about to refuse. We went to a lot of movies. She loved movies. Didn’t matter what it was. I also introduced her to most of the people who ran the shops in Arbortown. For somebody who came from the city, she seemed overly interested in how our simple island worked, which was cool, I guess. She had blonde hair that was cut short like a guy’s, but there was nothing else remotely guy-like about her. I never put a move on her, either. Not that I didn’t think about it, but she was way out of my league. She was older than me by a couple of years and went to some uppity prep school in New York and hung out with future captains of industry. I went to a public school on a remote island and hung out with future captains of lobster boats. There wasn’t a whole lot of future for that kind of relationship but it was fun to dream.

  Quinn liked to dream too. His mouth hung open as he stared at her unashamedly. I gave him a small shove to bring him back to reality before the line of drool hit his shoes.

  “Thanks, Olivia, this is great,” I said as I took the cold glass that was already wet with condensation.

  “I’m sorry to hear about the guy from your team,” she said. “What happened?”

  “Funny you should ask,” Quinn said as he stepped forward to begin a lecture on the subject.

  “Nobody knows yet,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not good to start rumors.”

  Quinn backed off.

  Olivia frowned. “So sad. He was having such an amazing game.”

  “You were there?” I asked with surprise.

  Olivia gave me a coy smile. “I wanted to see you play.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed.

  “Oops,” Quinn said and pretended to be focused on his lemonade.

  “Oh. Well, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t play much.”

  “I didn’t see you play at all,” she said bluntly.

  There was no pretense with Olivia—and no filter. She wasn’t malicious; she just said what was on her mind.

  “Tucker’s on the kickoff team,” Quinn said, jumping in to save my dignity. “The most dangerous part of the game because they give up their bodies with no concern for their own well-being. They call them Kamikazes.”

  “No, they don’t,” I said, scoffing. Then quickly added for Olivia’s benefit, “But it is pretty dangerous.”

  Olivia gave a pouty frown. “I don’t know much about football. I just wanted to see you play.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll get that chance,” came a voice from inside.

  The screen door opened and Kent Berringer stepped out. Kent was the starting middle linebacker on our team. A junior. He was a tall guy with blond hair that was always perfectly messed up and a tan that lasted through the winter. His family was old-school Pemberwick. They’d lived there for centuries and acted as though they owned the place…because in some ways they actually did. His family owned the Blackbird Inn, meaning Quinn and I had been mowing the grass for Kent. Indirectly.

  He stood next to Olivia, looking down on Quinn and me from the porch like he was the lord of the mansion…which I guess he was.

  “How do you figure that?” I asked. “Freshmen don’t play much.”

  “Unless a starting senior drops dead,” Kent said with an incredible lack of tact.

  It hadn’t hit me until that moment. I was Marty’s backup.

  “That’s right!” Quinn exclaimed. “That makes you the starting tailback.”

  “You up for that, Rook?” Kent asked, as if he didn’t think I was even close to being up for it.

  My head was spinning. “I…I guess.”

  “You better be,” he added.

  It came across like a threat. There’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence, and Kent came down firmly on the arrogant side. The Blackbird was the nicest hotel on Pemberwick Island, which meant that Kent’s family was rich and Kent was set for life. He knew it, too. He treated most everyone like he was their boss. Of course, in my case he actually was my boss.

  “I saw you play, Kent,” Olivia said, suddenly all coy and flirty. “You were so…violent.”

  She emphasized the word “violent” as if it made her all tingly just to think about it.

  Kent shrugged with fake modesty.

  Quinn rolled his eyes.

  I had no right to be jealous, but I was.

  “So does this mean you’ll come watch me play again next week?” I asked, trying to reclaim the conversation.

  Olivia frowned. “I’m not sure. School starts soon, so I don’t know how much longer we’ll be staying.”

  “Your school starts late,” Quinn pointed out.

  Olivia shrugged. “What can I say? Private school. They make up their own rules.”

  “But you’re not leaving today,” Kent said. “Let’s catch a movie.”

  Jealousy growing.

  Olivia brightened. “Kent Berringer! Why did you wait until the end of the summer to ask me out?”

  I knew why. She’d been hanging out with me. But now that I had been revealed to be the bench-jockey scrub and Kent the violent star, the dynamic had changed.

  “I wanted to,” Kent explained with a shrug. “From the minute I met you, but hotel policy says we can’t socialize with guests.”

  “Too bad,” I said, not meaning it.

  Kent added, “But seeing as you won’t be a guest much longer, I think it’ll be okay.”

  Quinn kept looking back and forth between me and them, hoping I would say something to stop the Kent-train from gathering speed.

  “Why don’t we all go!” he declared with a touch of desperation. “You know, a group thing like you see on TV.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Olivia said with genuine enthusiasm.

  Quinn beamed. He had successfully derailed the express.

  “Sorry, Rook,” Kent said. “Your father agreed to finish the lawn today and you’re not even halfway done.” He lifted up the lemonade pitcher and added, “Too many breaks, I guess.”

  And the train was back on the tracks.

  “Rook?” Quinn asked with mock confusion. “What’s with the chess reference, Kent? You strike me as more of a checkers guy.”

  Kent glared at him. Quinn knew full well that “Rook” was short for “rookie” and that Kent didn’t know a pawn from a bishop, but as I said, Quinn liked to push buttons.

  Kent ignored him and faced Olivia. “You should get dressed. As much as I’d like to hang out with you like that, you might get cold in the movie theater.”

  Olivia giggled and backed toward the front door. “You are so bad! Back in a jiff!”

  She spun away and skip
ped inside.

  “Jiff?” Quinn repeated with confusion.

  Kent gave me a triumphant smile and said, “Finish the job, go home, and rest up for Monday.”

  He left us standing there holding our lemonade glasses.

  “What’s Monday?” Quinn asked.

  “Practice. I’m the starting tailback now, remember?”

  “And you just lost the hottest girl on the island,” Quinn added. “You’re oh-for-two today, my friend. Let’s hope you do better on Monday.”

  As it turned out I didn’t have to worry about practice the following Monday. It was canceled out of respect for Marty. There was no practice for the rest of the week and Friday’s game was postponed. I’d never had to deal with the finality of death. All four of my grandparents had died before I was old enough to understand how it all worked. It was a strange feeling to know that I was the last person Marty had ever spoken to. The memory of his final few moments haunted me. What had been wrong with him? Did he know he was about to die or was it just the excitement of the game talking? I wondered if I should tell somebody about it, like his parents, but decided it would only make them feel worse if they knew Marty’s state of mind at the end had been so—so what? Troubled? Confused? Frightened?

  The funeral was held on Tuesday afternoon at the big white Congregational church near the town square. The whole football team was there. Coach asked us to wear our game jerseys, which I thought was a bad idea. Marty had died during the game. His parents didn’t need to be reminded. But I was part of the team so I went along.

  The church was packed. Looking around I saw many of the same faces I had seen watching with worry from the bleachers as Marty lay still in the end zone. I had never been to a funeral before so I didn’t know what to expect. I imagined everyone would be all weepy but it wasn’t like that at all. I think everyone was in shock. Especially Marty’s family. He had two younger sisters who sat with their parents, stone-faced, in the front row next to the coffin. I couldn’t imagine a sight more tragic than that.

  The service lasted a long time, with many people getting up to talk about what a great guy Marty was. I hadn’t known him that well because I was three years younger, but hearing the speeches made me truly sad that such a good guy had died…and that his last few moments had been so troubled.

  Looking around, I scanned the faces of the people who had come to say goodbye. It was a gut-wrenching scene. Quinn sat next to me and his parents next to him. He hadn’t known Marty very well either, but in a small town, you showed up. My eyes wandered over the crowd to see the gaunt looks on so many familiar faces—

  And one unfamiliar face. It was the surfer dude from the game. He stood in the back of the church, still wearing his hoodie and sunglasses.

  I turned to Quinn and whispered, “Who is that guy standing in the back?”

  Quinn twisted around to look and said, “What guy?”

  “The guy with the—”

  I turned to point him out, but the man was already gone.

  FIVE

  “What more proof do you need that football is too dangerous?” Mom asked as we walked along Main Street toward home after the funeral service. “Young boys aren’t built to take that kind of punishment.”

  Mom didn’t want me on the football team in the first place but had been outvoted two to one at the beginning of training camp. I had to hope that the situation hadn’t changed enough for her to convince Dad to rethink his vote…especially not since I had become the starting tailback with the chance to impress a girl in a tiny red bikini.

  Dad said, “You’re overreacting, Stacy. I played organized ball for six years and lived to tell the tale.”

  “And you’ve got an arthritic knee to show for it.”

  “That’s not from football,” Dad countered.

  “No? It sure didn’t come from jazz band.”

  That was a good one but I didn’t laugh. I was on Dad’s side.

  “Look,” Dad said. “Marty died and that’s horrible but it doesn’t mean we should keep Tucker from playing. Things happen. Heck, he could get hit by a bus tomorrow.”

  “I hate that saying,” Mom groused.

  “But it’s true,” Dad pressed. “People have to live their lives and do the things that make them happy. We’ve got to remember that.”

  That seemed like an overly philosophical argument for such a simple issue but Dad was on a roll so I didn’t point it out.

  “We moved here to make a better life,” Mom argued. “A safer life. You know that as well as I do.”

  “I do,” Dad said. “But we still have to be who we are. If we can’t do that, then why are we here?”

  The argument had gone from philosophical straight into weird.

  “What was so unsafe about our lives before?” I asked. “I thought you just got fired and wanted a change.”

  Mom and Dad exchanged looks and fell silent. It was like they had said too much and regretted it.

  “Am I missing something?” I added.

  “No,” Mom said, now calm. “I’m just…worried.”

  “Jeez, Mom, it’s just football. It’s not like I’m going to war.”

  That ended the argument. They both backed off without reaching a decision, which meant I was still cleared to play. But I was left with an uneasy feeling that had nothing to do with football. The idea that we had come to Pemberwick Island to get away from a life that was somehow unsafe was something I’d never imagined. It had an ominous ring, but I didn’t press the issue. I thought it best to leave well enough alone. I was still on the team and for that I was grateful….

  Until the following Monday when practice began again.

  Putting it simply, I got my brains beaten in.

  “Pierce!” Coach screamed. “Don’t save it for the prom!”

  Coach was full of colorful sayings that made little sense but got the point across. Up until then I had been flying under the radar as a glorified tackling dummy. Now I was the starting tailback trying to fill the shoes of an all-star. I felt like a little kid playing with the big boys—because that’s exactly what I was. And the big boys wanted to hurt me.

  “Rip, knock-six on two,” our QB called in the huddle.

  It was an off-tackle handoff to me. The same play that Marty ran for a touchdown. His last. We came up to the line, got set, the quarterback barked, “Go!” and I launched forward. It was a perfect handoff, right into my gut. I wrapped my arms around the ball, kept my head up, and charged ahead. Running through the hole, I planted and cut for the sidelines. I was ready to turn on the afterburners when I got hit so hard I saw colors. The next thing I knew I was on the ground with Kent Berringer looking down at me through his face mask.

  “Olivia’s here to watch you get your ass kicked,” he said with a smile.

  I hated hearing that, which was probably why he told me. I staggered to my feet and trotted back to the huddle. A quick glance to the sideline showed Olivia standing there wearing white short-shorts and a blue halter top. She gave me a wave and a sympathetic smile. Swell. I had an audience for my undoing.

  “Quit fiddle-farting around, Pierce!” Coach shouted. “Stick your shoulders in there and keep your legs pumping.”

  Shoulders…pumping…farting. Got it.

  It was a trial by fire and I was getting burned. Kent had the defense all riled up and raring to get out their frustrations—on me. I didn’t get any sympathy from the offense, either. They had lost their captain and all they had to replace him was an inexperienced freshman. I wanted to believe they were making an effort to block for me, but it sure seemed as though I was taking an above-average pounding.

  Mercifully, practice came to an end before I was knocked unconscious. Coach gathered us together to congratulate us on a good workout and to let us know we’d be playing the rest of the season in honor of Marty. That brought on a big cheer.

  “We were dealt a bad hand,” he said. “But we’ll do the best we can with it.”

  I wasn’t sure if th
e bad hand was because Marty had died or because they were stuck with a pathetic running back to replace him. Probably both.

  As we left the field, none of the players acknowledged the fact that I had so valiantly withstood a brutal pounding. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Rooks didn’t get respect, no matter what the circumstances.

  Olivia was already gone. Just as well. Neither of us would have known what to say.

  When I got home I was exhausted, and sore, and embarrassed, and I had homework, and, and, and—the whole situation had me ready to explode. So after dinner I got out of the house and went for a walk to clear my head. I didn’t want to go anywhere near downtown for fear I’d run into some football fan who would remind me of how inadequate I was. Instead I headed for the beach. One of the great things about living on an island is that you’re never far from the water.

  The sun cast a warm red glow on the ocean and lit up a ribbon of thin clouds that stretched across the horizon for as far as I could see. I had gone there to clear my head, but looking out over the ocean reminded me of the exploding shadow. By now over a week had gone by and no information had come out about what it was. There was a short article in the local paper that talked about “two local boys” who witnessed the strange event, but that was it. All week the paper had been filled with articles about Marty. Nobody cared about what Quinn and I had seen.

  We had both gotten phone calls from the Coast Guard and were asked to repeat the story, but they didn’t have any more information to offer back. It was the same as Sheriff Laska had said on the night of the explosion: No boats or planes were reported missing. It was beginning to look as though Dad was right. The military might have been performing some secret tests.

  Either that, or Quinn and I had been hallucinating.

  I sat down in the cool sand to stare out at the ocean…and the mainland far in the distance. It seemed so far away, as if it were another world. In many ways, it was.

  In spite of the recent disturbing events, I liked living on Pemberwick. The islanders who lived here year-round were pretty cool. I guess you’d call it a neighborly place where everybody knew most everybody else. Most of the men worked on fishing or lobster boats. That’s what Pemberwick was all about. That and tourism. The summer crowds brought in the big bucks, which supported the people who owned the inns or worked the ferries or clerked in the shops or did any one of the other thousand jobs that kept the island humming with summer fun. Quinn and I had even pulled traps on a lobster boat that past summer. It was tough work, but we learned a lot about boats and the sea. It was a pretty simple life—and there wasn’t much chance of getting cast aside like they did to my dad back in Greenwich when some corporation needed to cut expenses to increase profits. That world scared me. Pemberwick, on the other hand, made sense. It was safe. I could see myself living here for a good long time. Who needed the real world?