“Yeah, I did, but I guess I thought…” Mir trailed off, picking up the notebook and staring at it in awe. “Well, I kinda thought you were studying.”
“How long have you known me?” Evan half yelled, earning another pointed look from the librarian. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “When do I ever study?”
“When I make you!” Mir hissed back.
Mir held the well-thumbed spiral notebook in her hands, carefully flipping through it. She glanced up at Evan once, out of the corner of her eye, and saw his cheeks were pink from embarrassment. But he was smiling, encouraged by her interest. The amount of writing in the notebook was astonishing, pages and pages of words, hardly any paragraph breaks, filled with stories. Evan’s stories. She’d never seen him write like this before.
Mir closed the notebook.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
Evan shrugged.
“I thought it might be weird. Jamie and Raleigh don’t care about comics, so why would I tell them? And you’ve got history with the TomorrowMen. Really complicated history. I thought you might not like that I write stories about them.”
“I think it’s awesome, Evan,” Mir said. Evan smiled, kind of shyly. The shyness looked strange on him. Mir was so used to him being loud and fearless, the life of every drama class.
“It’s nothing,” he said, reaching for the notebook. Mir let him take it, stuffing the book back in his bag. She tore the lined sheet with Evan’s TomorrowMen story from her notebook, and started to stand up.
“Let’s type this up while it’s still fresh, okay?”
Evan grabbed Mir’s hand and pulled her back down to her chair. His face was serious.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Mir said, concerned. Evan stared at her for what felt like an agonizingly long time, then plunged forward.
“You and this Warrick guy, is there something … um, he came to see you in the store that day, didn’t he? Is there something with you and him?”
Mir’s stomach lurched. She remembered the way Weldon’s face had brightened when he’d seen her behind the Emporium of Wonders’ front desk, the way he’d hesitated when he saw she wasn’t alone. Evan had noticed that.
“I don’t—no, I don’t think so,” Mir said.
“But you guys had met before, right?”
“Yeah. He came into the store two weeks ago. I think he’s spending the summer in Sandford. I’ve met him maybe three times, I barely know him.” Mir gave Evan her best serious expression, the one usually reserved for discussing grades with teachers. Evan let go of her hand, leaning back in his chair. Mir thought she caught an expression of relief flicker across his face, but the moment passed so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it.
“Cool,” said Evan. Mir took the scribbled-on notebook paper to one of the library’s terrible computers, a beige box that was probably obsolete the minute the library bought it. She sat down in front of the computer, Evan dragging over a nearby chair to sit beside her. Mir pulled up Microsoft Word and flexed her fingers over the computer keyboard. She typed “Tristan Terrific Script, draft 1, by Evan Willis” at the top of the new document.
“Did you want to put your name in there too? You’re helping me,” Evan said.
Mir shook her head.
“It’s your story, Evan. I’m just your typing monkey. Although I expect compensation when you get hired by Warrick Studios and spend the next thirty years getting rich writing TomorrowMen comics.”
“I will buy you a solid gold toilet,” Evan said solemnly, scooting his chair closer to Mir. Mir typed the opening words she had scrawled in her notebook:
PAGE 1
PANEL 1: Tristan Terrific catapults backward out of a window, glass breaking all around him. He is tied to a chair, a ticking time bomb strapped to the back of it.
CAPTION (NARRATION): I wish my name wasn’t Tristan Terrific.
Evan grinned, leaning over Mir’s shoulder.
“This is going to be awesome.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The following Saturday, Weldon went running again. He jogged easily into town, over the bridge, through the brief swell of traffic that was Sandford’s pitiful downtown, and into the park by the waterfront. There were other joggers dotting the paths, nimbly dodging people walking their dogs, nodding the occasional hello. It all felt cozy and very small town.
Weldon turned his conversation with his father over and over in his head. San Diego Comic-Con floated in the future like a glittering prize. All he had to do was be good for the summer. No stealing cars, no fights, no screwing up. Be good, be good. Weldon sucked in a breath and picked up speed, his feet sweeping over the dirt path.
“I’ll trust you to make the right decisions,” David Warrick had said.
Has he really never said that to me? Weldon thought. He rewound memories from the past few years. His parents fighting, his mom leaving, her absence like a scab ripped off too soon. His dad throwing everything into getting the TomorrowMen movie off the ground. Weldon alone in their Burbank house, feeling the emptiness of every room. It made him want to crawl out of his skin, made him want to put his fist through whatever wall was closest to him. Weldon lowered his head, pumped his arms, and made the ground move even faster under his feet. He ran David Warrick’s words back through his head: I’ll trust you to make the right decisions. I trust you. I trust you.
What changed in two weeks that he would say that to me? Weldon dug his feet into the dirt path as he jogged up an incline. The park wasn’t flat; it sloped up and away from the water. Weldon liked the extra challenge of the hills.
Maybe Dad’s just happier now. His movie’s nearly finished, the trailer will be premiering soon. Everything’s finally coming up Warrick.
Weldon reached the top of the hill and paused, turning to look down toward the water. Sandford weather was dreary and gray even in late May, but a bit of sunlight had managed to creep through the ceiling of clouds. The water sparkled for a moment.
Weldon turned away and resumed his jog. Kinda getting fond of this awful place, he thought, shaking his head.
He was jogging through downtown, heading for the bridge and home, when he spotted the boys. At first he wasn’t sure why they looked so familiar; then one of them aggressively punched another boy in the shoulder and Weldon recognized the arc of the boy’s swing. That same boy had swung his fist toward Weldon’s face in payback for stealing his car. Ice shot down his spine and he froze, not sure what to do. He decided hiding was his best option and scurried ahead of the group of boys, toward the Running Realm. He pulled the front door open and slid inside in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. If the boys spotted him, he’d be cornered.
Weldon watched from behind a blank-faced mannequin as the boys sauntered by, shoving and shouting at one another. He realized he was clenching his fists, and deliberately opened his hands, pressing his palms against his thighs. Blood pounded in his ears, a violent staccato. He imagined stepping outside the store, calling out to them. He imagined recognition lighting their faces. He saw himself buried under a hail of blows, saw his nose break, his forehead split open, saw booted feet descend to blacken his vision. There was no Miriam flying out the doors of the Emporium of Wonders to save his life.
“Hey,” said a voice behind him. Weldon turned to see Ellie leaning on the store counter, her chin in her hands. “You hiding?”
Weldon took a breath, his stomach lurching.
“Yeah. That okay?”
Ellie walked out from behind the counter and joined him at the window, staring out at the group of boys across the street.
“Oh, those douchebags,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Yeah, hide all you want. I hate those guys.” She extended her hand, flipping her middle finger toward the boys.
“Thanks for letting me hide,” said Weldon.
“Anything I can do to mess with those guys,” Ellie said, still staring out the window. “Typical Sandford losers. There’s nothin
g to do in this shitty town, so all they do is go around beating people up and getting drunk. They’re the worst.
“What’d you do to them? Something good?” Ellie grinned, her eyes narrowing happily.
“One of them left his car running and unlocked, so I took it.”
Ellie laughed and clapped her hands, delighted. Weldon shook his head to hide the smile creeping across his face. Ellie would’ve bought him a drink after the fight, congratulating him on his fine adventure.
“You’re not from around here, are you? I remember a lady came in a couple weeks back, saying her nephew would be staying for the summer, and he jogged, so…” Ellie left the sentence hanging.
“My dad’s from here,” said Weldon. “He moved to California after high school. That’s where I’m from.”
“Really,” said Ellie. The word came out liquid and full of intrigue. Her eyes dipped up and down Weldon, impressed. “I’ve always wanted to go to the West Coast.”
“Canadian West Coast or American?” said Weldon.
“Either. Both. That side is where things happen. All the artists are there, all the people who make things. It’s like there’s something in the Pacific water; everyone who wants to be someone or do something interesting gets drawn there.”
“You can do things or be somebody on the East Coast as well,” said Weldon. “Lots of artists in New York. Stephen King’s in Maine, that’s East Coast.”
“Not this East Coast,” said Ellie, her mouth smiling, her eyes angry. “Not this shitty town.”
Ellie moved away from him, walking toward the store counter. She stood behind it and pretended to arrange a pile of metal water bottles. Weldon walked over to her, drawn by the bitterness in her voice.
“You don’t like it here?”
“Sandford is fine,” Ellie said, peering intently at one of the bottles in the display. “It’s fine if you have money and can live across the bridge in the nice section of town. But it’s a terrible place to live if you’re just starting out, because there’s nothing to start out with. No jobs that aren’t working in retail or slinging booze on one of the tourist cruises.”
Ellie sighed, leaning back from her bottle display.
“Listen to me, griping about prospects in this town. I am so old.”
Weldon looked at her, the freckles spread across her nose, the fit lines of her body. She didn’t look older than twenty, but she might be. The store she stood in was gleaming and new, mannequins posed immaculately, showing off their designer running clothes. But he saw it through her eyes, this feeling of being stuck in one place while the rest of the world moved on without you.
“So why are you here, instead of in LA where things actually happen?” Ellie asked, looking up at Weldon.
“I’m in exile,” Weldon said. “My dad is making a superhero movie, and I’m a distraction. So I got sent to the ass-end of Canada until the movie’s done.”
Ellie’s eyes lit up.
“A superhero movie? Which one?”
“The TomorrowMen.”
“Oh, I loved them as a kid,” Ellie said, delighted, a hand fluttering to her mouth. Weldon smiled, feeling a familiar flush of recognition and pride. Everyone loved the TomorrowMen. Even if they’d never read a comic, they still remembered the shows or owned some toy or T-shirt with the TomorrowMen insignia on it. “I dressed up as Skylark for Halloween one year. I think I was in grade four. God, I loved her.”
“She’s the best one,” Weldon agreed.
“So are you going to make movies too?” Ellie said. She leaned forward a little, her expression openly envious. “If your dad is making them, you must want to as well. He could get you a job. You could be the next Steven Spielberg. Or Quentin Tarantino.”
She laughed.
“Or, I don’t know, a famous screenwriter. I don’t know the names of any screenwriters, but I’m sure there are some famous ones.”
Weldon hesitated. He remembered Miriam describing her mother’s relationship to her paintings. To Stella, making art was something she needed to do, a necessity for living. Losing that part of her would be like losing a limb. He remembered the comic artists and writers clumped together in small, drunken groups in his parents’ house in San Diego. Talking about comics, only comics, like there was nothing else in the world. I’ve never felt that way about anything, Weldon thought.
“No,” said Weldon, “I don’t want to make movies.” He was surprised at the decisiveness of his words, but he knew they were true. If the TomorrowMen movie was as successful as expected, David Warrick had a slate of films ready to follow the first movie. Solo films starring each individual TomorrowMan waited in the wings. If Weldon behaved himself and earned his father’s trust, there might be a job for him in the Warrick Studio universe. Weldon flinched at the thought of being forever chained to his father’s comic book universe, his career dependent on David Warrick. I want to be with my dad at Comic-Con this year, to see the TomorrowMen movie trailer premiere, he thought. And then I want to figure out what I want to do with my life. Which will be different from what he does with his life.
“You’re just going to throw away that opportunity?” Ellie said. Her voice had an edge. Weldon saw the envy had transformed into anger. He was dismissing opportunities she would never have.
“It’s just … It’s just a coincidence, it’s not an opportunity,” Weldon said. He felt resentful of her anger. She didn’t know his father, or the tangled world of the TomorrowMen. “I just happen to be related to someone who makes movies. Some people are incredibly talented and love filmmaking, but they’re not related to people who run a movie studio. Why should I take the career of someone who really wants to work in movies just because my dad is David Warrick?”
Ellie turned her face away, rubbing her arms as though she was suddenly cold. A tension hung between them. Weldon waited, wondering if she would continue to argue. She moved away from him, walking behind the store counter. Weldon straightened, feeling like he was being dismissed.
“I’ll see you around,” he said. Ellie nodded, still not looking at him. Weldon left the store, the small, quaint bell hanging from the front door jangling with his exit.
Outside on the sidewalk, he scanned quickly for the gang of boys. There was no sign of them. He jogged back to his aunt and uncle’s house, checking carefully behind him every five minutes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Something felt wrong. It was Sunday, and Mir’s shift at the Emporium of Wonders was six hours, the longest shift she’d worked since Berg asked her to take a week off. Mir walked toward the back of the Emporium of Wonders, trying to put her finger on the feeling that something in the store was off. She had just started to re-alphabetize the graphic novels when Berg called her name. He was standing in the doorway to his office, his eyes sadder and droopier than normal.
“Miriam, can I talk to you?”
“Sure, but no one’s watching the store and it’s still an hour before closing.”
“Put up the closed sign,” Berg said. “It’s important.”
Miriam felt cold. She walked to the front of the store and flipped the OPEN/CLOSED sign around. In Berg’s office, she sat on a chair opposite his desk, feeling like an intruder. Like she hadn’t spent hours in that office over the past year, helping Berg stack and sort papers, laughing with him about weird customers. Berg always asked about her family, especially about her mother’s garden. How big was it this summer? Were there new plants? What kind of fertilizer was Stella using? Mir would bug him to visit: “Mom and Dad would love to have you over, Berg! Like old times”—but he always brushed her off. “Too busy, Mir. Tell them I’m sorry. Send them my love.”
“The store is closing, Miriam,” said Berg.
Mir waited to feel something, but nothing came. All the small puzzling moments from the past months fell firmly into place. Berg cutting her hours, the disorganization in the store, the dirty front window. The look of giving up had been draped over the Emporium of Wonders for months. She’
d seen the end coming without even realizing it.
“There’s something else,” Berg continued. “I can’t pay you for the last two weeks of work.”
“But—” The protest hung on Mir’s lips. She couldn’t think of words to follow it, her mouth pushing out the “But” prematurely, no argument to back it up. “But I … I … worked! I worked today!” she finished, lamely.
“I’m sorry, Mir, but everything’s gone,” Berg said. “My creditors ate it all, and it still wasn’t enough. There’s nothing left to pay you. I’m really sorry. I know you were saving your money for school.”
“I guess I was saving for school,” Mir said, more to herself than Berg. She had already counted the money in her head. She had counted forward a year, counted out her work hours times her hourly pay, adding it all up. She had already imagined putting all the money she was going to earn in her bank account, had counted it in her head against the cost of tuition to McGill, to the University of Toronto, to any other university that caught her eye. The money she didn’t have yet had made her feel safe. And now it was gone.
Berg reached out his hand and placed it on top of Mir’s hand, which was wringing the life out of her work shirt.
“You’re a good kid,” he said. “You worked hard for me, and you deserve better. I really wanted to hang on for another year, just so you could earn a little more money. And now I can’t even pay you for the last two weeks. Please forgive me.”
It was horrible to hear him say that, and she pulled her hand away from his. Mir stood and walked out of the office. She grabbed her backpack and walked out of the store. On the sidewalk she struggled with the straps of her backpack, putting the wrong arm through one strap, trying to correct, and putting the wrong arm through the strap again. After two tries, she managed to get the backpack on. Mir drew in a shaky breath and looked down the street. The make-your-own-pottery store had a new sign in the window, advertising evening classes for beginner artisans. Two women were leaving the designer yoga pants store, brown paper shopping bags dangling from their arms.
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