“My mom wants me at home.” I turn to Eli. “Can I come tomorrow?”
He freezes, halfway to putting down another rock. “I…”
“I’ll help with the gardening again! Look how fast we got stuff done today.” Never mind that he did most of it and I just stacked rocks. I press on, giving him a thumbs-up with one hand while I grab Wonder’s leash and hook it on with my other. “It’ll be great. Okay? I’ll come at one thirty. See you then!”
Before he can protest, Wonder and I are out the gate.
Chapter 9
THE CARING AND KEEPING OF VETERANS
When I get back home from an early walk on Tuesday morning, Mom’s not in her office, even though she was working on some important blog entry when I left. I take off Wonder Dog’s leash.
“Mom?” I call, scratching at my itchy elbow. The new scab from saving Paddle Boy pinches my skin whenever I bend my arm.
“Here!”
I lean over the stairs to look up and spot Mom leaving the ex-guest-room/new-studio-in-progress. She shuts the door before I can see more than pastel-pink walls. Weird choice of color.
“How is it outside?” she asks, coming down with a bounce to her step. “I’m thinking about going to Old Town to have a chat with a guy about his military-friendly business. Want to come with?” She slips past me on her way to pull out her biking shoes. “I know it sounds boring, but I suspect it will actually be pretty cool. And we can grab some Nicecream while we’re in town.”
“Are you going to bike?” I ask, though it’s an obvious question. “When Aunt Lexie and I were out, she seemed kind of concerned about that.”
“Pfft, Lexie is a worrier.” Mom blows a strand of hair off her face, then pauses to redo her ponytail. “You don’t have to come along. I know an eight-mile ride isn’t exactly what the kids call ‘fun’ these days, but all this room setup has me stir-crazy!”
“What time do you think we’d be back?” I ask, thinking of my one thirty appointment with Eli.
“Definitely before noon. I don’t want to be out during the middle of the day.”
Aunt Lexie is kind of a worrier, but also when she worries, she tends to be right about things. It’d be better if Mom didn’t bike alone, either way. And the offer of Nicecream is too good to pass up. “I’ll come. But I think it’s too hot for Wonder.”
Mom nods. “Why don’t you get her settled while I grab the bikes?”
Ten minutes later, Mom and I are turning off Wakefield Street and onto Stratford Lane. We go right past Eli’s house, and I sneak a look at the windows. Curtains and stillness, per normal. No one would suspect a superhero lives there.
We bike down to George Washington Parkway, cross over to the Potomac side, and join the paved trail that snakes all the way from Mount Vernon past Washington, DC, to Roosevelt Island. I know, because me and my parents have done the whole route before. All eighteen miles of it.
There’s not enough room on the bike lanes for us to stay side by side, so Mom cruises ahead. I hit my regular speed and zone out, watching the woods in their green-gold haze and catching glimpses of the Potomac. The huge river might look pretty under the blue sky today, but it’s really a tan-brown color. Every now and then I get a whiff of the smell—salty dead fish. My heartbeat shifts to match the rhythm of my pedaling. Sunlight and shadows race over my hands. Every time I bend or straighten my arms, the scab at my elbow stings.
We stop for a water break about halfway to town, in a shady part of the trail with some benches. I sip at my water and scratch my arm.
Mom swats my hand lightly. “Don’t pick that scab.”
I didn’t even realize I was picking it. “Oops.”
Mom turns me to get a good look at it and sighs. She splashes some of her water onto a tissue, then wipes off fresh blood. “We’ll stop and get you some Band-Aids,” she tells me. “If you keep fussing with this, it’s not going to heal right.”
“We have Band-Aids at home,” I remind her, rubbing the now-clean elbow.
“I’m sure we do.” Mom moves my hand away again. “But we’re getting some on this ride. I want that scrape covered.”
I sigh, but there’s no arguing with Mom when she gets like this. Soon, we’re back on the bikes and heading into town. We stop at the CVS, where Mom grabs more bottles of water and a small first aid kit. She makes me open it outside, drench the scrape in antibiotic ointment, and put on a big Band-Aid that almost immediately starts to wrinkle, apparently not pleased being stretched over the elbow.
Mom nods, though, satisfied. “Okay. On to Synergy, then!”
“On to what?” I ask. The sidewalks are wide and empty here, so I can ride beside her.
“Synergy Float Center,” she tells me. “Owned by a veteran. They do lots of alternative treatments for things like PTSD—it’s amazing work. Some of my readers have been asking for a feature about creative ways to help a spouse returning from combat, and I think Chris—that’s the owner—I think he’ll have interesting ideas.”
Float Center. I recognize the words. I think my mom goes there sometimes for migraines? Which would make sense, if that’s how she found out about this guy. By the time we reach the office, even I’m feeling a little hot. Not Mississippi-hot, but enough to look forward to air-conditioning.
We chain our bikes up outside. Mom goes right inside, but I pause to check my lock.
Down the street, someone calls, “Girl!”
I jump, surprised.
A man comes around the corner, moving quickly but with a lurch every other step. He has a strange tool in one hand, and with his other he’s pushing a cart filled with bags. He has wiry gray-brown hair and is wearing army camouflage.
“Girl!” he calls again. His gaze slides past me and the cars without ever rising higher than my knees. “Girl!”
My muscles tense, and my stomach tightens. I don’t think he’s talking to me. But what is he up to?
He’s coming in my direction. I hurry inside. A cold blast of air hits my face. Peaceful piano music plays in the waiting room, and the air smells pure, with a hint of something flowery. I look over my shoulder and out the large front windows. The man is still wandering around, shouting.
“I’m glad you’ve had a good ride here, Mrs. Quick,” the lady behind the counter is saying to Mom. “Chris told me to watch for you. Let me just go get him.”
“Is it okay if I hop in your bathroom first?” Mom asks with a laugh, pushing back her hair.
The lady smiles and points to the door. While Mom goes to freshen up, I find a seat near the window and sip my water.
The man passes the window. He seems to be whispering now, but I can see his mouth moving. “Girl? Girl?”
I lean forward to watch while he goes to the opposite end of the block. Something very fishy is going on here. I run through my mental list of suspicious characters I’d find in comics. This man is ragged and messy, like a scientist who lost his job and went rogue. Performing his own experiments on the streets. Biding his time until he can unleash his revenge on the city.
Mom comes back into the waiting room, wearing casual business-y clothes. She’s put her hair up in a bun, so it looks more like it’s slightly wet instead of sweaty. A middle-aged guy—Chris?—comes from the back and starts to chat with her. I glance outside.
“Nadia, you want to come with?” Mom asks. “Or stay out here?”
The raggedy man is ambling in this direction again, and now he has a small squirming animal under one arm. Without looking away, I tell Mom, “I’ll stay here.”
Footsteps leave the room. The receptionist answers a phone call. The man comes closer, talking to the small furry animal.
A dog. It’s a small, scruffy dog. It yips and twists in his arms.
Where did that dog come from?
Is it his? Or did he just kidnap it?
Is he a mad scientist who does experiments on dogs?
He keeps muttering and stops a few doors down from this office. I put my head close to the gla
ss for a better view. He’s got the strange tool in his hand still, and while I watch he sits on the sidewalk, readjusts the dog, and then puts the tool against the dog’s paw.
The dog starts yowling. Like, end-of-the-world, torturous-pain yowling.
I jump off the chair. The receptionist is still on her phone call and doesn’t seem to notice anything. It doesn’t matter if the dog is his or not—someone’s got to save it!
I dash outside with no plan, no backup. I’m out of Eli’s range. If this goes south—
The dog bites the man’s hand and springs free. I dive forward and wrap my arms around it before it can run into the busy street. The dog yips and gives me a curious sniff.
The man, about six feet from me now, sighs. “Girl, if there was a medal for drama, you’d be the winner.”
Cautiously, I sit up, still keeping ahold of the dog. She looks fine. Sort of dirty and scraggly but not hurt.
“Thanks for catching her, miss,” the man says, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. “She’s a runner, that’s for sure.”
The dog wiggles too much for me to stand—I’m afraid she’ll squirm right out of my arms. I check the distance to Synergy’s door. Too far to leap inside without getting up first.
“What were you doing to her?” I ask instead, lifting my chin and staring at the man.
He blinks, then smiles. Some teeth are missing. Slowly, he squats down, still a bit away from me, and holds up the tool in his hand.
Dog nail clippers.
“This old lady”—he nods to the dog—“got some hip problems. Her nails get long and she gets achy. So I’ve got to trim ’em, which offends her quite a bit.”
The dog has her eyes on the tool like it’s the devil itself. I take her back right paw and manage to hold on long enough to see that about half the nails are clipped down while the other ones are overgrown. She yanks the paw away again with a dramatic whimper, even though I’ve done nothing but touch it.
A blush heats my cheeks.
For the first time, I look the man right in the face. His skin is wrinkly and tanned like leather. His amber eyes shine when he looks at the dog.
“I—I can help,” I offer. “I’ve got a dog. I hold her when Dad cuts her nails, so—yeah.”
He lowers his gaze again. “I’d appreciate that.”
We shift out of the middle of the sidewalk, and I get his dog lying down. She gives big loud whimpers that could break a heart, and when the man touches the clippers to a nail, she wails with all the passion of an opera singer. I tighten my mouth to keep a smile down. It’s both pitiful and … sort of funny.
“Try talking to her,” the man tells me, speaking softly even though there’s a whole concert of dog mourning between us. “Girl likes people talking.”
I give it a go, but she doesn’t pay me any attention. I try making clicking noises, squeaky noises, any sort of weird sound that would have Wonder Dog curious. This dog just ignores me.
Finally, desperate, I give Eli’s dove call a go. “Woo WOO ooo ooo ooo.”
Her ears perk up. She stares at me, momentarily distracted. The man clips one nail.
“Woo WOO ooo ooo ooo,” I try again. She whimpers, but sort of absentmindedly.
Between my dove calls and the man’s quick work now that he’s not wrestling a tornado of anxiety, it only takes a couple of minutes before he leans back with a triumphant, “There. Done.”
I let the dog go and she springs up, wagging her tail so much her bottom jiggles. She greets both of us with kisses, like she’s just been rescued from a desert island. I can’t help giggling.
The man pulls a frayed leash out of his shopping cart and hooks it on the dog’s collar. “Thank you, miss.”
I give him a quick nod, but my face heats again. I feel like a total idiot for suspecting him of hurting his dog.
“I’ve gotta—go back to my mom,” I say, scrambling up. “Um—have a nice day!”
I duck inside before he can respond and head straight to the bathroom. My skin burns. If that man had telepathy—if he could have read my thoughts when I first saw him—he’d know I didn’t deserve any thanks. And I feel so embarrassed, I might as well have posted my evil-scientist theory on the wall.
After I splash cold water on my face, I slink back out. Mom’s in the waiting room now, holding her bag with her bike clothes.
“Hey there,” she says with a smile. “I’ve finished up. You ready for some Nicecream?”
“Sure.” I move out of the way so she can go change. Through the window, I don’t see the man anymore. Would Eli have thought those terrible things? Probably not. Heroes don’t just assume stuff like that about people.
Mom changes into her biking clothes and we head out to the heat. I spot the man down by the end of the block—he’s parked his grocery cart, with the dog tied to it, and is holding a cardboard sign.
“I think we deserve the biggest ice creams they’ll give us,” Mom says, beginning to pedal.
“Mm-hmm,” I agree.
We ride in his direction. He gives me a nod. Mom doesn’t seem to notice—she checks the light and glides across the street without stopping.
I see his sign clearly for the first time. Big handwriting says: Vet Needs Help.
And the hand he holds it with has a small dog bite.
I slow down. My foot touches the pavement, almost all on its own, and I stop in front of him. A superhero would probably swoop in and carry him to a hospital. Maybe give him a home in their mansion. I can’t do that—but I have to do something more than just hold his dog.
Bracing my legs so my bike won’t fall over, I swing my backpack around and pull out the first aid kit. My hand brushes one of the fresh water bottles, and I grab it as well. I hold them both to him.
“Oh.” He blinks at my hands. His fingers shaking, he takes the gifts. He smells like metro-station sweat, but when his gaze darts up at me, his amber eyes brighten.
I smile and he smiles back.
“Catch the light,” he says, so soft I barely understand. He nods toward the street.
I turn around and see that the crosswalk is counting down. Six, five … I push off, give him a wave, and flick across to where my mom is waiting. She watches me with an odd look. When I catch up, she reaches over to brush back one of my braids.
“Nadia Quick,” she says, “you might just be the coolest kid I know.”
I shake my head. That’s only because she hasn’t met Eli.
Chapter 10
QUESTIONS UNANSWERED
We bike home, then I shower, change, and eat. Even after all that, it’s still a few minutes before one thirty. I make my way to Eli’s at a leisurely pace, doing my best to not be too ahead of time.
Mrs. B is walking toward her birdhouse, a bag of birdseed in her hand. I definitely can’t go to Eli’s yard while there are potential witnesses around. But before I can change course, she sees me.
She lifts her hand in a wave. “Good afternoon, Nadia. How are you doing?”
“Doing good.” I come closer, watching the way she carefully lays out a trail of birdseed on the little wraparound porch. “I like your birdhouse.”
“Thank you, dear. My husband made it for me.” She smiles, a bit sadly. “Did you notice it’s a replica of Mount Vernon—George Washington’s house?”
I tilt my head and take another look. The birdhouse is long and white, with little windows and doors painted on. It has a red roof and a teeny tiny cupola—that’s what they call the little tower that sticks out of the roof of an old building.
“That’s really cool!” I say, peering into the bird-sized hole. “Is anything nesting in it?”
“No.” She sighs. “Not a lot of birds have come by. Maybe I’ll have more luck at my new place.” She gives me a slight shrug. “James is helping me find something with a garden, or a balcony—so I can keep this and some of my flowers.”
“Neat,” I say, but I can’t keep my eyes from sliding toward Eli’s gate. It must be one thirty
by now.
Mrs. B finishes putting out her birdseed. “Well, my dear, I think I’d better get back to packing. Don’t stay out too long—this heat is something else!”
“Okay.” I give her a thumbs-up. “Have a good day, Mrs. B.”
“You too,” she says, going back inside.
Perfect.
I rush over to the gate, giving our agreed-on call as I go. “Woo WOO ooo ooo ooo.”
The gate opens, and Wonder Dog trots in ahead of me. Eli swings it shut quietly behind us, then squats to give Wonder’s ears a scratch. Without looking up at me, he says, “Hello, Nadia.”
“Hello, Eli, also known as Invisible Boy. What are you doing today?”
“Installing these.” Eli holds up a small light, the sort people have next to driveways sometimes. He stands again, pushing his hoodie sleeves up over his elbows. Why someone would wear a hoodie during July is beyond me. That thick fabric must be twice as hot as my leggings. “Want to help?”
“Sure.” I let Wonder off her leash and grab a handful of digging tools and spare lamps, following Eli down the path. I’m still not totally sure why a superhero spends all his time gardening. “Hey—how long have you lived here?”
“Two years,” he answers. He already installed about half the lights before I arrived, so he kneels once we’re well down the path. He takes a measuring tape from his pocket and starts checking the distance between the last light and where he’ll put the next one.
“I never saw you before you saved Wonder.” I sit across from him and pause. Trying to bend so he’ll look me in the face, I add, “Thank you for that, by the way. Seriously.”
His gaze starts coming up toward my face, then darts away. Avoiding eye contact. “I stay inside a lot. Or I’m back here.”
“Oh.” I pass him a hand shovel. I’m not buying that for a moment—as a superhero, he would obviously be on secret missions most of the time. But I’ll play along. “Why?”
The Invisible Boy Page 7
