It didn’t look like the mountain bike was going anywhere without a little mechanical expertise. Of course, the other one—somehow—had air in the tires and seemed to be daring my confidence to take it onto the open road. I considered giving up, having already tired out my chicken arms. The amount of effort I’d put into it was commendable. Right?
I backed out of the shed and looked over my shoulder at the house, resolved to do homework instead. But for some reason I couldn’t explain, I heard Pepper’s voice in my head. So, you’ll be my friend only if it’s not any trouble to you?
Even when she wasn’t with me, I could hear her. Was there no way out of this?
It was dark, I told myself. If anyone saw me, they probably wouldn’t see what I was riding. It wasn’t very far either. I clenched my fists and tilted my head back. I couldn’t believe I was about to actually do this.
On the worktable I found a pair of cutting pliers and used them to take off the basket from the handlebars of the bike. That made it only a little less embarrassing. Before I could change my mind, I brushed off the spider webs and swung my leg over the sparkling green banana-shaped seat. The frame creaked under my weight as I pushed myself out of the shed. Across the grass I went and down the side yard, until I reached the driveway. My legs pumped hard, propelling me along the sidewalk. I was glad the way to Pepper’s house wasn’t uphill, because my muscles were already burning after the long jog I took in Grandpa’s story earlier that night.
Hyper-aware of every car that passed, I tucked my head down so I wouldn’t be recognized. Not that I had a lot to lose being seen on this ugly bike. I was already near the bottom of the social ladder—just slightly above nose-pickers. If it had been Pepper, she would have ridden the bike proudly. She liked standing out and being unique. We couldn’t be more different.
Just as the expansive, well-manicured yard came into view, another car drove past. The back passenger window rolled down and a face scowled at me. A slow insult carried down the street. “Loser!”
My chest tightened, and I dipped my head down to hide my humiliation. If a closet were nearby to hide in, I would have thrown myself in it. The next best thing was in front of me.
Pepper’s house was probably twice the size of mine and it was in a wealthier neighborhood. I stopped at the driveway. A large sign hung from a post, hammered into the soil between two flowering bushes. I wasn’t sure if I was at the right place when I read it—For Sale. It was dark, after all. Maybe I’d taken a wrong turn and this was a perfect copy of Pepper’s house.
I checked my watch. It was after seven. Not too late to knock on a stranger’s door. Or maybe it was. But, I hadn’t nearly killed myself and risked humiliation to turn around now, so I pedaled up the driveway and leaned the bike against a tree.
I’d never actually been inside Pepper’s house. She never invited me in, although she didn’t have a problem inviting herself into my house. I took a deep breath and went up the front steps to the large double doors. Before I could change my mind, my pointer finger pressed the bell.
Chimes rang inside the home. After a minute I saw movement through the glass of the door, and a woman in a pale pink cardigan greeted me. Her hair was shaped around her head like a brown football helmet. A confused frown crossed her face, and she asked, “How may I help you?”
I took a shaky breath and answered, “Hi, is Pepper here?”
“Temperance?” The woman’s blue eyes studied me more closely. “Who are you?”
“I’m her friend, Nim.” I hoped I was right about that, at least.
She frowned, then opened the door all the way and motioned me inside. “It’s nice to meet you, Nim. Are you the one she’s with all of the time? She stays in her room when she’s home, so she doesn’t tell her father or I much.”
I didn’t know what to say in response, so I stepped onto their foyer rug and waited for further instruction. Her eyes stayed on me as she called out, “Jim, Temperance has a visitor.”
“Yes, Ruth?” A well-dressed man appeared in the room adjoining the entry.
He saw me and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jim Hathaway.”
Jim smiled, and I was struck with how handsome he was. I don’t often notice these things, but I wondered if I’d seen him on a teeth whitening commercial on television. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had.
Pepper’s mom placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “This is Nim—Temperance’s friend.”
I was beginning to feel disappointed that this had been the correct house. There was nothing more uncomfortable to me than standing in this pristine home with no one I knew and no plan of escape. Would Pepper hear me and come to my rescue?
Maybe it was the frightened expression on my face, or the fact they’d realized they weren’t going to get conversation out of me, but Jim said, “Why don’t you take him up to Temperance’s room. Maybe she’ll talk to him, if she won’t to us.”
The smile slid off Ruth’s face. She nodded to her husband and then motioned for me to follow her. I was guided up the stairwell to the second floor. A long white hallway stretched the length of the home. Pictures lined the walls of people young and old. A familiar face smiled at me from behind a layer of glass. A very young Pepper (without any trace of makeup) stood dripping wet in a bathing suit beside an older girl. They were both grinning and holding up a medal to the camera. I did a double take, sure it had to be from some parallel universe where Pepper was normal and went to the country club.
Pepper’s mom paused at a closed door ahead of me and knocked. “Temperance, your friend is here to see you. Can he come in?”
I waited to hear a snarky response, but only silence met my ears. Ruth glanced at me as she rested her hand on the doorknob and turned it until the door opened. “Just go on in. Maybe you can perk her up a little.”
Happy to find my friend, instead of hanging out with her parents, I pushed through the door and closed it behind me. It was dark except for a nightlight glowing near the floorboards at the corner of the room. I was able to make out the shape of a bed on the wall to my right, a desk positioned below a window with closed blinds and the dark human shape of a girl sitting against the wall on my left.
At first I was relieved to see her, but then I could tell something wasn’t right. I felt her eyes on me, but she didn’t say anything, which immediately made me nervous. When was Pepper without words?
“Hey,” I breathed out. I lowered myself to the ground, tired of standing. “Lose your phone? I’ve been trying to call you and you weren’t at school—everything okay?”
“Clearly it isn’t.”
Though it was dark in the room, I could still see her face. She wasn’t looking at me but the floor. The black eye makeup that normally decorated her eyes was smeared and smudged. She was empty of emotion, blank.
I’d seen that kind of depressed stare before. It gave me the chills to see it again. After one of my mom’s doctor appointments, she’d lost hope that she’d beat the cancer, and for a few weeks she’d remained in her room, sleeping when she wasn’t staring at the wall.
Pepper didn’t appear to want to say anything more, so I tried prompting her. “I saw the sign on the lawn. I didn’t know your house was for sale.”
She answered with a flat voice. “I didn’t either, until yesterday morning.”
That explained a lot.
“Are your parents buying another house close by?”
Pepper crossed her arms in front of her. “No. I’m surprised they even told me what their plans were, since they don’t care how I feel about it. Dad’s taking a position with his company in Boston because they say we’re so unhappy here. Whatever. Nothing matters anymore. It doesn’t matter that we’re leaving the place I grew up in, or that we’re leaving behind all of the memories of her. I won’t be able to sit in Sara’s room anymore and feel her with me.”
Unexpectedly, my heart lifted into my throat. I knew exactly what Pepper was
talking about. After Mom died I had to pack up and leave the place she’d raised me. It felt as if I’d been ripped away from her a second time. All of those feelings revisited made me uncomfortable.
“That sucks.” It was the best I could do. No other words came to me. I’ve never been able to rely on my wit or strength to help me out in situations like this. Based on the wince that pinched Pepper’s face, I hadn’t succeeded in saying the right thing.
“Why did you come here? There’s no point, Nim. You should go—find a new friend.”
My heart slid from my throat and into my stomach. Bile and acid began to eat away at what was once happiness. Her words rang in my ears. Struck dumb, it took me a minute to react.
I pushed myself off the floor into a standing position and went for the door. Words had failed me, so I said nothing as I let myself from her room. When I walked through the hallway and downstairs, I thought I heard soft cries chasing me away.
The next day at school I saw her. She was wearing all black and a numb expression that left her face blank. I watched her sit alone, not talking to anyone, least of all me.
She’d told me to go and to find a new friend. That was easy for her to say. She was fearless when it came to talking with people. I, however, got anxious ordering fast food from strangers.
I wanted to help her somehow, but there was nothing I could do. Could I stop her parents from selling their house and moving away? No. I wouldn’t be able to change Pepper’s mind about ending our friendship—she was one of the most stubborn people I knew. This left me in a very lonely place.
After school I felt Aunt Holly’s silent observation when Pepper wasn’t with me. She sat in the driver’s seat, studying my face. My guess was that I looked miserable. Because I was. I hoped she would give me some space. Talking about it was at the bottom of my list of things I wanted to do. Using a hot poker to stab out my eyeballs was just above it.
The silence was broken when we pulled onto the driveway. Last night, I’d tossed the embarrassing bike against the side of the house. Aunt Holly stared at it and asked, “You wouldn’t want to use a bike to get around, would you? I don’t imagine you liked that one. I didn’t even like it when I was your age.”
I shrugged. “It’s not that far from school. I wouldn’t mind biking, but not on that thing.”
“Maybe I can find you something better.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, and got out of the car. Maybe Aunt Holly was trying to be nice when it was obvious just how unhappy I was.
Because I didn’t have anything better to do, I decided to get my homework done. But, it didn’t take long for that idea to lose its brilliance. While I stared at equivalent fractions, my mind went to the story I’d entered yesterday. I may have gone into it to find Grandpa, but I’d found something else instead.
For whatever reason, Kyrah, the girl I’d met, had talked to me about her problems. And unlike Pepper, Kyrah had actually invited me back. Maybe it was because of my loneliness, but I made a decision very unlike me. I pushed away from my desk and homework and went to my closet.
The leather pants I’d worn yesterday were appropriate for the place—I’d seen others wearing them too—but the leather tunic was overkill. A plain long-sleeved cotton shirt would work fine and be far more comfortable. I slipped on my hiking boots last.
In the attic I checked the time on my phone. I had at least a couple hours to spend inside before dinner. That would be enough to see if there was some way for me to help Kyrah and possibly find out if there was any trace of Grandpa.
I held the story in my hands, gripped the pen between my fingertips and pronounced the Latin words clearly, “Ars imitatur vita.”
A gust of light and wind surrounded me. I traveled through the tunnel, and before I knew it, I was standing in the bushes beside the portal. This time I knew where to go and avoided the drying lake. Sticks and leaves crackled under my feet as I darted through the forest. It wasn’t long before the slope to the road was in sight.
Once my shoes touched the gravel, I slowed up to catch my breath. My second time walking into town, I observed more than I had yesterday. Beyond the valley on the side of the mountain, an entire section of trees had been removed. One of the farms I passed appeared abandoned, its crop dried up and untended.
Again, I walked through the barrier wall without any problem. From the top of the hill, I looked down at the city below. From here you couldn’t tell there were issues or that so many villagers had already left. It just seemed peaceful.
While I walked along the road, passing people as I went, I noticed a narrow stone wall that looked more like a rail which traveled to my left all the way down the hill to the city. I realized it must have been what I’d seen last time that carried water to the huge basin before the citadel. I paused to listen for the sound of water, but only heard movement around me from birds in the trees and people on the street.
At the edge of town, I observed the boarded up stores and empty windows. The wooden buildings were stained shades of brown and tan. Shingle roofs shone red in the sunlight. The closer I got to the center of the city, the more stonework I saw. Right beside a two-story stone building, I stopped to blink at a road sign.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it? It might be a common name for a street, but how could I ignore the possibility. Kyrah could wait while I checked it out. I turned right onto Vale Court.
All of the homes in this neighborhood were constructed of stone, although they had the same shingle roofs as the wooden ones I’d passed before. I looked for faces in windows or nameplates over doors—anything that would help me find Grandpa.
I heard movement nearby and stopped. Off to the side of the street was a small clearing. Dusty shrubs grew throughout the area, and a hunched form, partially hidden by a bush, faced away from me. I stepped closer to see the teenager’s broad arms lift, balancing something dark on top of a two-foot tower of stones.
I was relieved to find someone I could ask about the street name, although my curiosity won out, and I leaned in to ask. “What are you doing?”
The young man jerked in surprise, tipping forward into his stack of rocks. He flung his hand out, keeping himself from following after the stones that thumped onto the ground.
It was in that moment I really took a close look at the teen I’d interrupted. He was around my size, but he appeared to be a few years older. Most importantly, he was broader and more muscular than me. That meant if he was the type of person who ground fools like me into the pavement, I’d be forced to let him, because I wasn’t built to outrun anyone that looked like him.
“I’m sorry!” I said in reaction, hoping the stranger was in a good mood.
He turned around and stood up. Waves of blond hair covered his head and almost reached his shoulders. The teen wore a dirty tunic with a pair of leather pants and boots. He leaned down to dust himself off.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a sigh. “It happens more often than you’d think.”
I studied his face and waited. He didn’t appear furious with me, I noted in relief. Instead, he gave an anxious look at the rocks and brushed the dirt from his hands.
I decided to try again. “Those rocks got pretty high—that was impressive. I’ve never seen anyone do anything like it before. What were you making?”
He frowned at me, and I questioned if I’d just pushed my luck opening my mouth again. He answered, “You must not be from around here—no one likes seeing me stacking rocks or taking after my grandfather.”
That seemed like a strange thing to say. He hadn’t exactly answered my question, but I didn’t want to ask again.
“No, I’m just visiting,” I said and tried to grin. “I’m Nimrod Vale. I came here searching for family. My grandpa, actually. I’m named after him—maybe you’ve heard of him?”
The teen frowned. “That’s my street name.”
“I noticed,” I said. “That’s why I walked down this way.”
“Well, I’ve
never heard of him before, but we could ask my father. He grew up here. Maybe he’s heard of him.” The teen pointed down the street at one of the stone buildings and said, “My home’s just there if you want to come ask, Nimrod.”
I flinched. “Call me Nim.”
“Nice to meet you. I go by Bardrick.” He held out his hand and gave me a solid handshake.
He seemed friendly enough—at the very least he didn’t look like he was going to stuff me into a trashcan and walk away.
“Thanks,” I answered. “That’d be great.”
Bardrick turned and headed down the street. He asked over his shoulder, “Been in Crystal Springs long? First time here?”
“No. I came through yesterday to ask the record keeper, Obo, if he’d heard of my grandpa, but he was too busy packing to help.”
Old grumbly-goat.
A funny hiss of air escaped Bardrick’s lips. “The wise Obo. I’ve tried to get into the Hall of Records since the water dried up, but he won’t let me in either. You ever get the feeling that some adults’ knowledge gets in the way of their intelligence?”
Bardrick stopped in front of a series of steps that led up to a door. A stone arch framed the entry. A symbol was etched into it: a mallet and chisel crossed to form an X. I got the sense I’d seen it before and pointed at it. “That mark looks familiar. What’s it mean?”
My companion walked up to the door and touched the triangular stone at the center of the arch with his finger. “This piece is the most important. It’s called the keystone, and it holds the arch together. The symbol is my grandfather’s masonry mark. If you know where to look, you can find it on lots of structures around here. Hard to imagine his name brings embarrassment to our family.”
“Why?” I frowned while I stared at Bardrick’s doorway.
“It doesn’t usually take long before visitors hear about the crazy master builder, Frederick Stone.” Bardrick crossed his arms and glanced down the street toward the center of town. “No matter what they say, he created the great aqueducts with his bare hands. It was when he started talking about levitating rocks that the duke of Crystal Springs removed him from his position. Everyone thought he was insane, and it wasn’t long before he was chased out of town, leaving my dad and grandmother on their own. People began to say masonry made men crazy, so since then, woodworking’s taken its place. Nothing’s built with stone anymore—takes too long. It’s a lost art.”
The Stone Key (The Novel Adventures of Nimrod Vale Book 2) Page 4
