The Never War tpa-3

by D. J. MacHale

  As she stepped off the hated school bus, Courtney saw Mark scurry up to meet her.

  “Anything?” she asked hopefully.

  “Nope,” Mark answered.

  He knew she was asking if another journal had arrived from Bobby. It hadn’t.

  These two made an odd couple. Courtney was beautiful, popular, confidant, and athletic. Mark…wasn’t. If it weren’t for their connection with Bobby, they never would have been on each other’s radar screens.

  “First day of high school,” Mark said. “Nervous?”

  “No,” she answered truthfully. Courtney didn’t get nervous.

  They were starting the tenth grade, which was the first year of Davis Gregory High. Last year they were on the top of the pyramid at Stony Brook Junior High. Now they would have to start over again at the bottom of the school food chain.

  As the two walked toward school, Mark had to hurry to keep up with Courtney’s long strides. “Courtney, there’s s-something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Whoa, you’re stuttering,” Courtney said seriously. “What’s the matter?”

  “N-Nothing,” Mark assured her. “I just need to talk to you is all.”

  “About, you know, journals and stuff?” she asked while glancing around to make sure nobody heard her.

  “Sort of. Can we talk after school?”

  “I’ve got soccer practice.”

  “I’ll come watch. We’ll talk after.”

  “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah. Good luck today!”

  The two then separated and began the first day of their high school careers.

  Courtney pretty much hung with her regular friends, though she made sure to check out any new kids. In English class she found herself staring at a cute guy named Frank. It felt a little weird, like she was cheating on Bobby. But Bobby had written in his journals about how fantastic the Traveler girl named Loor was. Courtney thought that if Bobby could like a girl from a far-off territory called Zadaa, then why couldn’t she like a guy from two desks over in a class called English?

  Mark stepped into high school with expectations of starting a new life. Three junior highs emptied into Davis Gregory, which meant at least two-thirds of these kids didn’t know the dorky truth about him. The Etch-A-Sketch of his life had been turned over and given a healthy shake.

  Unfortunately, by the end of last period, Mark had gotten lost six times, showed up late for every class, made a girl in chemistry gag because his sneakers smelled like an experiment gone sour, and got laughed out of the cafeteria when he made the mistake of sitting down to eat lunch next to an all-county wrestling jock. As punishment for invading his space, the guy made Mark stand up on the table and sing “Wally the Green-nosed Tuna” to the tune of “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.”

  It was junior high hell all over again, only with bigger kids.

  While Mark was discovering the horrible truth that his life of humiliation was going to continue, Courtney was learning that things for her were going to be very different. Courtney was tall and pretty with long, light brown hair, deep gray eyes and a nice smile. She had lots of friends, too. Except when it came to sports. In sports, Courtney had no friends. She hated to lose and had the goods to back it up. It didn’t matter what sport, either.

  Baseball, track, basketball, even judo. She had absolute confidence in herself. In fact, she had gotten so used to winning that she was looking forward to high school because she desperately wanted more competition.

  She got it.

  “Chetwynde! Get your shoes on the right feet!” the soccer coach yelled at her.

  Courtney’s fall sport was soccer. She had played center forward on the junior high team and led the town in scoring. She fully expected to step onto the high school varsity field and dominate like always.

  She didn’t. Courtney realized she was in trouble during the very first drill. It was a dribbling drill. Courtney brought the ball forward with a confidant smile, ready to give these high school girls a taste of Hurricane Courtney. She ducked right, moved left… and the defender stole the ball.

  Whoa.

  When it was her turn to play defense, the girls put moves on her and dribbled past like she wasn’t even there. One girl made such a hot move that Courtney got her feet crossed and fell on her butt-prompting the comment about her shoes being on the wrong feet.

  All afternoon Courtney was one step behind. These high school girls were good. Really good. They shot no-look passes, stole the ball from her, and basically made her look like she was a little kid playing with grown-ups. One girl stole the ball, flipped it up with her foot, bounced it off her knee, and slammed a header downfield. She then looked to Courtney and said, “Welcome to the big time, superstar.” When it came time for sprints, Courtney was nearly last every run. That was unheard of. Nobody beat Courtney Chetwynde. Ever! What had happened?

  The truth was, nothing had happened. Courtney was always big for her age. It was one of the reasons she had been so good at sports. But between the ninth and tenth grades, the other girls caught up. Girls who had been too small to compete with Courtney were suddenly eye to eye with her. It wasn’t that Courtney had suddenly gotten bad, it was that everybody else had grown up and gotten better. Much better. For Courtney it was an absolute, total nightmare. But she wouldn’t let it show. No way.

  On the sidelines Mark sat under a tree, watching practice. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Everybody had bad days, but seeing Courtney struggle like this was disturbing. There were some things in life that were absolute. He knew that pi times the radius squared gave you the area of a circle; he knew that water was made up of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen; and he knew that if you challenged Courtney Chetwynde, you would lose.

  The last one of Mark’s all-time truisms was now being proved wrong. It was the perfect way to end a totally crappy day.

  “Looks like she ain’t so tough after all,” came a familiar voice from behind Mark.

  Mark looked up quickly to see that the horror of this day wasn’t yet complete. Standing over him was Andy Mitchell. The guy snorted back a lougie and spit, barely missing Mark’s hand. Mark spun out of the way, but Mitchell flicked his cigarette butt in the other direction and Mark nearly rolled into it. Mark had to pop to his feet or risk getting gobbed on.

  “What’sa matter, Dimond?” Mitchell laughed. “Twitchy?”

  “What do you want?” Mark grumbled.

  “Hey, don’t get all testy with me,” Mitchell shot back. “I’m just out here having a smoke. Seeing Chetwynde getting whupped up on was a bonus.” Mitchell wheezed out a laugh through yellowed, smoke-stained teeth.

  “Go away,” was all Mark managed to squeak out. He turned and walked off, but Mitchell followed.

  “I didn’t forget, Dimond,” Mitchell snarled. “About them journals. Pendragon is out there somewhere. You know it and I know it and I know you know I know it.”

  Truth be told, there was a third person who knew about what happened to Bobby Pendragon. It was Andy Mitchell. Mitchell had seen one of Bobby’s journals and blackmailed Mark into showing him the rest.

  Mark turned to Mitchell, standing toe to toe with him. “All I know is, you’re an idiot. And I’m not afraid of you anymore!”

  Mark and Andy held each other’s gaze. Mark had had enough of this bully and would almost welcome a fight. Almost. Mark wasn’t a fighter. If Mitchell called his bluff and took a swing, things would get real ugly, real fast. For Mark.

  “Hey, Mitchell,” Courtney said.

  She stood behind Mitchell with her gear bag in one hand and her cleats in the other. She looked tired and dirty and not in the mood to be messed with. “What are you doing in high school? I thought you’d be out stealing cars by now.”

  Andy ducked away from her. He didn’t mess with Courtney, no matter how bad she looked playing soccer.

  “Real funny, Chetwynde,” Mitchell sneered. “You two think you’re being all smart, but I know.
”

  “What do you know?” Courtney asked.

  Mark said, “He knows we know he knows… or something like that. You know?”

  Mark and Courtney chuckled. They knew Mitchell wasn’t a threat to them anymore. He wasn’t smart enough for that.

  “Yeah, you laugh,” he sneered. “But I read those journals. You gonna laugh when that Saint Dane dude comes here looking for them?”

  With that, Mitchell snorted back another good one, then turned and hurried away.

  Mark and Courtney weren’t chuckling anymore. They silently watched Mitchell jog off. Then Courtney said, “Well, today pretty much… sucked.”

  The two walked to catch the late bus home. Normally Courtney would sit in the back of the bus with the cool kids and Mark would sit up front with the not-cool kids. Not today. There were a couple of girls in back who had just taken Courtney apart on the soccer field. They were sitting with some guys from the football team, laughing and flirting. Courtney wasn’t welcome. She had to sit in the front of the bus with Mark. It was the final indignity.

  “You want to tell me about your day?” Courtney asked.

  “No,” answered Mark. “You?”

  “No.”

  They rode in silence, both wondering if the rest of high school was going to be as painful as the first few hours. Finally Courtney asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Mark glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. He kept his voice low, just in case. “I’ve been thinking,” he began. “Remember what I said before? In spite of what Mitchell just said, I think we dodged a bullet. When the Travelers stopped Saint Dane on First Earth, I think they saved all three Earth territories. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Courtney said, then added with growing annoyance, “and I remember you saying how disappointed you were because you wanted Saint Dane to come here so you could help Bobby fight him. And I remember saying that you were totally crazy. Do you remember that part, Markie boy?”

  Mark nodded.

  “Good,” Courtney said. “Then stop thinking so much.”

  “But still,” Mark added. “I want to be able to help Bobby.”

  “Wearehelping him,” Courtney corrected. “We’re holding his journals.”

  “But that’s like almost nothing,” Mark countered. “I want to really help him.”

  “We can’t, Mark.”

  Mark gave her a sly smile. “Don’t be so sure.”

  Courtney gave Mark a long, probing look.”Now what are you thinking?”

  “I want to become an acolyte. I want us both to become acolytes.”

  “Aco-whats?”

  “You know, acolytes. Bobby wrote about them. The people from the territories who help the Travelers. They put supplies by the flumes for the Travelers. They’re the ones who kept Press’s motorcycle, and had his car ready when he got back. It’s totally safe, but really important.”

  “Safe?” Courtney shot back. “You think going to that abandoned subway in the Bronx and getting past those quig-dogs is safe?”

  “Maybe there’s another flume here on Second Earth,” Mark added hopefully. “They have more than one flume on other territories, why not here?”

  “And what if it’s in Alaska?” Courtney lobbed back. “You want to move to Alaska?”

  “After the day I had, absolutely.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  The two rode in silence for a few more stops. A couple of the soccer girls got off and made a point of ignoring Courtney. Courtney didn’t care. Her mind was back on the journals, and Bobby.

  “I know you care, Mark,” Courtney said softly. “I do too. But even if I thought this acolyte thing was a good idea, how would we do it?”

  Mark sat up straight, encouraged that Courtney was at least considering it.

  “I don’t know, but when Bobby was home I talked to him about it-“

  “You already asked Bobby?” Courtney interrupted. “Without talking to me first?”

  “All I did was ask him to look into it,” Mark said. “He didn’t know any more about acolytes than he wrote, but he promised to try and find out. What do you think?”

  “I think I gotta think about it. And I think this is my stop.” Courtney stood.

  “Promise me that?” Mark asked. “You’ll think about it?”

  “Yeah,” Courtney answered. “But I gotta know more.”

  “Absolutely,” Mark said.

  Courtney swung down the bus stairs and out the door. Mark felt better than he had all day. He felt sure that if Bobby got them information about the acolytes, Courtney would join up with him. It was a great feeling to know he might actually have a shot at helping Bobby in a real way.

  As Mark lay in bed that night he couldn’t stop his mind from imagining the possibilities. If they became acolytes, could they actually fly through the flumes? That would be awesome! He imagined himself on Cloral, speeding underwater with Bobby. He could see himself racing a sled down the snowy slopes of Denduron, dodging the charging quig-bears. He even saw himself on Zadaa, battling through the capture the flag game alongside Loor.

  Mark had to force himself to think of something else for fear he’d never get to sleep. He turned his mind to math problems. He thought of lying on the beach at the Point. He imagined looking up at puffy clouds on a warm summer’s day. He pretended his ring was twitching and another journal from Bobby was about to show up.

  Mark sat bolt upright in bed. That wasn’t his imagination. Mark’s ring was twitching. He looked at his hand. The stone in the heavy silver ring was dissolving from dark gray into crystal clear. That meant only one thing…

  Mark wouldn’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.

  He threw his feet over the side of his bed, yanked off the ring, and placed it on the rug. The small circle became larger, revealing a dark hole where the floor should have been. Mark knew this was the conduit to another territory. He heard the jumble of sweet musical notes that sounded far away at first, but quickly grew louder. Sparkling light then blasted out of the hole, lighting up his room like a thousand fireflies. Mark had to shield his eyes from the brilliant show.

  Then, as always, the event abruptly stopped. The lights went out and the music was gone. Mark peeked through his fingers to see that the ring had returned to normal. As always, the mysterious ring had made a delivery.

  Lying on the rug was Bobby’s latest journal.

  But this was unlike anything Bobby had sent before. In fact, it didn’t even look like a journal. It was a small, shiny silver device that was roughly the size and shape of a credit card. Mark curiously picked it up and saw three square buttons on it. One was deep green, another was bright orange, the third was black. The thing didn’t weigh much more than a credit card either. There was a piece of paper stuck to the device. It was a short note, written in Bobby’s handwriting.

  It read: GREEN-PLAY, BLACK-STOP, ORANGE-REWIND.

  It seemed to Mark like CD player instructions, but this tiny little card didn’t look like any media player he had ever seen. But if Bobby sent it, who was he to argue? So he touched the green button.

  Instantly a narrow beam of light shot from one end of the card. Mark dropped the device in surprise. The silver card hit the floor and the beam swept across the room. Mark jumped over his bed and crouched down on the far side for protection. Was it a laser? Was he going to get sliced? A second later the beam grew until it projected a holographic image in the middle of the bedroom. Mark had to blink, then rub his eyes, then look again, because standing in front of him was Bobby Pendragon. The image looked as real as if his friend were standing there in the flesh. The only thing that reminded him it was a hologram was the beam of light that came from the device on the floor.

  “Hiya, Mark. Hey, Courtney Bobby’s image said as clear as can be.

  Mark fell back on his butt, stunned.

  “Greetings from the territory of Veelox. What you’re seeing and hearing right now, is my journal number thirteen
. Pretty cool, aye?”

  FB2 document info

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  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 04.04.2012

  Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software

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