I heard his knock at 6:40 and I scampered down the stairs to get there first. “I’m leaving,” I hollered, slamming the door behind me.
“Morning,” Will said. We took off on our bikes. “I’ve been trying to figure something out. Why on earth would your ponytail stick straight out from your head?”
“My ponytail?”
“Yeah, when you rippled back and your hair displaced all that rock. Your hair was sticking out straight.”
“I’d been spinning in circles. Guess I should be still when I ripple solid.”
“You think?” he asked laughing. “So how’d you get away, without the camera to help you ripple?”
I flushed, grabbed my water–tube and took a long pull, giving me time to think before answering. I so wasn’t going to tell him the truth. If I hinted to Will how I felt, and he didn’t feel the same way? Instant awkward. “I used a mental image instead.”
“Good thinking.” Will’s dark eyes caught mine and he lowered his voice. “I really hated leaving you there. But I figured you had my camera. I was debating coming to find you, but I worried we’d cross paths and miss each other. Man, I was glad to see you ripple back!”
I turned back to face the road, but I was smiling.
“Were you scared?” Will asked.
“Terrified! Bridget and Gwyn were going from room to room in the cat kennels. I barely got away.”
“So, not only did you ripple using a visual image, you did it scared? Those are good signs of control, Sam.”
My smile grew to a grin as we rounded onto Main Street.
“Plus, it shows you think well under pressure.”
You have no idea, I thought. “What about you? Were you worried? I mean, the police have a description of you, don’t they?”
He laughed. “Adult male, approximately five–foot–nine, a hundred–thirty pounds, wearing jeans and a black hoodie, hood worn up. So they were looking for someone shorter and smaller than me. Plus my hoodie’s grey. Anyways, I’d have told the truth. That I heard what sounded like a shot and took off scared.”
“Thanks for taking them off my trail.”
“No worries. I’m glad it worked. And we still need to go out again, another night, and try the plate glass at the cafeteria. Sometime when you can get clearance for a later curfew.”
Yeah. That’ll happen. I felt bitter, remembering my dad’s suspicions. The track loomed ahead, less than a block away.
“If you want to, I mean. I just think you’d like glass. I guess you could try it on your own, though. You’ve got that sliding glass door.” His tone was uncertain.
He’d mistaken my silence for reluctance. “No, no,” I said. “Together would be much better.” I looked over and smiled.
We rode our bikes across the school parking lot towards the track and veered to where Gwyn was stretching.
“Hey, Gwyn,” I called.
“Did you guys hear about the major drama last night?” she asked.
I tried to look ignorant, but she wasn’t waiting for a response. “Someone fired a shotgun at our building right after 11:00. I figured they were trying to break in and steal the Cat Jar money, but Ma says anyone breaking in would have shot the door lock instead, and that does seem more likely. So maybe someone was shooting at the cats.”
Guess she didn’t see the Mythbusters episode where they prove you can’t shoot doors open. But all I said was, “Hmmmm.”
“I know,” she said, as if I’d just agreed with everything. She continued on with a description of the suspect and ended with, “Whoever it was, they stole your camera, Will. I have it at home. Did you know it was missing?” Her eyes were narrowed: was she trying to trip Will up?
“Yeah,” Will said, cool and smooth. “I’m glad you found it.”
I bent down to retie my shoe. I wasn’t feeling as comfortable as he was.
Gwyn tapped at the back of my leg. “You trying to make friendly with a mean cat?” she asked.
I looked at the scratch marks from last night. “You know me,” I said. “Cats just love me.”
She studied my face and then changed subjects. “I told Coach I wanted to run with you two, so go easy on me, okay?”
I rolled the enchanting sound of those simple words, “you two,” around in my mind as we got through our warm–up laps. Then Coach released us to the 4K.
“You’re in charge of the pace,” Will said to Gwyn as we took off.
I’d been running with Will for so long that I’d forgotten the rhythm of Gwyn’s light tread—five steps for every four that Will and I landed. I vowed to be a better friend to her starting today.
We hit the light on Main Street green and crossed to run past Las ABC. Bridget waved. I could see people evaluating the damage to the rock wall. My stomach clenched. They were going to have to pay for that damage and it was my fault.
“Did you see that old Chinese guy?” Gwyn asked. “Down the alley?”
“Yes,” I said, miserable.
Will nodded.
“His great grand–dad built our building. A century and a half ago. Ma’s loving his stories.” Gwyn’s eyes rolled. “She’s all about community.”
“And cats,” Will said.
Gwyn laughed. “Yeah. Hey, that reminds me. Ma says to please beg you to gold–pan, for the fundraiser next weekend.”
I’d forgotten all about the event. And now, knowing about my tendency to vanish while gazing at peaceful waters, I knew I couldn’t consider gold–panning.
My “uh,” overlapped with Will’s “sure.” Was he covering for me? Offering to go so I wouldn’t have to? I stared at him, confused.
“It’s Labor Day, right?” Will asked.
“Yeah. We have it off, school and cross–country,” Gwyn said.
“It sure sounds ‘relaxing,’” I said, as a hint to Will in case he’d forgotten that gold–panning occurred in a creek.
Will caught my eye, winked. “You can handle a little relaxation, right Sam? I’ll be right there to make sure you don’t drift off or anything.”
“It’s not that relaxing,” said Gwyn. “The water’s freezing, for one thing. Honestly, it sounds like hard work.”
“What do you say, Sam? You up for some hard work?” Will asked.
“I guess,” I said. I seriously wanted to kick Will.
Half an hour later, we were on our second trip around the 4K, this time minus Gwyn.
“Okay, seriously, what was the ‘let’s go gold–panning’ all about?”
“Sam, we blew a hole in her kitchen wall. It’s like the least we can do for Gwyn’s mom.” He looked at me. “Don’t you think?”
“What part of ‘me plus water equals ripple’ are you not getting?”
“You can do it,” he said. “Just keep practicing.”
I snorted. “What would your sister recommend?”
Will looked at me, nervous. “Probably better not mention this around her.”
We curved by the willows, and I held my arm out, swish–swish–swish, as we ran past.
***
The next few days rushed past in a hot blur. On Thursday, the temperature felt like five–hundred degrees by the last class of the day, and the air conditioner in biology couldn’t keep up. I tried to concentrate on a video about DNA strands in humans. Beside me, Gwyn had completely checked out. She slipped me a note.
Come pick up your pledge form for gold panning when we’re released from prison. I mean school. You need to catch me up to date on the biology research paper. And I have something to show you. And if you are there Ma might let me take the afternoon off.
I wrote back that I would.
But when Polwen dismissed our class, Will said he needed a minute. I waved Gwyn on ahead.
“What is it?”
“Mick got another wedding invitation in the mail today.”
“Did she tell you what it said?”
“Just that it’s intriguing.”
“I told Gwyn I’d come over.”
; Will shrugged. “Come by when you’re done then, okay?”
I nodded. I had to go to Gwyn’s first. Not just because she’d asked first. I felt big–time guilty, about what I’d done to the building Gwyn called home. I owed her a lot right now.
I parked my bike in front of Las ABC. The delicious scents were the same; Bridget’s smile was the same; but I felt changed. I wanted to disappear as she gave me a quick hug.
“Gwyn said you’d be by.” Bridget brushed a stray hair from my face and handed me a pledge form. “Three more day’s ‘til Panning for Felines. We sure appreciate your help.”
I smiled back, guilt oozing from every pore of my being.
“You can go through the kitchen; use the door that leads outside. I gave Gwyn the afternoon off.”
I said thanks and stepped out the back to the yard. Against the back fence, Gwyn closed a cat kennel door.
“Hey Sam!” She carried a litter box to the trashcan. “I’m doing a little house–keeping first.”
“Your mom said she’s giving you the afternoon off.”
“This isn’t work, according to Ma. Lend me a hand?”
“Can I say no?” I did not want to go into those cat–rooms again.
She looked at me, grinning like she thought I was funny. Then her face changed. “Oh. You’re not joking.”
I hated myself.
“I forgot.” She kicked open door number three. “You’re not big on cats.” She took a moment to reappear during which I agonized over my inability to tell Gwyn the truth.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she offered as she came back out. “I’ll finish later.” She soaped her hands at an outdoor sink.
I knew she’d like it better if I protested and offered to help. Would that make up for being a vandal and a liar? I stood by, melting into a warm puddle of guilt.
“I don’t mind doing the work now, while it’s warm and sunny,” Gwyn said. “But I’m not looking forward to cat–care in the winter. I hear you got snow last year.”
“Just a little; it looked more like powdered sugar.”
“That’s more than I want to see. I wish cats hibernated to survive the cold.”
“Hibernating cats?” I laughed in spite of my solemn mood.
“I’m serious. Wish I could talk Ma into using that Cat Jar money to pay someone to clean the kennels this winter.”
“Ask her. There’s probably a hundred bucks in there.”
“More like six or seven hundred,” Gwyn whispered.
“Seriously? She needs to take it to the bank.”
“Try telling her that. She’d have to actually close up on time to get to the bank while it’s still open.”
“Can’t you take it in with the daily receipts?” I asked.
Gwyn shook her head. “She wants to ask Mrs. Gutierrez, the bank manager, to match the funds. So, basically, until she stops chatting after closing time, no.”
“At the very least, she should take it out of plain view.”
“Right.” Gwyn laughed. “The whole point is that people see it and donate.” She smiled as she finished drying her hands. “Come upstairs. There’s something I’ve been dying to show you. You hungry?”
“Not really. But you grab something, if you want.” At the least, I could be agreeable.
“I’m starving.” She opened the apartment door at the top of the enclosed stairwell and bee–lined to the world’s smallest refrigerator—the only one in their kitchen—pulling out a plate of leftover pizza. It didn’t look like frozen, and I wondered where she’d gotten real pizza.
“Look what I made.” She displayed it, proudly.
“You made that?”
“Actually Will made it, but I helped. Turns out he’s a very nice guy.” She took a huge bite and sighed with pleasure.
“Um, why would Will come here to make pizza?”
“Will heard that Ma doesn’t cook dinner—”
“Your mom doesn’t cook dinner?”
Gwyn shrugged. “She cooks all day. She’s tired by dinner. Anyway, Will says how that’s terrible and how he’s going to teach me to make pizza so I don’t starve to death. He brought it up like five times Tuesday until we finally set a time for him to teach me. He wouldn’t let it go, like he was personally responsible for Ma not cooking. Catholic guilt or something.” She took another huge bite.
I knew what Will felt guilty for, and it wasn’t Bridget’s refusal to cook. I so should have offered to help with the cats.
I grabbed a slice and took a bite. It was delicious. It looked like plain cheese, but there was nothing ordinary about it.
Gwyn pulled the last slice protectively her direction. “Hey, I wonder if we could get him to make this for our biology study session Saturday? You need healthy food for your brain to function well.”
“Totally,” I agreed, taking another bite. “So you ready to get up–to–speed on our research?”
Gwyn groaned. “Hit me.”
“It’s actually rather interesting,” I said. “In a creepy kind of way.”
“Creepy?” asked Gwyn, a smile curving her lips. “Like zombies?”
“No, dweeb. Just listen. So we picked ‘The History and Future of Eugenics’ for our topic.”
“Sounds fascinating,” said Gwyn. “If I wanted reading material to help me fall asleep. Seriously, Sam, I’ve never even heard of Eugenics. Can’t we pick something interesting like, I don’t know, plastic surgery? I could get my boobs done as my contribution.”
“Gwyn, please? A little focus here?”
She folded her hands and sat up straight. “I’m all ears.”
“Let’s say your mom has three milking goats.”
“Ma is lactose intolerant.”
“Shut up. Let’s say one produces three quarts every day, like clockwork. The second produces one quart a day, and the third has chronic infections and produces a pint in a week.”
“Shoot the third one,” Gwyn muttered.
I ignored her. “Which goat would you breed? The first one, right?”
“I guess,” said Gwyn.
“Okay, so imagine my dad working on his syllaberries. If he had two different plants, and let’s say one of them yielded three pints of berries a season and one of them yielded one pint, which one would he use for root stock?”
“Duh. The three pint one. Is that seriously how your dad got rich? Eugenics?”
“Eugenics is taking those principles and applying them to humans. But, yeah, I guess that’s how dad made it big in farming: Eugenics for plants.”
“So, basically, if my mom had dated some guy with man–boobs, I’d be better endowed? That’s the kind of thing you’re talking about?”
I shook my head. “You are clearly not in the mood, my friend. I’ll email you some articles.”
“Thank God,” said Gwyn. “You’re right. My head’s not in the game. I promise to read everything you send me. With a highlighter in my hand. Which I promise to use. And when you see me on Saturday, I’ll be an encyclopedia of Eugenics trivia.”
“Okay, okay; I believe you. So what did you want to show me?”
“Oh,” she said, taking another mouthful of pizza. “Right!” She stood up, walked over to a bookshelf stuffed with scrapbooks, and pulled one down. “Don’t tell Ma I touched one of these while eating. She’s a little obsessed. And don’t get any food on the cover.”
“Who’s obsessed?”
“Shut up. She’ll blame me, is all.” She flipped past five or six pages. “Here.” She pointed to a picture of our first grade classroom during a Halloween party. I saw me in my Princess Jasmine costume, with white long johns underneath because Mom wouldn’t let me go out bare–bellied. I was clutching an enormous stuffed tiger.
She pointed to a picture of herself in a blonde wig as Cinderella. “Look at me being all Caucasian. And you trying to look Asian.”
“Jasmine’s Middle–Eastern, dweeb,” I said.
Gwyn shrugged. “Whatever. Rajah there looks like he’s big en
ough to eat you whole.” She giggled. “So, you haven’t always had it in for cats.”
“Cats are fine,” I said. I was really going to have to make it up to her for not helping with the cat–house cleaning.
“I found some other pictures—from when your mom taught Art. Ma made a whole book of those Art classes. If you want to see them …” she drifted off.
“I’d love to.” Then I added hesitantly, “But I might cry.”
“Silly girl. As if I’m afraid of tears.”
Looking at her gentle smile, I felt another wave of guilt.
Gwyn retrieved a different cloth–bound volume from the book case. I opened the first page and saw my mom, beaming at us from the photo. My throat constricted.
We flipped through pictures for an hour. Gwyn brought a whole box of tissues over because I was such a wreck. I tried wiping off my mascara smudges, but I must have done a bad job, and Gwyn offered to help.
“Hold still,” she said, gently dabbing under my eyes, along my jawline.
I winced when she ran the tissue over last Sunday’s bruise. Even after five days, I still needed cover–up.
“Whoa, Sam!” Gwyn eyed me and then my bruise. “What’s this all about?”
“Er—I—uh, smacked into a wall a week ago.”
She saw the guilt written all over my face and misinterpreted it.
“Sam, girlfriend, did someone hurt you?” Her dark eyes pierced mine.
I looked down. “Of course not. Just me being clumsy.”
“Mmm–hmm,” she intoned, still inspecting the bruise.
I turned that side of my face away from her gaze. “Seriously.”
She stared at me until I wanted to disappear. She sighed heavily and took one of my hands. “I want you to know you can talk to me. If you ever need someone, okay?”
I nodded, blinking back tears, wishing I could tell her the truth. “I should head home now.”
She reached over and gave me a hug, and then she walked me down the stairs and around the alley to get my bike. Just before I kicked off, she reached in her pocket and handed me a tiny ceramic frog.
“I want you to have it,” she said.
On one of the Saturday Art classes with Mom, we’d modeled clay frogs. I’d lost mine years ago, but I still remembered Mom’s excitement each year when the frogs came out of hibernation and started croaking. I hugged Gwyn one more time and took off down Main Street blinking back tears.
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