“Okay, okay.” Gareth sat up, then dragged himself to his feet. “Seriously rude awakening.” It was unfair that Fortran picked on him just because everyone else had left for the day.
The ginger cat kept meowing frantically at his heels the entire way downstairs to the kitchen. He scooped her some dry cat food and then poured a bowl of cereal for himself. Just to be contrary, he scarfed it down while standing at the counter, since nobody was around to cajole him to sit like a civilized human.
He still had a few minutes left, so he went straight to the computer. It had been nearly five days; maybe the other Olwen—Wyn—had finally answered his message. Or maybe she’d decided to ignore it. Perhaps she hadn’t even seen it. Or …
His inbox loaded. A shiver traveled up his spine when he saw Olwen Nia Evans at the top of the list of new messages.
“Ridiculous,” he said aloud, but he couldn’t help the image that flashed into his mind at that moment: Slate plaque. Dead girl. Had he dreamed about it last night, again? He gave his head a shake and clicked on the email. “Real world, Gareth,” he muttered to himself.
The email was real, at least.
Dear Gareth,
I’m sorry I was a little slow to answer your email. I just have a lot going on right now. You might have some idea, if you’ve seen my blog.
I’m still shocked there’s anyone reading it, let alone someone in London.
It’s kind of a cool coincidence, though, because my dad’s side of the family is British. Welsh, actually. I know Gareth is a Welsh name, too, so I’m wondering about YOUR story. You’ve been reading some of my story … So tell me about yourself.
—Wyn
Welsh. Wales. Olwen. It was uncanny.
Just in case, Gareth refreshed the page. Yes, it was as real as his hand in front of his face. And now it was his turn to reply.
The question was, how much of his story did he want to tell?
Gareth stared unseeingly out the window of the bus as it pulled away from the stop near his school. All day he’d been trying to figure out how to word his reply to Wyn. He didn’t want to sound like a stalker, but he’d read through several of her blog posts and he felt so strangely as if he knew her. Her love of writing. Her great-grandmother’s cancer. Her uncanny dreams, with their scenes that sounded so familiar. The fact that she was actually coming to Wales. Wales. Of all places. That was the biggest coincidence of all, next to the name thing. But how did you bring that up when you hardly knew someone? He wanted to seem friendly, not pervy, but the messages he composed in his head never looked quite as good onscreen. They all made him sound desperate somehow. And he wasn’t trying to flirt, not really.
Anyway, she probably had a boyfriend already. No doubt a tall, tanned California surfer with bleached-blond hair and huge Arnold Schwarzenegger pecs. The diametrical opposite of what he saw in the bus window reflection: a lanky, pale boy with glasses and an unruly mop of curls. He looked down at his hands gripping the top of his rucksack.
None of that mattered, he told himself. They’d established a connection. Now he had to keep up his end. It was only polite.
It had nothing, of course, to do with the coincidences. Nothing to do with the eerie familiarity that washed over him every time he looked at the tiny picture of her on Born to Wyn, her long dark hair framing anxious eyes that stared off into the distance.
Nothing to do with the strong tug he felt from somewhere deep inside his brain, like the pull of a magnet.
He jiggled his leg, annoyed at himself. That was irrational, woo-woo stuff, just like the impulse that had led him to find her website in the first place. He didn’t understand it, but that didn’t mean anything. He didn’t understand a lot of things, and it didn’t mean there wasn’t a reasonable explanation.
The bus rolled to a halt near the Underground station. Gareth stared out, watching the people climbing on and off the bus and milling around the junk shops, antique stores, pubs, and coffeehouses that lined the streets near the Camden flea market. He saw it every day, but now, he couldn’t help imagining it through Wyn’s eyes, the throngs of shoppers and buskers and loiterers, the dirty sidewalks he no longer noticed.
He was definitely getting ahead of himself, picturing the two of them wandering the streets together as if they already knew each other, him showing her around like a tour guide as she rushed excitedly from place to place. Her family was probably going straight to Wales, anyway. If so, he’d never even get to meet her.
He was surprised at how disappointed that made him feel.
Of course, that was one place he could start his reply: asking her about her trip. Offering some travel advice. Then he’d just have to see what happened.
The bus cruised past a long block of old-fashioned-looking storefronts: tailors, chip shops, a barber. Gareth’s stop was coming up, at the corner next to the Harp and Lion, and he rang the bell before getting to his feet. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he thudded down the narrow aisle and reached the doors just as they opened into the crisp air and patchy sunlight.
He felt lighter, stepping off the bus. That’s right; shake it off, Gareth, he told himself. The weather was nice, and it was Friday, and school was over for the day. And, most importantly, he’d figured out what to put in his email to Wyn.
He walked faster, turning off the main road and into his neighborhood—street after crisscrossing street of brick houses that were nearly identical except for the front gardens and the occasional yard gnome. At St. John’s Road, he took a brief detour past the park, checking for Amit.
At the other end of the grassy square, a crowd of his school mates were shouting gleefully. Gareth watched from the sidewalk as Dan Dobbs dribbled the ball toward Amit, the goalkeeper, who was standing in front of two trees that served as the goal. Dobbs fired the ball right at Amit’s head.
“Oi!” Amit ducked and the ball went right between the trees, bouncing off the fence behind him. He laughed sheepishly as the others snickered.
“You fell for it again,” Gareth said, walking over to the group.
“Hey, Lewis,” said Dobbs. “We should substitute you in for Patel over here.”
“No way. I’m not giving up my post.” Amit was sweat-drenched and still grinning. “I have the perfect job for you, Gareth. Highly important. It’s called Ball Boy. Let me explain it to you.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Gareth said. “I’ve got something to do.”
“Eh? It’s an honor to fetch my balls,” Amit said. “I’m offended.”
The rest of the players hooted and Gareth smirked. “I was just on my way home,” he explained. “I have to … get some work done on the computer.”
“No problem, man.” Amit grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Say no more. Alone in front of the computer. I know what that’s all about.”
“You don’t know anything about anything.” Gareth rolled his eyes. He waved at Amit and crossed the street, the players’ yells fading with distance. They were funny, but he wasn’t in the mood to hang around and joke. His steps quickened. He might have been heading back to the computer, but he suspected he wouldn’t be alone. Not quite.
Dear Wyn, Gareth typed, and stopped. This was harder than he’d thought. He just wasn’t good at this kind of thing. And Wyn obviously was, which made him even more nervous. She was the writer. He was just …
You asked about me. Well, okay, but my life is not that exciting, haha! I’m not a writer like you, but here goes. I take the bus to school every day. I like playing football (or as you call it, soccer) and computer games.
You’re right about Gareth being a Welsh name. We moved here four years ago from Swansea. That’s right, we used to live in Wales, so if you have any questions or need travel advice, just ask. We could Skype sometime if that’s easier.
What else? … I want to be a programmer, maybe for computer animation. I live in C
amden, which is in North London. Me, my dad, my mum, and my little brother Tommy. My best mate Amit lives a few blocks away. What’s your family like? Do you still have family here? (Sorry if that’s a nosy question.)
—Your friend, Gareth
He leaned back in the swivel chair. That seemed okay. He’d offered to be helpful. And he’d asked about her family. It was kind of indirect, but he was still wondering about Olwen Nia Evans, about whether maybe Wyn had some family connection to her. That would make the most sense.
He didn’t know what else to put. He didn’t want to sound too eager.
The front door opened with a rattle of keys and his parents’ voices filtered in, Tommy shouting over them about wanting roast chicken for dinner.
Gareth sighed. He should probably just hit Send, right now.
No, he should wait and re-read it later, when he’d had some time away from the computer.
This was ridiculous. He reached for the mouse just as Tommy came running in and put cold hands on his stomach.
“Aaagh! Get away.” Gareth elbowed his brother in the ribs.
“What’re you doing?” Tommy peered at the message. “Who’s Wyn? Do you know her at school? Do you fancy her?” The boy snickered. “I bet you do! You like her!”
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Gareth said, annoyed. “She’s just this girl. You don’t know her.” He quickly clicked the Send button before he could second-guess himself anymore—and before Tommy read any further.
“Eww, are you going to kiss her?” Tommy danced around Gareth’s chair. Gareth aimed a kick at his brother’s shins but missed.
“Why do you even care?”
“I hear arguing,” their dad shouted from the front hall.
“It’s nothing, Dad,” Gareth said loudly. He glared at Tommy, who just laughed again and ran out of the room. The door to the garden slammed a moment later.
It was probably just as well that he’d sent the email. There really wasn’t any reason to dither, not if Wyn was going to be coming in just a few weeks, or whenever their summer hols started. The sooner they made plans, the better.
Plans! There he went again. Gareth shook his head, a bit surprised at himself. Moving a bit quickly, are we, Lewis? Amit would no doubt approve, but to Amit, girls were a serious pastime. Gareth usually stayed on the sidelines, watching. Amit tried to fix him up with girls from school every once in a while, but it always ended awkwardly, with Gareth realizing that he and the girl had nothing in common.
At least that wasn’t the case with Wyn. He already knew they had something in common: being Welsh. Partly Welsh, anyway.
A sudden thought struck him, then, and he sat up straight, the springs of the office chair squeaking in protest.
He knew he’d have to wait to find out whether Wyn had any connection with the other Olwen Nia Evans, but what if he was connected? What if that was the reason his parents had chosen that hiking spot in the first place? To visit that gravesite? And they didn’t tell him for some reason? He felt stupid for not thinking of it before.
Gareth could hear his mum in the kitchen, rattling dishes around. He got up and walked in, his steps purposeful.
“Mum, I’ve got a question.”
“Yes, my love.” Her blond hair was flying out of its bun as she bustled around the room, setting a package of chicken on the counter and pulling things out of the fridge.
“I was wondering … we don’t have any relatives named Olwen Nia Evans, do we? On the Welsh side?” He lingered in the doorway, watching her work.
“That family tree again? Well, I’m sure I don’t know every single relative of your father’s, but if it’s not on the list he gave you, then it’s not likely.” His mum smiled at him distractedly and started scrubbing the potatoes. “There are loads of Evanses in Wales, you know that.” Her tone lifted, a bit proudly. “Our English side has got Huxleys, going back for centuries on my dad’s side.”
“Right. Okay.” Gareth started pacing back and forth, trying to figure out what this meant. Apparently Olwen Nia Evans wasn’t a relation—neither of them, actually. But that didn’t explain why he was so convinced there was a connection—
why he felt so much like he knew Wyn already.
He shook his head. There wasn’t any rational reason for there to be a connection. Yes, it was all a major coincidence. Coincidences were a matter of statistical probability—
they were bound to happen from time to time.
Right. At this point, he’d done all he could do. He was unlikely to find out any more information.
Finding Wyn’s blog—well, that was an amazing coincidence, but she was just a girl, an American girl, who happened to have Welsh family, and …
No. Stop it. This was the problem. He just kept going round and round in circles. No, from now on, he was only going to think about programming and his animation project, and reasonable everyday normal—
It started as a tingle in his toes. Gareth looked down, surprised, and shifted his feet as if they’d fallen asleep.
But it didn’t stop there. The odd tingling began to spread, on up his spine and into his head, which began feeling light and strange as if it were lifting off from his body. He leaned back against the kitchen doorframe, his skin prickling. The room started going dim, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to faint.
But apparently not, because after everything went dark, images suddenly appeared, as if on a screen in his mind’s eye. With mounting horror, Gareth realized that he was in his own memory, back in Wales, walking along the grass clifftop overlooking the sea. A part of him noted distantly that he must have fallen asleep on his feet, but it was a very small part, and then it disappeared entirely as dream-images flickered past: A lonely cairn of stones. The grave plaque. And then he was standing in front of the cromlech, its huge boulders looming overhead, its yawning cavernous opening descending into darkness. He approached the hole and peered in.
Then he was inside. Black night surrounded him on all sides, but in front of him was a girl. Olwen. He started, bumping his head on the unseen rocky ceiling. The jabbing pain made his eyes fly open.
He was in the kitchen. He was home. He was leaning against the doorframe.
And his mum had turned from her potato-scrubbing and was peering at him from across the room with a frown. “Did you just fall asleep?”
Gareth swallowed, his throat dry, and felt his head start to throb. “Er. I suppose. Long day,” he tried to explain.
“You’re looking a little peaked lately. Are you sure you’re not ill?” She set the potatoes in the sink and came over to him, putting a hand on his forehead. He pulled away.
“I’m okay,” he said. “Just tired.”
“If you’re tired enough to fall asleep standing up, you’d better have a lie-down before dinner,” his mum told him in a no-nonsense tone. “I’ll send Tommy to wake you up.”
“No! I mean, no, I don’t need a nap.” Gareth tried not to let his fear show. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. I just didn’t sleep well is all.”
“If you’re sure,” his mother said, still frowning.
“I’m sure,” he echoed. But he really wasn’t, not at all.
The next morning, Gareth woke late. The first thing he did was reach for his phone and check his email.
Nothing.
8
Coelia’n llai’r glust na’r golwg.
Believe the ear
less than the eye.
Welsh proverb
I was lying in bed reading, not quite ready to get up yet, when I heard the ping of a chat notification on my laptop. Probably Rae. Or Bethany, if she was somehow awake before 11 a.m. on a Saturday. I took a minute to throw on appropriate weekend attire—dark gray sweats—and brush my hair into a ponytail before checking the computer.
LewzerBoy: wyn? it’s me, gareth
I
drew in a rapid breath. This was happening. Right now. In my head, I didn’t feel prepared, but my fingers were already tapping at the keys.
OlwenNia: Oh, wow! I just have a minute.
Sorry I didn’t answer your email yet
LewzerBoy: np
LewzerBoy: it was so weird that i found yr website
OlwenNia: That *was* weird. I never thought anyone was reading it. I’m a little embarrassed
LewzerBoy: not embarrassing
yr a good writer
OlwenNia: Thanks. :) It hasn’t been that great lately, though. I haven’t been getting enough sleep, I guess.
LewzerBoy: ah don’t worry, cdn’t tell.
why didn’t u sleep well? horrible california weather? lol
or a hot date
sorry, jk
OlwenNia: LOL I wish. I had a nightmare.
LewzerBoy: sorry. read about that on yr blog.
OlwenNia: Yeah, I get them a lot …
They’re kind of disturbing
There was a long pause. I realized I was breathing shallowly, nervously. But it wasn’t a bad kind of nervous. In fact, despite our topic of conversation, there was a smile on my face. A big one.
LewzerBoy: meant to tell u …
asked my parents if there were any evanses
in our family. because i recognized yr name.
they said every good welsh family has an evans or 2 in it
OlwenNia: Including yours? :)
LewzerBoy: no evans my mum could think of.
wonder why u seem so familiar then
OlwenNia: No clue. I asked my Gee Gee, but no Lewises in our family.
LewzerBoy: so …
OlwenNia: Yeah, I know. I’m confused, too.
LewzerBoy: it’s just that u look so familiar.
coincidence, I guess
OlwenNia: Or something else?
LewzerBoy: what do u mean?
like fate? or karma?
LewzerBoy: wyn, are you there?
hello?
OlwenNia: I’m here. You just startled me.
The Truth Against the World Page 5
