by Gwenda Bond
“Don’t even joke. She is the cutest creature on the planet.” I thought of the picture he’d sent me of Nellie when she was just a baby calf, with his arm around her. It was a really good arm.
“Really,” he said, “what’s up? You seem upset.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re stalling?” I asked, steeling myself so I could hide some of my disappointment. “Did your parents say no?”
“Why would you think that?” he asked with a little frown.
I waved toward the turret. I felt too exposed out here, and, as if to underscore that, I jumped when another lightning bolt cracked across the sky.
Once we were inside, I stuck to the shadows, where he wouldn’t see anything I didn’t want him to. “I assume, since you’re just asking about my day and the usual, that the news is bad.”
He looked at me for a second, face absolutely straight. Then he cracked a smile and threw back his head in a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I tried not to sound mad. Or hurt.
He straightened up and tugged me where the light from a sconce would show my face. The game’s ability to capture emotion was something else. I fought hard to keep my expression neutral.
“I was asking because I always want to know how your day was,” he said. “Not because I have bad news.”
“Oh.”
“In fact, I have good news.”
I forced myself not to burst into song like some goofball in a musical. But I kind of wanted to. “You do?”
“My parents weren’t thrilled,” he said. “You know I can’t fully explain why they worry so much…”
“I do,” I said. “I know there’s some connection between you and the flying man and that it has something to do with why your parents are so careful. Why they want you to be careful. Right?”
He nodded. “So they weren’t thrilled about my receiving tip-offs that ‘shady’ people are coming to town looking for information about someone who can fly… They don’t like the idea that I’m on anyone’s radar in, uh, relation to this.”
I started to protest that Dad wasn’t exactly shady, but I let it pass. “Got it. Go on.”
“So, they agreed to move up the trip and let me take a few days off school. Our neighbors are watching Bess, Shelby, cutest creature on the planet Nellie Bly, the whole farm. We’re driving. Leaving tonight.”
“Yeah?” I couldn’t keep a little goofball from my voice.
“Yeah. So I’ll see you Sunday.”
I’ll see you Sunday.
I would see him Sunday.
That was the day after tomorrow.
Sunday.
The calendar took on a whole new relevance. The concept of days filled with new meaning.
I was being a complete goofball. But, still, when I took his hands I only realized how hard I was squeezing them when he squeezed back. “Oops,” I said, relaxing my death grip, “wouldn’t want to crush your character’s hands with my joy.”
“I think I’ll survive.” He smiled again. “Your joy?”
My cheeks were burning red, hot as the lightning over the fake landscape outside. But his were pink too.
“Don’t push it,” I said. “Sap.”
“Well, speaking of… I seem to remember a certain bet you lost that you’ve never made good on.” He shook his head in disapproval.
SmallvilleGuy loved the Metropolis baseball team, and so to get him to worry less about the Strange Skies flying man postings, I’d bet him they would turn out to be nothing. I, of course, lost, when it turned out the government task force was behind them. But baseball season had been a long way off then.
He went on, “I believe you promised to dress as a real Monarchs fan.”
I feigned outrage. “I would never shirk a bet! I have just been waiting for the right time.”
He fidgeted. So he was nervous too. He was adorable. I adored him.
Boy, he was turning me into a sap.
He half-blurted, “My parents have tickets to see the Monarchs—they got one for you too. For Sunday.”
I was meeting his parents on Sunday too? My knees felt weak. Parents—adults in general—weren’t always my best audience. Oh god. What if they hated me?
What if he hated me?
“Don’t freak out on me,” he said. “This is going to be great.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “You don’t freak out either, then.”
“Promise,” he said. “Make sure you have the right clothes for the game. Everyone should know you’re a fan just by looking. A superfan, in fact.”
“You’re pushing it again,” I said.
But he must’ve known I loved it. He said, “I wish I didn’t have to go… but for once, I can honestly say—I’ll see you soon.”
I might have been in a full swoon. Our lips met.
We’d see each other soon.
“Not soon enough,” I murmured and felt embarrassed again despite myself.
He laughed that excellent laugh of his, which I would soon hear in person, and then waited for me to leave Worlds first.
“Sunday,” he said as I reached up inside and outside the game to switch off my holoset.
“Sunday,” I repeated to my bedroom, after I turned it off. “Sunday. Sunday. Sunday.”
I made an unseemly squeal and bounced on the bed.
Sunday. Sunday. Sunday.
CHAPTER 11
I couldn’t set aside my feeling that I was missing something about that security-camera-ed building—that all of us were. While I was getting dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a spaceship on it, I considered a detour there on the way to school. But who was I kidding? I’d have had to get up way earlier for that. As it was, I ended up dashing to the subway and only made it to school on time because the train was pulling up as I arrived at the platform.
As I walked into school and headed to my locker, it was clear the first bell had already sounded by the flurry of people rushing to and entering classrooms. That meant my main goal for the morning would have to wait. I’d wanted to track down Maddy and find out how her date with Dante had gone. She hadn’t called me, so that must have meant no breakup. But things had definitely seemed… off between them.
And since I couldn’t read the expression of a text, I hadn’t bothered to send one to ask. I was saving it for in person. Speaking of which, I opened my locker at the same moment my phone buzzed with a new message.
I chanced a look up and down the hall and spotted no Principal Butler, so I risked checking it.
SmallvilleGuy: We’re on the road—Dad decided we should see roadside attractions on the way.
No, gah, I wanted him to get here already. A new message popped up before I could think of a non-pathetic way to convey the sentiment.
SmallvilleGuy: We’ll be there for our date on Sunday, no worries. I reminded him about the tickets. And I told him that it was cruel to make the trip longer. We compromised on one roadside attraction in each state, close to the highway. This morning’s is Truckhenge in Topeka. I’ll send you a pic. Everything okay there?
Whew. I should have known we’d be on the same page. I just hoped we still were when he got here.
SkepticGirl1: So far. I’m going to check out that building again after school.
SmallvilleGuy: You going to take someone with you?
I wasn’t planning on it.
SkepticGirl1: Maybe. Gotta run to class. Don’t get crushed by any falling trucks. ;)
Were the next three days going to creep along with road progress reports? I was betting on yes.
I stowed my phone, grabbed the textbook at the top of the pile in my locker, and then closed the door.
I rushed toward first period with what I suspected was the world’s goofiest smile on my face. But it vanished when Maddy appeared beside me. Her eyes were shiny, the
rims slightly pink—she was holding back tears. Her T-shirt was a repeat, which hardly ever happened: Dangerous Ladies.
“Mad?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m a mess,” she said, brushing a hand under her eye. “Obviously. Dante is the nicest guy. He asked me to tell him what’s wrong again this morning and I’m—” she waved her hand to indicate her face, “—well, I wasn’t able to say anything and then I almost started crying. He looked so worried. I just… what’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” I said, the one thing I was confident about. “Absolutely zero is wrong with you.” I hesitated. I’d risk another tardy for my friend. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk about it?”
She shook her head. “It won’t help. I still don’t know what to do. I guess sometimes just being yourself feels really difficult. Is that a jerky thing to say? I know I have no reason to complain. Oh, my boyfriend is so nice. He wants us to get even more serious, but I’m not sure how I feel about him anymore. I think I just want to be my own person, on my own. But what if I don’t feel that way after I break up with him? Woe is me.”
We were alone in the hallway now, and the second bell sounded. I touched her shoulder.
“No. I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes it is hard to be yourself, feeling like you always make the same mistakes.”
Her shiny eyes widened. “You’ve felt this way?”
“Sure. When I came to school here I was determined to stay out of trouble.”
That earned a half-smile. “You were?”
“I got over it.” I touched her arm. “Anyway, you can’t help how you feel. Does it help if I say you’re still awesome? No matter how difficult this feels? No matter how it works out or doesn’t?”
She paused and considered. Thoughtful Maddy, she would turn around every fact into many facets and consider each one. “Actually, yes, it does help. Okay, we’ll talk later.” She shoved me toward the classroom door. “I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble with Principle Loathsome again.”
“You’re amazing,” I said, just for good measure, and went into class.
*
I hurried up the sidewalk after school, staying alert for any flashes of armor around me. It seemed odd that our Typhon pals were still lying low. Maybe we’d spooked them by finding out their names.
I’d claimed I had to run an errand before I went to the Scoop, which was sort of true. None of the others had challenged it, anyway.
When I reached the right block, I stopped at the corner and took a good look around. There was nothing different from our visit the day before. There was a light amount of foot traffic, and of course the same businesses. It was the same absolutely calm, normal Metropolis street. So why did the back of my neck prickle?
“Busted,” Devin said, stepping up beside me.
I sighed. “Don’t sneak up on me. I could have punched you or something.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” he said. “What are we doing here?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled him back around the other corner so we could talk in safety. “What are we doing here?”
“Lois,” he said. “Like we didn’t all know what you were doing when you said you had an errand to run. I volunteered to be your backup. You obviously thought we were missing something yesterday.”
Having friends had its positives. And its negatives. Like them being able to predict your actions in advance.
“Fair enough,” I said. “You guys all seemed so sure this isn’t the place. I feel like it is.”
He tilted his head. “The same way you’re convinced Donovan’s involved even though it’s not clear he is? Do you know something we don’t?”
Yes. That this person’s mostly after me.
“I’m just following a hunch,” I said. “Like any good reporter.”
“Okay,” he said, “then what are we doing?”
Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing to have backup. I wasn’t sure if I’d planned to bang on the front door and try to get them to admit me solo—which Todd had made it sound like they would happily do—but I could at least hit the buzzer again.
“Let’s just take another stroll by, see what we can see,” I said.
“I like strolls,” Devin said.
We swung back around the corner and up the sidewalk toward the building with the weird cameras.
“So, everything okay with that list? Should I be worried about you and our friend in the game?” Devin asked.
“He’s coming here,” I said.
Devin let out a whistle. “Wow, that’s big,” he said. “You nervous?”
“No.” I huffed out air, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “Except, yes, extremely.”
We were a couple of buildings away from our destination. Devin said, “How could you not be? But hey, if you decide you don’t like him… I’ll ask you out.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You will not. Anyway, I’m more worried he’ll decide he doesn’t like me. Or what if we’re just too awkward together in person? Or what if he’s physically repulsed by some weird habit I don’t even know I have…?”
“You really are nervous,” Devin said. “I think the only weird habit you need to worry about is letting your imagination drive you crazy with scenarios like that.”
“Easier said than done.” I squinted at the building. So boring, except for those cameras. A few of the windows were tinted to keep out sunlight, but it was just a regular three-story brownstone otherwise. No signs of life. “Those cameras are strange, aren’t they?”
Devin was quiet for a second. “I’m not encouraging your hunch, because this building seems unoccupied by all the signs. I rechecked the power grid and found nothing…” He frowned.
I crossed my arms. “But?”
“But I did a little research on security cameras and I didn’t find anything like that commercially available,” he said. “They’re something new. Maybe custom.”
“Hmmm,” I said.
I walked closer to the front door, peered inside its tint-free glass again. Devin joined me this time.
“Still empty,” he said. “Doesn’t look like anything’s been here in a while.”
He was right. And yet…
I stepped back and rang the buzzer again, leaning on it for a long moment this time. Then I watched the camera where James had seen the little red light before.
This time there was nothing.
We waited for a couple of minutes, and there was… more nothing.
“Nobody’s home,” Devin said.
“Or nobody’s inviting us in, at least. Okay,” I said, “let’s go to work. I’m giving up on this.”
Devin looked at me, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I almost believed that.”
“I’m giving up on this for today,” I amended.
*
After work and dinner, I decided I might as well do homework. I was still waiting for SmallvilleGuy’s check-in—I could guess he didn’t want his parents to see him obsessively on his phone.
I thought I was focusing on writing my short essay on Kate Chopin’s The Awakening for English, but my phone was right in front of me on the desk. I had it in my hands almost as soon as it buzzed.
SmallvilleGuy: Behold…
He sent me a picture of some rickety trucks piled up in stacks and mounds of metal, and then another photo followed. This one was of boats sitting up on their ends, in a more deliberately placed henge fashion, surrounded by trees.
SkepticGirl1: ???
SmallvilleGuy: Our Missouri stop was Boathenge. And now we’re in Illinois for the night, where we went to the birthplace of the hot dog on a stick for dinner.
Another picture popped up, this one of old, formerly snazzy oversized letters that spelled out FOOD over a diner. I laughed as I tapped back a messag
e.
SkepticGirl1: Were they good at least?
SmallvilleGuy: They were, um, memorable. How was your day? Any progress on your story?
SkepticGirl1: Not really, and tomorrow I prep for interviewing Boss. No sign of our guys either.
SkepticGirl1: So what is your favorite of the sights so far?
There was a pause, and I pictured him considering. Except, of course, when I pictured his face there wasn’t anything to picture.
Soon there would be.
SmallvilleGuy: Where we are now, because we’re this much closer to Metropolis.
My real eyes turned into heart-eyes, like the emoji. I settled for a simple response:
SkepticGirl1: <3
*
Friday’s classes passed and there was still no sign of our attackers. I thought their absence left us all with a deep uneasiness. Maddy was maintaining the status quo with Dante, making up her mind. I wasn’t going to push her to talk about it anymore.
Mom was teaching class, and so when I got home Lucy and I ordered a pizza. Dad, of course, was still off in Kansas searching for the flying man.
After scarfing some pepperoni slices, I spent the evening holed up in my room going through the Planet’s digital archives and reading every story I could find about Boss Moxie or in which he was quoted. He was slippery, so there wasn’t as much as there could have been. But there was enough.
Interviews reporters had grabbed with him at one of the many real-estate meetings he attended. Reports on the failed sting operations to take down his crew over the years. And, of course, the stories that followed our scoop about his role in framing James’s dad that finally got him sent to prison.
I decided my strategy would be to try to get him to warm up to me, then be as direct as I could. Reading between the lines, I had developed a theory that Boss hated when people played games with him… but loved when it was the other way around. I was confident I was right in thinking that he would know something. So many of his early quotes were along the lines of, “I’ve devoted my life to this city, and will continue to do so despite smears on my character.”
Uh-huh. They weren’t smears if they were true.
