by Katie Clark
Skye stared out the window. She seemed serene enough, but she gripped her linen napkin so tightly that her knuckles turned as white as the material.
“Philip.” Mrs. Guthrie smiled. She moved to hug Dad, which was weird. “I doubt I can eat a thing, I’m so excited.”
Philip slid into the seat across from Skye. She didn’t look at him, and he didn’t speak to her. Dad and Mrs. Guthrie barreled ahead with work talk while Philip toyed with the menu in front of him.
Half the foods were listed in French—which he’d taken in school but never actually learned. Mrs. Guthrie spoke perfect French. When they were little, and his family would go to the Guthries’ home for dinner, she would go on and on in French, wowing them all. Skye wasn’t half bad at it herself, if he remembered right.
Keeping his head bent toward the menu, he peeked out at her. She was looking at him, and he quickly looked away. Too late, though. She’d seen him.
“We’ve got some fun stuff planned for you kiddos,” Dad said.
Wait. What? Dad had planned stuff for him…and Skye?
“There are a multitude of educational tours available around here,” Mrs. Guthrie said. “Since you’re still technically in school, we thought it best to keep you busy learning.”
Philip glanced at Skye. Her eyes looked worried, and her lips were thin and white. If he’d guessed right, he’d say she wasn’t real happy with the idea.
“Mom, I’ve got other stuff planned,” Skye said.
“It’s not up for discussion.” Mrs. Guthrie leaned over and pulled a stack of brochures from a bag hanging on her chair. She tossed them onto the table. “Here, your first tour starts today at two.”
Philip glanced at Dad. Why was he doing this to him? Were their parents sending them on tours for the rest of their trip? Forcing them to hang out?
He wasn’t sure even a new car was worth that.
Dad nudged him with his shoulder. “Be a team player, won’t you, sport?”
Philip thought of the shiny black convertible he’d been drooling over for months. He forced a smile. “You bet, Dad.”
Skye eyed the brochures as though they were diseased.
“It’ll be fun,” Mrs. Guthrie insisted.
Skye shook her head. “I have plans, Mom. I’ve already committed to them.”
Mrs. Guthrie waved a hand. “You can reschedule. Education is important.”
Wow, talk about a total blow off.
Skye’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t put up a fight.
“You’ll have time for your other plans,” Mrs. Guthrie finally said. “But until school is out, you’ll focus on your education. Then, tonight you and I will have a nice dinner.”
Skye rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Mom.”
They sat in silence for a few awkward seconds, and Philip couldn’t take it anymore. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Guthrie. We’ll work it out.”
Mrs. Guthrie smiled at him. “Thank you, Philip. You are always so sweet.”
Sweet. That wouldn’t be the word used by his ex-girlfriends. Or Skye.
Once breakfast ended, Dad and Mrs. Guthrie headed out to work. Philip and Skye made their way back to their rooms.
“It’s not like it’s the end of the world,” Philip said as they waited on the elevator. This didn’t have to be terrible. If he wanted to change his attitude—and his image—he might as well start by making things right with his former best friend.
Skye kept her arms crossed and stared at the elevator buttons. Her long, blonde hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders, and she wore the ever-present black shirt and pants.
“Come on. We don’t even have to talk to each other. How bad can it be to see the sights?” He wasn’t sure why he was trying. Spending time with Skye wasn’t his idea of fun these days. She could stop acting like a martyr.
The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside.
“In case you didn’t hear me before, I had other plans.” She spoke to the buttons, her voice quiet but firm.
The elevator dinged with each floor they passed, until they reached the seventeenth. Philip shuddered. He hated heights. “Like what? Don’t tell me you know people in England.”
She spun to him, her eyes narrowed. “Unlike you, I prefer helping people. Once I realized there was no getting out of this disaster, I started looking for ways to spend my time. I signed up to help the poor, working with the All Nations Church.”
“What?” She had to be kidding. Sure, she’d always had a big heart. Once, they’d rescued a toad that had fallen into the swimming pool during a backyard barbeque. She’d refused to let anyone touch it unless they swore on their mother that they wouldn’t hurt it. He’d totally agreed with her back then, but signing up to serve with a bunch of strangers in a foreign country seemed a bit extreme.
The elevator doors opened, and Skye left him behind without another glance.
“Come on, Skye.” He hurried after her and grabbed her arm, but she jerked it away.
“Stop acting like we’re old friends. We’re not.”
“OK, so what? We’re in England for the summer, and our parents are forcing us to spend time together. We can make the best of it, can’t we?”
Her expression changed, morphing from irritation to anger. “What are you suggesting? If you think for a second that I’d hook up with you—or anyone—then you’ve lost your—”
“What? No! Gosh, Skye, of course I’m not saying that. But the least you could do is be civil.”
She stared at him, wary but seeming to consider his words. Finally, she sighed and stepped back. “Sorry. OK, we can be civil, but that doesn’t mean I want to pretend we’re best buds.”
Girls were so frustrating.
But guilt nagged at the back of his mind. Maybe he didn’t have a right to ask anything from her. Hadn’t he given up the right to friendship a long time ago? Not to mention, his motives now weren’t totally pure. Being nice to her would get him a new car. “Got it. No best buds. I’ll see you downstairs this afternoon then?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Yeah. Later.” Without another word, she marched toward her room.
Philip sighed. Maybe now wasn’t the time to reevaluate his values and image. He could do that at home, when he was surrounded by people who actually liked him. What a raw deal. Why’d he have to get saddled with Skye Guthrie?
He strolled to his own suite and crashed on the bed for the rest of the morning. The only thing making it worth the effort was the promise of that new car. He used his phone’s web browser to pull up the picture he’d stared at plenty of times over the last two months.
Black vehicle, silver sports stripes. Double muffler. Convertible top.
Yeah, that was worth a month of educational field trips in Europe with Skye Guthrie. As he’d told her, they didn’t have to speak. Or look at each other.
Whatever.
Skye Guthrie wouldn’t be ruining his summer, or his chances at a new car. This vacation would be perfect.
3
Skye
Skye sat at the desk in her suite. Seething was too weak a word. She was livid with Mom. She’d only come on this trip to make Mom happy—to offer moral support. But Mom couldn’t even appreciate that. She had to make Skye even more miserable by forcing her to hang out with Philip Matthews.
Philip hadn’t been nice to her a single time since Dad left. Avoided her? Yes. Laughed while others taunted her? Absolutely. It’d hurt so bad that at first, she’d loved going on Mom’s work trips just to get away from school.
That had gotten old fast.
OK, so Philip had never actually made fun of her himself. Was that supposed to count for something?
She drummed her fingers on the smooth wooden desk, trying to work out her frustrations. How was she supposed to cancel her plans now, when she’d already agreed to help?
Her contact at the All Nations Church had given Skye her e-mail address. Short and sweet was usually best.
Skye typed a quick note to explain the
situation, as well as offer an apology. Feeling like a complete let-down wasn’t her favorite thing in the world.
Once she’d hit send, she sat back and sighed. Or more like growled. Of all the selfish things Mom had done, this one topped them all. And then offering to have dinner with Skye? That would never happen. Mom wouldn’t get back to their hotel until well after Skye was asleep.
Of course, Skye didn’t make it easy on her. Snapping at Mom and making smart aleck remarks probably didn’t make Mom want to come around more.
For almost four years now, she’d carried the brunt of Mom’s demanding work schedule. Dad had taken it for a long time, buffering between them, but once he’d had enough—and left town—Skye had to fend for herself.
Something pulled at the back of her mind. A recollection?
No, it was the dream. Being lost in the desert and unable to find a way home.
Maybe Mrs. Garrison had been right about that déjà vu thing. Maybe the dream was a prediction of the way Skye would feel when she arrived in London. Lost and alone.
Her stomach wound tighter.
No, never alone. No, never alone…
The words to a familiar church song played through her mind. Mom rarely went to church—no day of rest for the workaholic—but Skye went to a weekly service at the soup kitchen. It doubled as a rescue mission and tripled as a chapel on Sundays. Skye had started helping at the soup kitchen because Mr. Kilpatrick had suggested it, but it’d been something she had a knack for. Once she’d learned about Christ’s gift of love—a love that cost her nothing, and never got bumped for “time-pressing” issues—she’d jumped on board and never looked back.
Time flew, and at one thirty she glanced at the clock and bit her lip. Philip would be waiting. Why did he have to pretend they got along so fantastically? They didn’t.
And why did Mom have to be so selfish?
That was a question for the ages.
Skye did a mental run-through of ways she could get out of future tours with Philip. Say she was sick? Sneak out of the room before Mom woke up? Probably neither.
Mom would call the doctor—or the police.
Mom had said “until school is out.” That meant almost a month. She could handle it another month, and then she’d reconnect with the benevolence groups and missions. She was strong, wasn’t she?
She hurried through her brief makeup routine and grabbed her camera. If nothing else, she could shoot some awesome photography while on these tours. She shuffled toward the door when the cell phone rang.
Skye glanced at the number.
Mom.
Skye silenced the ring and hurried to the elevator. It crept down, down, down.
The elevator doors opened, and there Philip stood. He faced outward toward the street, people-watching. He looked taller in the sunlight, and his long, lean muscles elongated his silhouette.
Her cheeks burned, and she quickly looked away before he noticed her staring. All right, she thought he was cute. So what? He didn’t need to know it. Harboring that deep, dark secret was embarrassing enough.
“I’m ready.”
He glanced at her. “Good afternoon to you, too.”
Her muscles tensed, but she didn’t snap at him.
He grinned and held out a brochure. “I picked up a few of these for us to enjoy.”
She let herself relax and took a brochure, but why did he have to be so friendly? If he was being his usual rude self it would be so much easier to hold it all against him.
The tour bus began loading, almost on cue. She breezed past him before he had a chance to say anything else, and he scrambled after her.
Skye stopped abruptly, and he almost ran into her. She turned toward him. “We aren’t joined at the hip, you know. You can back off. Find your own seat. That sort of thing.” Guilt hit her. She shouldn’t be so snappy, but being around him put her on edge.
He watched her, his look telling her he didn’t intend to take her advice. Why did her stomach flutter at the thought?
She rolled her eyes again—more because of her stomach flutters than anything else—and turned back to the bus. How could she crave his attention? While she wouldn’t give him enough credit to say he’d ruined her high school years, he did leave her friendless in freshman year.
They filed onto the hot, crowded bus and sat in different places. Sand littered the floor of the bus. Skye frowned. They were stuck on a dirty bus. And why was it so warm? Had to be body heat.
The bus rumbled in park while others loaded, and Skye glanced at the brochure in her hands. She had to admit, it’d been thoughtful of him to offer it. She didn’t even know where they were going.
Flipping it open, pictures of Stonehenge peeked out at her. She read a snippet of its history—or lack of history. Some thought it’d been an ancient religious ceremonial ground; others believed it’d been an early time-telling device. But the best the historians had come up with was that it had been built by the Druids and then added to over the years. They believed it had been used as a burying site at some point in history. The rest of Stonehenge’s secrets were up in the air.
Anything ancient fascinated her, and her interests sparked to life. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Philip sat a few seats back, laughing with the very young tour guide. She had long, blond hair that complemented her long, dark lashes. Maybe she was a local college student.
Hot betrayal spread through Skye, but she pushed away the tightness. She’d just told him to beat it. Could she blame him for doing it?
A moment later, the bus pulled from the curb. The tour guide began her spiel about Stonehenge. She seemed knowledgeable enough, quoting facts along with myths and legends. Skye ignored the way the girl repeatedly looked at Philip and smiled.
Between speeches, Skye enjoyed the country side. She craned her neck as she scanned small villages, farms, and cottages. The area was beautiful and different, and yet not so different at all. While many of the people looked happy and healthy, there were those who looked poor, downtrodden, and burdened—just like back home.
After a couple hours of driving, they finally arrived at the destination. Skye stood and stretched the cramps from her legs then followed the herd of people off the bus. They weren’t the only tour bus arriving; a sea of people mingled in the open space around Stonehenge. Ropes kept tourists from getting too close, but Skye still enjoyed the view.
Philip trailed her, but she maneuvered between other tourists to lose him. If he wanted to flirt, he could do it without her.
She stopped near the front of the group to listen to the girl’s practiced speech, and once they’d been given the go ahead to explore on their own, she stepped away.
The stones reached high above her head, taller than a single-story house. And they were huge!
Giggles floated on the air, and she turned toward the sound before she thought about it.
Philip stood with the tour guide, leaning against the bus while the blonde gazed up at him and smiled.
Skye rolled her eyes and looked away. Whatever nice thing he’d done by getting her a brochure was officially cancelled out.
She weaved through the crowd, taking in the enormous size of Stonehenge. Empty land surrounded them on all sides, stretching and rolling for miles on end. People mingled around her, some alone, some in groups, some with pets. A sand box lay a few yards away, with a small dog digging in it. That must have been where the sand on the bus came from. And why a putrid scent hung in the air.
Skye turned her attention back to the main attraction.
How had the stones come to be here, and how long ago? When she’d told Mr. Kilpatrick about her trip, he had said she was blessed to be allowed the opportunity to visit such an old place as England. The country was a gateway to the past, he’d said.
Getting lost in its history sounded like a vacation from the vacation.
Skye snapped a few pictures, considering Stonehenge’s mysteries.
Of course, that was the draw of the
place. The mystique.
She circled the stones then made her way to the backside, away from the buses and most of the tourists. Staring out at the emptiness, she sighed. This was where she needed to be—the country. She would get out of her fancy-schmancy neighborhood, away from her uppity classmates, and apart from the hustle and bustle of the business district that had taken Mom from her.
Here, she could be herself. Focus on archeological digs. Or become an expert on ancient texts.
She looked to the stones again, and her curiosity boiled. What did the stones feel like? Were they cold, or had they been warmed by the sun? Rough, or smooth? This stuff fascinated her.
She glanced around. No one was watching her. Nor were they paying any attention to her.
Just like always.
She stepped over the rope, waited a second to make sure no one yelled at her, then darted to a stone and reached out her hand. The rocks were cold and rough.
She smiled to herself as she leaned against a huge stone. Oh, how she’d love to learn their historical secrets.
“Ultu ulla ati, me peta babka.” She muttered the ancient Sumerian she’d mastered with Mr. Kilpatrick: Gatekeeper, open your gate for me.
Using one hand, she held up the camera and snapped a few pictures of the countryside.
The cold of the rock seeped through her clothes, clinging to her skin. Chill bumps raced down her arms, and she gasped. The cold was almost painful.
She tried pulling away from the stone but couldn’t move. Before she could stop them, her eyes slid closed. Images flashed in her mind—no standing stones, but farmers plowing, first with tractors but then with animals. Then, no farmers at all, but empty lands full of swaying grass. The grass disappeared, replaced with sand. Miles and miles of sand.
She groaned and tried blinking, her mind swirling, but the images stayed put.
In the distance she saw movement—people? Definitely people. They moved at a crawl at first, slow motion, but then their speed picked up, and they walked in normal time. Right in front of her.
They spoke loudly, some laughing and others fighting.
Turbans and robes, belts and face veils.
Wake up! She shouted at herself, but nothing happened. Maybe she’d been stung by a bee without realizing it. She was allergic to bees, and if she’d been stung she might pass out. That would explain the bizzaro dream.
