“That wasn’t nice, Russ,” she said. “In fact, it was kind of cruel.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know I’m not good at relationships. I try, but I’m just not.” Her voice was raw. She looked on the verge of tears. And suddenly I felt a kind of tenderness toward her I hadn’t felt since I was four years old. Carly must have felt something too, because she reached up and ruffled my hair the way she did when I was a kid. I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t. She smiled, just a little. “When I was your age, I found true love, and it hasn’t happened since. I keep looking for it, but nothing compares. I guess I should be glad I had it once, even if it was over far too soon.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Carly exhaled and didn’t speak for so long I didn’t think she was going to answer. Finally she said, “He died.”
“Oh.” Talk about shocked. I wasn’t expecting that answer. I wanted to know more, but the finality in her voice told me this was all I was going to get. “I’m really sorry, Carly.”
She gave me a rueful pat. “Real love doesn’t come around all that often. If you find it with this girl, hold on to it. And don’t let anyone tell you you’re too young.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My mother was impressed with how quickly I recovered after spending a day at home sick. “The resilience of youth,” she said to my dad across the table at dinnertime. She thought I had the flu and couldn’t believe my appetite. If she knew how quickly I’d bounced back from being shot, she’d have been really impressed. I’d just taken a second helping of lasagna and salad. Next to me, Frank waited for his turn to take more. The kid copied everything I did.
“I slept most of the day,” I said, sliding the salad bowl over to my nephew.
“Sleep,” Dad said, nodding approvingly. “That’s just what your body needs when you’re sick.”
“Russ had a girl over when my mom and I got here.” Frank poked at the salad with the tongs, oblivious to how much I wished he would just, for once in his life, shut up.
“A girl?” My parents exchanged puzzled looks.
I played it cool. “Mallory Nassif from my science class dropped off my homework on her way home. We’re working on a project together.”
“Oh, how nice,” Mom said. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned someone named Mallory before.”
“You’ll probably get to meet her tomorrow night,” I said, oh so casually. “A bunch of us are going out for wings, and I think she’s driving.” A slight edit with the addition of “a bunch of us.” Necessary to keep the questions at bay.
“She’s really hot,” Frank said, even though he was still chewing. With every word he revealed the mushed-up lasagna in his mouth. Gross.
“We don’t objectify women in this house,” my mom admonished Frank. “I’m sure Mallory has a lot of wonderful qualities besides being attractive.”
“She’s a genius,” I said. “Like an actual genius.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” my dad said solemnly, and then to my surprise, the subject changed and they started talking about their plans for the weekend. I, Russ Becker, had a hot genius girl in my house when no one else was home, and neither of my parents were even all that curious. The advantage of a good reputation was also a disadvantage. No one thought I was capable of doing anything wrong.
***
I spent Friday night playing video games with Frank. I didn’t have a reason not to. Since I hadn’t gone to school, I had no homework, and leaving the house in the evening after being home sick wouldn’t have gone over well with my mom. Sometimes, as they say, it’s best to choose your battles. Besides, I was going out with Mallory on Saturday night. I had a lot to look forward to.
We drank bottles of Sprecher root beer while we played, and I was careful to set the caps aside in case Frank wanted to take them home. He collected everything: stones, bottle caps, coins. Mom thought it was his attempt to have permanency and order in his life. I thought the kid just liked junk.
Frank had his own room at our house: Carly’s old bedroom, cleaned out and repainted long ago. Unfortunately, it was on the second floor, right next to mine, so every time he stayed over, he encroached on my privacy. From the outside our home looked a lot like a first grader’s drawing of a house: a square base topped with a triangular roof, black shutters on either side of symmetrically-spaced windows, and a brick chimney off to one side. My folks called it a Milwaukee bungalow, which just meant it was like a lot of houses in our neighborhood. The upstairs was made up of two bedrooms and a bathroom. Small, but all mine when Frank wasn’t around.
Not that I should complain. For a ten-year-old, Frank wasn’t too bad, just a little too eager to please. To make me happy, he always used to let me win when we played games, even when I figured out what he was doing and told him to stop it. I fixed that problem by playing games with co-op. He totally loved that. We were “war buddies”—that was his term, anyway. The whole evening he was yelling things like, “Don’t worry, Russ, I’ve got your back.” My mom peeked in a few times, and once I saw her mouth, Thank you, Russ, like she knew playing with Frank was a huge favor for me.
The next day, after lunch, my parents told Frank to get his jacket because they were taking him to the mall to buy new shoes. Afterward they were going to a movie at the multiplex. Frank invited me along, begged, in fact. “Come on, Russ, it’ll be fun!” Like that would work.
I told him I had too much homework and pointed up the stairs. “I wish I could, but I’m going to be spending all afternoon on a paper,” I said. “You can tell me all about the movie when you get back. If you like it, I probably will too.” That made him happy, I could tell. The kid was high maintenance, but easy to please. Carly really needed to spend more time with Frank. Either that or she should have given him a brother close in age. It made me feel lucky that I had my parents around all the time. Frank got shortchanged in the family department with no dad, an absentee mom, and no siblings. At least he had grandparents who loved him. And he had me too, of course. I did what I could.
I watched from my bedroom window as Dad backed the car down to the street, and then, a second later, as the car pulled forward into the driveway again. Frank got out and came tearing up to the house, his arms and legs flailing, like he had no control over them. I heard the front door being flung open, and I headed to the top of the stairs. I yelled down, “What did you forget?”
He didn’t answer, but came up the stairs holding my old Nikes, which he thrust at me. “Your shoes were all muddy and Grandma had me clean them for you. They were on the front porch drying out and Grandpa said I better bring ’em in, in case you want to go somewhere.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, taking them from him. I never bothered cleaning them because I only used them for my nighttime walks, but my mother didn’t know that. I turned them over and saw that the underside was spotless. Mom must have had Frank scrub the grooves with a brush. “Good job.” His face lit up at the praise, which was kind of sweet and pathetic at the same time.
“I had to really work at it,” he said. “I took a butter knife to pry the mud and all the gravel out. Grandma said I did a better job than you probably would have done.”
“Well done,” I said.
Outside, a loud honk. Dad got impatient at times.
“I gotta go,” Frank said, and off he went, bounding down the stairs two at a time and swinging off the banister at the bottom. He yelled up, “See you later, Russ!”
“Later, dude.” I went back into my room where I spent the next five hours counting down to my (fingers crossed) date with Mallory. I’d never been on a date before, unless you counted the homecoming dance freshman year when I’d been matched up with Justin’s girlfriend’s friend, a quiet girl named Katy who went to a different school. We went with eight other couples, and Katy seemed more interested in the group dynamic than in talking to me. There were a few awkward dances and, at the end of the evening, one brief, very di
sappointing kiss. The next day, my mom, always nosy, wanted to know if I was going to see Katy again. When I shrugged, she said, “No chemistry, huh?” which pretty much said it all. And then my mother sighed and said, “In high school, the one you like never likes you.” I’m sure she had a story and a life lesson there from her high school days, but I didn’t ask.
With Mallory I wasn’t sure if there was chemistry on her end, but I was feeling it on mine. I wondered if it counted as a date if only one person knew it was a date. I decided it would, as long as I paid for the meal, which is what I intended to do.
Mick texted. He was at Justin’s and they were bored, as usual. The day before, I’d told them I had to stay home because Frank was over and I’d just taken a sick day. This recent text asked what I was doing tonight. I told him I was going out for wings with Mallory Nassif, and got the kind of response I’ve come to expect from him.
Mick: No way.
Me: Way.
Mick: You’re lying. Stop. Lying. Now.
Me: She’s picking me up at 6:00.
Mick: Unbelievable. Has she lost her mind?
Me: At 6:00 she will be at my house to pick me up. For wings!
Then Justin, not content to let Mick have all the fun, starting texting me too.
Justin: What’s this I hear? Mallory Nassif is on drugs and will go out with just about anyone?
Mick: Dude, turns out you’re not the only one. Mallory’s picking me up at 5:00!
Me: Stop already.
Mick: And we’re skipping the wings and going straight to bed. Heh.
Me: You guys are losers.
A few days ago we would have gone back and forth like this forever and I would have thought it was hilarious. Now they irritated me. I didn’t like the joking about Mallory, but that wasn’t all of it. They just seemed juvenile. I told them I had to go and ignored the next few texts that came in. Eventually they gave up and my phone grew quiet.
At six sharp, I was looking out my bedroom window when I saw Mallory’s car pull into my driveway. At the same time, my phone rang. It was her. “I’ll be right out,” I said, and bounded happily down the stairs, much like Frank Shrapnel had a few hours earlier. I was glad my parents weren’t home. Much easier without them lurking around, wanting to know everything.
My mood plummeted when I got outside and saw Jameson sitting up front in the passenger seat. My spot. Judging from the expression on his face, he wasn’t all that thrilled to see me either. I got in behind and said (to the back of his head), “Hey, Jameson, glad you could join us.”
Mallory made that wonderful melodic laugh of hers, but Jameson didn’t react at all. The guy was a statue; he didn’t even move his head. When Mallory glanced back, I pointed to Jameson and said, “You’d think a guy named after whiskey would be the life of the party, but apparently not.”
She said, “Before we go, I want to do a little experiment, if you don’t mind, Russ.”
Jameson turned around now and both of them were looking at me a little too intently for my comfort level. “Okay, what do you have in mind?”
Mallory held up her right hand and wiggled her fingers. “I cut myself picking up pieces of a glass that broke in the dishwasher.” Sure enough, her pointer finger was covered with a bandage. “I was hoping you could fix it.” She peeled the bandage off and thrust her hand toward me; the top part of her finger had a small, jagged cut edged in dried blood.
“Fix it?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Jameson said. “You know what she wants. Touch her hand and make it go away.”
“I told you that I don’t—”
“Please?” Mallory asked sweetly. “For me? Just try.”
“Okay.” I had no idea how a person healed someone, but I could try to fake my way through it. I shook my hands, like a pianist before a big concert, and then leaned forward to take her hand in mine. I sandwiched her fingers between my two palms and closed my eyes, willing the cells in her skin to regenerate. Heal, I thought. Heal. There was a lot at stake and I wanted to come through, even if it were only to win Mallory’s admiration and be part of the group. I held her hand for a minute or more, but no matter how hard I tried, I didn’t feel healing powers coursing through my body. Truthfully, I felt nothing, except completely ridiculous, especially when I opened my eyes and saw both of them staring at me. “I was concentrating,” I explained. I took my hands away and Mallory inspected her finger. Without even seeing it, I knew the results.
“It didn’t work,” she said, clearly disappointed.
“What a surprise,” Jameson said, every word tinged with sarcasm.
“Look, I never said I could heal people. You were the ones who came up with that conclusion.”
“Maybe you just need time,” Mallory said. “Maybe with practice…”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Jameson, again with the sarcasm.
“Or maybe it works a different way,” she said. “Like you have to be standing a certain way or have a certain mindset. We can try again later. Let’s just wait and see.”
As if we had a choice. She sighed and turned the key, revving the engine. As we drove off down the road, I said, “Are we picking up Nadia?”
“Nadia never goes out,” Jameson said, no expression in his voice.
I said, “That’s not entirely true. I saw her out just the other night.”
Mallory said, “Her mother never lets her out of her sight. Nadia sneaks out for our night walks. We all do.”
“Well I knew that.” It was coming back to me now. “Didn’t you say that Nadia was attacked on a bus a few years ago? And that’s why her mother is so overprotective and never lets her go anywhere?”
“Well, if you knew that why did you ask?” Jameson somehow managed to sound patronizing and bored at the same time. For a pencil-necked geek, he sure had a lot of confidence.
“Boys, boys,” Mallory said. “Can’t we all get along?” She turned down a side road that led to the outskirts of town. Something about it felt wrong.
“Where are we going?” I had a sudden sick feeling that I knew exactly where we were going, and I didn’t like the idea at all.
“I thought that first we’d go past the field and see if there’s any sign of the activity you saw the other night.”
Jameson said, “Mallory told me about the claimed events. I’d like to take a look and see for myself.”
It took me a second to process his insinuation that I was lying. “They weren’t just claims,” I said. “Everything I told Mallory was true. I saw a crew of men with detectors combing the field. Two armed guards were there and a guy who looked like he was supervising. When they saw me they chased me and shot at me. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the bullet.”
“That won’t be necessary. I believe you have a bullet.”
Complete silence. What he was implying, of course, was that I made up the whole story and was using some random bullet as proof. Mallory didn’t come to my defense, and she had seemed to believe me Friday afternoon. “Going to the field is not a good idea,” I said. “What if they’re there and they recognize me?”
“The field is really far from the road,” Mallory said. “They won’t even be able to see our faces from that distance. We’ll just swing by.”
The last time I swung by the field someone had tried to kill me. I definitely had a bad feeling about this.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When we got to the field, it couldn’t have looked more deserted and less menacing. Of course, I told myself, everything looks safer in the light of day.
“The guys with the guns must have gone home,” Jameson said to no one in particular, but I got it—he was needling me.
“I guess that trying to kill me tired them out,” I said.
Mallory slowed the car to a stop. “I want to get a closer look.” Before I could stop her, she was out of the car and walking up the incline toward the train station building. Jameson got out as well, leaving me in the back seat by myself. Fear kept me there f
or a moment, but peer pressure is a powerful thing and a second later I was right on his heels.
“I thought you were afraid,” Jameson said, not turning around. “Or was it terrified?”
I wanted to make a smart-mouthed comment, but I’d decided a while earlier that I was better than that. Let Jameson be petty and superior and possessive of Mallory. All of those things made him look small and insecure. I would rise above his condescension. “I’m not afraid for me,” I said. “I know I can outrun and outsmart them. You, on the other hand, might need some protection.”
He muttered something under his breath and kept going. Ahead of us, Mallory had reached the site and stopped. She stared at the ground intently, and when we approached, she said, “Amazing.”
“What is it?”
“There’s nothing,” she said. “No signs that there were light fragments. No signs that anyone has been walking here. Didn’t you say this area was staked out?” She looked up at me.
I nodded. “Like a crime scene. There were stakes in each corner connected by yellow tape. The men were walking inside of it.”
She had a puzzled look on her face. “It doesn’t look like anything’s been disturbed.”
“The grass has been trampled,” I pointed out.
“It’s spring. Everything looks like that after the snow melts,” Jameson said.
I hated to admit it, but he was right.
“The last time the lights fell from the sky somebody actually scraped the top layer of the field and took it away.” Mallory crouched down and touched the dirt. “I wonder why they did it differently this time.”
“Probably because you made those phone calls asking about it,” I said. “They decided not to draw so much attention to the field this time around.”
“That’s probably it,” Jameson said, and he gave me a look that reminded me a little bit of admiration. “And if so, that means that the guys who shot at Russ are either from the government or someone who’s got them in their pocket.”
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 9
