“There was that, and the fact that I nearly took your father out the day you showed up.”
“Ahhh,” Courtney said, teasing. “So you do remember.”
“Of course I do,” the guy said. “I thought you were avoiding me. It took a near fatal accident to get you to slow down enough to talk.”
Courtney looked around and said, “Well, I’m not about to get run over now, and I’m talking.”
“Then let’s introduce ourselves,” he said, and stuck out his hand to shake. “My name’s Whitney. Whitney Wilcox.”
“Whitney Wilcox?” Courtney said, laughing. “That’s a joke, right? You took it from some bad soap opera.”
“Well, no,” he said, laughing. “That’s really my name. What’s yours?”
“Courtney Chetwynde.”
“Oh, and that’s not a bad soap-opera name?”
“Guilty,” Courtney said while taking his hand to shake. “Hello, Wilney.”
“It’s Whitney. Wilcox.”
The two were laughing at the silly exchange.
“I don’t know if I should believe you, Corwind,” Whitney said.
“Courtney. About what?”
“Well, you said you didn’t play soccer, but from what I saw, you’re obviously pretty good.”
Courtney looked down, saying, “Yeah, well, I’m over it.”
“You can’t get over soccer!” Whitney said. “Let’s play.”
Courtney was tempted. Really tempted. But she felt her competitive juices starting to rise, and fought it. She sat down under the tree.
“Thanks,” she said. “Maybe another time.”
“Whatever,” Whitney said, backing toward the field. “See you at dinner?”
“Uh, sure,” Courtney said, and pretended to start reading.
Whitney jogged back to the field. Courtney stole a look at him just as Whitney looked back at her. Busted. Courtney blushed and went back to reading. She had no idea what had just happened. Did they just make a date for dinner?
When Courtney went to the cafeteria that night, her palms were sweating. She did all she could to look casual as she went through the food line while stealing glances out to the tables to see if Whitney was already there. She really hoped he wasn’t. Not because she didn’t want to eat with him, but she didn’t want to be the one to go over and sit with him if he was already eating. She wanted him to come to her. That’s why she showed up ten minutes earlier than usual, to make sure she was sitting before he got there. She left the food line with her tray, and the only thing she did differently was to sit at a table alone, instead of the usual table with the giggling girls. She didn’t want them to get a crack at Whitney before she figured out what was going on between them. She had a fleeting thought about Bobby, but forced it out of her mind. She told herself this was just dinner. Nothing more.
“Hey, Corwind!” came a voice from across the cafeteria. It was Whitney. He was already there. Courtney hadn’t seen him. He got up from the table with his tray and joined her. “You dodging me again?” he asked with a smile.
“I didn’t see you. Have a seat…unless you’d rather eat with your friends.”
“Nah, all those guys talk about is girls and the Red Sox.”
“I’m a girl,” Courtney said.
“Oh, right,” Whitney said playfully. “You like the Red Sox?”
“I’ve been a Yankees fan since birth,” Courtney replied.
“I knew I liked you,” Whitney said with a beaming smile.
The two had a fun dinner together. The very next night, they had another fun dinner together. They did the same the next night and the one after that. Courtney wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. She liked Whitney, that much was obvious. But it was more than just a physical attraction. Whitney seemed to think the same way she did. They had the same sense of humor. They were both into sports. They both liked to poke fun at each other. It was fun and funny. Courtney learned that he came from a suburb of Hartford. He longed to travel and see other cultures. He was good in school and in sports, but he was beginning to feel the pressure of high expectations—from others and from himself. Courtney felt as if Whitney were describing her. He was as driven to succeed as she was. He even had a girlfriend back home, but he wasn’t sure where the relationship was going.
Of course, she couldn’t confide in him about Bobby and Saint Dane, but she didn’t feel the need to. They were connecting on such a basic level, they were able to share ideas and feelings without having to discuss specific events. It was the best kind of therapy she could have gotten—way better than the doctor who made her sit in his stuffy office as he pulled on his eyebrows and took notes that she thought were probably just doodles.
Courtney and Whitney started spending much of their free time together. He even got her into one of his soccer games. As reluctant as Courtney was at first, she found that she actually had fun. It was the first time she had fun playing soccer since she was in grade school. There was no pressure, no drive to win at all costs, just the pure joy of doing something she loved. For Courtney, Whitney was giving her an incredible gift. He was teaching her how to be herself again.
She thought it ironic that what brought them together was the near miss by the mysterious black sedan. A few times when she and Whitney walked past the parked car, Courtney made sure that Whitney didn’t see it. She didn’t want him to try and convince her to report the driver. With only a few weeks left of summer school, she didn’t want to deal with the police over something that was probably an accident. Accidents happened. So did near accidents.
She continued to catch glimpses of the dark car from the corner of her eye, but she no longer cared. There were no more near misses. The thought did occur to her that maybe the reason for that was because she was always with Whitney. If somebody was targeting her, they’d have to target both of them. They didn’t. Whitney was like her protector. But Courtney didn’t want to think of it that way. She didn’t want to believe that somebody was out there lying in wait to “get” her. She didn’t want to let anything stand in the way of having fun with Whitney, and the absolute, total joy of becoming Courtney again.
“Big night tonight,” Whitney exclaimed as he met Courtney one day after her literature class.
“What’s going on?” she asked. Courtney thought that Whitney seemed a little nervous.
“Well, uh, a bunch of us are going into town,” he said. “Technically, we’re not supposed to leave campus. But we’re all feeling a little caged in, and we thought it would be cool to hit this place called the ‘Pizza Palace.’ It’s supposed to be decent. Do, uh, do you want to come?”
“Whitney!” Courtney teased. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Uh, well, yeah, I guess I am,” Whitney said nervously.
Courtney smiled. She realized that Whitney was nervous because he had never actually, officially asked her out. Up until this point, all they had done was hang out as friends. They might as well have been two guys, or two girls. But this was different. This was a girl/guy thing. There could potentially be kissing involved. Courtney wanted to go in a bad way.
“What time?” she asked.
Whitney looked visibly relieved. “Six o’clock,” he said. “A friend of mine has a car. We’ll pick you up.”
Courtney’s shoulders fell. “I’ve got art class until seven,” she said.
“Ditch!” Whitney said.
“I can’t. There’s a guest artist coming, and it’s a pretty big deal. But I can meet you later. Town is what? Two, three miles away? I can ride my bike after class. It’ll still be light. Then we’ll put the bike in the trunk of the car on the way back.”
“Awesome,” Whitney said. “The place is called—”
“I know, the Pizza Palace,” Courtney interrupted. “You just told me.”
“Oh, right.” Whitney laughed. “You can’t miss it. There’s only one pizza place in that dinky town.”
“Can’t wait,” Courtney said. She meant it. She wa
s so excited, she wanted to dance. Or sing. But since doing either would be totally out of character and uncool, she did the next best thing.
She called Mark.
Mark Dimond was busy at work. He was engraving a huge, silver cup for a local boating race, and he was so nervous about it, his hands were shaking. In the engraving biz, shaky hands were not a good thing. Mostly he engraved brass plates that went on plaques and trophies. If he messed one up, no big deal. The plates were cheap. But this silver cup was worth more than he was going to earn all summer. One slip and he’d have to change his name and move to another state. Mark’s palms were sweating. He was about to touch the cutting edge of the engraving tool to the silver surface…when the cell phone in his pocket rang.
The surprise made him jump. Luckily he hadn’t started engraving yet. If the call had come a second later, there would have been a deep gouge slashed across the Stony Brook Yacht Club logo. He took a deep, relieved breath, then wondered why there was an electronic waltz coming from his pants. Mark never got calls on his cell phone. He only had it for emergencies and to tell the time. Incoming calls were an alien experience. The phone had to ring again before he realized what it was. He dug the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Courtney.”
“C-Courtney?” The surprise of hearing Courtney’s voice was even greater than the surprise of having the cell phone ring at all. “Chetwynde?”
“Well, duh. How many Courtney’s do you know who have your cell number?” Courtney asked, laughing.
“Man, it’s good to hear your voice. Where are you?”
“I’m at school in the Berkshires. A place called Stansfield. I’ve been here for about a month.”
Mark said, “Right! Summer school! That sounds like, well, something I’d do.” They both laughed.
“Actually, it’s pretty sweet,” Courtney said. “I’m only taking three courses, and one of ’em is art. Algebra-trig is a drag, though.”
“You’re taking algebra-trig?” Mark laughed. “Need some help?”
“Yes!” Courtney said quickly, laughing. Mark laughed too. It felt good.
“So, uh, how are you?” Mark asked tentatively. It was a simple question. Both knew how far-reaching it was.
“I’m okay. Seriously. That’s why I’m calling. We’ve got a ton to talk about, but not till I see you again. I just wanted to tell you that coming up here has been great. I’m really getting my head back together.”
“I’m really glad to hear that, Courtney.”
“I haven’t been thinking too much about, you know, stuff. And that’s good.”
Mark didn’t respond. He knew what she meant.
“This is kind of weird to say,” Courtney continued. “But I met somebody.”
“Of course you did,” Mark said. “I didn’t think you were there alone.”
Courtney chuckled. “No, dope. I’m talking about a guy.”
“Oh,” Mark said. “You mean like, a guy?”
“Yeah, a guy. His name’s Whitney.”
“Whitney? That sounds like a bad soap-opera name.”
Courtney laughed. “It’s worse. His name is Whitney Wilcox.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, no. But he’s cool. We’ve, uh, we’ve got a date tonight. I’m riding to meet him for pizza.”
Mark wasn’t sure of how to react. It was weird to hear that Courtney liked somebody other than Bobby, but after reading that Bobby had feelings for Loor, maybe it was all for the best. Of course, he couldn’t tell Courtney that, for all sorts of reasons.
Courtney said, “I wanted to tell you about him. I’m not really sure why.”
“I’m glad you did,” Mark said.
There was a long pause, then Courtney said, “Do you hate me?”
“Hate you? No! No way!” he said quickly. “I think it’s great you met a guy.”
“Not just that,” Courtney said. “About…everything.”
“I don’t hate you, Courtney,” Mark said. “C’mon. Give me a break.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes! There’s a lot going on. We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do.”
“Thanks. I needed to hear you say that.” There was another long pause, and then Courtney said, “I’m sorry for taking off on you. That wasn’t cool.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“Still, I’m not proud of myself. But if you saw the shape I was in, you’d know I did the right thing.”
“I already know it,” Mark said. “I can tell by your voice. I can’t wait to talk to you in person.”
Mark knew a question was out there that hadn’t been asked. He really hoped she wouldn’t ask it.
She did.
“So, uh, has anything—”
“No,” Mark said quickly. He knew she was going to ask if Bobby had sent a new journal. He didn’t want to tell her. If she was working hard to put her head on straight, the last thing she needed to hear was that Bobby was about to step into the middle of a tribal war and had fallen in love with Loor—even if she did meet a new guy. He knew he’d eventually have to spill the news, but this wasn’t the time.
“N-Nothing new,” Mark added, and winced, wishing he had stopped at “no.” He felt sure Courtney would pick up on his nervous stutter.
“Oh, okay,” Courtney said.
Mark sensed her hesitation. There was something in the way she said it that made him realize, she knew.
“When are you coming home?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.
“In a couple of weeks. We’ll talk then, okay?”
“I can’t wait to see you,” Mark said, relieved that she didn’t press him about the journals.
“I miss you, Mark. Even though you’re a dork and all.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mark said, laughing.
“We’ll get some fries at Garden Poultry and catch up, okay?”
“It’s a date. Bye, Courtney. Take care of yourself.”
“Later, gator!”
The phone went dead. Mark smiled. “Later, gator?” He thought Courtney sounded great. And happy. Just like the old Courtney. As weird as it was to think that she liked somebody besides Bobby, this new guy seemed to be helping her heal. That was a good thing. He hated having to carry the weight of Bobby’s journals on his own, but if it meant getting Courtney better, it was worth it. He flipped the phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket with the feeling that things were definitely looking up. Now if he could only tackle this stupid silver bowl.
His phone rang again.
What was going on? Why was he suddenly so popular? He dug the phone back out and flipped it open, saying, “Courtney?”
“Courtney?” the deep guy-voice mimicked. “Do I sound like a Courtney?”
“Mitchell?” Mark asked in disbelief. “How did you get this number?”
“Who cares? From Sci-Clops. We’re both members, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. What do you want?”
“I’m in trouble, Dimond,” Mitchell said. “I need your help. Now.”
SECOND EARTH
(CONTINUED)
Mrs. Dimond, Mark’s mother, gave Mark a ride to a lonely, country lane in Stony Brook that Mark knew well. It used to be part of his paper route. There, at the corner of Riversville Road and Carroll Street, they found what they were looking for. It was a beat-up, seventies-looking station wagon with fake wood paneling. Leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette, was Andy Mitchell. When he saw the Dimonds’ car approach, he quickly stubbed out the smoke.
Mrs. Dimond stared at Mitchell like he was a walking disease and said to Mark, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” To her, this guy looked like bad news. Mrs. Dimond was a smart lady.
“Yeah, he’s a friend. He’s in Sci-Clops,” Mark said.
“That hoodlum is in Sci-Clops?” Mrs. Dimond asked incredulously.
“Believe it or not,” Mark answered with a
smile. “Thanks, Mom. He’ll give me a ride home.”
Mark got out of the car, opened the rear door, and pulled out a full can of gasoline. Andy’s big problem was that he had run out of gas.
“Thanks, lady!” Andy called, sounding as polite as could be.
“You saved my life.”
Mrs. Dimond waved and smiled, then turned the wheel and drove off, but not before giving Mark a final, concerned look that said: “Are you sure about this?” Mark waved as if to say, “Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Dimond,” Mitchell said as he took the gas can from Mark. “Really. Thanks.”
It sounded to Mark as if he meant it too. Mitchell went to the rear of his beater and started funneling the gas into the tank.
“How could you run out of gas?” Mark asked.
“The gauge is busted,” Mitchell said. “Whenever I fill it up, I zero out the trip odometer to tell me how many miles I go so I know when to fill up again.”
“So what happened?”
“The trip odometer’s busted too. Piece of garbage car.”
Mark had to keep himself from laughing. Mitchell truly was an idiot.
“I got this call to make a real important delivery. Big rush. I picked up the flowers, got here, and chug chug chug. Dead. You really saved me, man.”
“What’s so important about the delivery?” Mark asked.
“Huge client,” Mitchell answered. “Big-shot corporate guys. They’re having a meeting tonight at seven o’clock, and they ordered a bunch of flowers for the tables. Last minute. Those guys don’t care. Money talks, you know? But if I don’t get ’em there in time, we’ll never get another order. Those guys don’t fool around. One mistake and you’re gone. My uncle is the same way. If I don’t deliver, I’ll be gone too. And I need this job.”
“So why didn’t you call your uncle for help?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Mitchell replied sarcastically. “So he’d know how bad a screwup I am? I may not be smart, but I ain’t dumb.”
That surprised Mark. Hearing Andy Mitchell call himself a screwup was out of character. This was turning out to be a day full of surprises. Mitchell emptied the can and put the cap back on.
The Rivers of Zadaa Page 18