Greyson Gray

by B. C. Tweedt

  “You little…”

  Without warning, Jarryd lunged for Sammy, but Greyson snagged his shoe and pulled him away. Jarryd resisted, scrambling at Sammy. There was a great struggle and all the boys were involved. A minute later, mustard stains and grass stains were the last remnants of the fight as they sat huffing and puffing.

  Greyson sat, breathing heavy, watching the boys to make sure there was no more rough housing, but at the same time reflecting on everything he had learned about Pluribus. There was still something deeply disturbing about the organization – and the boy in the white shirt. A gut feeling told him there was something wrong, just like at Morris. Perhaps worse. He hated the feeling and liked it at the same time.

  If he had to put a name to the feeling, ‘suspicious’ wouldn’t be enough. Neither would ‘apprehensive’, ‘cautious’, ‘wary’, ‘anxious’, or even ‘disturbed’. Those carried only the negative. He was mad, too. Mad that he’d lost the Plurb. But there was positive, too – the fact that he was driven to do something about it. The best word in his vocabulary for the feeling was simple. Daring. He felt daring.

  “We’re going to find out what’s going on,” he said boldly.

  The boys turned, still breathing hard and wiping dirt and grass from their clothes. “What? How? Now?”

  “No. Later. Tonight, when the crowd is gone. After closing.”

  Jarryd smiled mischievously. Sammy salivated a long strand to the grass. Nick bit his lower lip, thinking. It was Nick who spoke truth first. “We can’t do that. You have a terrorist trying to find you alone somewhere to kill you. Besides – if you get caught – Kip will never let you out of his sight again. Just tell Kip – he’ll handle it.”

  The truth stung his daring, but it had to retaliate. “We’ll tell Kip when there’s for sure something to tell. ‘Cause even if it’s nothing, Kip will think it’s something and then this whole trip would be over…for nothing. Besides, we won’t get caught. And this time – this time I’m armed.”

  The boys’ eyes lit up and their minds raced with the possibilities of weapons he could have on him. They followed his hand to his fanny pack with anticipation; but when Greyson pulled out the slingshot, the boys snickered.

  “I thought you meant a gun, or at least a Swiss Army knife or something,” Jarryd laughed.

  Greyson glared at him.

  “What can that thing do?” he mocked. “Toss turds back at the monkey who throws them at you? Put a cherry on top of a sundae? Spank an infant? High five a carnie?”

  “It’s a deadly weapon! When I got this thing, no one in their right mind would try anything on m—”

  Suddenly arms reached around him from behind, slammed him to his back, and then pinned his throat to the ground. Before he knew it, Sydney was on top of him, her forearm pressing into his esophagus.

  “You left me, jerk. Say you’re sorry!”

  Greyson quickly gave up reaching for the slingshot. She was smiling and obviously enjoying this.

  “Uckk…sogkkkee.”

  “Good. Now to make it up to me, you’ll say yes to the next thing I ask you, okay? Then we’ll be friends again and I’ll forget that you abandoned me.”

  “Uckkkay!”

  She released her forearm and Greyson hacked at the air. Turning around slowly, she met eyes with the boys. “Well. You guys must have been about ready to send out the search party for me.”

  They glanced around and she laughed.

  “Don’t worry. I’m just kidding. I can take care of myself. I just don’t like getting left out of the action. What I miss?”

  Her smile and nonchalant manner seemed to creep the boys out.

  “Nothin’,” Jarryd offered. “Greyson lost him in Midway.”

  She nodded, wiping a strand of blonde hair back over her ear as she turned to check on Greyson, who had sat up and was rubbing his throat. Suddenly she addressed the other boys. “Guys. Give us a second alone.”

  The boys’ eyes grew wide and Jarryd pumped his eyebrows, but they obeyed willingly, choosing to watch from the bottom of the hill. When they were alone, Sydney glanced from Greyson to her shoes, and back to Greyson.

  “So…Greyson?”

  Greyson held his hands out to stop any sudden attacks. “What?”

  Sydney gulped, just as nervous as Greyson. “There’s square dancing tonight at Cattlemen’s. Want to go?”

  “Dancing? Heck no!”

  She jutted her neck out at him and glared.

  Oh. I was supposed to say yes.

  “I mean…I’m sorry for leaving you and all, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t hesitate! And we would have gotten separated anyway.”

  “You were supposed to say ‘yes’.”

  Greyson rubbed at his throat again, also readying himself for a possible attack. “I know…but what about this Plurb guy? We have to find out what he’s up to. How can we dance while there’s work to be done…?”

  Her glare began to fade to a pout.

  “Is there something else I can do?” he continued, beginning to panic. “Buy you some cotton candy or a…corndog…?” he trailed off, sensing a change in her demeanor. Beneath her harsh exterior, there was something softening in her eyes. It gently pulled him in and then punched mercilessly at his conscience. Something like a spell was being cast out of her eyes. There was nothing he could do.

  “OR! Or I could go with you to the dancing thing.”

  Her eyes glowed, releasing the spell. “Really? You want to?”

  He sighed out of surrender. “Yes.”

  -------------------

  Six hours later they stood in front of Cattlemen’s Steakhouse. The sun was setting, casting a cool breeze over the fairgrounds and kissing the slight sunburn Greyson had on his arms and neck. A chill passed over his little arm hairs as Sydney turned to adjust his shirt collar, her fingers brushing across his neck.

  Ugh! If she weren’t so stinking good-looking, he’d have made a run for it long ago. And if he hadn’t just learned from her 4H presentation that she was borderline genius, he would have tried to trick her out of it. And if he hadn’t learned on the car-ride to the fair that she spent hours each week singing to her grandmother with Alzheimer’s and recording church services to play back for her, then it would have been easier to say no and hurt her feelings.

  But boy, had he wanted to run. As soon as they had returned to their campers after lunch and the talent show, their parents had bombarded them with questions about the day. Sydney had been quick to devise a story for them to explain the mustard and grass stains (something about chasing an escaped piglet in the birthing barn), but she also decided to tell them of “their” plans for the night.

  The moms had kicked into high gear. Wardrobe was chosen, teeth were brushed, hair was gelled, and a fanny pack was nearly taken from him.

  Kip had joined in giving him advice. “I hear there’s a ride called ‘Ye Old Mill’. There’s a dark tunnel where couples love to sneak in a smooch.”

  To make it worse, he’d felt Sydney’s dad’s presence like a mouse eyeing a hawk’s nest. Her dad was on the shy side, but Greyson could tell he wanted to interrogate the trouble-making boy who was about to take his daughter out. His shifty eyes and constant close proximity was unnerving. Greyson had played it cool and managed to avoid him most of the afternoon. It had been miserable.

  Until the walk. Finally, the parents had let them go out on their own, with Kip lagging well behind, and they were as alone as they could be on this trip. They’d walked down the dusty roads, chit-chatting about her family and his mom. Occasionally they’d point out some weird lawn ornament, like a lawn gnome, or a beer-can-Christmas tree a family put on their plot between the campers.

  Eventually they’d caught a tractor-taxi ride into the fair and had met a few middle-aged women with fanny packs. They’d discussed the practicality and beauty of the pack while Sydney had snickered to herself. The high point had been when one of the women had pinched him before getting off the trai
ler and winked while whispering, “You got a nice one there.”

  He had agreed. The more he got to talk with her one on one, without someone chasing them and without planning some sort of heist, the more he realized how nice she was. She had asked the women all about their grandchildren and their favorite parts of the fair – and she had actually cared what they said. When he had made fun of some of the lawn ornaments, she had explained why they might have some special hidden meaning for the family who had put them up. It was a whole new side to her, and he liked it.

  Even the long walk to Cattlemen’s had been fantastic. It was after dusk and the neon lights were on full display. The crowd noise and concerts, along with the bright rings and bells of the carnival and the laughter of children had an effect on them both, bringing smiles to their faces to match those around them. They had talked about the fair, the best foods, and mostly things that didn’t have to do with terrorism. It was so normal. And it was good. He hadn’t realized how depressed he’d been lately.

  Before taking the turn to Cattlemen’s, Greyson had caught a glimpse of a sign for Ye Old Mille. Remembering what Kip had said, a sudden chill ran up his spine.

  “How about that ride, Syd?” he’d said nervously. “I’ve heard good things about it.”

  Sydney caught his glance and a knowing smirk crept over her lips. She turned to him and pumped her chin like Jarryd. “I’ve heard good things, too.”

  Oh, geez. She knows. Stop shaking you dolt! “Wanna try it?”

  She bit her lip and looked back to where Kip had stopped, pretending to finger through his Fair Guide. “Well, I don’t know…”

  Greyson sighed. “We don’t have to…”

  Sydney looked back to him and brushed at her hair. “It’s just that I’ve heard that the ride is dark. And you go out of sight for a while. I don’t think Kip would let us out of sight, you know?”

  “Well, he said that I could be out of his sight every now and then. I have an emergency button.”

  Sydney sighed and bit her lip harder, glancing at her shoes. “Well, its just that…” she breathed deeply, trying to think of how to say what she had to say, “…its kind of weird with someone so close…”

  “I-I’ll go and tell him to wait for us at the end.” He was on his tiptoes now, ready to sprint to Kip and tell him what he wanted.

  “Wait.”

  She grabbed his hand and Greyson relaxed his stance. He couldn’t relax his racing heart, though.

  “That’s just kind of…weird. He’d be all suspicious…and he’d tell our moms for sure.”

  His shoulders slumped a little and he searched his mind for a solution, glancing at Kip every now and then. Kip already had a coy smirk on his face – like he was already itching to tell his mom.

  Sydney’s eyes lit up. “How about…” she leaned in for a whisper, “…we lose him after Cattlemen’s. Run here real quick and then meet up with him after.”

  She was so close to him. Memories of the last time they’d been so close washed over him like a bucket of cold water. Please don’t hear my teeth chattering.

  “O-okay!”

  “Great!” She winked at him and pulled him toward Cattlemen’s. It took a few moments for him to realize that they were holding hands, and then another moment to realize how amazing it felt. They swung their hands, experimenting with the feel. Up until then, the only hands they had held were their parents. But these hands fit so much better. They interlocked fingers and smiled wider as she pulled him toward their destination. Greyson’s mind was in the clouds. She could take him anywhere and he would be happy.

  But when they had arrived at Cattlemen’s and she starting fixing his collar, he suddenly realized where she was taking him. A square dance. If there was one place he felt more uncomfortable, he hadn’t discovered it yet. It didn’t help being dressed in a snug polo shirt and constricting khaki shorts. He even wore cologne that Kip had lent him. It smelled like he figured Smokey the Bear would smell – half forest, half animal musk. But he kind of liked it.

  “There you go.” She polished off his shoulders and smiled at him. Why’d she have to smile like that when I’m trying to convince myself to run? And why’d she wear red? She knows I have a thing for red.

  “Wait.” He stopped her before she went through the swinging saloon doors. She turned to him and he reached to her face. He pushed back that stray strand of hair that always seemed to fall from her ear, his hand visibly shaking but getting the job done.

  “There you go.”

  “Thanks! You know what? My mom says one of a lady’s jobs is to make her man look good. So I gotta look good, too.”

  “Cool.”

  It was. He smiled at her and thought perhaps the hours of humiliation before the walk had been worth it after all.

  They entered the expansive western restaurant together and were swept into its atmosphere. The live band on stage was high-energy, smothering the lines of dancers with sounds of banjos, accordions, and drums that echoed in the wooden castle. A man in full cowboy gear yelled commands into a microphone and the crowd followed, swinging, stomping, twirling, and clapping on command. Mugs of beer were clinking at the bar and waitresses swept from table to table around the dance floor, delivering greasy bacon burgers and fries to happy customers.

  Greyson’s mouth began to water. “Want to sit down and get one of those?”

  Sydney scowled and took his hand. “Maybe we could dance first? Work up our appetite?”

  The shadows shifted behind them and he glanced back to see Kip enter. He’d keep his distance all night, but he’d be there. He was to report everything back to the mom headquarters by 10pm. Greyson made a puppy-face, asking for help, but Kip only winked in response. Protect me, my butt.

  “How about we just watch for a minute,” she said. “See how it’s done.”

  Everyone else seemed to already know how it was done. The commands came flying, “Now do-si-do! Circle round! Forward! Square the set! Allemande! Back! Now give a holler!”

  Sydney joined in with the holler and poked Greyson in the side. “Now you could do that!”

  Greyson let out a weak holler. She laughed. “Weak! But whatcha think? You can learn. See, watch that girl. She’s good. When he calls do-si-do, she…”

  He wasn’t watching the dancing anymore. He’d been scanning the crowd for the boy in the white shirt but had noticed three men in suits watching him. They had stationed themselves in corners and spoke quietly into earpieces – muscular, serious, and intimidating. And Kip had disappeared. Questions bombarded his mind. Who are these guys? And why have they surrounded me? Have they already taken Kip? His mind darted from elusive answers to making a plan for escape. He found the exits and planned out the safest route.

  “Easy, right?”

  “Uh…,” he shrugged at Sydney. “Let’s go somewhere else, okay?”

  “What?” she turned to him. “Somewhere else?”

  “Yeah. Back to the Ye Old Mill or something.”

  He had just chosen a place other than where they were. He hadn’t meant to suggest…

  Sydney scowled. “Oh, so that’s all you want?”

  “No, no! It’s just…”

  Someone sided up to him and he jumped. But it wasn’t one of the men. It was a boy about his age dressed in a blue plaid shirt tucked into tight cowboy jeans. The first thing he noticed about him was his very white smile.

  “Hi. I’m Sam.”

  Greyson tried to fake a smile, but he was too distracted to fake it well. “Uh, hi. I’m Grey – uh, Nolan. I’m Nolan Schroeder.”

  Sam nodded and they shook hands. The kid had a firm grip to go with his winning smile. Though smaller than Greyson, he was definitely one of those kids at school the girls would drool over. His skin was golden brown, his eyes were big with just a hint of Asian ancestry, and he had an athletic build. The only thing detracting from his good looks was a wide, dime-shaped mole on his right cheek. But even that was thin and more defining than distracting. An
d the boy was certainly confident enough to overcome it.

  “Nice to meet you, Grey Nolan. And this is…” he motioned at Sydney.

  Greyson looked to Sydney and balked. Her anger at Greyson had frozen into a shocked smile, like a deer caught in headlights. He recognized that look.

  “Sydney,” he said for her.

  Sydney reached over Greyson and shook Sam’s hand, a goofy smile still on her partially frozen face. “Nice to meet you.”

  A sudden surge of jealousy welled within him and he had forgotten about the men blocking the exits.

  Sam eyed their shoes, which were inches from the dance floor. “You guys thinking about dancing?”

  Sydney laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. Just thinking about it. We’re not sure we could do it.”

  “Ah.” Sam glanced at both of them. “Are you guys brother and sister?”

  “No, no,” Sydney laughed. “We’re friends.”

  Sam smiled wider, adding a few dimples to the charm. “Friends. Well, then, would you mind if I teach you to square dance?”

  He wasn’t looking at Greyson, but Greyson was looking at him. And Sam noticed. “I would ask you, but she’s a little better looking. No offense.”

  Sydney laughed and blushed. Greyson glared and clasped his shorts in his fists. Noticing the tension, Sam nodded to himself, thinking. He then leaned in to Greyson’s ear, hidden from Sydney, and whispered. “Just say the word and I won’t, bud. I play by the rules.”

  He leaned back out and Greyson was stuck. He didn’t know what to do. Sydney really wanted to dance, and it would make her happy. Maybe Sam could do that. And besides, it may keep her away from whatever was about to happen with the suited men. If they went for him, it was better she was as far away as possible.

  And Sam seems like a good enough guy.

  He gave him a little nod of approval and Sam patted him on the shoulder. Before Greyson could change his mind, Sam had grabbed Sydney’s hand and led her onto the dance floor just in time for a new song.

  Sydney glanced back over her shoulder, faked a pout, but a moment later was smiling.

  When he saw how happy she looked – when he saw how good Sam looked – he knew he had made the wrong decision. Sam linked arms with her and danced in perfect rhythm. They twirled and clapped hands, stomped their feet and hollered. When she made a mistake, he laughed and helped her get back on track. He was confident, happy, and a very good dancer. And he didn’t wear a fanny pack.