by Seren Goode
The local guys looked edgy, wearing faded T-shirts and with holes torn in their jeans—the kind of holes you get from wear, not from the mall. The girls were hardcore in tight jeans and tanks. One had a muscle shirt with the sides ripped out, showing a lace bra and a tattoo down the side of her ribs. There wasn’t a lot of talking; they weren’t unfriendly, just intensely focused.
Breeze and Skylar sat leaning against each other, back-to-back, Breeze with her nose in a book, facing out to the parking lot and Skylar with his eyes tracking each skater. Shim stood down on the observation slab, also watching the skaters.
Crack! A skater hit the wall hard, slipping off his board, which slid down the slope without him. Popping up, he chased after it, jumping on and immediately trying the same trick again.
I settled in next to Breeze and Skylar, meaning to watch the skaters, but my gaze kept landing on Shim. I found myself studying him as if we had just met. Plain gray T-shirt—I had never seen him wear anything with a logo—blue jeans low on his hips, looking good without being too tight or loose; and plain black kicks. He had his arms comfortably hanging at his side. I considered his face. He winced when the guy wiped out again. His jaw was set, his tiger-eyes alert. He wanted to be out there, too, but was holding back from asking Jaxon for his board. Eventually, Shim sat down on the slab of concrete, his back to me. I thought I was safe in my observations, then he glanced over his shoulder and caught me staring. My eyes widened as he stared at me, unsmiling, his eyes intense.
Oh Stars. Unnerved by the steady way he held my gaze, I wondered what he was thinking. I was confused by what I had felt in the bookstore, and I didn’t like the feeling. This would be a good time for a distraction, to focus on anything other than thinking about what had happened at the bookstore.
“What do you think we will find at the University tomorrow?” Breeze interrupted my thoughts.
“I hope this dude will give us an easy answer to what is going on so we can be done with this. Like it was all a misunderstanding, and the parents are at a rock and mineral show and just forgot to tell us,” Skylar grumbled, his eyes not leaving the skaters.
“Hmph, you think it’s that easy? Besides wearing the cuff, do you ever remember Dad showing any interest in rocks?” Breeze turned slightly to look over her shoulder at Skylar.
“No,” Skylar admitted. “I just said that’s what I hoped would happen.”
“Honestly, I can’t imagine our dad doing any of these things: living in the streets with Waters, sailing a boat down the coast with Lincoln, even being close to any foster siblings. He never mentioned any of it.” Breeze shrugged her shoulders in frustration.
“Maybe we never asked,” Skylar whispered, then cleared his throat. “Grace, what about your mother? She ever mention something like this? Is she a daredevil?”
“Stars, no.” I thought about the best way to explain it. “My dad always called her a ‘gentle soul.’ I can’t even imagine her living with Waters. Music and the ocean were her things. Not rocks. She could sail down the coast, no problem.” I thought a moment. “I don’t know why she never mentioned having brothers and sisters of her heart. That’s what she used to call people she loved. I was always daughter of her heart, and there was this one old guy that came around when I was young that she called father of her heart. But she was always adamant she had no family. Neither of my parents did. I was homeschooled, and I wasn’t around other kids, so I didn’t know it was strange, and I guess I never thought to ask.” How could I have never asked?
“Shim, do you have any other family? Does anything we’ve learned seemed like something your mom would do?” Breeze asked Shim, who was leaning back on his elbows, keeping one eye on the bowl and the other on our conversation.
After a long pause, Shim shrugged. “Nope, no family, just a psycho dad and a slightly less crazy brother.” He sat up and stretched, looking like a big cat as he gazed out at Jaxon taking a turn in the bowl. “Even the rock is odd. It’s obviously a rare stone, which just doesn’t fit. Kindle is very particular about her look.”
“What about Waters or the boat?”
“Waters—yeah, I guess I could see that. When she loves you, she is very protective.” He looked across the park at Jaxon, then back at us. “The boat? Well, she loves water about as much as Jaxon.” We were all happy to be able to laugh now Jaxon wasn’t green and hurling over the side of the sloop.
“I’m hungry.” Breeze pouted. A new skater climbed up on the slab next to Shim and overheard.
“You from ‘round here?” the new guy asked. We shook our heads cautiously, but he didn’t seem put off by our reserve. “You should try Big-Ass Sandwiches. They got a trailer parked about three blocks that way.” He pointed off the opposite side of the park, then launched his board over the rise to the others, our muttered thanks getting lost in his departure.
We took his advice. When Breeze and I got back about thirty minutes later, the brothers and Skylar were the only ones left in the park.
Jaxon was giving Skylar a lesson, whose previous experience was apparently acquired on flat land. Jaxon showed him how to drop in and then how to fall without hurting himself.
Breeze kept yelling out for him to be careful. After a couple tries, Skylar was able to drop in and attempt a trick. A second later, he was lying prone at the bottom of the bowl.
Skylar took Jaxon’s offered hand.
“You didn’t do it. You were right on the edge, as close as you could get without grinding. Just got to practice a clean ollie, then you’ll get the 50/50. Give it another try.” Skylar tried several more times and finally got the move just as more people arrived at the park. “See, you found your groove.” They exchanged a fist bump as he handed Jaxon back the board and headed over to where the rest of us were eating enormous sandwiches. He had a huge grin, a split lip, and a bruise coming up on his cheek, but he kept smiling, even through Breeze’s fussing.
A misty rain started again, but the bowl stayed dry, tucked up under the bridge. The newcomers spent a lot of time stomping and sliding their feet on the concrete to dry their soles. This group was more experienced, and they started running different areas at the same time. One of them had a professional video camera and was recording tricks while he chomped on a thin cigar. Their boards were like Jaxon’s—scraped-up, and not light on design and stickers. Jaxon took a couple more runs, then stopped for a break.
Shim asked to borrow his board, and when Jaxon handed it over, Shim quickly dropped with a “Hoo-wah” into the bowl. He took a few slow runs to get a feel for things, then slid up on a perch on the other side to see where he wanted to go next. He was amazing to watch. He flowed gracefully up the side to land on his feet and grab the board, I was reminded of a bird, flying high for visibility and speed and then swooping low for prey. He dropped in and popped over a lip. I took the guilt-free chance to run my eyes over his lean muscles. Every so often, I would hear a whoosh of air escape on the harder tricks.
As he arced high into the air, tossing a handplant, I heard a feminine voice next to me say “nice.” I looked over.
A girl in a long tank, high-cut jean shorts, with legs up to her arm pits was watching Shim. She had dark eyeliner, and her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She looked about eighteen, and she was smiling with more than athletic appreciation.
After watching Shim grind along an edge sprayed neon green, she turned to me. “Is that badass your boyfriend?”
I was surprised by how much I wanted to say “yes,” but it wasn’t true, and I couldn’t get it out.
“We’re just friends,” Breeze volunteered. I wasn’t sure if I should hit her or hug her for saving me from saying anything.
“Excellent.” Her response drifted back to us as Tank-Top did her drop-in and headed right over to Shim, pulling up on the ledge next to where he was catching his breath. As she started chatting him up, Shim pulled his shirt up and used
the hem to wipe sweat off his face, showing off rock-hard abs and tawny skin. I muffled a groan and decided it was time to get my head together.
“BZ, is your book good?” I half listened as Breeze enthusiastically described the storyline of her book, but nothing registered until sometime later, when Shim dropped back in and came over to where we sat. Landing beside us, Shim handed the board back to Jaxon, who had wadded up his sandwich wrapper and was ready for more airtime.
I didn’t have to say anything. Skylar dove right in. “Wow, you were flying! Hey, what’d that girl want?”
Shim shrugged quickly, he became extremely interested in eating his sandwich. I suspected he was avoiding the question. Skylar nudged him and asked again, “What’d that girl want? She was cute. Did she ask you out?”
I kept my eyes glued on the guy with the cut-off pants doing a frontside flip.
“Invite to a party,” Shim said reluctantly.
“Cool, when is it? Are we all invited?” Skylar was excited.
“Uh, no, just me,” Shim muttered.
Skylar made an “oh” with his mouth. “A priiiiivate party. I get it.” He gave a squeaky chuckle. “You going?”
“Of course not.” I think he shot a look sideways at me, but I was concentrating on the skaters, pretending not to listen. “I got better things to do.”
I realized I was holding my breath. Taking a stuttering breath, I turned and gave him a little smile, not much, but he saw it. The corner of his mouth ticked up as he bit into his sandwich.
“I’m tapped out.” Jaxon landed next to us, throwing himself down onto his back on the concrete.
“What’s next?” Skylar asked.
“We should leave for the University early tomorrow.” Shim rapped his knuckles fondly on the concrete. We were all smiling as we headed to the room Shim had found for us.
Chapter 22
Clarkton University
The next morning, the city bus dropped us along with a handful of students at Clarkton University’s rolling green lawn. The grass was crisscrossed with white paved paths and surrounded by monumental redbrick buildings hidden in patches of Douglas-fir.
Following our campus map, we headed for the last building on the right at the back of the mall. Its brick wings spread out from a huge white central rotunda. A sign on the side of one wing read, “The School of Earth Sciences.”
“This department is really prestigious, second only to Stanford School of Earth and something—I don’t remember the rest of the name—in California,” Jaxon filled us in.
“Grace.” Shim pointed to my necklace, and I remembered I was going to remove it so the professor wouldn’t recognize the stone until we were ready. I unlatched the chain and slipped off, tucking it into my messenger bag.
As we entered the hall, we left the tangy smell of pine behind. I thought, not for the first time, it would have been nice to have some advice from our parents as we went into a situation. But if any of our parents had talked to us about this, then we wouldn’t need to be here now. This would definitely be a topic for discussion next time I saw my dad—if I ever got the chance to see him again. When, I corrected myself, when I saw him again.
The student population on campus was low for the summer semester. I imagined the laid-back uniform of jeans and T-shirts was distinguished from every other college campus in the country only by the color of their T-shirts, a bright yellow or blue with “Clarkton University” on the front.
Jaxon had confirmed with the department that Professor Sid Cambridge had classes today. Not wanting to risk making an appointment under our own names, Jaxon had pretended to be a high school science teacher scheduling a campus tour and visit with the professor for several of his honor students.
Passing classrooms and small offices, we followed the signs to a reception area and checked in. After a few minutes’ wait, a student greeter pointed us to a set of double doors.
As department head, Sid Cambridge had a spacious office. One side was lined with bookshelves and display cases, and floor to ceiling windows covered another. A sturdy oak desk was stationed in front of a wall of degrees and award plaques.
When his assistant announced us, a charismatic man in his late fifties waved a greeting from the corner of the desk, a casual posture you could tell he often assumed from the multiple circular impressions his butt had left in the piles of term papers and dissertations on the surface. Tall and lean, with a full head of gray hair pulled back into a low, rakish ponytail, he wore a fitted western shirt with pearl buttons tucked into faded, field-worn jeans. Ankle-high cowboy boots with pointed toes swung against the edge of the desk. He posed for a moment on his desk, then stood, and, with a wide, toothy grin, reached out a hand to shake each of ours as we came closer.
If this was the university our parents had come to, then Cambridge would have been an assistant professor at the time, working with his mentor, the legendary—according to Jaxon—Carl Stringham. Jaxon’s research had shown that over their careers, the two of them had promoted some revolutionary and controversial ideas in planetary geology.
We introduced ourselves, using one of the fake identities the twins had put together. Shim and I were seventeen-year-olds, Shane and Gwen, looking for colleges to apply to and the others were our younger siblings. After the pleasantries, Cambridge broke into a history of the department and the importance of its culture and philosophy in influencing geology at an international level. To keep myself awake, I studied the plaques and photos on the wall. Several showed Sid and an older man together, presenting at conferences, shaking people’s hands, or digging in desert locations.
Cambridge asked about Shim’s and my background in science. What classes had we taken? None. Where did we see ourselves in the future? Hopefully not dead. Were we aware of the different types of programs available? Couldn’t care less. He gave a casual glance at the watch on his wrist while we both gave plausible, rehearsed answers. At one point, he asked, “So Shane, what other universities are you looking at?”
Shim had been studying a photo showing Cambridge and Stringham digging at a meteor crash site. Covered in dust and sweat, they had victorious smiles and were holding a pockmarked grey rock between them the size of a baseball.
“Yeah, Shane.” Jaxon gave an aggressive kick to Shim’s chair to get his attention. “What other universities have you checked out?”
Stiffening and turning back to us, Shim floundered. “Uh, we’ve just started looking.”
A smirking Jaxon took the opportunity to re-direct the conversation as we had planned.
“I read an article you and Professor Stringham co-wrote,” Jaxon started. “Can you tell me where you got some of your ideas on meteorites as conduits for energy?”
We tuned in and tried to follow Cambridge as he pontificated on his theories and the many conferences where he had presented his ideas.
“But,” Jaxon drilled down, “you stated you and Professor Stringham had found proof meteorites were conductors. Where’s the proof?”
Cambridge paused in the recitation of his list of most recently published articles and the prestige they brought to the university. Clearly, he was not accustomed to being interrupted.
“We are just such big fans of your work. So many people don’t understand the contributions you and Professor Stringham made to the field,” Shim followed up. “It would make our whole trip if we could see the evidence you found.”
Cambridge rose up from the desk edge and paced around to the back, using the desk as a barrier to shut us down.
“The meteorites we have collected have all been extensively studied by experts, and their properties and chemical structure included in our published work. They are far too valuable to keep around the office.” He wound back up to continue his recitation of his contributions to the field.
While Cambridge went on for another twenty minutes, I looked at Jaxon, tak
ing his lead on what to do next. His eyes were narrowed, his freckled face tight in concentration. Finally, his reddish-brown head bobbed as he nodded at me. Waiting until Cambridge had turned away to point at several of his framed photos, I pulled the necklace from my bag sitting on the floor, slipped it around my neck, and pulled my collar up to cover it.
Apparently, the professor didn’t need to breathe like normal people. He could probably have talked about himself for days, so when he finally paused for air, Shim quickly stepped in, praising his work and feigning an interest in following in his footsteps.
“You know, I’ve never seen an actual meteor,” Jaxon chimed in.
“Would you like to see one?” This was the introduction we were waiting for.
“That would be great.” Skylar and Breeze, who had been silent through the meeting, chimed in that they also would like to see a meteor.
“Well, now I do have a few small ones I can show you.” At our vigorous nods, he went over to one of the old wooden cabinets against the far wall and started pulling out flat file drawers. He went through four before he found the one he was looking for. He motioned us to join him at the waist-high drawer. “We finished testing these a long time ago. I use them for teaching purposes now. All of these samples are from asteroid collisions, and the pieces were found in the Southwest over the last fifty years or so.”
We crowded around him, ohhh-ing and ahhh-ing at the collection. Breeze and Skylar were laying it on thick while Jaxon remarked on the different colors and textures of the stones.
On cue, I faked a revelation “Hey, these look like the rock in that necklace I bought in the antique store yesterday.” It didn’t really, and when Cambridge didn’t appear very interested, Shim shook his head at me.
“Forget it, Gwen. These are real meteors, not some fake plastic.”
“Hey, mine could be real.” I pulled back my collar, showing off the necklace. “What do you think, Professor? Have I got a real meteor?” I gave my best wide-eyed and innocent look. It had to look completely fake.