Part 5 (1/2)
”Nope. Just a mistake. I was looking for something else.” She swivelled around on the chair so her body blocked the screen.
”I hear your mom is running for mayor,” he added, leaning closer to her and resting one hand on the computer desk. Abbey could smell his deodorant mixed with a faint whiff of sweat. His full lips twitched into the self-satisfied smile that made all the soph.o.m.ore girls swoon.
She was definitely not swooning, but she had to admit the smile wasn't completely ineffective. ”Yup.”
”Are you interested in politics too?”
”I'm not sure.”
”If you were, I wanted to let you know a s.p.a.ce just opened up on student council. I thought you might like to join.” He smiled, but the intensity of his gaze made her squirm.
She could feel the heat emanating from his arm, which was so close to hers. ”I thought you had to be a senior for that.”
Russell looked around the room at the other Chem 12 students and raised his eyebrows. ”You're taking senior chemistry. I think that's good enough. The meeting is Wednesday at four. Be there if you're interested.”
He returned to his desk and Abbey bolted back to hers, her heart throbbing in her chest. What could Russell Andrews possibly want with her? She seriously hoped it wasn't a date. She hadn't scheduled dating into her mental life plan for at least two years-and then definitely not a senior, and definitely not Russell. She glanced up from her books at the same time he darted a look over his shoulder. His eyes were cool, but frankly appraising, and she whipped her head around to stare at the periodic table on the wall. Aluminum: a poor metal with high electrical conductivity and a low melting and boiling point. She was a geek, a science geek. Guys occasionally paid attention to her because they thought she could help them with their homework. But that was it.
So, why did she feel like maybe that wasn't it?
Abbey forced herself to focus on her a.s.signment for the remainder of the cla.s.s. Periodicity. Atomic numbers. Valence sh.e.l.ls. Those were things she understood.
The rain had stopped by the end of the day, and-after she'd managed to extract Caleb from the circle of girls he was entertaining-she and Caleb trudged home as rivulets of rainwater ran over the s.h.i.+mmering pavement. Simon, taking his research more seriously than Abbey expected, had headed downtown to Greenhill after school to check up on the kid they had seen the day before.
”Didn't he want us to come with him?” Abbey asked.
”Nah, he seemed to want to go on his own.”
”Should you have let him?”
”Ab, he's going to qualify for a driver's license in four months. I think he can handle it.”
”I know, but with someone out to get him?”
”The email just said 'Sinclair.' That could be you, me, Dad, or some other Sinclair. It could even be a Sinclair in the future. And it's broad daylight and he's on a city bus.”
Abbey placed her gumboot into a stream of water running down the hill. The water separated, moved down and around her foot, and then rejoined at her heel. Laminar flow, when a fluid flows in parallel non-mixing layers around an obstacle or boundary. She looked at Caleb. ”Did it occur to you that we will be the Sinclairs in the future? That we could have run into our older selves?”
”Hmm, no, didn't think of that.”
”That doesn't creep you out?”
Caleb shrugged. ”Not really.”
They continued on in silence. Abbey had already updated Caleb on what she'd found out about Aluminum Ice. That it was expected to be the rocket fuel of the future due to the minuscule amounts required, ease of fabrication, propellant qualities, and environmentally friendly by-products. Caleb had done a little dance in the street. She'd struck out on Twinkle-Free Air, but something about it nagged her. When they reached their house, Abbey headed up their drive.
Caleb grabbed her by the arm. ”Let's go ask Mark about the sh.o.r.eline.”
”Mark? I thought you said he was crazy.”
Caleb shrugged and looked sheepish. ”Well, he may be, but I couldn't find anything in the atlas. We should also get paper to do some rubbings of those markings on the stones and a sketch of the hill by the causeway.”
”Why?”
”If we were just in the future, then were we in the future here, or somewhere else? Did we travel in time and s.p.a.ce, or just time? Look at Coventry Hill. Imagine if you were higher up and the trees were all gone.”
Abbey glanced up the hill. They'd hiked up there a couple of times, but the trees were so thick there was no viewpoint. ”The hill yesterday was all scoured and rounded and the soil was red, and where would all the trees have gone?”
”It could look pretty different around here in twenty-five years.”
”Not that different.” Not without a major catastrophe, Abbey thought. One that would obliterate their house and all the houses around it.
”Anyway, just saying-those are the questions we need to be asking. Let's go talk to Mark.”
Abbey wondered how Caleb could seem so chipper about all of this, as if this were an adventure or a mystery to unravel. She had to admit, though, he was posing the right questions. She looked back up at Coventry Hill. Fog still clouded the top of the mountain where the terrain leveled off into a largish plateau surrounded by a ring of hills, but the sun had broken through in some spots and was painting patches of trees in a brilliant prismatic light. Her mother had been trying unsuccessfully to have Coventry Hill made into a City Park for years, but her efforts had finally gained some traction due to the housing boom and the recent arrival of developers frothing with enthusiasm to have the area made into 'lifestyle' subdivisions with glorious views. Even though her mother looked poised to win the mayoral election, the developers had deep pockets, and the campaign had gotten ugly. Abbey had stopped reading the things people said about her mother, and yet her mother had hardly seemed bothered by them at all.
”I guess, but what are we going to tell Mrs. Forrester?”
Caleb shrugged. ”That it's a school a.s.signment or something.” He doubled his pace and they soon stood on Mrs. Forrester's porch, breathing in the lingering aroma of pipe. Abbey had seen the old woman on her porch in the evenings in the shadows, her face lit by the faint red glow of the pipe. She wondered what it would be like to be old and alone, with only an autistic adult son for company. She wondered what had happened to Mr. Forrester.
The door flew open at Caleb's knock, as if they'd been expected, and Mrs. Forrester ushered them into the warm yellow-wallpapered kitchen, offering tea and biscuits with some general talk about the wet weather. Abbey found herself in a kitchen chair with a steaming cup of tea and a sugar cookie in front of her, wondering why Mrs. Forrester hadn't asked why they were there.
Caleb spoke through the crumbly bits of cookie in his mouth. ”Mrs. Forrester, we were wondering if we could talk to Mark. We have a school a.s.signment on sh.o.r.elines, and we know he's really good with maps.”
Mrs. Forrester sank into a seat at the table, teapot in hand. ”Oh, well that is a surprise. n.o.body ever asks to see Mark. It would be lovely for him to have someone take an interest in his maps. But, dears, he's unpredictable. He can get upset pretty easily.”
Caleb smiled easily. ”We know, Mrs. Forrester. We'll be careful. He just needs to point to a map in a book for us.”
Mrs. Forrester studied them. ”I guess that would be okay. His speech is a little odd and he doesn't understand social cues. If you get him started talking about maps, he might not stop. He's not slow or violent, usually, but he still has some challenges.”
Mrs. Forrester led them down the hallway.
Caleb followed with his usual casual lope, not too fast and not too slow.
Abbey studied the walls, looking for signs of Mr. Forrester. But the wood-paneled walls were conspicuously bare, and the living room was tidy with faded green furniture from the sixties, remarkably nondescript. A set of stairs descended into the cement bas.e.m.e.nt through the door opposite Mark's.
A light burned at the bottom of Mark's door. Mrs. Forrester knocked firmly. The sea of blue that greeted them when it opened made Abbey gasp. Every surface of Mark's room, save for the ceiling, was covered with maps of multiple sizes and types, all of which shared one common feature: water.
Mark had his lips pulled back in a broad smile, frightening in its toothy expanse, as if he, too, had been expecting them. His hair was slicked back into a congealed swoop, and he wore an aqua sweater vest over neatly pressed navy cords that outlined his bulk.
Abbey shuddered slightly. He was so big, and he'd been beating the window the day before. He was a body at rest right now, but his potential energy was high.
Mrs. Forrester paused and c.o.c.ked her head slightly at Mark's appearance. ”Mark, Abbey and Caleb are here to ask you a question about maps. Can you help them please?”
Mark considered and then nodded with exaggerated gravity. ”Yes, that would be within my capacity, if their question is a.s.sociated with a sh.o.r.eline or water feature. I am an expert on all water features, oceans, lakes, rivers, streams, ca.n.a.ls, ponds, and wetlands.”
”Okay, I'll leave you to it then. Just please remember to breathe, Mark. And let them leave when they're ready. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.” Mrs. Forrester disappeared down the hall in a swish of pipe spice and rose water.
”You may come in and present the nature of your query,” said Mark formally.