Part 2 (1/2)
But hey, Drew was tall and built and had a flashy smile. And Chris was just a beanpole who couldn't manage to put on any weight if he tried. If only he'd gotten Trey's genes, maybe he'd have had a chance.
”Hey... Trey, Chris... will you guys play Barbies with me?” a little voice begged.
Chris looked over to see that his sister Tara had entered the room. Back when she was a baby, his parents had adopted the now six-year-old girl from an African country that had been all but wiped out by the resurgent AIDS epidemic. Sometimes he wished they'd traded his brother for the privilege.
”Yeah, right,” Trey said, rolling his eyes. ”I've got to get ready for my date with Anna Simmons.”
Tara's face fell, but Chris knew how to fix that. ”I'll play with you, Tara Bara,” he said, pulling out his VR goggles. He didn't have much else going on, after all. ”What address are you at?”
His sister chirped with joy. ”Dreamhouse Fifteen, on the Blonde and Beautiful server.” She grabbed her own sim deck. ”Thanks, Chris. You're the best!”
”You just remember that come dessert,” he teased as he activated the sim. ”I want your portion of Mom's banana cream pie.”
”Anything!” Tara promised. Of course, he knew she'd deny it all when it came to actually giving up her sweets, but he didn't really mind.
”Hey, your girlfriend's outside,” Trey remarked casually as he headed back up the stairs. ”Pretty hot, if I do say so myself.”
Chris started, his heart in his throat as he found himself clamoring for the nearest high bas.e.m.e.nt window. Sure enough, there was Peyton, talking to their neighbor, Mrs. McCormick. He smiled. The old woman was his favorite person on their block-besides Peyton, of course. A sweet, cookie-baking grandma-type who'd been his babysitter when he was younger. And even today, she was always around to listen when his parents were late coming home from work, which they usually were. He'd never seen Peyton talk to her, though. Maybe Mrs. McCormick would put in a good word for him. He could use all the help he could get.
But just as he was about to leave the window and switch on his sim, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Mrs. McCormick. Swaying and stumbling and falling to the ground. In a flash, he was on the stairs. Then he paused, turning back to his sister.
”Meet me in the Glow Cat area,” he told her. ”I'll be right back.”
Peyton, late for her training session with her father, had been rus.h.i.+ng home from a fight with Drew at school-he hated how she had to rush home to train every day instead of spending time with him-when she came across her elderly neighbor hobbling down the street. The woman was coughing so hard that at first Peyton worried she was choking. She ran up, placed a hand on the old woman's shoulder and peered into her eyes. ”Are you okay, Mrs. McCormick?” she asked.
The old woman grasped her with a bony hand. ”I don't know,” she said, her voice cracking. ”I felt fine this morning. But now I can't seem to stop coughing.” She opened her hand, revealing a tissue clotted with scarlet-flecked phlegm. Peyton recoiled. ”A few minutes ago I started coughing up blood.”
”We need to get you to a hospital,” Peyton said, glancing around for a neighbor. She needed someone with a SmartCar, because it was unlikely they'd make it to a hospital otherwise; the old lady was never going to be able to walk. And, to complicate things further, unlike everyone else in the universe, Peyton didn't have an iComm. The tech that had replaced the cell phone was yet another modern convenience her dad forbade, and if she used her jerry-rigged, outdated phone to call home, she doubted he would answer. He never did.
At that moment, Mrs. McCormick swayed. Before Peyton could stop her, the old woman stumbled, losing her balance altogether, her frail, aging body crumbling to the ground. Horrified, Peyton dropped to her knees, attempting to help the old lady to the sidewalk.
”Stay there,” she instructed once she was satisfied that the woman was out of the way of traffic and able to sit up by herself. ”I'll go try to find someone to help.”
”Hey, what's going on?”
Peyton turned to see none other than Chris Parker approaching. After a brief spasm of discomfort, relief washed over her. Maybe he could get his mom to drive them or something, or just call the hospital. ”Mrs. McCormick's sick,” she explained, giving the pertinent details. ”Do you have an iComm? We need to get her an ambulance.”
Chris pulled his longish brown hair back from his ear, revealing a tiny headset. He pressed the silver b.u.t.ton at its tip. ”Dial 911,” he commanded, then waited. ”h.e.l.lo?” he said. ”Yeah, I'm at 23 Mulberry Lane. We need an ambulance.” He listened for a moment. ”Yeah, she's an elderly woman. Name's Mandy McCormick. She's coughing up blood.” Another pause. ”Okay, thanks. Yeah, we'll be right here. No, we won't leave.” He pressed the b.u.t.ton again and turned back to Peyton. ”Okay, they're sending an ambulance.”
”Just hang in there, Mrs. McCormick,” Peyton said, patting the coughing woman on the back. ”They'll come for you in a minute.”
Mrs. McCormick looked up at the two teenagers, appreciation in her watery blue eyes. ”Thank you, kids,” she said. ”You're good to help me.” She was overtaken by another racking coughing fit.
Chris sat down beside her and took her hand in his. ”Are you kidding, Mrs. McCormick?” he asked. ”You know I'd never let anything happen to you.”
The older woman blushed like a schoolgirl, and Peyton couldn't help but notice. ”Such a sweet boy,” she said. She looked up at Peyton. ”You know, he comes by twice a week after school to visit me.”
”He does?” Peyton was surprised.
”Oh, yes. He reads me all my favorite romance books,” the woman explained. ”Of course, we skip over the s.e.xy parts. He's just a baby after all. Can't have him reading about b.l.o.w.j.o.bs and boinking.”
Chris's face instantly turned tomato red. ”Mrs. McCormick!” he cried, sounding absolutely horrified. Peyton didn't blame him. She was blus.h.i.+ng pretty furiously herself. And Chris looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there at that moment. Suddenly she wondered if he'd applied for his LTF yet. Probably not. He did seem really innocent. But then, so was she.
Mrs. McCormick reached out and pinched Chris's cheek, then turned to Peyton. ”See, this is why we have to skip them,” she confided in a stage whisper that everyone in a ten-block radius could probably pick up. ”But don't worry. I go back and read them after he leaves. They are the best part, you know.” She giggled, then started choking again.
Chris instantly snapped out of mortified mode and reached over to pat her on the back. ”Relax, Mrs. McCormick,” he instructed in a voice so authoritative you'd never know a moment ago he'd been blus.h.i.+ng about boinking. ”You're going to laugh yourself sicker.” He handed her a clean tissue he'd pulled from his pants pocket. She blew her nose. No blood this time, at least.
”He's such a nice boy.” Mrs. McCormick turned to Peyton. ”You're a very lucky girl,” she added, then winked.
And here Peyton had thought she wasn't capable of blus.h.i.+ng more than she already had been. ”Oh, we're not... I mean, we're just friends.” She didn't want to say that acquaintances was probably closer to the truth.
Mrs. McCormick was taken by another coughing fit, but when it quieted, she squinted up at Peyton. ”Maybe for now, dear,” she said in a knowing voice. ”But I have a good sense of these things. My kids call me psychic.”
For a moment Peyton wondered if Chris had paid the woman to say that, then she scolded herself for even thinking it. He wasn't that bad. In fact, despite his unwanted crush, he was kind of sweet. Wasn't that what Avery was always saying? And this more than proved it. The way he cared for his elderly neighbor... well, she couldn't imagine Drew or any of her other friends doing something like that.
”Sorry, Mrs. McCormick,” Chris said. ”It'll never happen. Peyton's got a better boyfriend than me.” He said it completely seriously, without sarcasm, and Peyton felt her face burn even more.
”That's not-” she started.
Before she could finish, a large brown van careened down the street, seeming to come out of nowhere. It screeched to a stop before them. Two men, each wearing a matching brown uniform and a respirator, jumped out and ran to Mrs. McCormick.
Chris leapt to his feet. ”What are you-?”
”Get out of the way, son,” interrupted one of the men. His respirator made him sound like Darth Vader from those ancient Star Wars movies Avery loved. ”You need to get home. We'll take care of your friend.”
The two grabbed Mrs. McCormick by her arms and dragged her somewhat ruthlessly toward the van. The old woman cried out in protest, surprised, then broke into another coughing fit.
”Stop!” Chris demanded. ”Where are you taking her? We called for an ambulance.”
”Yes, we got the report,” said the second masked man, pausing. ”We're taking her in to get treated. Mount Holyoke. She'll be back in a day or two.”
Peyton stared at the men, her brain awhirl with her father's many conspiracy theories. Instead of reacting, she forced herself to stay calm and catalog the details. The masks. The uniforms. The seal on the van. It looked like a government seal, and there was no way this was a normal ambulance.
”Mount Holyoke? Well, Westview's not too far away. Can you tell me when and where I can visit her?” Chris asked. Peyton had never heard him sound so anxious before, but she understood his fears. She also knew Mount Holyoke was in Monroeville, not Westview. Was he testing them? ”Or maybe you should tell me your names.”
The two men looked at each other. ”Perhaps we should take them, too,” the first said. His voice was amiable. ”Just as a precaution.”
The second man turned back to look at them and nodded.
”Take us?” Chris repeated, his confidence fading and his face going white. ”Take us where?”
”We're not sick,” Peyton added, in case it wasn't obvious.
”Well, why don't we just find out for sure,” suggested the second man, still smiling that weird smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. ”Get in the van.”