Arrival (4 page)

Of course not. Unless your father is hundreds of
kilometres away and completely unreachable.

I didn't say it out loud, but I must have pulled a face because Mum shot me a concerned look and said, ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing,' I muttered, not at all interested in getting into another conversation about her and Dad.

I went straight back upstairs after dinner, made a vague attempt at getting onto my homework again, and then decided to go to bed instead.

I was just on the brink of sleep when I heard something beeping from across the room. I staggered over to my laptop, still sitting open on the desk. A white envelope was blinking in the corner of the screen. A reply to my email.

I clicked on the envelope and the message popped up on my screen.

sorry mate no idea what this is – the file looks like it's been
corrupted

the only J.B. I can think of is Jordan from school … maybe
check her out tomorrow?

bring the USB too so I can have a look at it
Peter

I closed the laptop and went back to bed, telling myself I was just overreacting. Whatever this was about, there was no way it could be as serious as I was imagining.

Chapter 5

T
HURSDAY
, M
AY
7
98
DAYS

I woke up way too early the next morning, with the sudden urge to get out of our creepy display home of a house. I yelled goodbye to Mum through the bathroom door and rode out into the main street to get some breakfast.

The sun was still coming up, but there were already plenty of people around. They were mostly security guards or business types. But as I rode past the fountain, I saw a guy who was definitely not on his way to the office.

His hair, beard, and clothes were all brown and ratty. His arms and his face were completely covered with gashes and scars, like he'd been caught in a fire or something years ago. He was probably about thirty, but he was so disfigured that it was hard to tell. It might have been my imagination, but I was sure I could smell him from across the fountain. As I watched, he reached into a garbage bin and pulled out a half-finished cup of coffee.

A homeless guy,
here?
It didn't seem right. I mean, not that it's ever right for people to be homeless, but in picture-perfect Phoenix this guy stuck out like a sore thumb.

The man stared at me as I rode past, his eyes following me down the street. I wondered whether I should turn back and give him money or something, but in the end I just kept on riding. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him chug down the coffee and drop the cup back into the bin.

‘That's just Crazy Bill,' said Peter, when he arrived at school a couple of hours later. ‘He's our resident hobo.'

‘That's what people call him? Crazy Bill?'

‘Yeah, I guess Psychologically-Disturbed-But- Probably-Still-Pretty-Nice Bill doesn't have quite the same ring to it,' said Peter. He was sitting hunched over his laptop, rushing to finish a history essay that was apparently a week late.

‘I thought you said this town was invite-only,' I said. ‘Where did he come from?'

Peter shrugged. ‘Must've snuck in somehow. They usually try to keep him off the main street, but he's not really hurting anyone, is he?'

‘Why doesn't somebody help him?'

‘Dunno,' said Peter, like the thought had never occurred to him. ‘I guess someone should, hey?' He typed a few more lines then looked up and said, ‘Stalin was World War II, right?'

‘I think so.'

‘Awesome.' He clicked print and closed his laptop. ‘So, show me this memory stick.'

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the silver stick. Peter grabbed it and turned it over in his fingers, like a jeweller examining a diamond.

‘I checked the town directory,' he said, handing the USB back. ‘The only J.B.s are Jordan Burke and Julian Burrows.'

‘Who's Julian Burrows?'

‘Big fat maintenance guy who takes care of the fountains. I'm gonna assume he's not the one we're after.' Peter stood up and we headed inside towards the print room.

‘Okay, Jordan then. But why would she be sending me this?' I asked.

‘Who knows?' said Peter. ‘Maybe she wants a date.'

‘What? I only got here two days ago! She hasn't even –' I shut up when I saw Peter laughing.

‘Relax mate, I'm only kidding. Anyway,' he winked, ‘you wouldn't have a chance.'

‘Right,' I said, smirking, ‘because clearly she's all over you.'

‘All in good time,' Peter grinned, heading into the print room. He picked up his essay from the printer just as the bell went. ‘Come on. Assembly.'

We walked back outside and followed the crowd down to the school hall. At most of my old schools, we used to have our assemblies sitting on plastic chairs in the gym. The Phoenix High hall was more like a theatre. There was a stage at the bottom with hundreds of cushy red seats in a semicircle around it.

‘Who paid for all this?' I asked as we took two seats in the back row.

‘Shackleton,' said Peter distractedly. ‘Apparently, the Co-operative people are all mega-multi-billionaires. Probably built this place with the money they found under their couch cushions.' He craned his neck, scanning the hall. ‘Where is she…?'

‘So, what do you reckon this file is?' I lowered my voice to an undertone as some Year 7 kids sat down in the seats next to ours. ‘I mean, it's got to be
something,
right? Like a coded message or –'

‘There,' said Peter suddenly.

I looked in the direction he was pointing and saw Jordan sitting over on the other side of the hall. She was staring right at us. As soon as I caught her eye, she turned away. But she'd definitely been watching.

‘We'll catch her on the way out,' said Peter. ‘Figure out what's going on.'

A voice from the stage cut our conversation short. ‘All right, ladies and gentlemen, let's make a start.'

It was Mrs Stapleton. The chatter around the hall quickly died down.

‘Crap,' hissed Peter. ‘I just lost five bucks.'

‘Huh?'

‘Mike's taking bets on when Pryor will finally show up to run an assembly,' Peter whispered, pointing down at the principal's empty seat on the stage. ‘I had five dollars that said it was gonna be today.'

‘She wasn't around when I got here yesterday,' I said. ‘Mrs Stapleton said she was in a meeting.'

‘Yeah,' said Peter. ‘We've barely seen her since the start of the year. She's always holed up in her office.'

‘Doing what?'

‘How should I know?' said Peter. ‘Principal stuff.'

A teacher with thinning red hair was prowling the aisles, looking for troublemakers. He glared at us as he passed and we stopped talking.

All the cushy seating in the world couldn't save the assembly from being as mind-numbing as any other. After forty-five minutes of announcements, sports reports and a musical performance from the school string ensemble, we were finally let out, just as the bell went for our next class.

Right away, we started weaving our way towards Jordan. She looked up and saw us coming. For a minute, it looked like she wanted to stop and say something. But then she grabbed her bag and took off in the other direction.

‘Try again at recess?' I suggested.

‘No need,' said Peter. ‘She's got design and tech next period. If we're quick, we can catch her before she gets there.'

‘You've memorised her timetable?' I said as we moved out into the quad.

‘Can't blame a guy for doing his research,' said Peter. ‘Look, there she is!'

Jordan looked back, spotted us, and started walking faster. She veered across towards the Industrial Arts block. We followed after her, almost running.

‘Are you lost, Peter?'

Peter wheeled around. It was the balding teacher from assembly, looking murderous.

‘No, Mr Hanger,' said Peter, smiling innocently.

‘We were just –' ‘Excellent,' said Mr Hanger. ‘Then I'm sure you can find a more direct route to our history classroom. Getting there on time today might be a nice change of pace, don't you think?'

‘Yes, sir,' said Peter, rolling his eyes.

The teacher turned back towards his room and we followed behind him. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Jordan disappear into the IA block.

‘Bloody Mr Ranga,' Peter muttered under his breath a few minutes later as we took our seats in the classroom. He pulled his crumpled history essay out of his bag and put it on the table in front of him.

I figured out pretty quickly why Peter hated Mr Hanger so much. Nearly everyone did. He's one of those bitter old teachers who's angry with the whole world and spends most of his time taking it out on his students. He seemed really out of place at Phoenix High. All the other teachers I'd met so far had been clones of Mr Larson – young and enthusiastic and excited about nurturing growing minds or whatever.

Mr Hanger, on the other hand, passed out four worksheets he'd photocopied from a textbook and told us we weren't going anywhere until we'd finished them. As we worked, he sat at his desk reading a magazine and giving out detentions for stuff like coughing too much or asking to borrow a ruler.

By the time we finally escaped the class, recess was already half-over and the building was almost deserted. We headed for the lockers, figuring we could ambush Jordan when she came to get her stuff for next period.

‘So what do we do when we see her?' I asked on our way down the stairs.

‘What do you mean?'

‘How do we get her to talk to us? I mean, she's obviously avoiding us. And we can't, like,
grab
her or anything…' I rounded the corner and froze.

Jordan was storming down the corridor towards us, fists clenching at her sides, cold fury on her face. She looked ready to beat the crap out of us. Peter opened his mouth to say something, but Jordan brushed straight past, ignoring him completely, closing in on me instead. She didn't stop until we were almost nose to nose.

‘What do you want?' she demanded.

‘Huh?' I said stupidly. I didn't really know how I'd expected the meeting to play out, but this definitely wasn't it. ‘Hang on –' ‘You think I haven't seen you following me around all morning?' she shouted. ‘You think I don't know what
else
you've been up to?'

‘Jordan, I don't –' ‘You wanted to get my attention? Well, here I am. So, let's hear it!'

‘Whoa, Jordan,' said Peter, taking a step toward us. ‘Why are you getting so fired up?'

He put a hand on Jordan's shoulder and for a second I thought she was going to punch him. Instead, she took a couple of steps back from me, jabbed an arm in Peter's direction and said, ‘Tell him.'

‘I – what?' I said.

‘Hunter, right?' said Jordan. ‘Luke Hunter?'

‘Yeah, but –' ‘Well, Luke, why don't
you
tell Weir what's got me so fired up?'

‘Jordan,' I said, bracing myself in case she attacked me or something, ‘I don't know what you're –' ‘Tell him what you were doing yesterday after school!'

‘He wasn't doing anything!' said Peter, clearly as lost as I was. ‘He was in town with me for like fifteen minutes, then he went back to his place.'

‘Yeah?' said Jordan, whirling around to face me again. ‘Then who broke into my house and left
this?'

She pulled something small and shiny from her skirt pocket. It was a USB, identical to the one I'd found in my room, except this one was engraved with a different set of initials.
L.H.

‘Look familiar?' she sneered, holding the thing up a centimetre from my face.

‘Actually,' I said, reaching down into my own pocket, careful not to make any sudden movements, ‘yeah, it kind of does.'

I pulled out my own memory stick and held it up next to Jordan's.

Her eyes fell on the
J.B.
engraved into the side and the expression on her face changed completely.
‘What?'

‘How about that?' said Peter, stepping forward and putting an arm around each of our shoulders. ‘I reckon the three of us have got some talking to do.'

Chapter 6

T
HURSDAY
, M
AY
7
98
DAYS

‘Sorry,' said Jordan for about the hundredth time. ‘I'm really sorry. I just – it's this place. Ever since we moved here, I can't shake the feeling that there's something not
right
going on.'

‘Yeah, don't worry about it,' I said. Not that I appreciated almost having my head bitten off, but I was glad to not be the only one who thought something was off about Phoenix.

It was lunchtime and the three of us were sitting in the back corner of the library, crowded around Peter's laptop. Maths had been all pen-and-paper, so this was the first chance we'd had to figure out the memory sticks. Peter plugged Jordan's stick into his computer, bringing up a single text file.

intSC1002B_jburke.doc

He opened it up. Gibberish, just like mine.

‘See?' said Jordan. ‘Nothing.'

‘I don't think it's nothing,' said Peter. He brought up the file from my stick and put the two streams of text side by side.

‘What is it, then?' I asked.

‘I don't know,' said Peter slowly, squinting at the screen as though he was seeing something that we couldn't. ‘But it's not nothing. It's definitely something.'

‘Oh, good,' said Jordan. ‘Thanks for clearing that up.' She leant behind Peter to look at me. ‘Have you told your parents about this?'

‘Nope,' I said. ‘Dad's back in Sydney, so obviously I can't tell him. You know, with the phones and everything. And my mum's not exactly –' ‘How come your dad's not here?' Peter cut in, turning to look at me.