Edison’s Alley (12 page)

But how long would his luck hold if Seth’s mother kept poking around Nick’s father?

As he stood at the refrigerator pondering these things, an idea came to him that might take care of at least one of the Beverly-related problems he currently faced.

He looked through the fridge until he found the perfect beverage: pomegranate juice. He poured himself a nice tall glass, then went back to the living room with his elbow wide.

Accidents, as Nick had pointed out that morning, do happen. He bumped into Beverly, jostling the glass, and pomegranate juice the color of blood sloshed all over his white shirt.

“Nick! Be more careful!” his father scolded.

“Sorry.”

“It was my fault,” said Beverly.

“No, it wasn’t,” said Nick, and then he caught himself. “I mean, I wish, but no—it was my fault.” He looked down at his shirt. “Great. It’s
stained. And my favorite shirt, too.”

“I’ll get a napkin,” said Beverly.

“Too late—it’s already soaked in.”

“Well, if you dab it right now…”

“Are you kidding me?” said Nick. “Pomegranate juice never comes out.”

“Too bad,” said his father. “That was a good shirt.”

“It’ll leave a permanent
stain
,” Nick said.

“What a shame,” said Beverly.

“It’s ruined,” Nick said, “because
nothing
can possibly get a pomegranate juice
stain
out of a white shirt.” Sheesh, it felt like rubbing two sticks
together to start a fire. “Absolutely
nothing
.”

“Wait,” Beverly finally said. “I’ve got a stain remover—it can get a stain out of anything.” And then she held her hand out to Nick. “Take off your
shirt.”

Nick just stared at her. “What?”

“Give me your shirt. I’ll take it home with me, and bring it back clean as new.”

“Uh…”

“That’s very kind of you,” his father said. “Nick, take it off.”

“Well, okay…” And then he had another flash of inspiration. “Here, let me just put this down.” He reached over to rest the half-empty glass on an end table. Right
now Nick was looking at that glass as half full.

Being intentionally clumsy, he bumped his arm against the table lamp while setting down the juice. The glass flew from his hand, dumping its crimson contents on the ivory-colored sofa.

“Oh, shoot!” said Nick.

“You’re batting a thousand today,” his father growled.

Nick grabbed the sofa cushion and held it out to Beverly. “Better take this, too.”

Beverly sighed. “You know what? I’ll just bring the stain remover here.”

Then the back door banged open and Nick heard his brother enter with Seth.

“Good idea,” he told Beverly. Then he bounded upstairs to the attic before Seth could see him, and pulled the spring-loaded steps closed behind him.

R
etrieving the harp was going to take two people. Ideally, they’d have a vehicle for the job, but that would require Nick’s father, and
Nick had sworn to keep him out of it.

The best thing about a neighborhood garage sale, however, was that most of the items sold stayed in the neighborhood. As it turned out, the harp was in a house only two streets away.

Nick’s dad and Danny had left early for baseball practice and would be gone all morning, so Nick knew he wouldn’t face the
why-are-you-dragging-a-harp-through-the-house
conversation once he and Mitch brought it home.

Mitch arrived early. He seemed a little distracted—shell shock, Nick figured, from spending Friday evening with Petula, who could drain the life out of anyone.

Mitch yawned. “You think the harp lady’ll really give it back?”

“We’ll find a way to convince her,” Nick told him.

“You think we’ll be able to carry it?”

“It’s not full-size,” Nick told him. “And I remember it wasn’t as heavy as it looked.” But, Nick thought, Jorgenson and the Accelerati were still out there,
and they might be watching. He and Mitch would have to cover the harp with something before they lugged it down the street. It wouldn’t prevent the Accelerati from knowing that he had
retrieved another item, but at least they wouldn’t be able to see what it was.

Nick scarfed a handful of dry cereal and was headed for the door when the doorbell rang.

He hesitated. The door didn’t have a peephole, or any other way to determine who was on the other side without opening it.
When,
wondered Nick,
did I become afraid of opening my
own front door?

“You expecting anyone?” Mitch asked.

Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he bit back his own paranoia and swung the door wide in defiance.

Standing there was a blond girl with sun-reddened cheeks. She was as muscular as she was tall. She looked down at Nick with cool yet intense gray eyes and said, “Are you ready to go?
Where’s your crossbow?”

Nick tried to come up with anything resembling a sensible response. When he couldn’t, he said, “Hold that thought.” Then he closed the door and took a nice long moment.

“You didn’t tell me you had a crossbow,” Mitch said. “Can I see it?”

“I don’t.”

“But she said—”

“Why don’t you go get a blanket to take with us so we can cover the harp. I’ll deal with this.”

Once Mitch had left the room, Nick took a deep breath and opened the door again.

The muscular girl looked him over. “You still don’t have your crossbow.” And she held up her own. It was a stainless-steel thing that looked to Nick like it would need three
people to carry it.

“Uh…do we know each other?” Nick asked.

“Oh, right,” said the girl. “Sorry. I feel like I know you, since we chatted so much online.” She held out her hand. “Hi, Nick, I’m Val. It’s great to
finally meet you in person. Now let’s kill some rabbits.”

Nick was not quite up to speed, but his mental engine was primed enough to idle into the conversation. “Oh, was that today?”

“You invited me last night,” Val said. “Bright and early Saturday morning, that’s what you said.” Then her expression got a little dark. “You didn’t
forget, did you?”

One thing Nick knew for sure: you don’t tick off a girl who could arm-wrestle you into oblivion. Especially if she has a crossbow.

“No, I didn’t forget…it’s just that—wouldn’t you know it—my crossbow’s in the shop.”

“No worries,” Val said, reaching into an oversize gym bag. “I’ve got a spare.” And she presented him with a crossbow that was, mercifully, slightly smaller and
lighter than hers.

Clearly someone had pranked Nick by pretending to be him online and setting this whole thing up. Could it have been Caitlin? No, she’d never be that devious. But on the other hand, she had
been devious enough to trick that poor jeweler, Mr. Svedberg, into telling them about the Accelerati. Before Jorgenson killed him for it, that is.

Mitch came up behind him, smiling shyly. “You can go, Nick. I got this one covered.”

“But—”

“C’mon,” Val prompted. “You can ride on the back of my dirt bike.”

“You’ve got a dirt bike?” Nick couldn’t believe he was allowing himself to be distracted.

“I know this great wildlife preserve,” Val said, “where they let you thin out the populations.”

Under normal circumstances, a girl with two crossbows and a dirt bike would be more enticing than some lady with a stringless dog-harp. But this was Tesla’s dog-harp. Even as Nick thought
about it, he felt the uncanny pull of the half-finished device in his attic.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go today.”

She gave him a bone-crushing glare. “Oh, really? So you made me come all this way for nothing?”

Mitch pulled him aside and spoke quietly. “Nick, you should go.”

“Are you kidding me? The harp—”

“I’ll call Petula and we’ll go get it together, right on schedule.”

Nick shook his head. “Out of the question.”

Mitch regarded him with an expression that was both sad and severe. “You keep telling me that we’re a team, but you do just about everything yourself.”

“Well, that’s just because—”

“—because you think I’m a screw-up, right? Go on, say it!”

“Mitch, I don’t think that.”

“Then prove it. Let me do this. Let me show you I’m not a screw-up.”

Nick felt cornered, but maybe Mitch was right. He did have trouble trusting anyone with Tesla’s objects. It was time to show some faith in his friend.

“Go on,” said Mitch. “Val’s waiting.”

Nick turned to Val. “Well, I guess it’s okay,” he said, taking the smaller crossbow from her, “as long as we’re not expected to kill off all the other kids
there.”

“Cute,” said Val. “Like I’ve never heard that before.” She turned and strode back to the dirt bike, her mane of hair flowing behind her. “You coming, or
what?”

Nick turned to Mitch. “You promise you’ll go get the harp right away?”

“Promise.”

“And be careful with it—we don’t know what it does.”

“When am I not careful?”

“Oh, I don’t know—like your entire freaking life?”

Mitch nodded, accepting the truth. “Well, then today will be the exception.”

Nick turned at the rude sound of Val starting her dirt bike, which looked much more like a Harley with her on it. Well, if Caitlin thought this match-made-in-hell would rattle him, she had this
coming. He resolved to go the distance just to show her, and skewer himself some critters.

So he climbed on the back of Val’s bike and rode off for the hunt, trusting Mitch and Petula to do the job.

Caitlin did not know about Val. She was on her way to Nick’s house with Tesla’s abacus and the hope that, in addition to its mathematical properties, the device
would help mend the fence between her and Nick.

Then she saw Nick cruising down the street on a dirt bike steered by a stone-faced girl with wild hair and…was that a weapon slung across her back?

They rode past, and Nick didn’t even see Caitlin.

Needless to say, Caitlin was furious. But she didn’t know who to be furious at, or what it all meant. She should have talked to Nick sooner. After all, she was the one who had stormed off
after he did nothing more than dredge up the nerve to ask her out.

She continued to Nick’s house in something of a rage-induced daze, intending to leave the abacus at his door. There she found Mitch in the driveway, talking desperately into his phone.

“…and I don’t know where you are, Petula, but this is the third time I’m calling,” he said. “So look, I’ll just come over to your house and
wait…”

Caitlin put the lead-lined abacus case into Mitch’s hand.

“For Nick,” she said. “Tell him…” She thought about it for a second. “You know what? Don’t tell him anything. Just give it to him.” Then she went
back home, where she smashed a bunch of things and glued them onto canvases, creating what were perhaps her most heartfelt works of art.

It aggravated Caitlin that she cared. After all, she was pretty, she was popular, she was smart. Her life did not rise and fall on the attention of any boy. Even so, losing that attention
didn’t feel very good.

She had always prided herself on being a girl of action, and today that meant something more than the creation of her
mash
-terpieces, as her parents called them. There was something else
that needed to be destroyed before something new could be created.

So she went into the kitchen, picked up a landline, and called Theo—because lately hearing Theo’s voice on a “smart” phone just didn’t seem right.

From his first few words, he sounded distracted, and she knew he was watching ESPN. He had checked out of the conversation before he’d even checked in.

After some small talk so small it was actually microscopic, she told him, “I’ve decided it’s time we make our breakup official.”

“Okay, sure,” Theo said absently. “Wait—what?”

“No more studying together, no more being seen together, no more showing up at my house for food.”

There was silence for a moment as Theo let it sink in. “You mean I can’t even
eat
there anymore?”

“That’s right. I’m sorry, Theo, but it’s best this way.”

“Wait,” said Theo. “Is this because of what happened with Galileo’s mascot?”

Caitlin had no idea what he was talking about, but still she said, “Yes, Theo, that’s exactly why,” and hung up.

Then she smashed the phone, and glued it to a canvas.