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“Why are Niki Barton and Brock Brokowski here?” Gwen asked Hector. She was staring in alarm out the rain-streaked wall-length front window. Tom, Niki, and Brock were pushing their way through the wet foliage, heading toward the Whippersnapper 3.

Hector looked up from the book on biofuels that he was reading cross-legged on the floor. “Who?”

“Niki Barton and Brock Brokowski,” Gwen repeated.

Standing up, Hector joined Gwen at the window. “They're Tom's friends, I guess. That's what you get for crushing on a Neanderthal football player type—you inherit friends like Niki and Brock.”

“Who says I'm crushing on Tom?” Gwen challenged. “And don't call him a Neanderthal—but that's not even the point. He's not my crush.”

“Please.” Hector brushed off her comment. “You've only been spying on the guy forever, and your face lights up every time you see him.”

“That's not true,” Gwen protested, although she knew Hector was right.

“Yeah, sure,” Hector grumbled.

“Well, I don't want Niki and Brock here,” Gwen complained. She especially didn't want Niki, Tom's dream girl, hanging around.

“So you
do
like Tom,” Hector persisted. “And all footballers are Neanderthals. Who goes charging around smashing into other huge guys just to catch a ball?”

Gwen glanced up at Hector. “I thought you liked Tom,” she said.

Hector met her gaze. “I thought
you
liked
me
.”

Gwen put her hand on his arm. “I do like you, Hector.”

“But not the same way you like Tom.”

It occurred to her to sidestep the question by remarking that Tom wasn't interested in her, he liked Niki, but she knew that wasn't what Hector wanted to know. “Hector, you're my best friend, but I don't feel that way about you.” She forced herself to tell him the truth, knowing how much her words hurt him and hating to cause him pain.

Hector nodded. “I had a feeling,” he admitted quietly. “Even though I'm so much more your type.”

Gwen wrapped him in a hug. “Sorry, Hector.” She held on. “Do you hate me now?”

“Of course not,” he mumbled.

“I'm glad.”

“There are worse things than being friends, I guess,” he said, squeezing her tightly. “Now you'd better let go, because I hear your boyfriend coming through the door with his pals. He might get the wrong idea. He already thought
I
was your boyfriend.”

Gwen pulled away from Hector. “Did you tell him you were?”

“No! He came up with that on his own, and I told him I wasn't.”

“You did? Thanks, Hector, you're a real—”

“Friend…I know.”

Tom, Niki, and Brock stepped into the room. “This is it,” Tom told them.

“Wow! It's like a secret hiding place,” Brock said with enthusiasm. “You can't even see it from outside.” He noticed Hector and Gwen and smiled. “I can't believe you found this. Unbelievably cool.”

“Hi, Gwen,” Niki greeted her. “This
is
very awesome.”

Gwen realized how changed Niki looked and begrudgingly liked her, with her new, less-perfect image, a little better. At least she looked like a human being instead of a fashion doll now. “Cute glasses,” she mumbled.

“Thanks,” Niki replied, looking down self-consciously.

“Guess who we met on the way over here—Mr. Curtin!” Tom said. “And listen to this: His wife is an environmental engineer, and as soon as we have power again, she's going to start giving workshops to people in Sage Valley on alternative fuels and all sorts of stuff like solar and wind power. She's written up a grant to try to make the town a model of energy self-sufficiency. Is that cool, or what?”

Gwen put her anger aside as a new thought made it seem suddenly less important. “Why wait for the power to turn on?” she said. “We should have them come here.”

It would be taking a big chance. If everyone knew about the place, it could bring all sorts of unwanted attention.

But it felt right.

“We can invite Mrs. Curtin to hold her workshops here, starting now,” she said, her excitement growing.

Keeping the place to herself didn't seem to matter anymore. The private-world quality of the Whippersnapper 3 had been breached in her mind when Niki and Brock came in. No longer was the place her special, almost magical enclave to share with Tom and Hector. That loss made her a little sad, but there was no going back. The
fact that it wasn't her secret spot anymore made her willing to open it up.

“That might call too much attention to the place, don't you think?” Hector worried. “What if the Whippersnapper people object? Or want their house back?”

“They're out of business,” Gwen told him. “I searched them on the computer today. The company was owned by some billionaire's son who said he was just ‘ahead of his time,' which is probably true. He's in Australia now, searching for something new to invest in. We'll take good care of the place until he comes looking for it.”

“Once people find out there's food here, they'll all want to come,” Tom said.

“There's food here?” Brock echoed enthusiastically.

“Go on upstairs,” Gwen said. “Hector will show you.”

“I will?” Hector questioned.

“Please.”

With a nod to Niki and Brock, Hector led them upstairs to the garden. “You're angry that I brought them,” Tom said when they were gone. “I should have thought about how you'd feel. They're not friends of yours and this is your place. I mean, you found it. They just seemed so…lost. I didn't think. Sorry.”

Gwen wasn't sure how to respond. It was done now, and he hadn't meant any harm. One of the things she liked best about Tom was his openness and how he just jumped in to help people without calculating the risks. Gwen saw now how this quality might have its downside.

“I understand, I guess,” she said. “They're your friends, and Niki's like, you know…whatever…you're going out with her and all…right?”

“Sort of…in a way,” Tom replied.

“Did you get the sailboat?” Gwen asked, turning away so he wouldn't see how disappointed she was by his answer.

“It's in the truck,” he told her.

Gwen sighed; she knew what he planned to do and it worried her. “Are you really sure you can sail it down the Hudson? Don't they have all sorts of heavy tides? I mean…it's the Hudson River. It's a big deal—and a small boat.”

“I think I can do it, and I have to. My mom has pneumonia and no pharmacy in town can fill her antibiotic prescription. I have a bunch of neighbors who need their medicine, too. Down the river, things are better. There have got to be pharmacies open.”

“Would it be better to take the canoe?”

“The sailboat is a lot faster than the canoe.”

“You can't go by yourself,” Gwen insisted. “I always wanted to learn to sail. I'm coming with you.”

Tom gazed at her, surprised.

“Who will take care of things here?” he asked.

“Hector can do it. Maybe Brock and Niki will help him.” Gwen watched his face carefully for his reaction to this idea. How would he feel about Brock and Niki being together while he was gone? However he felt, she couldn't tell because he didn't register any obvious emotion.

“I suppose so,” Tom said thoughtfully. “But you don't know how to sail, do you?”

“Don't argue with me,” Gwen insisted. “I'm a fast learner and you could show me what I need to know. I've felt kind of cooped up here, and getting onto the river would be awesome. So don't argue with—”

“I'm not arguing,” Tom interrupted. “I think it would be great if you came along.”

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, preparing to argue with Tom, but the realization of what he'd just said stopped her. “You do?” she checked.

“Yeah.”

It was nearly a minute before Gwen realized she was standing there simply grinning.

 

“Okay, push it forward!” Tom shouted to Gwen, one hand gripping the boat's main line, the other shielding his eyes from the sun's glare.

“Are you nuts?” Gwen replied, speaking over the wind coming off the river. “I can't budge this, especially not with you standing in it.”

They were at the public dock space down on the Hudson. It had taken them over an hour to unload the boat and rig it, setting in the one mainsail, tying in the lines, attaching the rudder, positioning the centerboard. Now it was on the ramp leading into the river, its bow bobbing in the choppy water but its stern still on the cement.

Tom rolled up his jeans. He'd already kicked off his sneakers. When he stepped out, the water made his feet instantly numb. The mainsail swung on its mast and bumped him, but he pushed it aside. “You get in and I'll push,” he told Gwen.

“Isn't that sort of sexist?” Gwen objected.

“Somebody's got to hang on to the sail's line.”

“Okay,” Gwen agreed, running around the side and hopping into the boat. “Which rope do I grab?”

“It's called a line,” Tom told her.

“So? What's the difference?” Gwen asked with a shrug.

“Hang on to the
rope
that runs along the mast,” Tom shouted to her.

She looked at the center pole and the bottom pipe attached to it. “Which is the mast?” Gwen asked. Inwardly, she cringed at the look of frustration on his face. She grabbed the rope…line…whatever…nearest to the sail. “This?”

“Yes! That's it,” he said. “Hold it loosely. Don't pull it tight or the sail could catch the wind and the boat take off without me.”

“Okay,” Gwen agreed, feeding more slack into the line.

“And keep your eyes on that sail. Make sure it doesn't whip around and clonk you in the head. That reminds me—get your life vest on.”

“We're not even sailing yet.” Gwen didn't think the life vest was probably her best look, and she didn't want to wear it in front of Tom, but the expression of exasperation on his face compelled her to shrug it on over her shoulders.

It occurred to Gwen that insisting on coming along with Tom might not have been the best idea she ever had. An inexperienced sailor on a rough trip like this could get him into a lot of trouble, especially when he was still trying to recall all his dad had taught him a long time ago about sailing.

There was no sense worrying about it now, though. She was here, and there was no turning back.

Tom threw his weight into pushing the boat forward. It budged slightly but not enough. “You're going to have to help me,” he shouted.

“But the sail?” Gwen reminded him.

“Just be prepared to run,” Tom warned.

The moment she let go of the sail's line, it began to flutter wildly. Gwen was lost in its folds, pounding them back just to get clear before ducking away. She ran back and joined Tom in shoving the back end of
the sailboat. With the two of them pushing, the boat slid abruptly into the water. “Go! Go! Go!” Tom shouted.

They splashed into the icy river, soaking themselves. The sail flapped violently, snapping in the wind. Pitching their bodies into the hull, Tom was instantly at the rudder, pulling it hard with one hand while drawing in the main line with the other. “Lower the centerboard!” he yelled to Gwen.

“The what?” Gwen replied loudly just as the boat leaned heavily to the right, knocking her back. She gripped the side of the hull to keep from going overboard.

Tom nodded his head toward a board jutting up from the center of the boat's hull. “There, in the middle of the boat. That! Lower it!”

Lunging to it, Gwen found the lever that dropped the board down into the hull. The boat instantly righted.

“That stabilizes it,” Tom explained as he continued to push the rudder to the right.

“Why aren't we going? What's wrong with this sail?” Gwen asked, pushing her windblown hair from her eyes.

“We're in irons.”

“What's that?”

“The wind is hitting us from both sides, so we can't move forward. There's an oar on the bottom of the boat. Get up front left and paddle.”

Gwen did as he said, and gradually she felt the sailboat turn. “Whoa!” she shouted as the sail suddenly caught, racing them forward.

They sped ahead, wildly out of control, for several yards before Tom was able to pull in the main line. “Stay low!” Tom said, gripping the white rope.

Gwen flattened her body against the bow and watched him pull in the line until the sail became tight. Slowly he gave it some slack until it was full with wind but under control. He looked to Gwen and smiled. “We did it.”

Returning his smile, Gwen slid into the hull. “What should I do now?” she asked.

“Just watch me and I'll explain what I'm doing, and then later I'll let you try,” Tom replied, getting into a more relaxed position, his right hand holding the main line and his left on the tiller that controlled the rudder. “Right now, we're running with the wind, which means it's behind us.”

“What if it was blowing into us?” Gwen asked, settling into the hull.

“Then we'd have to tack back and forth, but I'll explain that later. Right now all I have to do is make small adjustments in direction to keep the sail full.”

“How far do you think we'll have to go to find supplies?”

“We can stop at the first town where we see signs of electricity and check it out,” Tom suggested. “I hope we don't have to go all the way to Manhattan.”

“I don't think we will,” Gwen said. “I heard Westchester is almost back.”

Adjusting her position for a more comfortable one resting her back against the side, Gwen stretched her arms out and let the sun hit her cheeks and forehead. The sky above was clear with fat, white cloud mountains. Glancing outside the sailboat, she lost herself in watching the racing water splash against the boat's side.