Goddess in Time (18 page)

She runs her fingers through her black-brown waves. “Did I get it?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, leaning in to inspect. “I can’t tell under all that paint.”

“Ha ha.” She teasingly smacks me on the shoulder. “Not funny.”

I shrug. “I thought it was.”

She steps around me into the kitchen and heads for the sink.

“And you found the bus and everything easily enough?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I say around my mouthful of brownie. Mom doesn’t need to know about the bad bus driver any more than she needs to know about Miranda or my solo lunch in the library.

Mom busies herself with washing the few dishes in the sink while I finish my brownie. Moist, chocolaty goodness. The perfect cure for my disappointing day.

I pour myself a glass of pineapple Fanta to wash down the last crumbs.

“Where’s Thane?” I ask after a big gulp. “Isn’t he home yet?”

“The public schools have a later schedule. He gets out twenty minutes after you,” she answers, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “He should be home soon. Do you need anything?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Okay, then I’ll get back to my painting.” Her smile is thrilled but weary. She’s excited to be making over the apartment, but also exhausted. “Shout if you need anything.”

“Want some help?” I offer. With no homework to do, I need something to distract me from the mental replay of today’s lowlights.

“That’s sweet,” she says, “but I’m almost done.” At my skeptical look, she adds, “Really.”

“You’re sure?” When she nods, I say, “Okay.” I refill my Fanta and head for the dining table.

I pull out the packet of Alpha Academy papers the counselor gave me this morning and dig for the electives lists. I have to choose two, in addition to Spanish, and the first one is easy. I don’t boast about it much, but I’m a bit of a computer geek. Okay, I’m a serious computer geek. Ever since I got my first laptop in third grade, I’ve been fascinated by computers and technology. It’s my dream to work for one of the big software companies someday.

I circle Computer Science on the list.

The other elective, however, is a harder choice.

At lunch I marked stars next to Journalism and Yearbook. I’ve always been intrigued by the media. I don’t have any experience, but I’m sure I could learn the necessary programs easily enough. But then this afternoon I overheard someone say that Miranda is social editor on the school paper, and I don’t need that conflict. I erase the star next to journalism.

For some reason I also starred Ancient Greek and Tae Kwon Do. When Ms. West suggested languages and athletics this morning, they didn’t sound appealing at all. But as I read over the list, they started to look kind of interesting. Now, in the quiet of our apartment, they seem weird again. When would I ever use Greek? And my trying martial arts would probably only lead to injury—mine or someone else’s. I erase both stars.

The last star is on Pottery and Sculpture. When I was in elementary school, I always loved art classes when we got to be hands-on with clay. I was never any good at it, but it was fun. It might be a nice reprieve from the rigorous academics at Alpha. It wouldn’t do anything for my college applications, though.

I’m about to erase the remaining stars and circle Yearbook when the lock on the front door clicks open. There is no other sound, just the whisper of a breeze against my back as the door soundlessly swings open. I know it’s Thane. No one moves as quietly as my brother. He’s like a ninja cat burglar.

If we paired his stealth with my computer skills, we could be an epic spy team.

“Hey, Thane,” I say without turning around. I draw a dark circle around my elective choice. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

Did I mention that Thane isn’t big on talking either? Some days I think he’s a recovering mime. But I know he’s just really thoughtful. He spends a lot of time in his head. He also has some emotional baggage—protective walls that none of us have been able to fully crack. We chip pieces away from time to time, but mostly his life before he came to live with us is a well-guarded mystery.

“You must be Grace,” another, brighter boy voice says. “Thane told me all about you.”

Jerking back from the table and nearly knocking my chair over, I turn to see who Thane has brought home.

My breath catches in my throat.

The boy standing at my brother’s side is, in a word, adorable. I’m completely struck. He’s taller than Thane by a couple of inches, making him about six foot. His dark hair falls in haphazard curls over his brow, his ears, and the collar of his rugby shirt. His eyes are a pale mint green with a light-brown ring around the pupil. And his mouth is spread in a wide, curving smile, showing bright teeth and a charming set of dimples.

Maybe
adorable
doesn’t cover it.

“H-h-hi,” I manage, looking away from his beautiful eyes.

I know I haven’t got much of a backbone in general, but I don’t usually lose the ability to speak complete words. There’s something about him, about the whole package, that makes my skin tingle all over.

I’ve never reacted like this to a boy before. Sure, I’ve had my share of crushes and loves from afar, and even a quasi sort of boyfriend freshman year. None of them caused this whole-body reaction.

“This is Milo,” Thane says, seemingly oblivious to my transformation into girl drool, thankfully. “He’s a goalie.”

Holy goalie.

Well, soccer explains Milo’s presence. Thane may be quiet and shy and reserved in real life, but he comes alive on the soccer field. He’s a completely different person when he’s chasing down a ball or taking aim at the goal. Soccer is practically his life.

He says he doesn’t want to play professionally. I don’t know why not. I’m pretty sure he could if he wanted to.

“We have physics together,” Milo says, dropping into the chair at the head of the table. “Homework on the first day.” He shakes his head. “What kind of teacher does that? Pure evil, I’m telling you.”

Thane slips through the kitchen to tell Mom he’s home, and I’m still struck silent by Milo’s presence when my brother gets back. Thane takes the chair across the table from me and pulls out his textbook. He grumbles, “Homework.”

“Uh, yeah,” I say, my brain suddenly demanding that I figure out a way to stay here at this table. No matter what. “Me too.”

Wait. Why did I say that? I don’t have any homework. I don’t even have any textbooks. I’m losing my mind.

“We were going to do our homework and then, after dinner, go on a tour of the neighborhood. I’m kind of an expert.” Milo sets his homework out on the table. “You interested?”

Uh, yeah!

No, keep it cool, Grace. Don’t act like a total freakazoid.

“Sure,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual and not insta-stalker scary. “Sounds fun.”

Milo smiles and then flips open his physics book and starts on his homework. I glance up to find Thane staring at me, his dark-gray eyes unreadable. I raise my brows. He shifts his attention to his textbook.

After living in the same house for so long, I’m pretty much used to Thane’s odd, silent behavior. If he has something to say, he’ll say it. He just doesn’t have much to say very often. I shrug it off and instead focus on trying to find something in my backpack that can pass for homework.

Finding nothing, I dart to my room and grab my laptop off the desk. I can always find something to do with a computer.

Back at the table, I wake up my laptop and click open the word processor. In a new document, I start composing a list of things I want to change about my life. Starting with finding the ability to talk to cute boys.

I’m a little amazed that Mom approved this evening field trip. Thrilled, but amazed. She’s always been a little more on the overprotective-of-her-chicks side, and letting us both out into the big bad city after dark is uncharacteristic.

But then again, I’m sure she and Dad could use a night alone. They haven’t had a moment of peace since we started packing up the old house.

Plus we both have cell phones, bus passes, and—I steal a glance at Milo—a native guide. Of course, Mom didn’t know that, instead of walking around our neighborhood, we’d catch the bus heading to Fisherman’s Wharf to join the sea of tourists.

“Coach Guerrera likes to run the forwards into the ground for the first week,” Milo tells Thane as the bus bounces down the street. “But after that he lets up. I think he just wants to weed out the quitters.”

Thane nods.

Apparently that is enough of an answer for Milo, because he keeps on talking soccer. “He used to play professionally in Argentina, so he’s got the legs to back up his demands.”

I kind of tune out the words. Other than to watch Thane play, soccer is not really of interest to me.

Milo, on the other hand, is definitely of interest. And talkative—especially when Mom was peppering him with questions over dinner. Already I know he is a Bay Area native, is a senior like Thane, has three older sisters, and hates mushroom pizza and avocado. Oh well, he can’t be one-hundred-percent perfect.

With each bump in the road, Milo’s dark-brown curls bounce as if gravity has no control over them. It makes me smile every time.

“This is our stop,” Milo says as the bus pulls up in front of a hotel.

I jump up to follow him and Thane to the door, not wanting to get stuck on a bus for a second time today. The street we’re on is practically deserted, but one block north we step into a churning ocean of people, all ages and sizes and nationalities.

Distracted from my Milo watching, I gawk at the bustle of activity. There are street performers dressed as break-dancing robots or playing unrecognizable exotic instruments beneath giant crab sculptures. A woman in a long, exotic print dress with a shawl over her head tries to give me something, but Milo waves her off. He doesn’t stop the man who hands me a brochure for a Bay cruise. It’s utter chaos, but somehow everything flows perfectly together, like some kind of crazy, hectic ballet.

I’m surrounded by energy and I try to absorb as much as I can.

I follow the boys onto the pier, sticking close so we don’t get separated. I’m pretty sure I’d never find them again. As we push through the Thursday-night crowd, I marvel at all the shops: seashells and pearls, souvenirs, socks, bath salts, candy, and crystals, restaurants serving seafood and ice cream and a hundred kinds of crepes.

No wonder this is such a popular tourist attraction.

“Watch out,” Milo says, tugging me against his side as a tourist with a camera the size of my head nearly knocks me over. “You okay?” he asks.

I nod, dazzled by the feel of Milo against me. “Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem.” He beams, and for a second it feels like we’re completely alone in the crowd.

“I’m hungry,” Thane says, killing our moment.

“We just ate,” I complain, mostly because Milo’s attention—and his hand—is now off me.

“Me too.” Milo agrees with Thane. “Everything here is overpriced for the tourists. Have you guys ever had dim sum?”

Had it? I’ve never even heard of it. Still, even though I know it’s a bonehead answer, I’m on the verge of saying,
All the time,
because I don’t want Milo to think I’m an uncultured hick. “Sure—”

Before I can finish, Thane says, “No.”

“Excellent!” Milo’s eyes light up brighter than before, and I’m really glad I didn’t get the chance to fib.

“—I haven’t,” I finish quietly.

The look Thane throws me suggests he knew what I’d actually been about to say.

“Then I’ll get to introduce you to it.” Milo starts walking back in the direction we’ve come from and then off to the west. “The best all-night dim sum in town is only a cable car ride away.”

I have to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. We cross to a dead-end street where a line of
people stand waiting. They’re all looking expectantly up the hill. I turn and see an ancient-looking cable car gliding down toward the dead end.

When I knew for sure we’d be moving to San Francisco, I researched the city online. I read a lot about the cable cars and their history and construction. I know the ropes and brakes are supposed to be safe, but I’m not entirely convinced. As I watch the people climb off and the car execute a complicated, man-powered turnaround, I’m getting a little apprehensive.

“Don’t worry,” Milo says quietly in my ear. “It’s fun.”

A warm, melty feeling spreads from my ear to the rest of my body. I smile and let him lead me to a seat while he and Thane stand, hanging out over the street. I look around and see that other riders are hanging out over the street too, but it doesn’t make me any less nervous.

My eyes stay squeezed tightly shut most of the ride, so I don’t remember much. There are a lot of jerks and stutters, and one time, when the car stops for a couple minutes, I hear a lot of shouting. I force one eye open and find Thane and Milo gone. Panicked, I lean out to search for them, only to find them—and a bunch of other passengers—actually
pushing
the car up the track. I keep my eyes open long enough for Thane and Milo to return to their spots, and then clamp them shut again.

Two stops later, as the car slowly climbs up a hill, I feel a warmth on my cheek just before Milo whispers, “You’re going to miss the best part.”

Despite my fear, I force my eyes open. For a second, Milo fills my vision. Then he leans back and reveals the view. We’re at an intersection at the high point of a hill. Straight in front of me is a narrow street leading steeply down to a wider one, full of light and lanterns and activity. It’s beautiful.

I smile at Milo for making me open my eyes.

I smile even bigger when he smiles back.

At the next stop, Milo’s hand wraps around mine and tugs me to my feet. We’ve survived. Next time, I’ll keep my eyes open the whole time.

“This is the world-famous Chinatown,” he says, still holding my hand as he leads me down a very steep street.

My heart is racing, and not just because of the harrowing ride.

“And this,” he says, pulling up in front of a glass storefront full of hanging meats and birds and unidentifiable things, “is the world’s best dim sum parlor.”