Surfacing (Spark Saga) (6 page)

             
-hey did u check out the dresses on my FB page? Which one u like?

             
Dresses…My mind scrambles. 
Oh, of course.  She’s posted pictures of potential homecoming dresses.  She went with a friend to try some more on after school today.
  Quickly, I jump over to Facebook and scroll through her pictures.  There are five of them.  I feel myself getting nervous. 
Of course we will be going to Homecoming together.  She will require a dress.  How to choose?
  My stomach feels a sharp pang of guilt when a momentary image—Tess, in the blue one that Dani has on—flashes into my mind.  Tess.  The blue dress.  Her long dark hair, over one shoulder, in the blue dress.  It’s strapless, of course.  I cringe.  I must focus.  Dani is my date, and she’s asking me for fashion advice.  As expected, she looks fabulous in all of them.  Dani is flat out gorgeous, a fact that sometimes fills me with awe; other times, it makes me feel like a clod. 
Who am I to be walking around with such a lovely creature?

             
Loveliness aside, Dani, I realize, would never appreciate
The Time Machine.
She would never believe my story.

             
I text her back:

-
       
I like the pink one.

-
       
Really? I figured you’d pick the blue one.

(Of course she would
.) 

-
       
Well they all look good…

-
       

  I will surprise you.

-
       
And it will be a lovely surprise, I’m sure…XXOO

-
       
Love u

-
       
Love u too

My story…oh yes.  It’s fantastic, to be sure.  Not the sort of thing an average person would entertain, even for a minute.  Perhaps someday, when time travel is discovered by the scientific community at large…

The thought spurs an anxious thud in my stomach.  It occurs to me that I am currently (presumably, unless my father has revealed his research to a third party) the only person in the universe who knows about this.  The weight of responsibility is palpable.  First of all, as I’ve mentioned, no one would believe it.  I would be forced to validate the research, back up my claims.  But, I’m no scientist either.  I picture myself, standing at a podium amid throngs of people with a mix of expressions—from fearful to expectant to indignant.  Cameras flash like strobe lights.  I open my mouth to speak, not knowing what I should say, how to introduce to the world that what we see before us, the reality we know, is not as it seems.  That there is something that changes the fabric of human history.  Something…that I have no idea how to adequately explain.  I look up, just before saying a silent prayer that the words will come.  And in the back of the crowd, just on the fringe of light from a nearby window, I see the thin shoulder, the dark hair swept across it, the woman that time decided would be mine.  Tess grins at me and I imagine, for a moment, it’s because she understands me.  She knows.  She believes.  She’s here.  But then, she is gone.  And standing in her place is the stern face of my father, hand rubbing his chin reflectively, as if to say, “You have only one shot to get this right.  Make it good, Son.”

                            I hear a knock on my bedroom door.  “Zach?”  My mom.

             
              “Yeah?”  I slip the book under my pillow.

             
              “Care if I come in?”

             
              “Sure.”

             
              My mom has aged dramatically since my dad’s death.  Her once strong, muscular frame has slowly, over the years, gotten more frail and thin, her once broad shoulders dropping, shrinking, as if an invisible hand were pressing down upon her.  She’s never remarried—a fact that continues to puzzle me, considering that she is still relatively young at 48, with a big heart and a smile to match. 

             
She sits on the edge of the bed.  “What are you doing?”

             
“Just texting Dani...” I hold up my phone.  “She sent me pics of her homecoming dress.”

 
              “You two are pretty serious, huh?”  She grins, then bites the inside of her cheek—something she does when she’s nervous.

             
“I guess so, yeah,” I shrug.

             
“Your father’s birthday is coming up,” she says. 

             
My heart jumps in my chest with the thought that maybe he’s contacted her, too.  Does she know about his research?  And how can I find out what she knows without either sounding like an idiot or a fool?

             
“I thought maybe you and I could make a trip out to the cemetery on Saturday.”

             
An image from my father’s funeral flashes in my mind.  Umbrellas, all colors.  My mother and me, standing next to each other with solemn stares.  The rain dribbling incessantly like inexplicable music.  The gray casket perched above the fresh ground.  I clenched my jaw to keep from crying.  I glanced at my mom, who somehow managed to hold her head up, her eyes distant, yet peaceful—much stronger than she looks now.

             
I nod in agreement.  “Ok, sure.”

             
She smiles and pats my hand. 

              My father was an avid hiker, which explains why it wasn’t unusual that he was found, barely conscious in Deer Creek Canyon State Park, one of his favorite hiking spots.  He’d called my mom, somehow managing to get himself back to the trailhead.  When she got there, she’d scolded him for not calling 911, but it wasn’t until later that she revealed this fact to me.  He’d called her, and she came.  But, by then, it was too late.

Tess

             
On Saturday, after having successfully survived the first week back at school, Cricket sends me a text and pretty much simultaneously shows up in front of my house.  It’s way too early, but I throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, and jog downstairs.  There is somewhere she wants to go, something about a writing project for English. 

             
My mom is in the kitchen already, frying bacon.  “Hungry?”  She asks, cheerfully.

             
“No time, going on some adventure with Cricket,” I reply, grabbing a granola bar and a can of juice out of the refrigerator.

             
“Adventure?  Sounds intriguing.  Where are you headed?”

             
“I’ll explain later,” I mutter, rushing to the door.  “And actually, I’m not sure.”

             
“Well, have fun,” she calls.

              Cricket is texting on her phone when I climb in the car.  Who could she possibly be texting at 8:00 on a Saturday morning?

             
She looks up surprised.  “Oh, I was just messaging you back.”

             
I grinned, looking at my phone. 

             
-Hurry up, dude.

             
“
Dude
?  Isn’t that for guys only?”

             
She shrugs.  “I dunno.  It just sounded right.  Anyway, who cares. right?”  She puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb with a lurch.

             
“Where are we going?”

             
“Somewhere.”

             
“Ok, well that narrows it down,” I reply.

             
“Ok, the assignment is to do something I don’t normally do,” Cricket explains.  “And it has to be outside.”

             
“Well, that’s…open ended,” I say with a smirk.

             
“I know, but it’s a beautiful day, so I thought…why not take advantage of it?”

             
“So where is this mythical something you don’t normally do located?”

             
“Well it starts with this,” she says, holding up her cell phone.  “Ever heard of geocaching?”

             
“Vaguely.  Isn’t that like a boy scout thing or something?”  I was already completely disinterested.

             
“Not specifically.  Lots of people do it.”

             
“Ok,” I sigh.  “What do we do?”

             
“First, download the geocaching app on your phone,” she instructs.

             
I locate the search feature, find the app, and start installing it.  “So what is this anyway?”

             
“Basically, people go out and hide stuff and you use a program with GPS coordinates to find it.  It was on Mr. Davis’s list of suggested activities.  And it sounded way more exciting than picking up trash in a public park or visiting a graveyard, so, here we are.”

             
“A treasure hunt?” Truthfully, the graveyard sounded better to me.

             
“Sort of, except the treasure is basically just finding it.  Sometimes they can be hard to find…or so I’ve heard.”

             
“Hmmm, sounds wildly entertaining.” 
And utterly boring, I might add.  It’s a good thing I really like you, Cricket.

             
“Well, that is what we’re out here to discover.”  She pulls the car over on the side of the street.  “The first thing we need to do is put in our location.  Then the app will tell us know where the nearest geocache is, and how to find it.”

             
“Ok.”  I start typing in our location.  “It says there’s one about 1.5 miles from here.  And there’s a map.”

             
“Awesome, let me see!”  She grabs my phone and examines the map.

             
“Ok, so it looks like we just follow the blue flashing dot that tells us when we are close.”

             
“Good thing I
love
blue flashing dots!”  I say with mock enthusiasm.

             
Cricket lightly punches me on the arm and pulls away from the curb.  After a few seconds of trying to glance at my phone while driving, we both look at each other and she gives it back to me.  “On second thought, you be navigator.”

             
“Got it,” I agreed.  “Turn left at the next street.”

             
The map took us to Pine Street.  And we found ourselves right smack in front of some old decrepit building.  “I’m not going in there,” I warn.

             
Cricket glances at me anxiously.  “You don’t have any idea where we are, do you?”

             
“No,” I admit, my curiosity suddenly aroused for the first time all morning.

             
“You don’t remember coming here?” Cricket proceeds cautiously.

             
“No,” I shrug.

             
“Oh boy.”  She scrunched up her mouth.  “This is the place I was talking to you about at school.  The old building?  Where you wanted to meet, where you told me you knew who you were going to marry?”

             
I must have given her a confused and/or annoyed look, because she dropped the subject.  “Anyway, the geocache has to be accessible, so it has to be outside somewhere.”

             
I look at the map.  “Well, let’s go.”  I hand her the phone.  “You take it from here.”

             
As we walk up to the building, my eyes follow the old brick façade, rusty guttering, and rickety fire escape to the top of the building where there was a small railing of some sort, extending the width of the structure.

             
“The closer we get to the building, the more the blue dot flashes,” Cricket comments.  “So it’s definitely there.”

             
On the outside of the structure, there is an old empty trash bin, some broken beer bottles, and other various pieces of rubbish.  I notice that several of the windows are broken and chunks of brick are lying here and there.  The asphalt around is cracked, tufts of weeds and grass poking through.  “What are we supposed to be looking for anyway?” 

             
“Well, it’s usually some sort of container,” Cricket replies.  “It’s sometimes just a piece of paper where you sign your name and date.  I’ve also heard of people leaving objects to put inside the container.”

             
“Well, it must be a pretty small container,” I mention.  “I mean, unless it’s the trash can.”

             
Cricket laughs.  “No, nothing like that!  It will be very well hidden. And sometimes there are clues. Here, check the app to see if there are any.”