Midnight on Strange Street, page 16
Blow, she thought.
There was a faint crackling inside her head, and then—
The patch of dandelions began to sway, blown by an invisible breeze, which pressed hardest against the biggest of the dandelions, bending back its head until its fluffy seeds detached and took flight, drifting upward into the sunlit sky.
Lola let out a soft cry of delight.
Then the wind whipped to a stop, and a hot summer stillness settled on the yard.
Lola plucked the now-bare dandelion stem.
“I can,” she said aloud. “I can control it.”
Lola still had no explanation for the loud popping sound that had filled her ears at Jensen Ranch, or the way the strange sensation had sent her sprawling to her back. It had felt as though somehow, when she’d tethered the Sardines’ thoughts, they had joined powers, if only for a moment. And those powers combined had resulted in something big.
But it’s nothing to be afraid of, Lola told herself. It’s only different. It’s only new.
Lola had found that the more she tethered, the more comfortable she became. She was getting to know the flame inside, making friends with it. Her power didn’t have to be frightening.
Over the past few days, Lola had been visiting Avery’s place to play with Radar or read books, side by side on the back porch. And every so often, Lola and Avery would form memories to share with each other. As days had passed, the images had grown clearer, filled with more vibrant hues. This, Lola decided, was her favorite form of investigation: giving memories of birthdays, Halloweens, and long, lazy Sundays to Avery. She liked to think that Bastian was right about his memory plan, even if he hadn’t been right about Glow Expo. She wanted to believe that memories were how they’d convince the aliens what a wonderful place the world could be. But even if memories weren’t the solution, Lola loved getting a glimpse inside Avery’s head.
She only wished Nando were here to see how she was changing. It didn’t seem fair to Lola that her brother was so close—right here, in Callaway!—and yet so distant.
Sighing, she sank into the grass and looked up at a cloudless blue sky. Droplets of sweat had gathered on her face, and she drew an arm across her forehead. As Lola lay steeped in thought, she heard a distant rustling. She sat up, hoping to catch sight of a rabbit or squirrel.
Instead, she saw a flash of silver.
Alarmed, Lola looked harder. There was something moving in the juniper bushes.
“Hello?” she called. “Who’s there?”
There was no reply.
The bushes rustled more violently, and then a figure emerged, the height of a full-grown man, dressed in a silver suit. Lola could not see the figure’s face; it was shielded by a sharp-edged helmet. Grasped tight in the figure’s gloved hand was a metal rod—held aloft, like a weapon.
“H-hey!” cried Lola, her words faltering in fear.
The figure turned its dark-visored helmet toward her. Lola tried and failed to breathe properly. She couldn’t see its eyes—didn’t know if it was looking straight at her. Still, it held its weapon aloft.
Lola stumbled to her feet and ran.
She flung herself forward, across the yard, toward the house, and swung open the back door with so much force that it sent a hard slam through the kitchen. Shutting the door, she pressed her back against its steady frame, breathing in quick gasps.
After many moments had passed, she summoned her courage and looked out the window. The figure in the silver suit was gone.
But Lola knew it wasn’t all in her head.
They were watching her.
They were following her.
Lola just wished she knew who they were.
Bastian was trying not to focus on how his plan at Glow Expo had failed. He was trying to believe that memories were still the key to convincing the light beings not to eradicate Earth. He was trying not to worry about the fact that he was still the only Sardine the aliens hadn’t contacted.
At night, he drew new glowboard designs, taking breaks to push the limits of his telekinesis, juggling paint tubes one day and writing out his signature the next—all with his mind. During the day, he worked himself weary at practice, fine-tuning his telepathy through Lola’s tether. After practice, Bastian liked to take a break and skate down Callaway’s streets, a spray of silver glow shooting out behind him. That was how Bastian skated today, down Third Street, on his way to meet Nando for ice cream.
Nando had met with Bastian and Lola several times before at the Frozen Spoon, but he never spoke about his work, and he never once came by the house or talked to their parents. Bastian was frustrated by Nando’s secrets, but then, he was keeping a mountain of his own. He hadn’t breathed a word about the alien message, or the truth behind Taft Middle’s food fight, or Nando’s stolen work memo. One of those secrets was Lola’s, and not his to tell. As for the others, Bastian had made his vow to the Sardines.
But then, there were other secrets Bastian kept. Like how Mitchell’s taunts and Zander’s betrayal made him so angry. To tell Nando all the stuff the Grackles had done to him…it’d be too embarrassing.
Still, Bastian had asked Nando if they could meet, just the two of them, and hang out like old times. Maybe Bastian was hiding some truths, but there was one thing he wasn’t afraid to share with his brother: his most recent glowboard designs. There were a dozen of them—new daring geometric patterns—tucked in a portfolio inside his backpack.
Glow in the Park was only one day away, and the Sardines had held their very last practice on Hazard Hill. Their method of tethering was almost perfected now, and they’d made 2:12, their best time yet. The Sardines were going to beat the Grackles at Glow in the Park. At last, they were going to prove to Zander that he’d chosen the wrong team. They were going to show Mitchell what a girl team could do.
It was in this state of mind that Bastian swished past the big glass windows of Tazza Fresca, Callaway’s busiest coffee shop. He skated on for a few more seconds before carving to a stop. Then, slowly, he hovered his board back to the shopwindow. He hadn’t seen wrong: There was Nando, sitting at a window-side table, his green briefcase by his side.
Nando wasn’t alone. Sitting across from him was a broad-shouldered man with a mustache, dressed in a tan suit and a wide-brimmed hat: Carl Jensen, King of Callaway. Bastian stared, uncomprehending, as the two men rose to their feet and Mr. Jensen extended his hand. Nando shook it with a big, friendly smile.
Then Nando’s gaze shifted, and he locked eyes with Bastian through the glass.
Panicked, Bastian kicked up his board and fled. Seconds later, he heard the clang of a storefront bell and footsteps thudding behind him.
“Bastian!” Nando yelled. “Hang on! Hold up!”
Bastian kept skating, but only for a few more halfhearted seconds. Then, tense all over, he slowed the board to a stop.
“Hey!” Nando caught up and grabbed Bastian by the shoulder. Bastian waved his arms frantically, but it was too late to correct his balance. He fell from his board, hitting the concrete with a painful whump.
“God, Bastian! I’m sorry.” Nando reached down a hand, but Bastian, still trembling with pain, swatted it back.
“You can’t just—You don’t…You don’t know anything about glowboarding!”
Nando drew back. “I…You’re right. I don’t.”
Bastian got to his feet. “Why were you talking to Mr. Jensen? What were you doing in there?” He thought of the stolen memo, marked DGE. “Were you and him making some kind of deal?”
Nando’s eyes flashed. “I’ve told you before, Bastian, I can’t discuss my work.”
Nando looked genuinely upset, but that only made Bastian angrier. Words swirled in his mind: Grackles, freak, skate like a girl.
“The Jensens are the worst,” Bastian spat out. “Just so you know. Mitchell’s a bully, and his dad is a jerk. Everyone in Callaway knows that. So if you’re with Mr. Jensen, then you’re not on the Sardines’ side. You’re not on my side.”
Bastian grabbed for his board, but Nando beat him to it, scooping up the still-hovering machine.
“Give it to me!” Bastian shouted.
“Not until you let me explain.”
“But you won’t explain!” Bastian countered. “It’s all work secrets. You say the door is always open, but it’s not.”
“You’re right.”
Bastian blinked. “Wh-what?”
“You’re right,” Nando said again. “You’re right to feel angry, Bash. But I’d like to explain what I can. And I still owe you an ice cream, don’t I?”
Bastian hesitated. He could grab his board from Nando and take off. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted things to be like they had been before. Before Nando’s fights with their parents. Before he had left for DC. Before Bastian’s life had become so confusing.
Bastian just wanted one less secret between them.
“You can buy me a chocolate coconut fudge,” he decided aloud. “Two scoops.”
“There’s something going on in Callaway,” Nando told Bastian.
Bastian’s shirt was damp with sweat, and melted chocolate ice cream trickled down his fingers. The summer heat kept away eavesdroppers, though, leaving him and Nando alone on the Frozen Spoon’s rooftop patio. It was the perfect place to share a secret.
“It’s something exciting,” Nando continued. “Something brand-new. And I get to be part of it.”
“Something…with Gloworks?” Bastian spoke carefully, afraid that any wrong word would make Nando stop talking.
“Maybe.” Nando smiled a strange smile. Then he leaned in close, over his praline sundae. “Can I let you in on a secret?”
OF COURSE, Bastian shouted inside. THAT’S ALL I WANT.
“Sure” was what he said.
“All right.” Nando’s brown eyes were twinkling. “It’s not a coincidence I’m back in Callaway. My people? They recruited me here, at the university, because they wanted someone who knew the terrain and the residents. Because of what’s happening here.” Bastian’s skin prickled as Nando went on. “We don’t know much yet, but we’re going to. We have a great team of researchers. And soon…this is going to be big, Bastian. It might change everything.”
What’s happening? Bastian asked inside, the blue flame waxing. What kind of researchers? Here to research what?
“That’s cool” was what he said.
“Change everything,” Nando repeated, his face alight. “Even the war. Think about that: We could even change the war.”
Bastian blinked. He had that bad feeling again—the one he’d first gotten when he’d read Nando’s departmental memo. “So,” Bastian said, tossing the sticky napkins onto the table, “what you’re working on is important, and whatever’s important is happening here in Callaway. I kind of already knew those things. Where’s the secret in that?”
Nando rubbed at his bearded cheek. “The why is still confidential. It has to be, Bastian. I wish you could understand. All I’m trying to tell you is that I’m working on something good. Something worthwhile. And I know how you feel about the Jensens, but please, if you can, believe me? I’m trying to do the right thing.”
Bastian stared at the Callaway horizon, brow furrowed. Nando wasn’t telling him a secret. He was just telling Bastian to trust him.
“Hey,” said Nando, nudging Bastian. “You okay?”
Bastian glanced down, discovering that his right arm was covered in melted ice cream. Nando was already tugging napkins out of a holder, and he handed them over with a cautious smile. Bastian wiped up the chocolaty mess, keeping his eyes downcast.
Did he trust Nando? Did he trust him about this whole business with Gloworks and Mr. Jensen? Maybe not. But he did trust his brother with something else—a secret that Bastian, at least, was willing to tell.
“Mitchell hasn’t stopped,” he said, then the words came out in a rush. “He’s been…bullying me even worse. Every single day he sees me in school, in the hallway? He’ll say, ‘Here comes Mrs. Gil!’ Like it’s some big joke. In PE, we were playing dodgeball, and he told all his friends to throw their balls at me. And he tripped me at a football game, on the bleachers.” Bastian held up his right arm, showing the faint outline of a scar. “I told you things were great, but…they’re not. Mitchell and the Grackles, they make me feel like…I’m nothing. And I know I’m supposed to be strong and not let them bother me. I know. But it does bother me, all the time. They try to make me feel bad for hanging out with Lola and the others. Like it’s something to be ashamed of. But I’m not ashamed. It’s just hard.”
Bastian felt winded, as though he’d run miles. Now the words were out of him, in the open, and he felt…relieved.
Nando was quiet before he said, “Bash, you don’t have to feel strong. You don’t have to pretend what they say doesn’t hurt you.” He leaned in closer, smelling of spiced pralines. “You don’t play by their rules. You make your own. You do what you’re great at, you be happy. That’s the best revenge you can get on any bully. Their words might hurt, but you’re bigger than words. They can’t stop you from living your life. From glowboarding like a champ. From making amazing art.”
Bastian’s heart flipped at that. “I brought some,” he said, eagerly, turning to his backpack and zipping it open. “New designs. I wanted you to see, tell me what you think.” He threw the portfolio on the table. “If they’re crap, just say so.”
Nando opened the portfolio. He looked over one glowboard sketch, then turned it over and studied the next. Another sketch, and another. He looked at them in silence as Bastian sat watchful, hands clasped between his knees. The rest of his chocolate coconut fudge was melting in its cup, but Bastian didn’t care.
At last, Nando closed the portfolio. His brown eyes were shining—an expression Bastian couldn’t read.
“Wh-what?” Bastian asked.
“They’re good,” Nando said.
Bastian’s heart sank. Good? That wasn’t what he wanted from Nando. He wanted real feedback. He wanted—
“You have to stop showing them to me now.”
Bastian’s stomach twisted. “What?”
Was Nando going to tell Bastian that he was too busy these days? That he didn’t have time for silly sketches anymore? That he didn’t have time for Bastian? That—
“I mean,” Nando said, “you need to start showing them to other people.”
Bastian blinked. “But other people don’t—”
“They’re glowboard designs,” Nando interrupted. “Aren’t they?”
“Well, yeah.”
“For whose glowboards?”
Bastian studied his sticky, ice-cream-filmed hands. “No one’s.”
“That isn’t right.” Nando jabbed his finger against the portfolio. “This is good, Bash. I know it’s scary, showing your work to people you don’t know. People you don’t think get you. I know Zander let you down before, and that hurt. But this is what I’m talking about: This is living. It’s something that makes you happy and could make other people happy, too. Don’t you think your Sardines would love a Bastian Gil original glowboard design?”
Bastian made a face. “I mean, I don’t know.”
“They would,” said Nando. “Stop showing me, Bash, and show the world. That’s my advice for this artwork of yours. And that’s how you show those bullies how strong you are. You do what you love, and you do it well. Share them, Bash.”
Bastian’s ice cream was now a chocolate puddle. Very slowly, he nodded. Nando’s words weren’t easy, and they weren’t what Bastian had expected. But they made sense, and more than that, they filled Bastian with new hope.
“Okay,” he said, taking back the portfolio. “Thanks for the advice.”
Some days, Dani went out to Hazard Hill by herself, with no intention of practicing. But just because she wasn’t there to skate didn’t mean she wasn’t there for skating. Glow in the Park was only one day away, and Dani’s every waking thought and restless dream had to do with glowboarding. This close to race day, Dani had a tradition: She went to Hazard Hill and sat on its crest, at the very place where the starting line would be activated. There, she envisioned the Sardines’ full descent.
With her digiwatch in hand, she whispered each passing second aloud, picturing the draft train and every inch of its formation. She pictured her teammates’ faces, drawn in hard lines of concentration, using their newfound advantage of tethering. She pictured the cheering crowd that bordered the track and grew denser and louder the farther down the Sardines skated. Dani envisioned the finish line, drawn out in glowing red laser light. She pictured Avery crossing that line at precisely the right moment. She could see it all so clearly. One day from now, her vision would turn to reality. One day from now, the Sardines would finally win.
There was one thing that Dani didn’t let herself envision: the expressions on the Grackles’ faces when they were defeated. That, she wanted to save. She wanted to be totally surprised by Mitchell Jensen’s reaction the moment the official announced the Sardines’ record-breaking time. Then she wanted to look Zander Poxleitner straight in the eye and give him the biggest smile she’d ever smiled in her life.
Lola would be upset if she knew about this part of Dani’s plan. She would call it mean. She would call it gloating. But Lola was too nice for her own good, and anyway, she wasn’t the team captain.
Also, Lola hadn’t once had a crush on Zander Poxleitner.
Not that it was a crush exactly, but Dani had liked Zander a lot—more than she’d liked any other boy before or since. And Zander, in typical traitor form, had made her think he’d liked her back, before he ruined everything. He’d never given the Sardines an explanation for why he’d moved away from his house at 29 Cedar Lane or joined the Grackles at the start of last summer. He’d simply left.
Yes, Dani would admit, she had refused to speak to Zander in the hallways or after school. His actions had done all the talking, though, hadn’t they? She’d had to find out about his defection from Mitchell Jensen himself, in front of his whole horrible crew. So what if she hadn’t let Zander explain himself? Nothing he could say would make things right again.
