One Wish Away (14 page)

I shake my head. I don't know how else to react. The artist must have had AIDS or must have had someone in his life who was originally affected by it and for some reason painted this artwork which wound up in our library. Or maybe we have a different librarian?

Too many options.

The bell rings and Darren pulls me to the computers in a back row. He takes the one next to mine and we both log on. Thankfully my password is still the same.

I open the browser and search for AIDS. A search, which before today, would have brought up millions of hits, brings up none. Instead I get sites that define what it means to ‘aid' someone as well as a number of meanings for the acronym.

“American Institute of Decision Sciences,” Darren reads. “That sounds right up our alley.”

I skim through the pages from the search. Most of the sites have to do with some sort of Data System, or Data Service, that include the letters ‘A' and ‘I'. Definitely no sign of the disease.

“Okay,” I say to myself and wiggle my fingers over the keys, and tone out our teacher as I think. I need something positive. “Let's try Africa's economy”.

“Africa?”

“The Secretary said the majority of deaths caused by AIDS were in African countries and that the numbers had been rising steadily the past few years,” I whisper so as not to draw attention to us. “It stands to reason that the economy should be better than it was.”

Darren enthusiastically comments as we fly through the internet. I will admit my knowledge of the African continent before wasn't anything impressive. But it does seem the infrastructure of various countries have improved. It's good to see that we were able to predict this correctly.

I let out a sigh of relief.

I add Ann Altair to the AIDS search, praying for a connection, but nothing relevant pops up. AIDS doesn't exist anymore.

I delete the AIDS part of my search, leaving just my mother's name. The first hit to pop up is her journalism site. As Darren mentioned, she works for The Arizona Republic, the paper with the largest circulation in the state.

I stare at her picture till she gets blurry with unshed tears. Beautiful, successful, her website bio paints her as the perfect woman.

“Lyra?”

I shake my head. “Let's try this one,” I tell Darren. I type in “missing AG Carinae star” and hit enter.

Over a million hits list themselves including the missing AG Carinae star as well as Spica. I sift through the titles and sources, trying to decipher if there's really anything new we hadn't heard. There's a couple that seem promising, but when I open them it's the same thing said a different way.

“Wait,” Darren says before I click the red ‘X' on a picture of a reporter interviewing an astronomer. I'm about to shush him when I realize how hard he's squeezing my leg.

“That car,” he whispers, getting down on his knees, his face as close to the monitor as it can get. “That's the car that was across the street from your house last night.”

“Isn't that the…Webers' car?”

“No.” His now dry, black hair moves back and forth. “I thought it was weird a red Porsche was parked in suburban Arizona. I mean, you have nice houses in your neighborhood, but not
this
nice.” He gestures to the screen again. “I assumed they had a friend visiting or something.”

I barely hear his last sentence as I skim the article. Nothing too special. A reporter interviewed another astronomer, one that works for NASA. The astronomer, like all the rest, says he doesn't know why two stars are missing but they're working on figuring it out.

The part that makes me want to hide is the red Porsche at the corner of the picture and the dark arm of a man leaning against it. I'm sure there are many red Porsches, but there can't be many red Porsches with a pink bunny decal in the rear window. In fact, there's probably only one.

And two days ago this car was lurking across the street from my house.

“What's up with you?”

I look at Tiffany Snow, all blonde hair and blue eyes, across the desk. We're supposed to be discussing
Beowulf
, but there are too many discussions going on in my head right now to make room for another.

“I'm… off today. What's it to you?”
Please just leave me alone. I can't handle anymore.

“Whatever. Sorry I asked.” She leans back in her seat and ducks her head slightly, looking at something under her desk. The quiet
tap, tap, tap
of her nails isn't fooling anyone. Can't she wait to talk to her boyfriend till after class?

Of course we can't pick our partners the day I find out my family, which now includes a
mother,
has a stalker.

“Um…” We should probably figure out something to say during the discussion part of the class. I look at the sheet of questions Mr. Langley gave us, but no matter how hard I try, I can't focus on the words.
Beowulf
means nothing to me at the moment.

I could be wrong about the car. Maybe the Webers had a visitor and that visitor just happened to be at the location of an interview about the missing star two days prior.

Or maybe there are more red Porsches with bunny decals than I think.

“Conversation seems to have increased, which means you're probably not discussing
Beowulf
anymore.” Mr. Langley chuckles and shakes his head. “So everyone head back to their desks, please.”

Mr. Langley's voice is background noise as I again sift through my options. I should collect more data before I jump to a conclusion and worry my father or my aunt. I guess I could tell Secretary Morgan, since he's with the government and all, but it could very well be a government agent keeping tabs on us. I think it would be best if they didn't know I knew if that were the case.

“Lyra, question five please.”

My head rises to meet Mr. Langley's expectant gaze.

“I'm sorry?”

He smiles and gestures to the sheet in front of me. “Question five. What did you and Ms. Snow discuss?”

I fumble with the words, what he's asking. “The…question…”

“No way.” Jackie Thompson shouts from behind me. “Lyra wasn't paying attention? Or, do you not know the answer?”

I open my mouth, ready to snap, but I catch Darren's eye. And even though he doesn't have any expression except concern written on his face, I force my mouth shut. Yelling at Jackie won't help me.
Ignore her.

I look at the paper on my desk. Again the words are blurry, each a separate entity. I read each word of the question in my head, questions I assume Mr. Langley printed off SparkNotes. “How is Beowulf structured? How does this structure relate to the theme or themes of the work as a whole?”

“Lyra?”

“This is a first,” Jackie says. “Lyra is stumped.”

“She's not stumped.” It sounds like Tiffany's voice. “She's going through some stuff right now. You know,
women
stuff.” My head snaps to her as she explains my predicament to Mr. Langley.

Leave it to Tiffany to stand up for me in the most awkward way possible. Why
is
she standing up for me?

“What we discussed,” Tiffany continues and my ears perk. That was a lie. We didn't discuss anything, “is we think
Beowulf
is structured in two parts, young Beowulf and old Beowulf. The fifty years between the fight with Grendel's mother and the fight with the dragon is the dividing line.

“When he's young, Beowulf is a warrior and free to do as he pleases. He gets to be the hero. But when he's older, he's the king and has to focus more on responsibility and maintaining his reputation. He must protect his people.”

For a moment I'm brought out of my fog. Tiffany got the answer right. Without my help.

She flashes me a cool look, a mixture between “take that” and “I've got your back”. I nod, pretending like that's exactly what we agreed on. Mr. Langley's smile couldn't get any bigger.

“Brilliant. Well done girls,” he says, the last part directed to me.

“Don't look at me,” I say and gesture with my head to Tiffany. “She thought up most of that answer.”

“Well done, Tiffany.”

The coolness in her expression evaporates.

My surprise at Tiffany's knowledge of
Beowulf
is quickly replaced by much bigger problems, first and foremost, what, if anything to tell my Dad. I flip to a clean sheet in my notebook and make a list of the pros and cons if I were to tell him about the red Porsche.

*

“Which side won?”

“Hmm?” I look up at Darren as we head out of class.

“Did the pros or cons win?” He gestures to the notebook I'm holding in my arms. “I saw you scribbling.”

“Oh. The cons. We can't tell anyone yet.”

Darren shakes his head and holds the door open for me. “I don't like that answer. The pros beat the cons on my sheet. Then again, I had one point weighted more heavily than the rest.”

“What is that?”

“You. Who the hell cares if people think you're a little paranoid. Who wouldn't be with the stuff you're working on?”

The urgency in his tone catches me off guard.

“If I tell someone about the stalker, I'm worried they'll think the stress is getting to me. That I can't cut it at SEAD. And it's only going to increase.” I stop walking and turn to him. “I
have
to be there, Darren. Now that I know about it, what we can do, I can't live with being on the sidelines, just wondering what they're going to change next.”

“I do.” He shrugs.

“But it's my Dad and my Aunt. I know I'm nothing in the grand scheme of things but I feel like, as long as I know what's going on I can, I don't know…” Keep them safe? How could I possibly do that?

“I just have to stay on the project,” I finish.

“Remember what I said in the tree house?” He spins me into an almost deserted hallway, pinning me to the wall. His dark eyes find mine. “The part where I said you're determined and stubborn. Those are usually great qualities for a scientist, but don't lose sight of what's really important.
Who's
really important.” He squints as he looks deeper into my eyes.

I nod, because he's searching my face and I feel like that's the reaction he wants me to give.

“Well, this is one of those times. You should tell your dad.”

His eyes are mesmerizing, but I
am
stubborn. I fight the pull he has on me and slowly turn my head from side to side.

“I can't. Not yet.”

His head drops, so I'm starring at the top of it and smelling his shampoo. I put my hand under his chin and lift his eyes back to mine.

“Thanks for the concern.”

He grunts. “Lot of good it does.” His eyes get a little softer and he leans in to kiss me.

I wrap my arms around his neck. Never in a million years did I think I'd be one of those girls kissing a boy in the halls. I used to scrunch my nose at it. Not anymore. Because I want a kiss from this boy whenever I can get it.

In Darren's ear I whisper, “I promise I'll be careful.”

I pull away from him and we walk back toward our locker, the hubbub of conversation growing as we enter the river of students.

“That's not good enough. But it'll do for now,” Darren finishes as he reaches around me and puts in our combination.

The school secretary's voice rings through the loudspeaker, barely registering over the commotion in the hallway. “Darren Miller, please report to the office. Darren Miller, report to the office please.”

“Shoot.” Darren rips out his cell phone. I glance over his shoulder and see he's got two missed calls and three text messages. “Abby's sick,” he tells me.

I hate seeing the worry flashing in Darren's eyes.

“Mom can't get off work so I have to get her from school.” He takes his hat off his head and runs his hand through his hair, then looks at me.

“Well, tell Abby I say hi and I hope she feels better.”

“Thanks. I'll see you soon.” He squeezes my arm and starts to run towards the office. A ways down the hall he turns around and yells, “Be careful, Lyra.”

*

Why do they keep the school fifty degrees colder than the temperature outside?

I tear off my flannel shirt and let the sun find the sensitive skin on my arms. There's already an ungodly amount of freckles there. Why not add more?

Again, like yesterday, I'm leaving during last period when the rest of school is still in session. I can't help but scan the lot, my eyes stopping at every red car.

Get a grip, Lyra
.

I throw my backpack down on the top stair outside the school, not even caring I might have dented the cover of my British Lit book, and take a seat next to it. Resting my head in my hands I realize they're shaking and force them to my lap.

Deep breaths. In and out. Relax.

How could I have been so stupid? I should have at least looked more closely at the car. Maybe I could have seen who was inside, an ID badge, a picture,
something
that would narrow down the possibilities.

My phone beeps. It's got to be Darren. I sent him a text earlier to make sure he and Abby were okay.

It's Dad.

Running late. Text you when I'm on my way. Pick you up at home?

Definitely not. I would assume Mom works at all hours since she's a hot journalist and all, but I'm not taking any chances.

Pick me up at Darren's. I'll hang out there.

I hoist my backpack onto my back and when I'm about halfway to Darren's house I get a reply from my father.

Ok. I'll see you there.

I contemplate whether to ring the doorbell. I don't want to wake Abby if she's sleeping. As I reach to knock, the inside door swings open.