“I haven’t been thinking too much about, you know, stuff. And that’s good.”
Mark didn’t respond. He knew what she meant.
“This is kind of weird to say,” Courtney continued. “But I met somebody.”
“Of course you did,” Mark said. “I didn’t think you were there alone.”
Courtney chuckled. “No, dope. I’m talking about a guy.”
“Oh,” Mark said. “You mean like, a guy?”
“Yeah, a guy. His name’s Whitney.”
“Whitney? That sounds like a bad soap-opera name.”
Courtney laughed. “It’s worse. His name is Whitney Wilcox.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, no. But he’s cool. We’ve, uh, we’ve got a date tonight. I’m riding to meet him for pizza.”
Mark wasn’t sure of how to react. It was weird to hear that Courtney liked somebody other than Bobby, but after reading that Bobby had feelings for Loor, maybe it was all for the best. Of course, he couldn’t tell Courtney that, for all sorts of reasons.
Courtney said, “I wanted to tell you about him. I’m not really sure why.”
“I’m glad you did,” Mark said.
There was a long pause, then Courtney said, “Do you hate me?”
“Hate you? No! No way!” he said quickly. “I think it’s great you met a guy.”
“Not just that,” Courtney said. “About… everything.”
“I don’t hate you, Courtney,” Mark said. “C’mon. Give me a break.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes! There’s a lot going on. We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do.”
“Thanks. I needed to hear you say that.” There was another long pause, and then Courtney said, “I’m sorry for taking off on you. That wasn’t cool.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“Still, I’m not proud of myself. But if you saw the shape I was in, you’d know I did the right thing.”
“I already know it,” Mark said. “I can tell by your voice. I can’t wait to talk to you in person.”
Mark knew a question was out there that hadn’t been asked. He really hoped she wouldn’t ask it.
She did.
“So, uh, has anything-“
“No,” Mark said quickly. He knew she was going to ask if Bobby had sent a new journal. He didn’t want to tell her. If she was working hard to put her head on straight, the last thing she needed to hear was that Bobby was about to step into the middle of a tribal war and had fallen in love with Loor-even if she did meet a new guy. He knew he’d eventually have to spill the news, but this wasn’t the time.
“N-Nothing new,” Mark added, and winced, wishing he had stopped at “no.” He felt sure Courtney would pick up on his nervous stutter.
“Oh, okay,” Courtney said.
Mark sensed her hesitation. There was something in the way she said it that made him realize, she knew.
“When are you coming home?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.
“In a couple of weeks. We’ll talk then, okay?”
“I can’t wait to see you,” Mark said, relieved that she didn’t press him about the journals.
“I miss you, Mark. Even though you’re a dork and all.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mark said, laughing. “We’ll get some fries at Garden Poultry and catch up, okay?”
“It’s a date. Bye, Courtney. Take care of yourself.”
“Later, gator!”
The phone went dead. Mark smiled. “Later, gator?” He thought Courtney sounded great. And happy. Just like the old Courtney. As weird as it was to think that she liked somebody besides Bobby, this new guy seemed to be helping her heal. That was a good thing. He hated having to carry the weight of Bobby’s journals on his own, but if it meant getting Courtney better, it was worth it. He flipped the phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket with the feeling that things were definitely looking up. Now if he could only tackle this stupid silver bowl.
His phone rang again.
What was going on? Why was he suddenly so popular? He dug the phone back out and flipped it open, saying, “Courtney?”
“Courtney?” the deep guy-voice mimicked. “Do I sound like a Courtney?”
“Mitchell?” Mark asked in disbelief. “How did you get this number?”
“Who cares? From Sci-Clops. We’re both members, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. What do you want?”
“I’m in trouble, Dimond,” Mitchell said. “I need your help. Now.”
SECOND EARTH
(CONTINUED)
Mrs. Dimond, Mark’s mother, gave Mark a ride to a lonely, country lane in Stony Brook that Mark knew well. It used to be part of his paper route. There, at the corner of Riversville Road and Carroll Street, they found what they were looking for. It was a beat-up, seventies-looking station wagon with fake wood paneling. Leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette, was Andy Mitchell. When he saw the Dimonds’ car approach, he quickly stubbed out the smoke.
Mrs. Dimond stared at Mitchell like he was a walking disease and said to Mark, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” To her, this guy looked like bad news. Mrs. Dimond was a smart lady.
“Yeah, he’s a friend. He’s in Sci-Clops,” Mark said.
“That hoodlum is in Sci-Clops?” Mrs. Dimond asked incredulously.
“Believe it or not,” Mark answered with a smile. “Thanks, Mom. He’ll give me a ride home.”
Mark got out of the car, opened the rear door, and pulled out a full can of gasoline. Andy’s big problem was that he had run out of gas.
“Thanks, lady!” Andy called, sounding as polite as could be. “You saved my life.”
Mrs. Dimond waved and smiled, then turned the wheel and drove off, but not before giving Mark a final, concerned look that said: “Are you sure about this?” Mark waved as if to say, “Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Dimond,” Mitchell said as he took the gas can from Mark. “Really. Thanks.”
It sounded to Mark as if he meant it too. Mitchell went to the rear of his beater and started funneling the gas into the tank.
“How could you run out of gas?” Mark asked.
“The gauge is busted,” Mitchell said. “Whenever I fill it up, I zero out the trip odometer to tell me how many miles I go so I know when to fill up again.”
“So what happened?”
“The trip odometer’s busted too. Piece of garbage car.” Mark had to keep himself from laughing. Mitchell truly was an idiot.
“I got this call to make a real important delivery. Big rush. I picked up the flowers, got here, and chug chug chug. Dead. You really saved me, man.”
“What’s so important about the delivery?” Mark asked.
“Huge client,” Mitchell answered. “Big-shot corporate guys. They’re having a meeting tonight at seven o’clock, and they ordered a bunch of flowers for the tables. Last minute. Those guys don’t care. Money talks, you know? But if I don’t get ‘em there in time, we’ll never get another order. Those guys don’t fool around. One mistake and you’re gone. My uncle is the same way. If I don’t deliver, I’ll be gone too. And I need this job.”
“So why didn’t you call your uncle for help?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Mitchell replied sarcastically. “So he’d know how bad a screwup I am? I may not be smart, but I ain’t dumb.”
