That surprised Mark. Hearing Andy Mitchell call himself a screwup was out of character. This was turning out to be a day full of surprises. Mitchell emptied the can and put the cap back on.
“Time?” Mitchell asked.
Mark checked his cell phone. “Six-oh-five,” he announced. “Plenty of time.”
“Let’s go!” Mitchell said, and jumped into the car. He truly had to jump because the driver’s door wouldn’t open. He had to slither in through the window.
The meeting was taking place not far from where Andy broke down, at a posh country club. As Mitchell drove, Mark sat in the passenger seat thinking two things. One was that he couldn’t believe he had come to the rescue of his archnemesis. The other was that he feared the sticky, vinyl car seat was infested with Andy bacteria. The only reason he didn’t gag at the putrid car stench was because the sweet smell from the flower arrangements in the back masked the vile odor. He feared what would happen after they made the delivery and the flowers were gone. It was going to be a long ride home.
“So, why me?” Mark asked.
“Why you what?” Mitchell asked back.
“Why did you call me for help?”
“Sci-Clops,” Mitchell answered. “We gotta stick together, right?”
“Well, no,” Mark said. “It’s a science club, not the Boy Scouts. Why did you call me? You hate me.”
Mitchell didn’t answer right away. At first Mark thought the imbecile had forgotten the question.
“I don’t exactly have a load of friends,” Mitchell finally said. “I know, hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“Not so hard to believe,” Mark said.
Mitchell shot him a glance, but didn’t fire a shot back. Instead he shrugged. “Okay, I had that coming. I’ve given you a hard time.”
“Hard time?” Mark said, incredulous. “You’ve bullied me for years. You’ve hit me. You’ve stolen my lunch money more times than I can count. You’ve hit me. You’ve robbed my house. You’ve hit me. Need I go on?”
“Guilty, guilty, guilty, all right? What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t want you to say anything. You’re a jerk. End of story.” Mark was feeling bold. He no longer feared Andy Mitchell. That stopped a while ago. His fear turned to pity when he realized that the guy was such a lamebrain. But lately, after seeing what a brilliant mathematical mind he had, Mark actually found himself envying Andy. It was all so twisted and weird.
“If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t the only one I stepped on,” Mitchell said.
“Oh, good, now I can rest easy,” Mark said, dripping sarcasm.
“Hey, you asked, I’m tellin’.” — “Sorry, go ahead.”
“I ain’t the sharpest tool in the deck, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Mitchell continued.
“I noticed,” Mark said, rolling his eyes. Mitchell couldn’t even get the figure of speech right.
“But that only has to do with words and talking and whatnot. The thing is, with numbers I’m pretty good.”
Mark didn’t argue. He’d seen Andy at work. With numbers he was better than pretty good.
“That didn’t go down so well when I was a little kid. It was like, how do you say it, I had the worst of both worlds. Half the guys gave me a hard time because I sounded like an idiot. The other half gave me grief for being a brain. I was too smart to hang with the tough kids and too dumb to hang with the geeks. That works on you after a while, you know? Not fittin’ in anywhere.”
Mark knew. He was an old pro at not fitting in. “So I guess I kind of built up this, I don’t know, this shell. I didn’t let nobody in; didn’t put myself out there in case I might get whacked; and didn’t take nothing from nobody. It’s not like I had a choice. It was either that, or hide under my bed. But it was tough. I was angry all the time. I guess I took it out on a lot of people, including you.”
“Especially me.”
“Yeah, whatever. But then I got hooked up with the university and they actually liked that I had some good ideas. They encouraged me, you know? I wasn’t used to that. That got me to join Sci-Clops and-hey, I don’t mean to get all girly on you, but for the first time I’m starting to be happy with the way things are going. Most of the time, anyway.”
Mark didn’t comment. For a second he thought Andy might cry. It was a strange feeling. For the first time, ever, he was looking at Andy Mitchell as a human being, not a cartoon bully. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. Life was already weird enough. Having Andy Mitchell turn into a good guy just put things another notch higher on the surreal meter. Thankfully the conversation ended, because they had arrived at the Burning Hill Country Club.
“We’re here!” Mark announced to break the tension.
Andy pulled the car up to the wide, flagstone front entrance and rolled to a stop.
“Looks kind of quiet,” Mark observed.
“And dark,” Andy said. “What time is it?”
“Six thirty,” Mark answered. “There has to be somebody here if the meeting is in half an hour.”
Mark and Andy got out of the car and walked up the few steps to the front door. Mitchell tried the knob. It was locked.
“What the hell?” Mitchell said, confused.
Mark looked inside the glass pane in the door and said, “There’s a board in there with the schedule. What’s the name of the company?”
D. J. MacHale
The Rivers of Zadaa
Mitchell pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and read, “Praxis Associates.”
“There it is,” Mark announced. “Praxis Associates. Seven o’clock.”
“Exactly!” Mitchell said. “Half an hour from now.”
Mark looked inside again and said, “Uh, actually, it’s twelve and a half hours from now.”
“Say what?” Mitchell shouted.
Mark said, “The sign says it’s a breakfast meeting.”
Mitchell quickly looked back at the packing slip. He reread it and yelled, “No way! It says right here. Praxis Associates. Seven A.”
Mark took the paper and read it. “Yeah, seven A, as in sevena.m. The meeting is tomorrow morning.”
Mitchell stared at the page blankly. He then sprang back to the door and looked inside. “There’s gotta be a mistake.”
Mark said, “Well, yeah. There was.”
Mitchell banged his head against the glass, finally accepting that the mistake was his.
“Will the flowers keep?” Mark asked.
“Yeah,” Mitchell said, sounding beaten. “I am such an idiot. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”
The two didn’t say much on the way back toward town. Mitchell was too embarrassed and Mark was too cool to make him feel any dumber. When they got to Mark’s house, Mark hopped out of the car and grabbed the gas can.
“It’s been…interesting,” he said.
“Listen, Dimond,” Mitchell said. “Thanks. I know how you feel about me, that only makes it all the cooler that you helped me out.”
“Hey, we Sci-Clops types have to stick together, right?” Mitchell laughed. “Yeah, sure. I owe you one. I mean that. If you ever need anything, all you gotta do is ask.”
“Sure, uh, Andy. Good night.”
“G’night.”
Mitchell hit the gas, the car belched once and rolled off, leaving Mark standing alone on the sidewalk in front of his house. It was a strange ending to a strange day. Mark couldn’t help but wonder what the next chapter in the strange saga of Andy Mitchell would be.
For Courtney, she felt as if her day was just beginning. Ever since Whitney had asked her to go into town, she counted the minutes until seven o’clock. The rest of the day crept by slowly. It seemed like an eternity until she finally made it to art class. She sat there, listening to the guest speaker talk about the challenge of sketching the human hand. With Courtney’s head being where it was, the lecture seemed about as interesting as algebra-trig. Still, she had made a commitment to this class. She wasn’t going to blow it off. Though she might as well have. Her
