He didn’t have long to think about it, because a second later his ring began to twitch.
Mark didn’t have time to fret about the bad timing. He quickly stuck his hand in his pocket and said, “I’m whipped. I’m gonna lie down in back.”
Before Mitchell could react, Mark clicked open his seat belt and vaulted into the back of the ancient station wagon.
“Take it easy!” Mitchell shouted. “I ain’t got no insurance.”
Mark’s ring was already growing. He pulled it off and crouched into a fetal position, trying to hide it and block the spewing light. He spotted an old, stained tarp in the back. Without a second thought he grabbed it and covered the ring, which had already grown. The tarp kept the light show hidden too. The only thing he couldn’t hide was the music. The jumble of notes grew louder in spite of the fact it was muffled by the tarp.
“What are you doing?” Mitchell asked. “You got a Game Boy back there?”
“l-lt’s my watch alarm,” Mark said, thinking fast. “It’s a weird tone, I know. I think it’s busted.”
Andy Mitchell looked at his watch. “Why’s your alarm set for eight forty-five?”
“Uh, th-that’s when I get up. Usually.”
The notes grew louder.
“Geez, turn it off, will ya!” Mitchell complained. “It’s making me crazy!”
“Yeah, I’m trying. I can’t find the button.”
Mark prayed for the event to end. A second later he felt the ring shrink back to normal as the musical notes abruptly stopped.
“Thank you!” Mitchell said. “Jeez.”
Mark felt around under the tarp until he touched the roll of paper that had come through the ring. Bobby’s next journal had arrived. Mark was certain that contained in its pages would be the result of the war on Zadaa. But he couldn’t read it. Not yet. It killed him, but he had to put it away until they found Courtney.
“You all right back there?” Mitchell asked.
“Y-Yeah, fine. I’m gonna sleep, okay? Let me know when we get close.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Without looking at the journal, Mark slipped it into his backpack. In spite of the fact that he hadn’t slept all night, he wasn’t the least bit tired. But he had to play out the lie. So he lay there, wide awake, staring at the stained ceiling of Mitchell’s station wagon. He tried not to think about the journal that was only inches from his head. First things first. He had to find Courtney.
The drive took a little over three hours. Andy Mitchell kept to the speed limit, which wasn’t all that hard considering his beater of a car rattled like it was going to fall apart whenever they got up any real speed. Mitchell followed the directions that Mark had printed out from Mapquest. It got them to the front gates of Stansfield Academy shortly after ten in the morning.
“Nice place,” Mitchell said. “I always figured Chetwynde had bucks.”
“It is pretty nice,” Mark agreed.
“So? How do we find her?” Mitchell asked.
Mark had already thought this through. He got the map of the school he had printed out from their Web site. They parked in the visitors parking lot and went to the registration office. Mark put on his most polite voice and introduced himself to the secretary as Courtney Chetwynde’s brother. He said they were visiting and needed to know where her dorm was. Mark was so polite that the woman had no problem giving him the information. It helped that Mark had Andy wait out in the corridor. He was sure that if the woman got a look at Andy Mitchell, they’d be lucky not to be thrown out on their butts. With the information in hand, Mark and Andy walked quickly across the campus to Courtney’s dorm. Within minutes they were standing in front of the old, ivy-covered brick building.
“One problem,” Mark said. “It’s an all-girl dorm. They don’t allow guys in to-“
“Gee, yeah, that’s a big problem,” Mitchell said, and walked right in. Andy Mitchell wasn’t big on following the rules.
It was an old building, with dark mahogany wood paneling everywhere and a wide staircase that led to the second floor. Courtney’s room was #219. The guys took the stairs up, two at a time. Her room was at the end of a long corridor with old, thick carpeting that smelled kind of musty. Mark knocked softly.
“Courtney? It’s Mark.”
No answer. Mark knocked again.
“You there, Courtney?”
Still no answer.
Andy pushed Mark aside and pounded on the door a few times, yelling, “Hey! Wake up!”
Nobody answered.
“Now what?” Mark asked.
“Not a problem,” Mitchell said. “I have a technique I developed for just such an occasion. It took me a while to master this. It’s very precise. Observe.”
Mitchell took a step back… and kicked open the old door. “Andy!” Mark yelled.
“Hey, you said she was in trouble. What’s an old door lock?”
Mark figured Andy was right. He truly didn’t care about the door, so long as they didn’t get arrested. They entered the room, quickly closing the door behind them.
Courtney wasn’t there. Her single bed was made, her English lit books were stacked neatly on her desk. Mark took a quick look around and saw no other books.
“Her algebra-trig book isn’t here,” he announced. “She must be in class.”
“Nice going, Sherlock,” Mitchell said. “Let’s go find it.”
As they left the room, they ran into a girl who was wheeling her bike along the corridor, headed to the room across from Courtney’s. She stared at them suspiciously.
“Hi,” Mark said. “My name’s Mark Dimond. I’m a friend of Courtney’s.”
“Oh yeah,” the girl said, relaxing. “She’s talked about you.”
“I’m Andy Mitchell,” Andy said, trying to be charming. “I’m her friend too.”
“Yeah?” the girl said. “She never mentioned you.”
The charming smile fell from Andy’s face.
The girl asked, “Is she sick?”
“I don’t know, why?” Mark asked back.
“Cuz she didn’t show up for lit class this morning.”
Mark’s mind raced. Her lit books were still on her desk. He had to force himself to keep cool.
“I don’t know. We just got here. Maybe she’s with that guy she’s been hanging out with. What’s his name? Wimpy?”
The girl chuckled. “Whitney. Whitney Wilcox. Could be. They’re always together.”
“Where does he live?” Mark asked.
“I don’t know,” the girl answered. “Check with the registrar.
And when you find Courtney, tell her I picked up her assignment.”
“Thanks,” Mark said. “I will.”
He grabbed Andy by the arm, and the two hurried off.
“Who is this wimpster dude?” Mitchell asked. “The guy we’ve got to rough up?”
“No,” Mark said. “There’s somebody else.”
“Two guys?” Mitchell said with surprise. “Chetwynde’s keeping busy. What’s the deal?”
“Look, Andy, I don’t mean to be mysterious, but this is Courtney’s business.”
“It was,” Mitchell said quickly. “But you made itourbusiness.”
Mark was afraid it would come to this. He knew Mitchell would start asking questions he didn’t want to answer, even if he could. But he knew he had to tell Mitchell something.
“All I know is that she’s been seeing some guy, but then there’s another guy who’s been bothering her. I wanted to come up here to give her support. That’s pretty much it.” Mark thought that, in some simplistic way, that was the truth. He could only hope that Andy Mitchell would buy it.
“Whatever,” Mitchell said. “Let’s do what we gotta do and go home.”
The two went back to the registrar’s office to see if they could find Whitney Wilcox. After a long search by the
