But before she could say any of this, Robert walked away.
She watched him go. Furious. Helpless.
Jeremy came to her side. “Let him go, lassie. There be no point in practicing today with so many missing, anyway.”
He stood so close, Fiona felt his body heat, too near for comfort. She took a step away.
“Whatever. .,” she muttered, trying as hard as she could to sound like she didn’t care.
“It only goes to show how unreliable some members of this team are.” Jeremy tapped his notebook. “I’ve been so bold as to prepare a list of suitable alternatives.”
“Alternates?” Amanda jumped up and came over. One of her tiny hands had balled into a fist. “You can’t just kick people off the team.”
“Don’t interrupt me,” Jeremy told her.
Fiona made a
Something had happened to Amanda over the break. She would’ve never stood up to Jeremy Covington like that before. Was it that dorm fire Fiona had heard about? Three people got hurt. Maybe Amanda had rescued them, and that had boosted her self-esteem. Fiona should’ve hung out with her more to find out. . but oddly, Amanda hadn’t even tried to speak with her since the start of the new semester.
“Precisely,” Jeremy replied. “Planning ahead. What shall we do if our esteemed Infernal teammate never returns? Or Mitch? What if he has met some unpleasant fate? Or Robert. . what if he just rides off one day?”
Now it was Fiona’s turn to glower at him. Mitch had
Jeremy leaned closer and his silky blond hair fell into his face in a distractingly attractive way. He touched one finger to his lips, trying to hide the smile growing there. “Just in case. .,” he whispered.
Fiona glanced at his notebook and the list of names in neat calligraphy.
“We should start talking to some of the other students,” she said. “The ones on teams down two or three members already-before someone else snaps up the best of them.”
“Aye,” Jeremy said. “That be where my expertise is pure gold. I’ll be able to sort through the chaff for ye.”
Amanda gave a dismissive snort.
Fiona agreed with her assessment-at least that Jeremy was a relic, rude, chauvinistic-but she also saw the truth of the situation. The maneuvering for replacements, the politics of picking new teams; Mr. Ma had to have known this would happen in the later half of the year. She saw that this was part of gym class, too. Fiona had to learn how to recruit and, at the same time, stop other teams from getting
She imagined this process only accelerated as finals drew near. For most Paxington students, their loyalties would dissolve the instant they thought they were on a losing team.
“We’ll have to act quick,” Fiona whispered, more to herself than Jeremy. She was about to ask him what he had planned when she spotted someone on the far side of the field.
Mr. Ma emerged from the locker room. He wasn’t in his usual Paxington sweats. Today he wore camouflage fatigues, a khaki shirt, black combat boots, and a red beret. He looked all business, grim, and his dark eyes fixed upon her.
“Miss Post,” he said, as if her name were an accusation.
“We were just going to start,” she said, feeling suddenly guilty about not being on the gym.
But she stopped herself, disgusted at feeling so weak-when she’d done absolutely nothing wrong. Fiona stood straight and told him: “We’re just about to figure out the best strategy to get to the very top of the new course.”
A flicker of irritation passed over Mr. Ma’s face as he turned and glanced up to the top of the gym structure. He then looked over Jeremy and Amanda.
“A fine idea,” Mr. Ma said, “but there will be no practice for you today. Where is Mr. Farmington?”
“No practice? We need it,” Fiona protested. “Team Scarab was signed up for this time.”
She decided not to say anything about Robert’s phone call and his ditching. Why she was protecting him, though, she had no clue.
“Team Scarab, yes,” Mr. Ma agreed. “But
“A trip?” Fiona said. “Where?”
“South,” Mr. Ma told her. “We have a chance to study a revolutionary war in progress. . firsthand.”
Eliot had never ditched before, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Study? That was the only thing that came to mind. . but it sure seemed to defeat the purpose.
It was nice to be out of class and in the sunlight, though. And when Robert had picked him up (in a sidecar attached to his Harley) outside the Monterey Fairgrounds, the outraged look on Sarah’s face had been great. Ms. DuPree, though, had said nothing, looking almost as if she approved of this rebellion.
He was sure he’d pay for it-but for now, he’d enjoy it while it lasted.
Robert slowed his bike as they got to the exit of the fairgrounds’ parking lot. “So where to?”
Eliot tried to think of something he’d always wanted to do, but never had the time or freedom for.
“How about miniature golf?”
Robert gave him a
Eliot shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Robert snapped his fingers. “There’s a Mardi Gras-a real blowout bash. Just a bit south, if you don’t mind the drive to Costa Esmeralda.”
There was something funny in Robert’s eyes, though; like this Mardi Gras thing was a deep memory surfacing. . as if he was in a trace.
“Sounds good,” Eliot replied.
“Cool.” Robert grinned, and the look vanished. “Hang on.”
They drove fast-same as when Robert had chauffeured Uncle Henry’s limousine-breezing down the California coast to the border in ten minutes-then they blasted down the Pan-American Highway past cars and trucks, and through Mexico City traffic like it was frozen in amber.
Rocketing just a foot off the ground in the sidecar was scary
“That exit there!” Eliot shouted, and pointed.
Robert veered onto the off-ramp. They raced past a sign that read
COSTA ESMERALDA, CENTRO DE CIUDAD 8 KM
Eliot recognized this stretch of jungle coastline. It was the same place Uncle Henry had driven him a month ago, crowded with palm trees and ferns and flowers, and flocks of parrots that called out to him. In the roar of the wind and surf, he heard his rejuvenating song echoing still.
His guitar was wedged next to his thigh. He’d never be able to play such a delicate song on this new version of Lady Dawn, and almost regretted her transformation.
Eliot ran his hand over the mirror-smooth wood, the bold brass fittings, felt a thrum with her coiled steel strings. But there was more power in her now. . or in him, and that was a good thing.
The jungle thinned; there were patches of bare dirt, and then pavement, and small buildings that crystallized into suburbs: tiny houses with dark metal roofs. Clean, too-not a speck of trash or pollution.
As they sped on, the houses became factories and then rose into clusters of office towers arranged in orderly rows.
And all of them without color: faded black asphalt, concrete sidewalks and walls, bare iron pipes and
