you.”
“I figured that out,” Robert said. “Figured, too, that there might
Eliot felt weird talking about his sister this way. Romance and boys and Fiona weren’t
Maybe everyone had trouble when it came to intimate relations. Heck, if supercool Robert got his heart stomped. . what chance did Eliot have?
They walked in silence, crossed the quad, and approached the main gate.
“So,” Eliot started again, “what do you do if you think you found the one special girl?”
Robert halted and looked him, one eyebrow arched. “We’re not talking about Fiona anymore, are we?” He smiled-but that vanished quickly when he saw the seriousness on Eliot’s face.
“Not Fiona,” Eliot admitted.
Robert started walking again, his hand cupped to his chin. “I’ve found lots of girls I’ve liked, and a few who have even liked me back. Nothing
Eliot wanted to believe that, but given his recent experience with girls-all one of them-he wasn’t sure.
“But,” Robert continued, “the problem is, I’ve never figured out how to get the ‘one special’ girl.
Mr. Harlan Dells stood by the gatehouse. “Gentlemen,” he said, and flicked the switch that made the gate roll back.
As they walked through, Mr. Dells remarked to no one in particular, “There are some problems never meant to be solved: the philosophical struggle between good and evil, the many-body problem in classical mechanics. . and women.”
He shut the gate behind them, leaving them to ponder this.
“Need a ride?” Robert looked at Eliot, decided something, and then added, “I’m headed to my place. Why don’t you come with me? We could burn a few hours on video games or something.”
Eliot started to say no; he had enough homework to drown in.
But who was he fooling? His brain couldn’t focus on mythologies and ancient families no matter how hard he tried. Not with Jezebel rattling about inside his head.
“Sure,” Eliot said.
Robert nodded down the alley in front of Xybek’s Jewelers, where he’d parked his motorcycle. The double- twined exhausts of his bike were mirrored chrome. The rest of the machine was a curve of black steel, looking like it was ready to pounce on prey.
Robert opened a saddlebag and pulled out a spare helmet for Eliot.
Eliot wormed the helmet on, which mashed his ears, then got on to the Harley.
Robert kicked over the motor and the bike thundered to life.
Everyone in the alley looked their way, startled-then annoyed at the ruckus.
Robert revved the engine in defiance and peeled out.
They rocketed out of the alley and onto the street-so fast that the air in Eliot’s chest got squeezed out.
At the intersection Robert turned on a red light without pause, leaning so low Eliot thought they were going to scrape asphalt.
It was terrifying. And fun.
Up a hill they raced-airborne for two wild heartbeats. . in which Eliot believed he’d left his internal organs behind-then they were back on the ground, tearing down the street.
Before Eliot could get used to the neck-snapping acceleration, however, Robert slowed and turned into a driveway. Robert reached into his jacket, clicked a garage door opener, and the rolltop door before them squealed up, revealing a freight elevator.
Robert drove in, turned the bike around, and killed the engine.
“Hit six,” Robert told Eliot.
Eliot removed his helmet (almost scraping off his ears) and tapped the top button.
They rode up in that awkward elevator silence; then the car wrenched to a halt and the safety door rolled up.
Robert pushed his bike into a corner of his loft, which was combination parking stall, motorcycle lift, and machine shop. A thousand chrome tools glistened on racks.
In the center of the apartment was an entertainment center bolted to the brick wall. It held the biggest television Eliot had ever seen, music equipment he didn’t have a clue about, and a dozen speakers-from tiny cubes to floor-to-ceiling towers.
The kitchen beyond was all stainless steel and littered with empty energy-drink cans, chips bags, and pizza boxes.
One wall had three wide windows that overlooked rolling hills, the Transamerica Pyramid, and sailboats in the distance.
The place was open, and light, and there wasn’t a bookshelf in sight.
Eliot stepped off the elevator-an instant before the safety door slammed shut and the car simultaneously lowered.
“Grab a bean bag,” Robert said, kicking one toward him, and moved to the television. “I got all the latest, greatest games. Martial arts stuff, first-person shooters-whatever floats your boat.”
Something else caught Eliot’s notice, though. Tucked in the far corner were punching and speed bags. The floor was padded. There was a pole with wood arms and legs jutting out from its center. On the wall was a rack of free weights. . along with swords, clubs, knives, and shuriken.
“You work out?” Eliot asked.
“A little,” Robert replied.
Eliot felt drawn to the equipment. His blood raced. His hands clenched into fists, and it felt good.
“And you’re training to. . fight?”
Robert was silent a moment then carefully said, “Paxington’s a dangerous place.”
Why hadn’t Eliot figured this out before? He didn’t have to be the smallest, weakest, dorkiest kid. Why not study how to move and fight just like he studied ancient Roman history? Could boxing be any harder than trigonometry?
Eliot turned to Robert. “Forget the games. Can you show me? I mean how to make myself stronger. How to fight?”
The cautious look on Robert’s face broke into a grin. “I’d love to.”
Eliot grinned back. He had a feeling he was going to leave here bruised and battered tonight-and he very much looked forward to it.
Paris. That’s where they were going.
Fiona had always wanted to see the City of Lights. She’d dreamed she would go one day as a college student, alone in a city filled with art and style and wonderful romance.
But not with her aunt as chaperone.
And definitely not with Amanda Lane tagging along.
They rocketed through forest and over roads barely visible on tundra plains, past oil-drilling derricks, and then back again into Sitka spruces. . only the stars wheeled overhead instead of the sun.
“This
No other car could break a half dozen laws of physics, drive faster than the speed of sound while being whisper quiet, and get you from one side of the world to the other in a few hours.
Dallas shrugged. “He lent it to me,” she said. “Henry’s a darling and does whatever I ask.”
Fiona imagined that no man could refuse her aunt Dallas anything. She had a perfect geometry of dimples, cheekbones, and mouth-which all animated into a dancing smile that made you want to smile along with her.
