first,” he says. He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him lead me slowly up the creaking wooden staircase and through the door to his room.
I’m not sure what I expected, but the room looks like a seventeen-year-old boy lives there. Clothes spill out of his closet and papers lie across a large desk, practically burying a small laptop. Against one wall, a dark comforter has been hurriedly pulled over a queen-size bed. “Nice to see you cleaned up for company,” I say, kicking at an abandoned red T-shirt on the floor.
“Glad you noticed.” Griffon bends down to pick up the shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the closet. “I was hoping there’d be someone up here this afternoon to appreciate all of my hard work.”
The unmistakable meaning of his words makes my stomach flip, and just for a second the thought that I’m in over my head flashes through my mind. “So, pretty much anyone would do?” I ask, trying to make my voice light enough so he won’t guess how much I want something to happen between us, and how terrified I am at the thought that it will.
Griffon stands in front of me, his expression serious. “No,” he says. “Not just anyone.”
I smile what I hope is a mysterious smile and wander over to his desk, looking at the things he keeps, trying to find out what they say about him. I see a spiral pad open to a page covered in pencil drawings. They’re all different views of the same girl. She has long, straight hair that’s tied in a braid over her shoulder and is wearing a Renaissance Faire–type gown. More arresting than what she’s wearing is the fact that her face looks incredibly realistic, her eyes intent on the viewer, as if these are all photos instead of a drawings.
Griffon comes over and pulls the notebook out of my hands. “Damn. I should have put that away. It’s just something I was working on awhile ago.” He closes the book and slides it into a drawer.
“They’re amazing,” I say, trying not to give in to the jealousy I feel for the girl who is nothing more than lines on a page. Except that Janine said that Griffon draws things from memory. Buildings, streets, parks. And beautiful girls who aren’t me.
“It’s nothing,” he says, obviously embarrassed.
On the bookcase above his desk is a photo of girl who looks a little older than me. I look closely, but she’s not the girl from the drawing. This one has blond hair and green eyes, and that natural kind of beauty that looks at home in the outdoors. She’s sitting on a sailboat, her arm draped protectively over the wheel. I feel another stab of jealousy, and wonder if he put all of these here to torture me. Or to let me know how things are going to be. And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; there’s no reason why I should be the only girl in his life.
I turn to see Griffon watching me. He wanders over and picks up the picture. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” he asks.
I shrug, not having a clue what he expects me to say to that.
“This was taken a few years ago. Even back then she was a champion racer. Has her own boat and everything.” He puts the photo back on the desk. “Relax,” he says, a slow grin crossing his lips. “She’s my granddaughter.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing I didn’t hear him right. “Your
“Granddaughter. She lives in Rhode Island. I’ve never met her; this photo is from an article about her sailing. I keep track of her online.” He nods. “Some things have gotten a lot easier.”
Relief floods through me. He’s allowed to have pictures of pretty girls all he wants, as long as they’re related to him on some level, in some lifetime. “So, you can find relatives … from before?” I ask, thinking about how strange that would be.
Griffon nods. “My daughter was born in 1964, my granddaughter in 1991. Not that hard to trace people these days. It’s not like I’m going to meet them in person. Can you imagine that conversation?” He sighs. “But it’s nice to know how they’re doing. I’ve never been able to before.”
“Is it hard?” I ask. “I mean, they’re off living their lives without you, and you’re just watching from way back here.”
Griffon shakes his head. “Not really. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” He pauses. “Is this getting too weird for you?”
“A little,” I admit. “It’s just another thing that’s going to take getting used to.” If he has a daughter and a granddaughter, there had to be a wife somewhere. I wonder if he still loves her. If he thinks about her late at night. The only thing that makes this thought remotely better is realizing that if she is still alive, she’ll be old by now.
The wall by the door holds a giant whiteboard covered in complicated math problems. “Calculus?” I ask, pointing at the numbers.
Griffon glances over at the board and then quickly looks away. “Physics.”
“You’re taking advanced physics this year?”
“No,” he says. “It’s just something I do … on the side.”
“I’m sorry. You’re way too cute to do advanced physics for fun.”
He laughs. “Glad you think so. It’s for the Sekhem.”
“Really? You’re working for the government?”
“Not the government,” he says, frowning a little. “Governments and countries are only temporary. The Sekhem doesn’t see any nationalities or races—these are just the things that cover our essence each time we come back. We work for the world.” His eyes light up from inside, like he really believes in what he’s doing. “Which is why some governments have a problem with us. You’d be surprised how many people want to see the Sekhem working exclusively for them instead of for the global good,” he says. “And what they’re willing to do when we refuse.”
“Like espionage? A little James Bond or Jason Bourne?”
“Not exactly hanging-from-ropes-over-lasers exciting all the time, but yeah, we have to be careful. Let’s just say it’s not a good idea to advertise your Akhet status to just anyone.”
“So what do you do?” I ask, glancing at the whiteboard.
“What’s my specialty?”
“Yeah. What are you working on?” I wave my hand at the indecipherable figures. “All this.”
Griffon hesitates a split second. “Climate change. Alternative energy.” He shrugs. “I know they’re not as sexy as curing AIDS or dismantling bombs, but they’re things that affect absolutely everything else.” Griffon paces a little in front of the board, and he seems to get more excited as he speaks. “If we don’t fix climate change and emissions, the rest of it won’t matter. Hunger, disease, poverty—it’ll all be gone, because this planet will be uninhabitable.” He’s quiet for a minute. “In the early nineteenth century I worked to develop one type of combustion engine. So, basically, I helped cause this problem, so now I have to help solve it.”
“Are you working for the Sekhem now?”
“Service to the Sekhem doesn’t officially start until you turn eighteen,” Griffon says slowly. “But yeah, I’ve started a little early. That’s why I had to go away for a few days.” He looks up at the equations on the board. “I’m helping to develop a special biofuel cell, and there was a break-in at our facility. I had to go and verify what they took. And how much it’s going to set us back.”
I look from the equations back to him, trying to understand how the two go together. Griffon isn’t just a regular high-school junior, I know that, but having it all in front of me is something deeper than just knowing. Scarier. More real. “Someone stole the stuff you’re working on? It’s that important?”
Griffon nods. “It’ll change the world. To some people with oil interests, that’s not such a good thing.” He hesitates. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”
I feel a little knot of anxiety at his words. Changing the world. Griffon has a life that’s totally separate from everything familiar to me, and responsibilities that have nothing to do with me. No wonder he didn’t call for a whole week. The thought of him rushing off to do things that will ultimately affect millions of people suddenly puts our relationship into perspective. A perspective I don’t necessarily want. “Do you have to go away a lot?”
“Sometimes,” he admits. “Although most of it I can do from here. Especially right now. Sekhem are everywhere—universities, private companies, foundations.”
“Does Janine work for them too?” Somehow the thought of her watching out for him makes me feel a little better.
“Yep. She travels a little, but does most of her work here. Working for the Sekhem doesn’t necessarily mean you have to go someplace special. A lot of what I do happens here in California and Washington, but there’s some development in Europe.” He grabs my hand. “Paris would be cool if you came with me.”
