“Awesome,” Whitney said. “The place is called-“
“I know, the Pizza Palace,” Courtney interrupted. “You just told me.”
“Oh, right.” Whitney laughed. “You can’t miss it. There’s only one pizza place in that dinky town.”
“Can’t wait,” Courtney said. She meant it. She was so excited, she wanted to dance. Or sing. But since doing either would be totally out of character and uncool, she did the next best thing.
She called Mark.
Mark Dimond was busy at work. He was engraving a huge, silver cup for a local boating race, and he was so nervous about it, his hands were shaking. In the engraving biz, shaky hands were not a good thing. Mostly he engraved brass plates that went on plaques and trophies. If he messed one up, no big deal. The plates were cheap. But this silver cup was worth more than he was going to earn all summer. One slip and he’d have to change his name and move to another state. Mark’s palms were sweating. He was about to touch the cutting edge of the engraving tool to the silver surface… when the cell phone in his pocket rang.
The surprise made him jump. Luckily he hadn’t started engraving yet. If the call had come a second later, there would have been a deep gouge slashed across the Stony Brook Yacht Club logo. He took a deep, relieved breath, then wondered why there was an electronic waltz coming from his pants. Mark never got calls on his cell phone. He only had it for emergencies and to tell the time. Incoming calls were an alien experience. The phone had to ring again before he realized what it was. He dug the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Courtney.”
“C–Courtney?” The surprise of hearing Courtney’s voice was even greater than the surprise of having the cell phone ring at all. “Chetwynde?”
“Well, duh. How many Courtney’s do you know who have your cell number?” Courtney asked, laughing.
“Man, it’s good to hear your voice. Where are you?”
“I’m at school in the Berkshires. A place called Stansfield. I’ve been here for about a month.”
Mark said, “Right! Summer school! That sounds like, well, somethingI’ddo.” They both laughed.
“Actually, it’s pretty sweet,” Courtney said. “I’m only taking three courses, and one of ‘em is art. Algebra-trig is a drag, though.”
“You’re taking algebra-trig?” Mark laughed. “Need some help?”
“Yes!” Courtney said quickly, laughing. Mark laughed too. It felt good.
“So, uh, how are you?” Mark asked tentatively. It was a simple question. Both knew how far-reaching it was.
“I’m okay. Seriously. That’s why I’m calling. We’ve got a ton to talk about, but not till I see you again. I just wanted to tell you that coming up here has been great. I’m really getting my head back together.”
“I’m really glad to hear that, Courtney.”
“I haven’t been thinking too much about, you know, stuff. And that’s good.”
Mark didn’t respond. He knew what she meant.
“This is kind of weird to say,” Courtney continued. “But I met somebody.”
“Of course you did,” Mark said. “I didn’t think you were there alone.”
Courtney chuckled. “No, dope. I’m talking about a guy.”
“Oh,” Mark said. “You mean like, a guy?”
“Yeah, a guy. His name’s Whitney.”
“Whitney? That sounds like a bad soap-opera name.”
Courtney laughed. “It’s worse. His name is Whitney Wilcox.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, no. But he’s cool. We’ve, uh, we’ve got a date tonight. I’m riding to meet him for pizza.”
Mark wasn’t sure of how to react. It was weird to hear that Courtney liked somebody other than Bobby, but after reading that Bobby had feelings for Loor, maybe it was all for the best. Of course, he couldn’t tell Courtney that, for all sorts of reasons.
Courtney said, “I wanted to tell you about him. I’m not really sure why.”
“I’m glad you did,” Mark said.
There was a long pause, then Courtney said, “Do you hate me?”
“Hate you? No! No way!” he said quickly. “I think it’s great you met a guy.”
“Not just that,” Courtney said. “About… everything.”
“I don’t hate you, Courtney,” Mark said. “C’mon. Give me a break.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes! There’s a lot going on. We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do.”
“Thanks. I needed to hear you say that.” There was another long pause, and then Courtney said, “I’m sorry for taking off on you. That wasn’t cool.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“Still, I’m not proud of myself. But if you saw the shape I was in, you’d know I did the right thing.”
“I already know it,” Mark said. “I can tell by your voice. I can’t wait to talk to you in person.”
Mark knew a question was out there that hadn’t been asked. He really hoped she wouldn’t ask it.
She did.
“So, uh, has anything-“
“No,” Mark said quickly. He knew she was going to ask if Bobby had sent a new journal. He didn’t want to tell her. If she was working hard to put her head on straight, the last thing she needed to hear was that Bobby was about to step into the middle of a tribal war and had fallen in love with Loor-even if she did meet a new guy. He knew he’d eventually have to spill the news, but this wasn’t the time.
“N-Nothing new,” Mark added, and winced, wishing he had stopped at “no.” He felt sure Courtney would pick up on his nervous stutter.
“Oh, okay,” Courtney said.
Mark sensed her hesitation. There was something in the way she said it that made him realize, she knew.
“When are you coming home?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.
“In a couple of weeks. We’ll talk then, okay?”
“I can’t wait to see you,” Mark said, relieved that she didn’t press him about the journals.
“I miss you, Mark. Even though you’re a dork and all.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mark said, laughing. “We’ll get some fries at Garden Poultry and catch up, okay?”
“It’s a date. Bye, Courtney. Take care of yourself.”
“Later, gator!”
The phone went dead. Mark smiled. “Later, gator?” He thought Courtney sounded great. And happy. Just like the old Courtney. As weird as it was to think that she liked somebody besides Bobby, this new guy seemed to be helping her heal. That was a good thing. He hated having to carry the weight of Bobby’s journals on his own, but if it meant getting Courtney better, it was worth it. He flipped the phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket with the feeling that things were definitely looking up. Now if he could only tackle this stupid silver bowl.
His phone rang again.
What was going on? Why was he suddenly so popular? He dug the phone back out and flipped it open, saying, “Courtney?”
“Courtney?” the deep guy-voice mimicked. “Do I sound like a Courtney?”
“Mitchell?” Mark asked in disbelief. “How did you get this number?”
“Who cares? From Sci-Clops. We’re both members, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. What do you want?”
“I’m in trouble, Dimond,” Mitchell said. “I need your help. Now.”
SECOND EARTH
(CONTINUED)
Mrs. Dimond, Mark’s mother, gave Mark a ride to a lonely, country lane in Stony Brook that Mark knew well. It used to be part of his paper route. There, at the corner of Riversville Road and Carroll Street, they found what they were looking for. It was a beat-up, seventies-looking station wagon with fake wood paneling. Leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette, was Andy Mitchell. When he saw the Dimonds’ car approach, he quickly stubbed out the smoke.
Mrs. Dimond stared at Mitchell like he was a walking disease and said to Mark, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” To her, this guy looked like bad news. Mrs. Dimond was a smart lady.
“Yeah, he’s a friend. He’s in Sci-Clops,” Mark said.
“That hoodlum is in Sci-Clops?” Mrs. Dimond asked incredulously.