I arrive at the library just
as they’re opening. After returning
Mark’s books, I plant myself at one of the open computers—Bravo and his
students shouldn’t arrive for another hour, so they’re free for the minute—and
begin my search. It takes a whole lot
longer than I’d imagined, but I find the specs I’m looking for and print out
what I need.
While the printer hums away,
I return to the search engine and type in the three words that have been
haunting me for weeks.
Cole Michael Grant.
Pages upon pages of hits pop
up and hope soars within me. First, I’ll
get a clear picture of what he looks like.
Then, I’ll find his address. And,
then…
The victorious smile I’d
been wearing only moments ago, fails.
Other than the very first hit—the original article I’d found in the
newspaper—nothing else is about him. Not
even a FaceBook page or a Twitter account.
It’s like this kid doesn’t
even exist.
Everything else that’s
popped up is about coal mining, the fifty dollar bill and some TV show about
two brothers who hunt demons, because apparently, they also have some kind of
love-hate war thing going on with the Archangel Michael.
Dead end.
“Don’t tell me they’re
regurgitating the angel storyline? Again?” Bravo mutters in disgust from
beside me. “I liked that show better
when no one believed in angels, and all anyone worried about was hunting
demons. Demons are badass.”
I look over at him, unable
to figure out if he’s actually being serious.
“Are you sure you’re a genius?”
He shakes his head like he
can’t believe I have to ask such a ludicrous question.
“Don’t make me show you my MENSA card. That’s just embarrassing for everyone.”
I quickly close out the
search screen and turn to him. “I don’t
embarrass that easily.”
He stares at me for a long
moment, then lets out a loud laugh. “I
like you, and I don’t like just anyone.”
“Better not let too many
people hear you say that,” I tell him as I gather up the stack of books I
needed to check out. Good thing I’ve
already read most of the books on the AP English summer reading list, or else
I’d have to cram a whole summer’s worth of books into two weeks. “Word might get back to Goldilocks that
you’re cheating on him. He seems like
the jealous type.”
“Goldilocks, huh?” He laughs as he plucks my stack of papers off
the printer. “That’s a good one. What are you building, a bomb?”
“Yeah.” This time, it’s me that laughs. It comes out weird and high-pitched, a little
half-hysterical, but if Bravo notices, he doesn’t say anything. “If by bomb, you mean bicycle wheel. And, not so much building one, but repairing
a slightly broken one. Then, yes, I’m
building a bomb.”
No comments:
Post a Comment
Everyone has an opinion. Make yours known, right here. right now!