MacHale, D.J - Pendragon 06 - The Rivers of Zadaa by MacHale D.J

Author:MacHale, D.J [MacHale, D.J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-10T20:00:00+00:00

Mitchell quickly looked back at the packing slip. He reread it and yelled, “No way! It says right here. Praxis Associates. Seven A.”

Mark took the paper and read it. “Yeah, seven A, as in sevena.m. The meeting is tomorrow morning.”

Mitchell stared at the page blankly. He then sprang back to the door and looked inside. “There’s gotta be a mistake.”

Mark said, “Well, yeah. There was.”

Mitchell banged his head against the glass, finally accepting that the mistake was his.

“Will the flowers keep?” Mark asked.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said, sounding beaten. “I am such an idiot. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

The two didn’t say much on the way back toward town. Mitchell was too embarrassed and Mark was too cool to make him feel any dumber. When they got to Mark’s house, Mark hopped out of the car and grabbed the gas can.

“It’s been…interesting,” he said.

“Listen, Dimond,” Mitchell said. “Thanks. I know how you feel about me, that only makes it all the cooler that you helped me out.”

“Hey, we Sci-Clops types have to stick together, right?” Mitchell laughed. “Yeah, sure. I owe you one. I mean that. If you ever need anything, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Sure, uh, Andy. Good night.”

“G’night.”

Mitchell hit the gas, the car belched once and rolled off,

leaving Mark standing alone on the sidewalk in front of his house. It was a strange ending to a strange day. Mark couldn’t help but wonder what the next chapter in the strange saga of Andy Mitchell would be.

For Courtney, she felt as if her day was just beginning. Ever since Whitney had asked her to go into town, she counted the minutes until seven o’clock. The rest of the day crept by slowly. It seemed like an eternity until she finally made it to art class. She sat there, listening to the guest speaker talk about the challenge of sketching the human hand. With Courtney’s head being where it was, the lecture seemed about as interesting as algebra-trig. Still, she had made a commitment to this class. She wasn’t going to blow it off. Though she might as well have. Her mind wasn’t on sketching. It was on Whitney, and what the rest of the night might hold.

When seven o’clock finally came, most of the students stuck around to talk to the artist and pick his brain. Not Courtney. She was out the door before the echo from the bell had died. To save time, she had ridden her bike to class. It meant bringing her backpack and books into town, but she figured that was better than taking the time to go all the way back to her dorm to drop them off. That would have wasted precious minutes. She quickly unlocked her Tech road bike from the rack, tightened up her backpack, and began pedaling for the main road, and town.

Stansfield Academy was in a rural area of the Berkshires, a few miles outside the small town of Derby Falls. Courtney knew that from when she’d first visited Stansfield with her parents.

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