Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (38 page)

~~~

My stomach was a nervous twist, watching Dad back the Volvo out of our driveway and onto the street. After waving goodbye, my gaze wandered up to the bandage on Mr. Phillips’s forehead.

“Would you like to know what happened?” he asked.

My eyes dropped to his, and I nodded like a terrified child.

He smiled. “Bar fight.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

He shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, nothing that exciting.” He looked directly into my eyes. “I fell down airplane stairs on my way here.”

“All that from stairs?” I asked doubtfully. All I could think was,
Couldn’t he come up with something more original?

His grin grew; his eyes sharpened. “We’re talking fifteen metal steps.”

I forced a smile. “I guess that would bang you up. Did you need stitches?”

He touched the bandage. “A few. That fall caused my unfortunate delay.”

Something caused your delay, and it wasn’t airplane stairs
, I thought, recalling King saying,
“Phillips. How’d he—”
The sly fox standing before me had escaped some kind of snare.

“How did you hurt your head?” he continued casually, but the look on his face told me mine gave too much away.

I shrugged, looking away from him. “I fell, too.”

“Cassidy,” Emery called from his front porch.

At that moment, Mr. Phillips and his slippery tale were completely forgotten.

Spinning around, I took in my friend’s wonderful face. Was he a sight for sore eyes! The feelings surging through me were those an ex-soldier would experience seeing a former comrade in arms. The battle Emery and I had fought together had been short-lived, but the camaraderie resulting from it apparently was not.

Beyond excited, I left Mr. Phillips in the dust, dashing to Emery. “I knew as soon as I saw the moving van,” I exclaimed, throwing my arms around his neck. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see you again.”

Emery wrapped his arms around me, whispering, “I did promise.”

I nodded my head happily against his shoulder. Then I realized the hug was going on a little too long and it wasn’t feeling so much like camaraderie.
Uh-oh.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said in one breath, pulling away. Emery abruptly released his hold, causing me to stumble backwards. I caught myself before I could fall down the porch steps. “I can’t believe it,” I added awkwardly, righting myself. Then I looked up at his too-big grin. My brows knitted.
Something is up
.

“We found out late last night this rental worked out,” he explained, giving me a lovey-dovey look. “I didn’t want to say anything to you without knowing first.”

“Oh,” I said, dragging out the syllables. Struggling to find more familiar ground, my eyes traveled from his face. It was then I noticed he wasn’t wearing his standard ensemble. Instead, he wore a gray hoodie, baggy jeans, and Nike tennis shoes. “Cool new threads.”

“A little more to your liking?”

My eyes shot up to his face, narrowing.

His grin widened. Shoving his glasses up his nose, he lifted his head to look over mine. “Dad, I’m taking Cassidy down to the lab.”

“Sure, Son, and let your mom know I’m out front keeping an eye on the movers.” Mr. Phillips’s voice held a suspicious edge. I guessed by the way Emery smiled at him that he must be smiling, too. I didn’t dare turn around to look, not after his son’s flirtatious act.

~~~

Inside, I quickly took note. With a living room to the right of the foyer, a dining room to the left, and kitchen behind the stairs, the house’s floor plan resembled ours. “It’s like our house,” I said, glancing up at Emery.

He shrugged. “Similar, except this house doesn’t have the office and family room, and there are only three bedrooms upstairs.”

I noticed he said “this house” and not “our house.”

“It’ll look nice when you decorate it.”

His lips curved into his amused smile. I had really missed that smile. “You want to talk about decorating?”

“No,” I said, socking his arm. “What the heck was that all about?”

“You’re referring to our overzealous greeting?”

This time I wished he had not said “our.”

“Oh, just tell me why,” I demanded, blushing. “And tell me why your dad is so intense. And why he doesn’t know about me.”

“All right, but bear with me,” he said, trying to sound serious. Serious is difficult to pull off when you’re grinning. “I’ll have to answer your petitions in reverse order.”

My eyes rolled.
Brother.

Emery held up three fingers. “He doesn’t know about you because my mom doesn’t want him to know.” He lowered his third finger, holding up two. “The intensity is normal, but elevated because he’s suspicious. He wasn’t buying the I-want-to-be-with-my-peers line, which leads me into—” He lowered his middle finger, leaving his index finger upright. “This morning he insisted on being with me while registering at your school. When the counselor pulled up the enrollment for the classes I requested, he noticed your name on the class rosters. From there, he drew his own conclusions. I think you know what those conclusions are.”

My cheeks heated up.

Encouraged by my reaction, Emery mercilessly added, “In retrospect, a love-struck teenage boy would have been the better way to go. Infatuation is much more believable—”

I shoved him. “Stop already! You’ve embarrassed me enough.” He started laughing, and I smiled, saying, “Geez! Is this how you behave during downtime? You’re like Nate, but with a bigger vocabulary.” This made Emery laugh harder. I shoved him again. “Okay, go ahead and fake infatuation—just not around me. I swear if you ever give me that gooey look again, I’ll totally start laughing.”

“It took me awhile to get that look down,” he claimed, giving me “the look.”

I laughed and shook a finger. “Enough. There are important things to discuss here.”

“You’re right, Cassidy,” he said, catching his laugh. “You’re just so much fun.”

“Yeah, to make fun
of
…But seriously, who beat up your dad?”

He became serious. “He opted out of discussing it.”

Okay…Strange.
“Why doesn’t your mom want him to know about me?”

“She didn’t say specifically.”

“Didn’t you ask?”

“No.”

Mind-boggling
. “Well, what if your dad doesn’t fall for all this and demands that you tell him the truth?”

Emery smiled like I had just cracked a good joke. “My family doesn’t work like yours. We don’t ask, and we don’t demand. However, in this instance, due to the outrageousness of the request, he did put me through the third degree. Trust me. It wasn’t pleasant. But you’ll be glad to know that I didn’t buckle,” he teased.

Glancing toward the closed front door, I briefly tuned in to Mr. Phillips out front directing the movers. His smooth tone was edged like a razor.
This is a weird way for a
family to function, but in this case, I’m grateful for the weirdness
, I thought, looking back at Emery. “Thank you for being here and for everything you’re giving up for me. Hopefully it will only be for a short while,” I said, adding with fingers crossed. “Can she help me?”

His expression became solemn. “Let’s talk about it with her.”

Twenty-Five

Sitting next to Emery in a metal folding chair, I nervously scanned the basement. Exposed brick walls and a cement floor revealed the large, unfinished space with a washer, dryer, and other utilities. Black paper covered the two small windows. Dim light emanated from the bare single bulbs hanging from the ceiling and five floor lamps scattered throughout the room. The tables from the professor’s university office were laid out similarly, with boxes piled high on top. One feature in the room made me especially nervous: a medical exam table.

“My dear, how are you handling the transmutation?” Professor Phillips asked conversationally.

My head whipped around to her desk. “I-is that what you call it?”

“That’s what she calls it,” Emery said, looking steadily at his mother. “She’s merely asking how you’re coping, Cassidy.”

“Oh,” I said, making a mental note to Google “transmutation.” I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the definition. “Well, I’m not doing too good, Professor Phillips,” I admitted, and then paused, hesitant to ask the question my life hinged upon. “Can you, uh…help me?”

Her eyes had that strange glow. “How so?”

Stunned, I stared at her, having no idea how to respond.

Emery responded for me. “‘
How so,
’ Mom? Isn’t it fairly obvious what Cassidy is asking you?”

“It is obvious,” she granted him, “but does she comprehend the significance of her cellular transformation?”

“Mom, we’ve already discussed this.”

“Yes,
we
have—thoroughly. However, the decision is Cassidy’s, and I sense she is undecided.”

Undecided about what?
I asked myself, feeling the blankness on my face. I hadn’t a clue what decision I had to make.

Professor Phillips leaned toward me. “I don’t know if you understand how unprecedented your alterations are,” she continued eagerly. “The scientific community thought such cellular mutations were impossible, but here you are. Remarkable.”

As if suddenly able to decipher some strange language, I understood where Professor Phillips was leading me, and my blood went instantly hot. “You want me to stay like this,” I accused her. Emery quickly touched my shoulder. I shook his hand off angrily. “So you can strap me to that table,” I raged on, jerking a hand toward the exam table. My fingers then folded into a fist. “So you can study me—experiment on me like some kind of
animal
!” I slammed my fist into the edge of the desk. The wood splintered under it, and I could feel bones crack in my hand. Excruciating pain shot up my arm like a jolt of electricity, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out.

The room fell silent.

Drawing in a jagged breath, I looked down at my broken hand. The fingers were misaligned, shifted toward the thumb. The burning pain had subsided to a dull tingling by now. Leaning toward me, Emery lightly touched my forearm. “Look at your fingers,” he said softly as my hand reformed before our eyes.

“Incredible,” Professor Phillips whispered in awe. Having risen to her feet, she observed the miraculous event, too.

Emery sat back in his chair, silently watching his mother. Though his expression was impartial, I could feel disapproval roll off him in waves.

Lifting my healed hand, I glared at her. “I will not be your lab rat,” I said through my teeth. “And I am decided. If you can fix me, do it.”

Her brown eyes widened, getting that deer-in-the-headlights look. “I would never—” she began in a devastated tone, lowering herself into her chair. Seated, she dropped her gaze to a seared notebook on her desk. It was the same notebook Emery had held in the lab: the remnants of Formula 10X. The professor stared mournfully at the destroyed data, continuing in a rueful tone, “Cassidy, forgive my insensitivity. I know how difficult and confusing this is for you, especially being so young.” Her softened eyes moved up to me. The look in them was genuine. “I will do everything in my power to find a solution. You have my word.”