Under a Bear Moon (7 page)

His “nervous” sure looked like “scared” to her, but Lynda decided not to argue. “We can get to the phone this way.” She led him down the corridor, past Dr. Lopez's door, and through the entryway into the lobby. The pay phone hung on the wall next to a plastic Ficus.

Stepping between a well-dressed woman and a little boy carrying a gray cat and kittens in a cardboard box, Greg set down his backpack and pulled out some change.

While he dialed, Lynda walked over to the counter and pretended to study a brochure on heart worm. She tried not to listen to Greg, but his deep voice carried over the hum of conversation.

“Hello, Dad? Yeah, it's me.”

His voice dropped, and all Lynda heard were wordless mumbles until, “I'm not letting Lynda take that bus alone!”

Lynda's head jerked up and she stared at Greg. He stood with his feet planted as if braced against a gale. An angry flush darkened his face, and his eyes blazed like cobalt fires. “Not until nine —I'll be home way before then.” She watched him shake his head. “It's already dark. Come on, Dad. Just a couple of hours.” Greg's eyes burned brighter while he listened. Without warning, he slammed the receiver hard enough to shake dust off the Ficus tree.

Lynda abandoned her pretense and hurried to Greg. “What's wrong?”

“I've got to go home,” he said through clenched teeth.

“That's okay. I'll clean the cages by myself. It's no big deal.”

His eyes sharpened to laser intensity. “Yes, it is. You shouldn't be alone out there at night.”

The concern in his voice made Lynda feel liquidy inside. Her lips trembled and she forced herself to smile. “Come on, Greg. You sound like your parents. It's perfectly safe to ride the University bus at six o'clock in the evening. I do it all the time.”

Greg's frown deepened. “You shouldn't.”

The conviction in his tone turned the liquid to steel. “Why not? With University phones at every corner and campus cops only a minute away, I could wait until mid-night and be all right. I only take the bus because my parents asked me to. I could just as safely walk.”

“Exactly.” Greg took her arm. “Come on, I'm taking you home.”

Lynda tore from Greg's grasp. “Who died and left you my keeper?”

“Lynda—”

“Just because you're afraid of the dark doesn't mean everyone is.”

Greg's face fell into an expressionless mask. Lynda felt her stomach lurch, but her mouth kept right on going. “Sorry. I guess I should have said, ‘nervous.'”

Without another word, Greg scooped up his backpack and stalked out of the lobby.

Suddenly aware that everyone in the room was watching, Lynda lifted her chin and walked regally into the feline holding area. Using all her restraint, she did not slam the door. She did, however, get the cages cleaned in record time. Even the scabbiest Tom took one look at her and decided to cooperate.

Finishing the cages a little after six, Lynda grabbed her backpack, threw on her jacket, and ran for the exit. A deep pitched rumble caught her attention as she pushed through the door, and she looked up in time to see the University bus pull away from the curb. She shouted and waved, but the bus disappeared around the corner.

Half an hour wait, at least. Lynda felt like hitting something, but took a deep breath, instead. The air smelled deliciously fresh, and she could almost taste the French fries from McDonald's across the street.

Her stomach growled. The way it felt, she'd starve before the next bus arrived. Lynda let her gaze drift down Ellis Avenue. In the street lights’ glow, she saw kids running, students strolling, a police car, and two campus security telephones. Forgetting her parents’ worries, Lynda zipped her jacket and started down the stairs. She thought about Greg's expression when she told him she could just as well walk. What would he say, she wondered, if he knew she had?

AN ICY WIND whined outside his room, crept through the cracks in the window frame, and fluttered against the heavy curtains. They parted slightly. He stretched, yawned, and rolled over. Light brushed his face and disturbed his slumber. Snorting and shaking his head, he finally rose and lumbered to the window. A nearly full moon shone high above the buildings. Its glow, reflected and magnified by a fresh layer of snow, made it bright enough to read the lettering on the dumpster outside. His winter languor melted, and the desire to wander surged through him. Padding quietly from the room, he stole into the night.

DECEMBER CREPT by. Angry at both Greg and herself, Lynda ate lunch every day in Mr. Pullman's room. She didn't want to see Greg, didn't want to deal with the tangle of feelings she had for him.

She didn't realize Greg had been avoiding her until she completed the series of labs and he returned to class. Sitting next to her, gaze riveted on the board, Greg did a good job of impersonating a statue. After a few half-hearted attempts at conversation, Lynda did her best to copy him.

On the last day of class before winter break, Mr. Pull-man announced that for the next unit he would expect partners to research topics and present oral reports in lieu of labs. Lynda glanced at Greg's rocklike profile and sighed. How could she prepare a presentation with someone who wouldn't speak to her?

But over the break, Lynda began to worry less about the reports and more about her lab partner. What kind of friend was she, she wondered, to humiliate him in public like that? All Greg had done was try to make sure she got home safely.

The day after New Year's, Lynda spotted him on the way to school and ran to catch up with him. “Greg,” she panted. “Can I talk to you?”

Greg waited, but didn't meet her gaze. “I'm sorry I was such a jerk last quarter. I was mad about a lot of things—my dad mostly.” He looked up and his eyes blazed with ice blue longing. “Can we be friends again?”

“I'd like that,” she said, breathless in a way that had nothing to do with running.

The ice melted into a grin. “Good. I'll need your help staying awake in class.”

Before Lynda could figure out what that meant, Greg lifted her backpack from her shoulder and started trotting toward school. Running to keep up with him, she didn't have a chance to ask.

Lynda's questions multiplied throughout the day. Greg moved slower and yawned more than he had before the break. He dozed off in biology and fell asleep over his lunch. Lynda cornered Greg by his locker after school and demanded an explanation. He assured her winter sleepiness was a family trait, a reaction to shorter days and reduced sunlight. He claimed his father spent most of the winter napping.

GREG'S EYES drifted shut while Mr. Pullman droned about the Endangered Species Act. Lynda shoved her el-bow into Greg's ribs, and his head jerked up. With his eyes open, he made a decent imitation of someone listening, but Lynda wasn't fooled. Neither was Mr. Pullman.

He strode over to their lab station and glared at Greg. “Ursek. Explain to the class what an endangered species is.”

Greg yawned, causing half the class to break into giggles.

“An endangered species?” He began slowly and yawn-ed again before continuing. “An endangered species is a species of plant or animal that is becoming rare due to Man's interference. Sometimes the endangered creature has been hunted to the brink of extinction. Sometimes it's endangered because its habitat is being destroyed. We don't always know why its numbers are decreasing, but in any case, things are done to protect it, both the individual members of the species, and their habitat, so they can thrive and become more numerous.” Greg started to add some-thing, but it was lost in another yawn.

Lynda grinned. She could tell Greg's father was a professor. Even half asleep, Greg tended to pontificate.

“All right, Ursek. I see you can listen with your eyes closed.” While the class snickered, Mr. Pullman returned to the front of the room. “Next week, each team will research a species that is threatened by its proximity to man. It doesn't have to be officially endangered, but you must show how human interference is causing its numbers to decline. Your presentations are due Friday. Questions?”

The class bell rang before he finished speaking. Any questions were lost in the clamor of scraping stools and rustling papers.

Lynda was halfway to the door when she heard Greg call her name.

She stopped and turned back to him. “Yeah?”

“Want to have lunch together? We could work on the assignment.”

The hesitation in his voice made her stomach flutter. “Sure.”

Greg smiled. Standing, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried to join her.

Pushing through the lunchroom's double doors, Lynda led him into tuna-scented chaos. She dodged elementary school students running for lunch recess and chose a table near a bank of tall windows. She gazed longingly at the deserted courtyard, then shivered as an icy draft curled around her ankles. With a wind-chill of twenty below, it was too cold to eat outside.

“How about the brown bear?” Greg asked while he took out his lunch.

Lynda blinked and looked away from the window. “What? Oh, the assignment. I didn't know bears were endangered. Aren't there tons of them in Alaska?”

“Yeah, and more in Siberia and the Ural mountains. But they used to roam over the whole European continent.” Greg's eyes brightened and his expression became more animated. “The report can compare conditions in Western Europe, where bears are rare, to conditions in Russia, where they're numerous. My dad has lots of articles and books on the subject.”

“Cool.” Lynda opened her lunch bag and took out a container of yogurt.

Greg smiled, yawned, and took a bite of his sandwich. Lynda wondered what had happened to his appetite. He used to bring three sandwiches every day. Now, he was making do with just one.

“If you're free, we could go through Dad's books this afternoon,” Greg suggested. “We could collect the information and get together over the weekend to write it up.”

“Sounds great. Want to meet in front of school at three-thirty?”

“I'll be there.” Yawning, Greg lay his head on the table. The deep rhythm of his breathing told Lynda he'd fallen asleep.

He looks like a little kid when he sleeps, she thought. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then reached forward and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. Even after she finished her yogurt, Lynda stayed with Greg and didn't wake him until the bell rang for sixth period.

A FRIGID GALE roared off the lake. Too cold for snow, the wind hurled icy bits from the ground into Lynda's face. Huddled in her down parka, gloves, and knit cap, she glanced at Greg's bare hands and shivered. “You're going to get frostbite if you don't put on some gloves.”

“My hands aren't cold. See?” Greg smiled and slipped his hand around Lynda's.

Heat flowed through the heavy gloves and up her cheeks. “Must be because you're so furry,” she teased.

“Runs in the family.”

“Like falling asleep in class?”

“Exactly.”

Walking beside Greg, Lynda forgot the biting wind. His bulk sheltered her, and his hand stayed warm all the way to his apartment.

Greg guided her past the white limestone facade and up the steps. Opening the heavily carved door, he motioned Lynda to go ahead.

They climbed to the second floor, and Greg unlocked the door to his apartment. Walking in, he called, “It's me, Mom.”

Lynda followed him into a corridor. She'd seen similar apartments. Called railroad flats, their rooms were strung like beads along a hallway.

From somewhere deep in the apartment a cheerful voice called, “Hi, honey. There are snacks in the refrigerator if you want one. I'll be out as soon as I finish this article.”

Greg glanced at Lynda and rolled his eyes. “Mom's a freelance writer. She'll probably finish sometime after midnight. Come on, let's check out the fridge.”

The clicking of fingers across a keyboard grew louder as they walked down the hallway. Passing a bedroom, Lynda looked in and saw a large woman, presumably Greg's mother, seated at a computer. She waved but didn't look up from her monitor. Lynda wondered if she even realized Greg had company.

Greg had the refrigerator door open when she joined him in the kitchen. “Orange juice okay? Mom doesn't believe in Coke.”

“Juice is fine.”

Looking around the kitchen, Lynda saw the normal appliances—refrigerator, dishwasher, stove. She noticed a large piece of peg board on the wall beside the stove. An assortment of pots and pans, all huge, hung from it.

Lynda pointed to an enormous frying pan. “I thought you said you were an only child.”

Greg followed her gaze to the peg board. “I am. Dad and I eat a lot sometimes, so Mom cooks in big batches. Want anything with your juice? I could make a sandwich.”

“No, thanks.”

Lynda took the juice, and they returned to the front of the apartment. A curved bay window, only partially hidden by heavy curtains, dominated the living room. There was a fireplace to the left. Bookshelves lined the remaining walls.

“The factual books about bears are over here.” Greg walked up to the shorter wall and took down a half dozen books. He nodded toward the longer set of shelves behind a threadbare couch. “The rest are all fairy tales and legends.”

A butcher block table and three mismatched chairs took up most of the floor space between the couch and the window. An ancient typewriter sat on the table amid a pile of scattered papers.

Greg carefully picked up the papers and set them aside “Mom works in the guest room; Dad works in here,” he said, holding out a chair for Lynda.

She set down her glass, sat, and pulled a notebook from her bag.

They worked for over an hour, scouring books and journals for statistics on European bear populations, their decline and migration. They'd covered five notebook pages with information when Lynda nudged Greg's arm. “Get this. ‘Rangers in Yellowstone report grizzly cornered by miniature terrier. Big bear terrified by tiny dog.’ Sounds like something out of the
National Enquirer
.” A giggle bubbled past her lips before she remembered who else was afraid of dogs. “I didn't mean—” she began.