Wired (7 page)

She sat. Close. I liked that.

“I was trying to help my dad,” she said. “He didn't know it, but I decided to make friends with Sid and Budgie. That's why I was following you down the hill the first time we met. I thought you were Budgie because you were wearing his number.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “Only you didn't know about the wire.”

“No,” she said. “I didn't know that they were trying to get Budgie like they got Garth. And then I left when you called me a detective because I thought maybe you were involved too.”

“Is that why your dad followed me this morning?”

“Yes,” she said. “I told him you might be part of it.”

“The meeting tonight?” I asked.

“Dad knew about that. When I told him I had found a way to meet the guys who bought the stolen equipment, Dad was angry that I had put myself in danger. He finally let me go to the meeting, but only because he was going to follow and arrest the guys. All I needed to do was talk to them.”

“The voice-activated tape recorder.”

“All I needed was for them to say enough to prove their guilt. Except, of course, that didn't work. Still, I'm glad my dad was close by to help bring me down the hill after you made your call.”

She frowned. “Even if the cops find them, we've got no proof. They destroyed my dad's camera. All his film.”

“Maybe not,” I said.

“Trust me,” she said. “It's all gone.”

“I mean maybe you do have proof.” I told her about my cell phone photos.

“Wow!” She clapped. “Where's your cell phone?”

“I had to throw it into the snow,” I said.

“But the snow's at least ten feet deep in those trees. We might not find it until the snow melts. And by then the phone won't work.”

“Probably not,” I said. “That's why I sent a text message to a guy named Joe Hardy and attached the photos.”

“You can't be serious.”

“That's his name: Joe Hardy. Everyone teases him about it, but—”

“I don't care about his name. He really has the photos?”

I gave a big grin. “Case solved, ma'am.”

She leaned forward and kissed my check. “You are a sweetheart!”

I wanted to agree, but I couldn't. Not with the black secret that drove me to prove, on every ski run, that I wouldn't lose to fear again.

She frowned. “You've been asking me a lot of questions, but I have one for you. What did you mean when you said you wouldn't take the chance that someone else might die?”

I thought of what I should tell her. I had to talk to someone someday, or bust, or turn into a rock. But if I told her, she wouldn't like me.

“Look,” I said. “What if there was a person who was once so scared as a kid that he didn't do something in time to save another kid? And what if that person had never told his mom or dad what had really happened?”

She didn't answer right away, as if she knew how important my question was.

“I think that person's parents would realize kids aren't superheroes,” she finally said. “Even most grown-ups would be too scared to do the right thing. So it would be unfair for that person to blame himself. And it would be good for that person to tell his parents.”

“Yeah,” I said, like it wasn't a big deal one way or another. But, of course, it was. And I'd think about what she said.

It was awkward for a few moments. I coughed.

“Well,” she said, “my dad and I still have nearly ten days of vacation left.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” I said. Since I wouldn't be able to ski with a broken ankle, I didn't have a chance of seeing her on the slopes.

“You dummy,” she said. “Can't you get anything right?”

“Huh?”

“I just told you I have ten days left. That's when you're supposed to ask if someone like me could spend some time with someone like you.”

She smiled and gave me another kiss on the cheek. “Ten days can be a lot of time, don't you think?”

Sigmund Brouwer
is the best-selling author of many books for children and young adults. Sigmund enjoys the chance to visit schools to talk to students about reading and writing.
Wired
is Sigmund's first book with Orca Book Publishers.
Sewer Rats
, another Orca Currents, will be published in spring 2006.

Spoiled Rotten
by Dayle Campbell Gaetz

I landed heavily on the rough wood of the dock. Somehow I tripped over the rope in my hand and fell sideways. But I never let go of that rope. I scrambled to my feet and eased the boat against the dock.

Dad stepped off to tie the stern rope while I tied the bow. I waited for him to say, “Nice work,” or, “Well done,” or, maybe, “Sorry I yelled at you,” but he didn't even look my way. He patted the pockets of his shorts. “Anyone seen my wallet?” he asked.

Amy appeared from nowhere. “I'll get it, Dad,” she said and disappeared into the cabin.

I stared after her. Dad? Since when was he her dad? This kid wanted everything that was mine.