The Rivers of Zadaa (18 page)

“Thanks,” Courtney said. “Now go.”

After one last round of hugs, the Chetwynde's left and Courtney was alone. She looked around the room that was going to be her home for the next few weeks. The dorm was ancient. She wondered how many kids had said good-bye to their parents on this very spot. She suddenly missed her folks, for real. She went over to the window and caught a glimpse of them as they left the dorm and walked across the grass toward the car. She also caught a glimpse of something else.

Parked along the roadway, not far from the dorm, was the black sedan that had nearly run them off the road. There was no mistaking it. Courtney looked to see if her dad had seen it. She wouldn't put it past him to actually go over there and make a citizen's arrest. Or at least tell the guy off. But her parents kept walking.

The mystery of who owned the ancient car that nearly ran them off the road would remain a mystery.

For a while.

Courtney's summer at Stansfield started out to be
exactly what she needed. Nobody knew her. Nobody expected anything from her. People didn't whisper behind her back, “That used to be Courtney Chetwynde.” She had no reputation, good or bad. Nobody knew that she may have helped a demon in his quest to destroy all of humanity. She wasn't about to tell anybody either. For Courtney it was like starting over fresh.

She took three classes. Classic literature, algebra-trig, and drawing. She had discovered that she had a talent for sketching, so she figured it would be a fun thing to do. Certainly more fun than algebra-trig. Courtney found that she had no problem getting up and going to class. She looked forward to it. She ate her meals in the dining hall and started hanging with a group of girls from New York. They were giggly and more interested in checking out the boys than finding out about Courtney, which was fine by her. These girls pretty much had only two subjects they could talk about. Boys and themselves. If Courtney tried to change the subject to something she may have read in the newspaper, or learned in class, the girls would look at her blankly, take a beat, and jump right back in, talking about how cute a particular teacher was, or about how the humidity was destroying their hair. It was all so mindless and trivial to Courtney…she loved it.

She spent hours sitting under the shady trees, reading. Or sweating over math problems. In the afternoons there was always a pickup soccer game going on. The guy who nearly beaned her dad played every day. Courtney thought he was pretty good, too. He was probably a high-school varsity player at home, she thought. She felt sure she could beat him one on one, but had to force that thought out of her head. She wasn't there to compete.

The other thought she had trouble forcing out of her head was that this guy was pretty cute. Thinking this way made her feel like she was cheating on Bobby. Though they were light-years apart, literally, she and Bobby were supposed to be together. If it weren't for that silly little thing of his having to leave home to save Halla, they'd be together right now. But it had been nearly two years since she admitted her feelings to Bobby. Two years since he told her he liked her too. A lot had happened in that time. She wasn't even sure if Bobby still felt the same way. Still, she thought it would be wrong to start a relationship with somebody new, without telling Bobby. So she tried not to look at this blond guy who played soccer everyday between 3:00 and 4:15. But that didn't stop her from making sure she sat down under the big maple tree near the lawn where they played…every day between 3:00 and 4:15.

Making things more difficult, she started seeing this guy around campus. They didn't have any classes together, but he was often in the cafeteria around the same time she always ate. A couple of times they even made eye contact, but he never seemed to show any recognition that she was the one whose father he nearly beaned. He didn't show any interest at all. She even saw him in the library at night. She would go there to study, just to be around people. One night she was walking through the stacks, looking for some obscure book on Jack London that she needed for research, when she saw the guy sitting at the end of the aisle, on the floor, immersed in a book. He wore these round, wire-rimmed glasses to read, which she thought were sweet. When playing soccer and joking with friends, he always seemed so perfectly put together and confident. Seeing that he wore glasses gave him a slight bit of imperfection that, if she were forced to admit it, made him even more appealing.

In all, the first few weeks at Stansfield were proving to be exactly what Courtney needed. She was feeling human again. She proved to herself that she could function. She was beginning to heal.

There was only one odd note about her time at Stansfield up till then. It was the car. The black car. This old auto always seemed to turn up at the strangest times. If not for the near-miss accident with her parents, this jalopy would never have been on her radar. But now she would see it parked outside the building where she had classes. It was often parked outside her dorm. She'd look out at night and see it sitting there, its chrome bumper gleaming under the streetlight. The shape of the bumper made Courtney feel as if this odd car were actually smiling. Creepy. Courtney rode her bike around campus and many times she would get the feeling that she was being followed and she would quickly glance over her shoulder. Usually nothing was there. But more than once she caught a fleeting glimpse of the car as it turned off the street behind her. She figured it must belong to one of the teachers and asked the girls she hung out with if they knew whose it was. None of them could even remember seeing the car, let alone knowing who it belonged to.

One night she was leaving the library after hours of reading. She was tired and wanted nothing more than to hit the pillow. It was late. The campus was empty. She always walked the same route back to her dorm. There was a shortcut through a narrow alley that ran between the gym and the auditorium. It was barely wide enough for one car. As she had done many nights before, she turned into this corridor without thinking. She was nearly to the far side, when she was suddenly blinded by headlights. A car was parked on the far end, facing her, its engine revving. Courtney stopped. The hairs went up on the back of her neck. What was this guy doing? The answer came fast. The car's engine roared, and it peeled forward into the alley, headed right for Courtney. She was trapped. The alley wasn't wide enough to move to the side so the car could pass. If it kept coming, she'd get hit.

It kept coming.

Didn't the driver see her? Courtney turned and ran. She hadn't done anything remotely athletic for months, but old habits die hard. She dug in, pumped her arms, and used her long legs. In no time she was sprinting out of that alley, with the headlights burning her from behind. It was going to be close. She never turned around to see if the car was closing. Why bother? It would only slow her down. She reached the far end and cut sharply to her right, getting out of the mouth of the alley. A second later the car burst out and onto the road.

Yes, it was the black sedan. The car bounced onto the main road, skidded into a turn, and gunned off into the night. Courtney ran out toward the street, trying to get a look at the driver.

“What is wrong with you!” she screamed.

The car didn't stop. It spun around a corner and was gone. Courtney stood there, breathing hard. She was now convinced that the car didn't belong to a teacher, but to a jerky student who thought it was funny to harass people.

“Hey!” came a voice from behind her. Courtney turned to see the blond soccer guy jogging up from the alley. “Are you okay?”

“Did you see that?” Courtney asked, still out of breath.

“Yeah, he nearly ran you over,” the guy said. “We should report him to the campus police.”

Courtney thought about that. She glanced back to where the car had disappeared, and said, “Nah, what good'll that do?”

“It might stop him from killing somebody,” the guy said.

“Come on, it's not like there's a lot of cars like that around. They'll get him.”

“Forget it,” Courtney said. “It'll just be my word against his.”

“Well, no it won't,” the guy said. “You've got a witness. Me.”

Courtney wanted to talk to this guy, but not under those circumstances. She was too fired up and upset about the near accident. So she backed away from him, headed for her dorm.

“Thanks, but it's not worth it,” she said. “I'll see you.”

She turned and hurried off.

“Whatever,” the guy called after her. “If you change your mind…”

Courtney waved, and kept going. She wasn't entirely sure why she bailed on the guy. He wanted to help her. He was being nice. It was the perfect opportunity to find out more about him. Still, she was too flustered by the near miss. She didn't feel as if she were herself. As she walked back to the dorm and calmed down, she kicked herself for not talking more with him. She hoped she'd get another chance.

She did. The next afternoon she went to her usual tree near the lawn where the soccer game was under way. She was about to sit down when she heard a familiar “Heads!”

She turned and saw a soccer ball flying her way. Without thinking, she expertly trapped it with her body, got it under control with her knee, then kicked it back toward the field. All effortlessly.

The kid with the blond wavy hair came running after the ball. He stopped short when he saw Courtney's kick.

“Whoa, I thought you didn't play?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Oh?” Courtney said, teasing. “I didn't think you remembered me.”

The guy walked up to her and smiled. “Sure. Aren't you the girl who was nearly roadkill?”

“Nice,” Courtney said with mock sarcasm. “That's a great way to be remembered.”

“There was that, and the fact that I nearly took your father out the day you showed up.”

“Ahhh,” Courtney said, teasing. “So you do remember.”

“Of course I do,” the guy said. “I thought you were avoiding me. It took a near fatal accident to get you to slow down enough to talk.”

Courtney looked around and said, “Well, I'm not about to get run over now, and I'm talking.”

“Then let's introduce ourselves,” he said, and stuck out his hand to shake. “My name's Whitney. Whitney Wilcox.”

“Whitney Wilcox?” Courtney said, laughing. “That's a joke, right? You took it from some bad soap opera.”

“Well, no,” he said, laughing. “That's really my name. What's yours?”

“Courtney Chetwynde.”

“Oh, and that's not a bad soap-opera name?”

“Guilty,” Courtney said while taking his hand to shake. “Hello, Wilney.”

“It's Whitney. Wilcox.”

The two were laughing at the silly exchange.

“I don't know if I should believe you, Corwind,” Whitney said.

“Courtney. About what?”

“Well, you said you didn't play soccer, but from what I saw, you're obviously pretty good.”

Courtney looked down, saying, “Yeah, well, I'm over it.”

“You can't get over soccer!” Whitney said. “Let's play.”

Courtney was tempted. Really tempted. But she felt her competitive juices starting to rise, and fought it. She sat down under the tree.

“Thanks,” she said. “Maybe another time.”

“Whatever,” Whitney said, backing toward the field. “See you at dinner?”

“Uh, sure,” Courtney said, and pretended to start reading.

Whitney jogged back to the field. Courtney stole a look at him just as Whitney looked back at her. Busted. Courtney blushed and went back to reading. She had no idea what had just happened. Did they just make a date for dinner?

When Courtney went to the cafeteria that night, her palms were sweating. She did all she could to look casual as she went through the food line while stealing glances out to the tables to see if Whitney was already there. She really hoped he wasn't. Not because she didn't want to eat with him, but she didn't want to be the one to go over and sit with him if he was already eating. She wanted him to come to her. That's why she showed up ten minutes earlier than usual, to make sure she was sitting before he got there. She left the food line with her tray, and the only thing she did differently was to sit at a table alone, instead of the usual table with the giggling girls. She didn't want them to get a crack at Whitney before she figured out what was going on between them. She had a fleeting thought about Bobby, but forced it out of her mind. She told herself this was just dinner. Nothing more.

“Hey, Corwind!” came a voice from across the cafeteria. It was Whitney. He was already there. Courtney hadn't seen him. He got up from the table with his tray and joined her. “You dodging me again?” he asked with a smile.

“I didn't see you. Have a seat…unless you'd rather eat with your friends.”

“Nah, all those guys talk about is girls and the Red Sox.”

“I'm a girl,” Courtney said.

“Oh, right,” Whitney said playfully. “You like the Red Sox?”

“I've been a Yankees fan since birth,” Courtney replied.

“I knew I liked you,” Whitney said with a beaming smile.

The two had a fun dinner together. The very next night, they had another fun dinner together. They did the same the next night and the one after that. Courtney wasn't exactly sure what was happening. She liked Whitney, that much was obvious. But it was more than just a physical attraction. Whitney seemed to think the same way she did. They had the same sense of humor. They were both into sports. They both liked to poke fun at each other. It was fun and funny. Courtney learned that he came from a suburb of Hartford. He longed to travel and see other cultures. He was good in school and in sports, but he was beginning to feel the pressure of high expectations—from others and from himself. Courtney felt as if Whitney were describing her. He was as driven to succeed as she was. He even had a girlfriend back home, but he wasn't sure where the relationship was going.

Of course, she couldn't confide in him about Bobby and Saint Dane, but she didn't feel the need to. They were connecting on such a basic level, they were able to share ideas and feelings without having to discuss specific events. It was the best kind of therapy she could have gotten—way better than the doctor who made her sit in his stuffy office as he pulled on his eyebrows and took notes that she thought were probably just doodles.