Another Pan (38 page)

As the governor went back to schmoozing her donors, Simon looked back across the table at Professor Darling. He caught Wendy’s gaze and smiled. He had made his move, and now Wendy could swear he mouthed “Checkmate” to her.

As Wendy mouthed back, “Loser,” her dad looked up from his speech cards. Wendy buttoned it before he could catch the exchange. She tried to focus on her coq au vin.

“How are you enjoying yourself, Wendy?”

“Umm, great, Dad,” said Wendy. “Good chicken.”

“The situation is under control,” said John from her other side.

“What?” said the professor.

“Nothing,” said Wendy. “John’s quoting a, um, website.”

“Yeah,” said John. “Adventurators dot com backslash divert your attention dot net.”

Wendy turned and burned a hole into John’s face with her glare. The professor went back to his note cards. “You kids and your Internets,” he said.

But Wendy knew that her dad was getting sabotaged at his own gala. She had to do something. John wasn’t much help. Peter was still serving drinks. Every one of the LBs (including Tina) was eyeing the book while passing canapés. Yet not a single opportunity to snatch it presented itself. So it was up to Wendy. As she watched Simon worm his way further and further into the governor’s graces, she knew it had to be drastic.

If the MC got up to the podium and introduced her dad for his speech, it would be next to impossible to make a grab for the book or to figure out some way to ruin Simon with the governor. Her dad would ramble for forty-five minutes, then the night would be over. Some attendant for the governor’s office would take the
Book of Gates,
Simon wouldn’t let it out of his sight, and they could kiss the rest of the legendary mummies good-bye. No, she had to make her move now.

“Can I refresh your drink, miss?” Wendy snapped out of her fearful musing to see a familiar hand pouring champagne into her glass. Peter. She was about to tell him about her plan to get the book when her dad looked up from his cards and spotted Peter.

“What’s this?” he said. “I thought I asked you two to stay away from him.”

It bothered Wendy that her dad wouldn’t even address Peter directly. Was Peter beneath him? But in true Peter fashion, he took it in stride. He patted Wendy on the shoulder and said, “Just refreshing the lady’s drink,” and walked away.

“I don’t know what that miscreant is doing here,” said the professor, “but we’ll speak about this later.” Wendy was boiling with anger. She wanted to scream that that
miscreant
was her friend, but she knew he wouldn’t understand.

“I didn’t invite him,” said John.

Wendy whipped around. “Whose side are you on?” She got up from her seat, picked up her glass, and started walking toward the governor.

Wendy strolled across the podium, doing her best to put on a perfect Marlowe-girl fake smile. “Madam Governor,” she squeaked, “would you sign my program?” She placed her champagne on the podium and bounced toward Simon, leaning across his body so he’d be cut off from the conversation. “Ommagosh, you are
such
a role model for our debate club. We all think the way you handled that labor union strike was totally fierce.”

The governor was charmed, of course, and a bit perplexed to have such a bubbly admirer. She took out a pen and replied with some bland pleasantries.

Simon tried to horn in on the conversation, leaning awkwardly to poke his head around her. “Wendy, dear —”

“Wendy
Darling,
” interrupted Wendy, keeping up her kiss-kiss tone. “My dad’s the one you work for, remember?”

Her hands were shaking. She glanced at the tables of guests eating and chatting. No one was paying any attention to the young lady getting an autograph. She caught Peter’s eye in the crowd. She nodded to him. He wasn’t the only one with mad skills.

As the governor handed back the program, Wendy gushed, “Thanks a billion. I can’t wait to show this off!” She stepped back, taking care to bump into the podium as she walked. She knocked over her glass of champagne, right on the
Book of Gates
.

A synchronous gasp from Simon, Professor Darling, and Peter brought the hubbub to a halt. Every guest, waiter, and coat checker stared as champagne soaked the ancient artifact. Professor Darling was the first to act, scooping up the book and dabbing it with his napkin. Simon wedged himself into the fray, not really being helpful.

The governor stepped to the podium and addressed the crowd. “No need to be alarmed. That was just a small gift from Marlowe, which will be presented at another time. After our Professor Darling has had a chance to take the artifact back for cleaning. No need to worry yourselves. It’s just a little moisture at the edges.”

“So sorry,” said Wendy, secretly cheering.

“I’ll give the speech, and then we’ll need to take the book back home, where I can clean it,” said Professor Darling.

“Maybe you kids should wait outside,” said Simon, glaring at Wendy. He couldn’t hide the fury in his voice.

Wendy glared back. She said, “Yeah, come on, John.”

While John was off trying to find Tina, Wendy leaned on the car, staring up at the New York high-rises shining in the night.

“Nice job,” said a voice a little too close.

Wendy jumped. Peter was standing right beside her.

“How do you do that all the time?” she asked.

“Skills, remember?”

“Right . . . that,” she said. Even when they weren’t saying anything, she felt like she was in the middle of a conversation. “Well, the book’s not going to Albany,” she said proudly. She was still exhilarated from what she’d done. “What now?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. He didn’t thank her. He just leaned beside her on the car, as if he had known all along that things would work out. “You worry too much.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Wendy felt a pang. Connor would have thanked her. She wished Peter would just do something to make her stop doubting all she’d given up for him. “I don’t worry as much as you think,” she said coldly, knowing that they were no longer talking about the book. “In fact, I don’t care at all.”

“Don’t say that,” whispered Peter, feigning hurt.

Then, right there in front of the banquet hall, and all the people on the street, Peter reached out and pulled her close. He kissed her full on the mouth — no more cutesy games. His lips were warm in the chilly air. Wendy’s head began swimming. Her heart started to race even faster, but she didn’t care. Her mind emptied of all the worries of the past few days. She forgot about Peter’s strange behavior, about Tina, about the labyrinth and Simon and her dad. She didn’t wonder how many girls this strange boy had kissed or whether he would leave, the way her mother had. And best of all, she didn’t second-guess giving up Connor. It was perfect until . . .

“Wendy Darling!”

Wendy’s eyes flew open. Peter took a step back. Her dad was standing right there, looking irate. Wendy stumbled to explain, but Peter spoke first.

“Well, anyway, thanks. I’ll see you later.” He began to walk off as if this was just an ordinary greeting, a chance meeting of two old friends. He nodded to the professor.

Wendy was about to say something, explain that it wasn’t Peter’s fault, that she had been panicked and he had just been trying to reassure her. But right in that moment, she looked up and saw Tina, her hair a mess from the night’s activities, watching from a dark alley nearby. Suddenly, all the latent worries rose to the surface again. Why had Peter stepped away from her so casually? What was Tina doing there? Had she been there this entire time? Wendy had imagined herself being kissed by Peter in front of Tina many times before. But in her dreams, it had always been a victorious moment, one of those magical movie scenes when the heroine is chosen and the vixen is cast aside. But looking at Tina’s face, Wendy didn’t feel like a winner. She felt like the worst kind of girl, selfish and uncaring. Maybe she had inherited this trait from her mother. Tina slinked back into the alley, the expression on her face unchanging as she disappeared.

“No, you won’t,” said Professor Darling. “Stay away from her, Peter!”

Wendy bit her lip. This was the first time her father had called Peter by name. Peter turned, cocked his head, and said, “Huh,” as if trying to remember something. He looked Wendy up and down, then fixed his gaze on her father.

“Why should I?” he chanced, recognition flooding his brown eyes. “George . . . is it?”

Wendy gasped. Peter had
not
just called her father by his first name. Didn’t he realize how much trouble she was already in? Now John, too, had joined the audience.

Professor Darling laughed and shook his head. He rubbed his hands over his balding head and said, “Because I’m asking you, Peter.”

“You still have that gap in your teeth, George?” Peter said, now smiling, his arms crossed. “Of course not. Now you got a case of
old
.”

John’s jaw dropped.

Wendy said, “I don’t get it.”

Professor Darling tapped his tooth. The canine, upper left. It had always been a little bit whiter than his other teeth. “I had it fixed with my very first paycheck. Now, for old times’ sake, I’m asking you to stay away from my daughter.”

“I don’t take orders from my boys,” said Peter as he turned and started down the nearby alley, as though he knew Tina would be waiting there. “Even if they are grown and washed-up.”

There was nothing Professor Darling could do. After all, Peter had done nothing wrong.

Wendy had never seen her father so angry, not even when their mom had left. And she’d never seen him so confused, so nervous. It was obvious now that her father, and Peter, and the exhibit hadn’t just come together by accident or luck. And it was obvious that her father’s interest in the
Book of Gates
wasn’t all that he’d let on, either. Why hadn’t either of them told her? She didn’t say anything. John, at least, was smart enough not to make any quips. Her dad said, “Get in.” She got in the car. As they drove away, Wendy wondered if Peter had kissed her only to get back at her father, whom he obviously knew from another life. Was he only using her to get back inside the labyrinth? No, thought Wendy, Peter had chosen her over Tina. He had said so himself. She thought about Peter, keeping that withered Elan toe in his pocket for such a long time. Had it been there for decades? Had it been there so long that it had kept him locked in his teenage years through generations of LBs, including her father? She tried to imagine Peter searching through the labyrinth, finding the Elan toe (and maybe much more of Elan than she knew, used up over the years) not with the help of wireless handhelds and dreadlocked LBs but with bell-bottoms and ancient walkie-talkies. And her father, her own father, might have been there. Had he been inside the labyrinth? Maybe that’s why he became an Egyptologist. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want them involved in all this — not because Peter was trouble but because Peter was his old friend.