Gypsy (The Cavy Files Book 1) (24 page)

The buzzer rings, and before I can get down the stairs the muffled sound of my father chatting with Jude makes me hot all over. I’m not sure whether it’s Jude’s presence, or the thought of what my father might be saying—or thinking—about the visit that does it, but either way they have to notice my red cheeks.

Jude’s eyes light up at my appearance. “Hi. Thanks again for agreeing to tutor me tonight. I know you’re probably tired.”

I
am
tired. My legs feel heavy; the tension in the back of my neck is curled into a ball. The thought of crawling into bed and ignoring the memory of a bloody Flicker appeals more than a little. But not more than spending time with Jude, and not more than maybe finding at least a few answers along the way.

“It’s fine,” I tell him, even though it’s so much more than fine.

“I’ll leave you two the kitchen for your studies.” My father casts me a look that’s hard to decipher, or maybe it’s not but I haven’t logged enough hours of practice. “I’ll be in the living room catching up on some reading.”

I guess that means we’re not going upstairs, which is good because my room hasn’t been boyproofed and I’m not the tidiest person on the planet.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Crespo,” Jude says as I nudge him through the doorway into the kitchen.

“You, too, son.”

“Did you bring tomorrow’s assignment?” I ask once we’re settled on the same stools we chose the last time he was here. “I can check it before you hand it in, and then we could get a head start on the next chapter.”

“Norah, I told you. No matter how good of a tutor you are, my Latin grade is doomed.” His face gets tight, as though he’s preparing to shield off an attack, but it’s for nothing.

I’m not going to attack him. I’m the last person to give advice on any kind of real-world problem, but there has to be a better solution to his father’s incompetence. Maybe my mind should be working out ways to ask what his dad knows about Darley instead, but I can’t stop wondering what will happen to Jude when he fails out of CA.

“Why are you here, then? I mean, if you don’t care about your grades. Or the fact that Coach Patton is going to think I’m a horrible tutor.” I hop off the stool and slide over to the fridge, coming up with a Coke for me and raised eyebrows for him. “Drink?”

“I’ll take a Dr. Pepper, if you have it.”

The fridge is stocked with about every kind of coke, something new to me since leaving Darley Hall. We weren’t really allowed sweets, especially not processed ones, except on special occasions such as a birthday or, more likely, a breakthrough of some kind. The plain variety is my favorite, although 7UP has its merits.

I grab Jude a maroon can and head back to the counter, still waiting on his answer. It doesn’t come until after he pulls the tab and takes a swig so big it must drain half the can. “First of all, I’m doing you a favor. You’ll never be asked to tutor again. And secondly, maybe this is my sly, underhanded way of having a kind-of-sort-of date since you won’t agree to go out with me.”

His frankness returns the warmth to my skin, but underneath it, common sense sits up and pays attention. Hears something else, something more, and doesn’t want to let it go in favor of sweet words. “Maybe. But I don’t think you like the idea of failing. You’re smart. You’re almost as good at Latin as I am, and that’s saying something.”

He doesn’t return my smile, meant to ensure he knows I’m not seriously that conceited.

“There must be another way,” I finish lamely.

“Any other way involves talking to our disinterested principal or sappy counselor about the way things are at home, which means them thinking even less of my dad than they do now. Or they could even send social services, put me in foster care or something.” He shakes his head, then finishes off his drink. “This way is better. He keeps his dignity; I keep my dad.”

“But what about
your
dignity? And what about the basketball team? You’re really good, and the coach seems to think you’ve got a chance at a college scholarship.”

“Yeah, that’ll suck. Transferring for senior year means I won’t be able to play at public school.” He gives nonchalance a good try, but I’ve seen him play. It’s a big deal.

“What if you talked to your dad? Told him what’s going on, asked him for ideas… CA must have scholarships to give, right? If he helped you fill out applications, the counselor wouldn’t have to be involved, at least.” My suggestion brings to mind scholarship students in the movies and how they’re always treated like lower-class citizens, but Jude’s already so ensconced that even if people found out, he’d still have his friends and the team.

I can’t imagine Maya being disloyal.

His eyes meet mine for long enough to share his desire to keep his life the way it is before he shrugs as though it doesn’t matter one way or another.

“I’d like to meet your dad,” I blurt, because he’s obviously about done talking about this.

My comment earns me another raised eyebrow but also a hint of a smile. “I think that’s very forward of you, Norah Crespo. I mean, we haven’t even been out on a date yet.”

“No, no, not because of that. I mean, I was just saying… Oh, fits and starts.” My cheeks flame.

“I’m kidding, weirdo.”

I blow out a breath, steadying the rapid flutter in my chest and doing my best to clear my mind in the process. This is the moment of truth—I need to find a way to learn what his father knows about Darley but keep the truth about the place a secret at the same time. “You know I spent the day with my Darley friends, right?”

“Right…”

“Well, we’ve kind of been thinking that we’d like to know more about our pasts. Like, how the people at Darley found and adopted us, what our mothers were like, that stuff.”

“Can’t you just ask your dad?”

“I mean, sure,
I
can, but some of the others don’t have that option. Plus, my mom and dad were just kids, and they didn’t keep in touch, so he doesn’t really know much about the place I was born.”

“Saint Catherine’s House, right?”

I nod, dry in the mouth. “Your dad talks to you about his investigations?”

“A little. He’s always mumbling about one thing or another, half buried in files. I could hear a lot more, probably, but I tune him out most of the time.” Jude’s gaze holds on to mine, asking questions there aren’t answers to. None he can have, anyway. “Some government organization owns Saint Catherine’s, according to him. One he’s never heard of before and can’t trace, but you know he thinks the government’s behind everything.”

Maybe Mr. Greene is right, in this case. When the Cavies kick around ideas about who would be interested in kids like us, or in enhancing our powers, the government’s at the top of every list.

“I’d like to hear about what he’s learned about Darley that’s
not
on the news. What made him go out there and how he found it in the first place.” I’m trying hard not to sound too eager, too ignorant of the place I called home for seventeen years and claim to have emerged from unscathed. It’s not going so well, but Jude doesn’t seem particularly suspicious. Maybe my curiosity is normal, given the shrouded truth we were fed all these years.

“Sure. I mean, I’ll ask him, but I’m betting he’ll jump at the chance to meet you. I can’t promise he’ll be appropriate, or that he won’t ask you a hundred questions in the span of three minutes, but it’s your call.”

“I really appreciate it.” Figuring out the right questions will take some critical thinking, but maybe Mole can help.

A glance at Jude knocks me out of my selfish internal monologue. Sadness wrinkles around his eyes and downturned lips, and coupled with the slump of his shoulders, paints a picture of hopeless defeat.

My heart twists. “And you’ll think about talking to him, too? At least try? I know you don’t want to get him in trouble, or for things to change at home, but it’s worth a shot. He might understand.”

The silence feels hostile at first but soon eases to something that might be gratitude as Jude reaches out and covers my hand with his. I let it rest there for the barest of moments, long enough to soak up the sizzling jolt of contact, before pulling away under the guise of gathering up our trash.

“You know my dad thinks they were doing some kind of science experiments on you guys, at Darley,” he says conversationally.

I’m glad my back is to him, because every muscle seizes at once. There doesn’t seem to be anything more than mild interest in his voice, but my ears ring a little, anyway. It could be that he’s still trying to lure me into admitting something, or just trying to prepare me for meeting his dad.

By the time I toss the cans into the recycle bin and turn around, I’ve managed to fix what I hope is a bemused smile onto my lips. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, like the government’s creating superheroes or something.”

“What’s a superhero?”

His eyes pop wide open. “Are you kidding me? Avengers?
X-Men? Superman? Batman?”

Some of those sound familiar from my post–Star Wars research, but it seems best to stick with my original story. “Nope, sorry. You’re talking gibberish.”

“I can promise you that I’m not, and someday very soon I’m going to show up at your door for an X-Men
marathon.”

“Sounds like fun. And afterward, I can give you a Molly Ringwald education.”

He pauses, lips twisted. “Is she that chick from the
Breakfast Club
with the curly red hair?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going to have to rethink this bargain.”

I laugh, and Jude laughs, and pleasure coats me all over until my cheeks burn. The exquisite, sweet pain drifts into my chest, squeezes my heart, and then it’s identifiable: This moment is a glimpse of what might have been, not what still might be, and the melancholy and sense of loss brings tears to my eyes.

It’s not until after my father chases Jude out a little after nine and I’m snuggled beneath my white and purple comforter that I admit what that moment truly meant.

I’ve given up on that normal life.

I can’t wish for something like that, not while Flicker’s in trouble and the rest of the Cavies are in danger, their powers changing. Not while we’re all blowing in the breeze, waiting to be snatched up by the shadows lurking around the edges of our world.

My body feels heavy, too full of fear and doubt, but the bed is soft and warm, inviting me to the sweet release of sleep in its arms. I have a brief thought of checking in with the Clubhouse, updating Geoff on the day’s events so he can be on the lookout for Flicker, but I don’t make it.

There’s a text from Jude on my phone when I wake up. It says that his dad would love to meet me but that the best time to catch him in a lucid mood is first thing in the morning. He doesn’t live downtown so I’ll just leave an hour early and grab a taxi to his house, then catch a ride to school with him.

My father doesn’t seem pleased with the idea and wants to drive me, but I’ve gone from letting the Philosopher and his staff do everything for me—tell me what to think and how to behave—to the same sort of situation here. It’s not that I think my father has any kind of ill intentions, but I’m seventeen years old, and it’s time to start figuring out how to at least get around town on my own.

I let him call the cab, though, and pay the driver. If things weren’t so crazy I might think about getting a job. My father hasn’t mentioned it, and I’m starting to realize that, as finances go, he doesn’t seem to be lacking.

The ride isn’t long, just ten minutes or so in the direction of the bridge that leads south, toward the islands and Darley and, eventually, Beaufort. The cabbie lets me out in front of a modest one-story home, leaving me on the sidewalk with a thank-you and a wave.

There’s no landscaping here like there is on Water Street, no wrought-iron fences with decorative crests, no blooming camellias, no neatly trimmed hedges. There’s a tiny yard covered with a spread of brittle brown grass and a cracked concrete path connecting Jude’s house to the sidewalk.

I’ve only been to one other CA student’s home—Maya’s. If our fathers represent an average income, then Jude’s already to managing to pretend pretty well. I wonder if anyone comes here, if his father’s eccentricities are common knowledge or if his mother’s good community standing was able to shield her son from the brunt of being considered lesser-than all these years.

He didn’t say anything about moving after she left them, but they must have.

The curtains flutter at the corner of the rectangular front window, and a moment later the front door flies open to reveal Jude, dressed in his uniform but with damp hair again, as though he considers toweling off after a shower an option. The fresh smell of him falls around me like snowflakes—soft and cool as it melts against my skin.

“Good morning, pretty girl.”

I roll my eyes, hiding my pleasure at his continued efforts to woo me, because I
should
wish he wouldn’t. “Hey.”

“Have you had coffee?”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

His eyes bulge. “Holy geez, my dad’s right. You
are
some kind of mutant. How do you fuel your teenage angst without coffee?”

“Um, I don’t know.”