Tesla's Attic (9781423155126) (12 page)

“I had to come up with something!” Nick had told her. “And it worked, didn't it?”

Nevertheless, any affront to Caitlin's fashion sense, no matter the motivation, destined him for the doghouse. At least until morning.

It was maddening, because Nick had no one else he could discuss this with. He couldn't talk to Mitch about it—Mitch already had enough on his mind after the fateful visit to his father. And although Vince was aware that something was up, he didn't exactly engender a warm feeling of trust.

There was always Petula. But hadn't Nick suffered enough already?

On Monday morning, as Nick was leaving for school, Vince showed up at his door with a baseball bat.

“For you,” he said.

“Very funny.” Nick figured he had heard from Caitlin, or maybe Mitch, about Danny's involvement in the falling-star incident.

“I don't do funny,” Vince said. “This came from your garage sale.”

Nick hadn't even remembered it. “How did you find it?”

“There is a dark underworld of mailbox smashers,” Vince told him, “and baseball bats suffer high casualties in the enterprise. The smashers are always looking for cheap ones. Once I remembered that there was a bat in your garage sale, I knew exactly where to look for it.”

Nick took it from Vince gingerly, as if it were made of glass. “It doesn't look damaged.”

“Smashing only happens on alternate Tuesdays, so we were lucky,” Vince said. “You owe me fifteen bucks.”

Nick was more than happy to pay up. He returned the object to a corner of his attic, satisfied that, for once, all was well.

At school, however, all was not well with Mitch. Nick noticed that he was uncharacteristically silent in class, and during lunch, he didn't finish anyone's sentences. Nor did he have loud conversations, or inject himself into anyone else's business. He just sat, ate, cleaned up after himself, and quietly observed the world around him. When Nick had finished his own lunch, he went over to Mitch.

“Hey,” he offered tentatively.

“Hey.”

“So you left it at home?”

They both knew what Nick was referring to.

“It's not like I need the thing to survive.” Then Mitch added, “I don't even miss it.”

Although Nick could tell that he did. “It's good you don't have it,” he told him. “It proves you control it, and not the other way around.”

That actually made Mitch smile. “Yeah, that's true, isn't it? I mean…the thing is what it is…but I am what I am, with or without it.” Then he got a little somber again. “So…who am I again?”

Nick shrugged. “A half-Hispanic, half-Irish kid with a French-sounding last name.”

“Right,” said Mitch ruefully. “Even my name doesn't know who I am.”

Nick hadn't intended to make Mitch feel worse. “I'll tell you what. When we find Tesla's identity-crisis can opener, you can be the first to use it.”

“Nah,” said Mitch with a reluctant grin. “It'll probably open up a can of worms.”

But Nick knew the can of worms was already open. And those worms were rapidly evolving into cobras.

After school, Nick invited Mitch to join the second excursion to Svedberg's. It thrilled Nick that Caitlin balked slightly at the idea of Mitch coming along—it meant that she preferred quality time with Nick alone, but he felt that Mitch deserved and needed to be included.

“So let me get this straight,” Mitch said as they sat on a bus heading downtown. “You found a pin that belongs to a secret society, and some jeweler who's in love with Caitlin's mom is gonna tell you all about it?”

“Well,” said Caitlin, “he agreed to tell my mother.”

“And your father feels about this how?” Mitch asked.

Caitlin hesitated. “Well, he doesn't know.…”

“So you set your mom up on a date with some dude behind your dad's back?”

“You're missing the point, Mitch,” Nick told him. “Her mom's not going to be there.”

Mitch was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Does she know that?”

Nick gave up. Mitch was grinding more gears than their bus as he tried to get up to speed. However, he had actually brought up a good point, whether he realized it or not. Svedberg
did
think this was a date, of sorts. Nick turned to Caitlin. “What if he refuses to tell us anything when your mom doesn't show?”

“You worry too much,” Caitlin replied curtly. “I'll sweet-talk him. Watch and learn.”

When they got off the bus, one corner from the shop, Nick's anticipation began to spike. Was it too much to hope that Svedberg's explanation would encompass not only the Accelerati, but the items in his attic as well?

“Here we are,” Caitlin said as they approached the shop.

It was Nick who first realized that something was very wrong, when he saw a disturbingly familiar green-and-black sign above the entrance. He touched Caitlin's arm to get her attention. She looked at him, noted the sheer disbelief in his eyes, and then she looked at the shop.

What had been Svedberg & Sons, Fine Jewelers yesterday was now a Starbucks.

“So,” said Mitch, “are we getting Frappuccinos first?”

“This can't be right,” said Caitlin, the pitch of her voice rising slightly. “It was right here between the bank and the barbershop, remember?”

“Yeah, I do.” If Nick hadn't seen it for himself, he would have thought she'd lost her mind.

“You guys must be wrong,” said Mitch. “I mean, Starbucks don't just pop up overnight out of nowhere, do they?”

Nick pushed his way into the store, followed by Caitlin, then Mitch, who was already getting his wallet out for a purchase.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit Nick instead of the musty odor of the old jewelry store. The display cases on the right had been replaced by people with drinks and laptops, and the counter to the left was now the barista station.

Nick went straight to the cashier, not caring that he had cut in front of half a dozen people in line.

“Who are you, and what's going on here?” Nick demanded of the teenage clerk, a girl just a few years older than him. “And don't you dare tell me you have no idea what I'm talking about.”

To which the clerk replied, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Svedberg's jewelry store. It was here exactly…” He looked at his watch. “Twenty hours ago.”

“Don't know anything about it.” The clerk shrugged. “I work at the Fourth Street store, but they told me to come here today.”

Caitlin, who had been quizzing the barista at the other end of the counter, shook her head toward Nick as if to say,
These
clowns know nothing.

“Who's in charge here?” Nick asked the cashier.

“That would be me. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are people waiting to order.” Then she turned to the woman standing behind Nick.

Nick took a step back and let the clueless cashier wait on the equally clueless customers.

When Caitlin came to him, she was trembling at this new caffeinated reality.

“So, can I buy you a drink?” Nick asked.

“Cappuccino,” she said. “Make it a double.”

“Guys?”

They both turned to see Mitch, looking about as troubled as they were. “I thought you both were yanking my crank, until I found this in the corner.”

And he held up a diamond ring.

In the end they chose to forget the drinks in favor of getting out of there.

They spent the rest of the afternoon at Beef-O-Rama, and although they ordered, their basket of fries was ignored.

Caitlin was still visibly shaken, avoiding eye contact.

“Listen, there's a…” Nick began.

Caitlin pounded her fist on the table, dislodging a flurry of fries. “If you say ‘logical explanation,' I'll slap you so hard they'll find your eyes in Denver.”

Nick shifted his baseball cap, a little nervous and a little impressed.

“Guys,” said Mitch, still holding the ring, “I think this diamond is real. Check it out.” He reached over and used the diamond to make a scratch on the window, large enough to be cause for a lawsuit if the owner had seen. “How much do you think it's worth?”

Caitlin snatched it from him. “It doesn't belong to you. It belongs to Svedberg. And when we find him, we give it back. Got it?”

Nick took a deep breath, feeling it was his duty to state the obvious. “He's been disappeared. We have to accept it.”

Caitlin folded her arms and looked out the window rather than at Nick. “I accept nothing!”

“Disappeared by who?” asked Mitch.

But Nick knew it was best not to involve Mitch any deeper than he already was. “You don't want to know.”

Maybe it was Nick's tone of voice or the look on his face, but Mitch's curiosity was shut down as effectively as Svedberg's jewelry shop. He cast his eyes to the cold, limp, and lonely fries. “What a waste.” But still he didn't eat.

Caitlin stood up abruptly. “I'm done. I'm going back to my art projects, and my school projects, and my cheerleading projects.”

“And your Theo projects?” Nick asked, regretting it immediately.

Caitlin pursed her lips. “At least I know
he
won't be a coffeehouse tomorrow.”

“No,” said Mitch, “but he might be a perko-later.”

Caitlin gave him a flesh-incinerating glare. “That's not even funny.” Then she turned and stormed toward the restroom.

Nick went after her, and he paced the restroom hallway, not sure what to say to her when she came out. How could he talk her down when he was on the same ledge beside her?

Caitlin came out a moment later, but she wasn't angry anymore. She was in tears. She looked up to see him there. He thought she might try to hide her face, but she didn't.

“Abnormal things don't happen to me,” she told Nick through her tears. “I happen to them.”

And although Nick had no idea what that meant, he knew exactly how she felt, and he found himself putting his arms around her.

“It's not the end of the world,” he told her.

“I know,” she said, “it's just…” But she never finished her thought because Mitch had arrived, and he was putting his arms around both of them.

“Good idea,” said Mitch. “Group hug.”

And they stood there like that until somebody needed to get past them to use the restroom.

Nick went straight up to his room when he arrived home. He pulled the attic trapdoor closed behind him and slipped beneath his covers, determined to escape into unconsciousness. For ten minutes he tossed and turned, unable to get warm, and too wired on his own adrenaline to find relief. He couldn't tell how much of his exhaustion was physical and how much was emotional. He wished there was a device from his attic that could make him forget any of this had happened. But if a blissful ignorance machine had ever been in his attic, it had been sold for a bargain at his garage sale.

He sat up, thinking he might try getting on his computer to über-Google Tesla again, and find out things even Petula didn't know. It was then that he noticed his dirty clothes were gathered in the center of the attic once more, and his bed and desk had moved away from the walls again. Not only that, but the original attic items that he had retrieved seemed to be frozen in mid-migration toward the center of the room.

He reached beneath his mattress and pulled out the baseball mitt, just to make sure it was where he had left it. Then he stood up and approached the center of the room. He could no longer deny that there was some sort of gravity pulling things to the center of his attic.

He could feel heat emanating from the spot. It was directly beneath the skylight, so perhaps it had been warmed by the sun. But it shouldn't still be warm now that it was twilight.…

Nick lay down on his back amid the laundry, using the baseball glove as a pillow, and soaked in the warmth. It was more than just warmth, however. As he lay there he had an undeniable sense of…connection. That was the only way he could describe it. He thought about all the items that had been in his attic. He had no idea where they were or how they were being used, yet somehow he
felt
them out there, just as clearly as he could feel his fingers and toes. They were a part of him—or more accurately, he was a part of them. It was a deeply satisfying sensation. So satisfying that his whole body relaxed, and he drifted off into a contented sleep.

Danny shook him awake.

“You were hiding up here all along! I knew it!”

Nick took a moment to gather his wits. He was still beneath the skylight, only now the twilight sky had given way to night.

“I wasn't hiding,” Nick told his brother. “I just took a nap.”

“Dad thinks you didn't come home, that you stayed away on purpose.” There was a sadness to Danny's voice that didn't seem right. “What are you doing with my glove? I thought they took it.”

“Yeah,” said Nick, “
they
thought they took it, too.” He was worried that Danny might make a big deal out of it, but he didn't. Again, that seemed odd.

“You missed dinner,” Danny told him. “Dad cooked a roast, but it burned, so he called it Cajun Blackened Beef.”

Nick could not recall a single instance when his father had used a kitchen appliance. “Why? What's the occasion?”

Danny just stared at him, then started to get red in the face. “Nothing,” he said. “I guess it doesn't matter.” Then he left. A few moments later Nick heard him slam his bedroom door one floor below.

When it hit Nick, it hit him with such a wave of misery and regret, he almost doubled over in pain—but the pain wasn't just in his gut, it was everywhere.

Today was his mother's birthday.

It wasn't like they spoke of it. Nick's father certainly hadn't mentioned it—and the weight of her absence was such a constant, their day-to-day lives gave no hint that a dark milestone was looming on the calendar.