Spoils (14 page)

The door opened and the girl strode out. Walked out like she owned the world and had not a care in the world. Almost made you wonder if it was the same person. He eyed her suspiciously as she fiddled with the bike lock. Debated hollering at her, chasing her away so the other girl, the scared one, would have her bike when she left the building. He was still making up his mind, trying to remember what the first girl looked like, what she would say when she saw her bike was still there, that he'd protected it. Maybe she'd give him a reward. Maybe she'd invite him home so he could shower while she cooked him dinner. He smacked his lips at the thought. Struggled to his feet. But the girl was gone. No bike. No nobody. He sat back down, wondering if he'd dreamed the whole thing.

He lost time every once in a while. Woke up on a bench he'd never seen before. Said hello to people who vanished in the next instant.

Sometimes he wished things were different. Sometimes he wondered what life was like for everyone else, people who had a house and a car and a wife to cook you a big, juicy steak whenever you felt like eating one. He used to be one of those people.

He tried not to think about it.

I spend the rest of my morning online, looking up Professor Parks and his slick new company, EarthFuel. As I click back and forth between AlgaeGo and EarthFuel, it's obvious which one I'd invest in if I didn't know the whole story. EarthFuel's website is professional and sharp, with a simple, easy-to-understand mission statement and ambitious goals. AlgaeGo has several broken links, scientific gibberish, and a plain, almost childish home page. Isakson is totally screwed.

In the afternoon, I bike to SHCC for marine chemistry. Skipping high school is one thing. Skipping marine chemistry is another.

Plus, I need to see Gavin.

Gavin's already in his usual seat in the back, hunched over his laptop. He only looks up when our professor begins her lecture; then our eyes meet and he nods hello. Even when I turn to face the professor, I can't stop a little smile. As the professor lectures, I sneak glances at him, but he's engrossed by whatever's on his screen. Then again, the few times he's called on, he answers brilliantly like always. The retro-T-shirt girl who was sweet to me on the beach-cleanup trip keeps rolling her eyes when Gavin talks. Maybe it's only my imagination, but she seems to be glaring at me too, though I can't imagine why.

After class, I linger in the hall until Gavin comes loping out. My heart gives a little leap when I see his tall, dark form. He grins when he sees me, his face lightening and looking younger. I wonder how much of what I'm feeling shows on my face.

“I have news,” I say, practically bouncing.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice husky. Retro-shirt girl, today wearing vintage Sprite, glares at me again. I want to tell her not to be jealous, that things aren't as simple as they look, but when I turn to say hi to her, she looks away, a sullen tilt to her head.

“Not here.” I tug on Gavin's arm. “Let's go.”

We head to the bike rack to grab my bike and then head to Old Farmer's Creamery, the best ice cream in the Bay. I sneak a glance at him.
I believe in you,
I remind myself.
But I'm still scared.
To cover that, I start talking.

“I was sure you'd be busted for not paying attention,” I say. We've been outside less than five minutes and my skin's already beading with perspiration under the brutal sun. There's going to be a huge, wet circle where my backpack presses against me. “It's obvious you aren't taking notes. The professor's getting ticked.”

“I multitask well,” he says. He's sweating too. A drop of sweat forms on his temple. It rolls down the side of his face and down his neck and disappears under his thin gray shirt. The sleeves are tight around his biceps. Did he start lifting weights in juvie? Was that part of putting your boots on?

“Um…” I try to remember what we were talking about. “Why are you on your computer so much, anyway?”

“I'm still looking into the various property options in South Florida. There's been a lot coming on the market lately. I have an agent sending me sites to look at. Besides, I already took this class, I don't need to hear it again.”

“Wait, what?” I say, confused. “If you already took it, why are you taking it again?”

His step falters for a second. He slides a sideways glance at me and gives me a little smile, like he's not sure if I'm going to be pissed or not.

“What?” My hackles rise.

“I knew you were taking it,” he finally says, reluctantly. “So I signed up too.”

It takes a moment for me to work through what he's saying. No one would have told him that I was taking a class at SHCC. The only way he'd know is by looking in the college's registry.

“You hacked into the SHCC database!? Oh my God, Gavin, haven't you learned anything?” I feel so many things at once, it's easiest to focus on the practicalities. “What if they find out? You'll get arrested.” I leave the
again
part hanging in the air.

“They're not going to find out. I didn't touch anything. I just searched for your name,” he says, oh so reasonably. Seeing my wide-eyed look, he explains, “I knew your teachers would push you toward classes here. You were brilliant at fifteen, Kohn. At seventeen, there wouldn't be anything left in high school they could teach you.”

I gape for a second at the offhand compliment.

“When I saw you were enrolled for marine chemistry, I signed up. It was the only way I could think of that you'd see me.”

“Idiot,” I mumble under my breath, though I'm not sure if I mean him or me. “I thought it was coincidence that we bumped into each other.” Actually, I thought it was divine intervention but I don't say that. “I can't believe you tracked me down like some kind of stalker, that's so creepy! Why would you do that? We barely knew each other in high school.” We're in the middle of the sidewalk. Other pedestrians give us a wide berth.

“I just…I wanted to see you again,” he says, his shoulders hunched defensively.

“You barely knew me, Gavin.”

“Crap.” He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. “What I'm trying to say, badly, is that I wanted to know you. I mean, I always knew who you were, everybody knew about the brainy girl whose family won the lottery. Then your parents paid for my defense team—which, believe me, was not cheap. And when I got back to Florida, there were rumors that you guys were broke.” I flush with hot embarrassment. So everyone already knows. “Leni, I don't mean it like that, I just thought maybe there was something I could help with. Not money, obviously, I'm as broke as ever, but”—he shrugs helplessly—“I wanted to get to know you a bit.”

“How did you fix it so we'd have lab together?” I ask.

“I made sure to be a huge jerk at the start of the class so no one would sign next to my name.”

“It does comes naturally to you.”

“I didn't mean it in a creepy way,” he says. “I just thought maybe we could be friends.”

The sidewalk pulses with heat and matches the waves of emotions pulsing through me. I turn my head away and stare down blankly at the pavement.
Does this change anything?
I think in a panic.
Did I misread things?

“Please, Leni. I only wanted to repay on the biggest favor of my life.”

I know all about the burden of debts. I can't begrudge him the attempt to clear his. We're as intricately bound as a Celtic knot.

“Fine,” I say, tightening my grip on the handlebars. “But don't ever creep around behind my back again, okay?”

“Okay,” he says. “I promise. Friends?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We are friends.”

“Ice cream?” Gavin asks, lightening the mood.

“Make it a double.”

Entering the small, wood-paneled ice cream shop, I shudder with pleasure. Even before our ice cream is scooped and tasted, my composure returns with the drop in my body temperature. Maybe it isn't a surprise that heat is the devil's domain. The cold, creamy ice cream feels like heaven after the hot, muggy air outside.

We grab a sticky wooden table near the window.

“Show me what you've been working on?” I ask.

Gavin pulls out his laptop and opens an attachment that shows aerial shots of several farmlands with large water-retention ponds scattered throughout.

“I'm looking for a site that's big enough for Isakson to set up multiple algae sites without cross contamination,” he explains as he clicks through various attachments. “It needs easy road access for distribution, but still has to be close enough to the Gulf, with plenty of inland ponds, that access to brackish water isn't an issue.”

“Why don't you show him what you've got so far? If he knows you're working on this, it could really change how he sees you and—”

Gavin shakes his head.

“No, I need to find the right site. Once I'm sure we have a price point we can live with and a long-term lease with favorable terms, then I'll see if Professor Isakson wants it. There's nothing to gain from going over there half-assed.”

The words are assertive enough, like everything that comes out of Gavin's mouth, but there's insecurity in his voice and he isn't a guy needled much by self-doubt. It's kind of amazing that he's putting this much work into something he's half-convinced will never be used.

“But as soon as he sees your plans, even what you've got now, he's going to love it.”

“You saw him on Saturday,” Gavin says. He logs out and gently closes his Mac. “He doesn't trust me. He wants nothing to do with anything that's associated with me.” He leaves his hands resting on the Mac for a moment, then pats it. “I know you're sold that this will change his mind, but even if that's true, I only have one shot at this. My best bet is to have everything solid, perfect and ready to go. And even then, Leni, it's a long shot.”

“You should give Isakson more credit,” I say bracingly, even though Gavin's right about it. I wince, remembering how the professor reacted when I made my offer. But Isakson's going to look at Gavin's program whether he likes it or not and I'd better sow some seeds of credibility.

“You know what Professor Isakson says at the start of every semester?” Gavin asks. “ ‘I don't give second chances.' ” He mimics the professor's intonations perfectly. I heard that exact line, said exactly like that, this morning.

“Good thing you don't need a second chance,” I say with false cheer. “You need an appeal process. This is your opportunity to show you never cheated in the first place. Because if you're smart enough to write this business plan and negotiate a kick-ass lease and you're willing to work this hard on a project with little chance of reward, there's no way you would cheat for a class. It isn't rational.”

“Humans aren't always rational,” Gavin says. When he sees the look on my face, he shrugs. “I'm just playing devil's advocate.”

“Scientists are
always
rational,” I say, making him laugh. “Besides, do you know where that phrase ‘devil's advocate' comes from?”

He shakes his head. I didn't either until a couple of days ago but it came up as I did some useless research.

I explain as we stand up.

“When the Catholic Church examined whether a miracle happened or not, they sent special lawyers to talk to witnesses, to the doctors, whatever the situation was. As these investigators questioned the people, they pushed hard to find rational explanations for what happened. Those investigators were called the devil's advocates because they were looking to explain away a miracle.” I pitch my used napkin into the trash can by the door. “You don't even need a miracle,” I assure him as he holds the door open for me. The C-shaped scar on his arm stands out in relief, pale against his tanned skin. “You need a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck.”

Gavin steps out after me into the heavy humidity. For a second, something sweet and vulnerable crosses his face. But he catches me watching him and the expression instantly vanishes. He manages a self-deprecating half smile and the moment passes.

“That's doable, right?”

He smiles at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

I grab his hand and press it hard, as if to transfer some of my certainty to him, as if to squeeze the doubts away.

The devil doesn't need any more advocates.

Gavin insists on walking me home.

“Some of those old farm sites looked really good. You must be close to finished.”

“Yeah,” he says. “There're a couple of properties in particular that look promising. I'll probably try to drive down there in the next couple of weeks to check 'em out in person and then if they both look good, it'll come down to who'll give the better deal.”

“Don't wait a few weeks. Go tomorrow.”

Gavin looks at me strangely.

“You need to get this over and done with,” I say, improvising on the spot. “This is a cloud hanging over you and the sooner you finish and show it to the professor, the sooner you can move on with your life.”

“That's extreme. There's a lot of negotiation that needs to take place. There's probably fifty man-hours of work left, maybe more. I could probably finish it in three weeks.…” He's working out the hours, his free time, but even three weeks is too late.

“My birthday is Friday,” I say. “Finish it by then.”

The sun disappears behind thick and dark clouds and the temperature drops ten degrees. A cool, damp wind picks up and blows my hair in my eyes. I brush it aside, afraid to break eye contact with Gavin. This is what it comes down to. Can I convince him to drive to South Florida, wrangle and negotiate on behalf of a man who thinks he's a liar, on four hours of sleep a night, tops?

He looks at me like I'm insane. Maybe I am, because I'm convinced that it all needs to come together on my birthday or it won't come together at all. Isakson will lose his company, Gavin will never clear his name, never put this behind him and never achieve any of the great things that I know he can.

“Gavin, don't sleep, if that's what it takes. It won't matter in a month or two. There's a competitor on the market, another professor from Tech. He stole Isakson's idea. If you don't help Isakson soon, you won't be able to help him at all. But if you give him the lease in four days, then he'll have a chance to test his algae out of the lab and finalize his patent before this other professor presents his work at some really prestigious conference. Or it's over,” I say. “This other guy will get all the investors. He's got a fancy website, an awesome company name, and it won't matter that he's a sleazeball, or that he can't take it to the next level. As long as he files for a patent first, he's set.” The words are tumbling out so fast. “If Isakson won't look at your plan with all that on the line, then you can put him behind you because it means he isn't the man you thought he was. And if that's the case, then you can move on with your life and get a degree somewhere else and forget him.”