What brings you to Main Street in Gatlinburg? KARA WONDERED. She’d followed him, expecting him to swing a right onto Hemlock Avenue, his street. But Rigby hadn’t. He’d kept walking straight on Sweetbriar Lane, and now they were just a stone’s throw from the quaint shops on Main Street.
“Going shopping, are you?” Kara muttered. She watched him slow at the intersection and then, as expected, he disappeared around the corner to the right. She felt certain Rigby hadn’t seen her and didn’t want to blunder into him, so she bided her time before turning the corner herself. A breathless twenty count later, she slipped onto Main Street.
Kara hung back and pretended to look at the colorful jewelry on a sidewalk display in front of Diamond in the Rough. Truth be told, she couldn’t care less about the cheap trinkets sold in that little boutique. She had her sights set on bigger treasures. Much bigger.
She glanced sideways. He still seemed consumed by his cell phone. Even while walking, he waved his arm around, apparently making an animated point to someone about something. She let him get a little more ahead of her. Then, she stealthily followed. Rigby passed by Replay Sporting Goods, paused at Garner’s Electronics, and seemed interested in something in the storefront window. No, Kara realized. Rigby was just checking his hair in the reflection.
After mussing his flop of wavy brown hair, he continued on. And on. Kara thought he was going to bypass all the stores until finally, he disappeared into The Creamery. Why not? Kara thought. It’s plenty hot enough for ice cream. She approached cautiously, and that saved her from immediate detection when Rigby emerged from the shop a lot quicker than she’d anticipated he would. She stumbled through the picket fence gate of Lacey’s Smoothies and found a seat at a little table behind a potted juniper tree.
She watched Rigby carry a colossal hot fudge sundae to his table. He was still on that phone call, but managed to take heaping spoonfuls of his ice cream.
“Look,” Rigby said, jamming his spoon into the sundae, “I didn’t invent the Cerebral Countdown, but I did perfect it. No, not like that at all.” He paused, ate some ice cream, and said, “That was a part of the original theory. That never worked, and it was bloody dangerous.”
Kara couldn’t believe her good fortune. It wasn’t hard to piece together the subject of Rigby’s conversation, and it was precisely what Kara wanted to hear.
Rigby’s voice grew tight with agitation, quieter but somehow still very easy to hear. “If you think I’ll just tell you—over the phone—you’re more of a nutter than my uncle. Right, and that goes for Anchor Theory too. That’s why we call this a negotiation, mate. Now, call me back when you’re serious.”
Rigby exhaled loudly, set the phone down on the table, and took another bite of ice cream. Then, he said, “What’s this, then, Kara? Are you stalking me?”
“I . . . What?” Kara blurted. “Rigby, oh, hey . . . what are you doing here?”
Rigby didn’t turn or look up. He ran his index finger side to side across his phone screen. “You’ve been following me since the bus,” he said.
“Following you?” Kara scoffed. “As if. I just came here for . . . a smoothie.”
“A bit of advice, Kara Windchil,” he said. “If you’re going to sneak around, try not to be so beautiful.”
Kara felt the blush burn in her cheeks. She willed it away. Rigby’s charm was disarming, but she wouldn’t let it go to her head. Not much, anyway. “So maybe I was following you a bit,” she said. “What now?”
“I was thinking you’d join me for some ice cream,” he said. “We ’ave a few things to discuss.”
Kara’s embarrassment fought a losing battle with curiosity for a moment, but she found herself getting up, skirting the picket fence, and sitting at Rigby’s little table. She looked at him expectantly, projecting as much self-assurance as she could muster. Sure, he’d caught her stalking him, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching her squirm.
He held up his index finger. “Where are my manners?” he asked. “One minute.”
He was gone and back in less than a minute. “That’s for you,” he said, sliding a tall cup toward Kara.
“I didn’t ask you for a shake.”
“Well, no,” he said. “But it seemed rather rude to wolf down a hot fudge sundae in front of you. Besides, what ’ave you got against chocolate?”
Kara relented and drank a sip of the milkshake. The Creamery was, in fact, her favorite ice cream shop on the planet. And chocolate was her favorite. Lucky guess.
Rigby rubbed the back of his hand down his long sideburn and asked, “So, why does an intelligent young lady like yourself follow the new kid? I suspect it’s not because I dated the president’s daughter and I’m ruggedly handsome.”
“You’re right,” she said, her voice bright with laughter. “Your time at GIFT, while entertaining, isn’t of interest to me. And I’m not looking for a boyfriend. Not really.”
“Why then?” Rigby asked.
Kara sipped at her shake. “I wanted to find out if you’re legit.”
Rigby’s eyes became amber slits. He tapped the edge of his spoon on the tabletop. Then he sighed. “Yes, I really did go to GIFT. Yes, I really am quite smart. I do have quite a bit of money, and I do live in a very big house.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “I want to know if you really are Dr. Ebeneezer Scoville’s nephew.”
“Well, barring a genetic test,” he said, “you’ll just ’ave to take my word for it. The Scovilles are on my mother’s side of the family.”
“Did he really go insane?”
“That’s kind of personal, isn’t it?”
“Well, did he?”
Rigby pushed his unfinished sundae to the side and folded his hands. His expression was an odd combination of grief and fury. He teared up just a bit, but his brow lowered fiercely. “Was he really insane?” Rigby asked. “Well, I suppose it all depends on your definition. Would you call chasing family members with an axe insane?”
“Absolutely,” Kara said. “But, uh, he wasn’t always insane. He did brilliant scientific work . . . in some fields, right?”
“That’s right,” Rigby said. He sat back in his chair and nodded once. “Oh, so that’s what you wanted. Funny, that. Not too many know about Uncle Scovy’s particular niche. Dream science is quite obscure, really.”
“I love dreams,” she said, lowering her guard but not caring. “I want to know everything there is to know about them. I thought you might, well, that is, I hoped you might, y’know, have learned something from your uncle.”
Rigby smiled and leaned forward with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. “Kara Windchil, what would you say if I told you that I could make your wildest dreams come true?”