Caffeine, like duct tape, fixes nearly everything.
Lucy took a gulp of her triple-shot gingerbread latte, closed her eyes, and sank into a plush turquoise sofa at the café where Claudia worked after school. Since she had an in with the barista, Lucy ordered Christmas concoctions all year-round. Claudia made up a few of her own, like the Sugar Plum Fairy, just for Lucy.
The Gallery—which displayed works by local artists in addition to being a coffeehouse—was located on the other side of town near the Heron College campus. It was relatively slow this afternoon because most of the college kids were off spring breaking. The Eaton High crowd tended to hang out at Casey’s Diner or the fast-food restaurants closer to school. Lucy was happy for some distance from her classmates—and from Cole.
His smile was tinged with hurt when she’d rejected his offer for a ride home in favor of accompanying Claudia to the Gallery, but Lucy was afraid of what might happen if they were together in a confined space. How could she tell her boyfriend that his kisses made her want to hurl? She took another sip and heaved a sigh.
At the register, Claudia was laughing while providing service with a smile to a lone patron, probably a Heron student. The girl had spiky blond hair, an eyebrow ring, and sported one of those Ceci n’est pas une pipe T-shirts.
Just Claudia’s type. She loved a good tortured artist—on canvas or in the flesh. Lucy would rather “solve for x” every day of the week than try to interpret a Monet. Art was her bestie’s department. Claudia would be spending the summer interning at the Art Institute of Chicago before freshman orientation began.
Overhead, the mellow stylings of folk rock about star-crossed lovers streamed from the speakers. Not what Lucy needed.
Megan had pierced her with ice-pick glances throughout the entire double-period physics lab while shamelessly flirting with Ravi, calling him Mr. Darcy, and asking, “Is it true bodies rest in motion?” Ugh.
Not that Lucy could entirely blame the other girl. When Mrs. Brandon had asked Lucy to stay after class with Ravi, her insides had performed an ambitious trapeze act. Her physics teacher said it would be a great experience for Ravi to take over supervising Lucy’s independent-study project and hoped Lucy wouldn’t mind.
Mind?
With a warm smile, Ravi told Lucy he was keen—he’d actually used the word “keen”—to work together. So was Lucy. Which made her the lowest of the low. Worse than Megan.
It’s just because things are weird with Cole, she told herself.
She finished her latte in record time and decided she needed another shot. Or five. Thank goodness caffeine wasn’t one of her triggers or Lucy wouldn’t survive high school.
“Earth to Minnie Mouse?” asked Claudia as Lucy approached the counter.
Lucy faux glared. “You know I hate that nickname.”
Long ago, her friend had decided that Minnie Mouse was a fitting substitute for Lucy’s middle name. It beat Minerva, anyhow.
“Yep.” Who could resist her friend’s impish smile? Not her. Lucy doubted the Heron girl could either, from the way her eyes meandered back in Claudia’s direction.
“More caffeine, please.”
Claudia waved her hand across the menu board with a flourish. “Any specific variety?”
“Strong.”
Drawing her eyebrows together, her friend’s reply was unyielding. “One more and I’m cutting you off. Capisce?”
“Capisce.” Lucy tried to keep a straight face as Claudia vanished behind the enormous chrome espresso machine. Immediately the rumble of the coffee grinder and whir of the frother drowned out another folk song about being done wrong.
“I’m still waiting for you to dish about your fight with Megan,” Claudia shouted over the din. Fortunately the café was empty except for the Heron girl, who was now sprawled in an armchair next to the bay window completely absorbed—or pretending to be completely absorbed—by a dog-eared copy of Sartre. The Existentialists had never interested Lucy. She found all the reason she needed for existence in the laws of science. Until this past Saturday, that was.
The grinding stopped and Claudia reappeared with two mugs in hand.
“Hurling office supplies is no way to get out of library fines,” said her friend with a wink. Lucy sucked in her cheeks. “Come on, Minnie. I’m due for a break.” Obediently, she followed Claudia back toward the sofa, and they melted against it side by side.
Growing up, most of the neighborhood kids were afraid to touch Lucy. No doubt her parents had provided their parents with a laundry list of dos and don’ts that made offers for playdates dry up like the Sahara. While the likes of Tony Morelli and Megan thought they could catch Lucy’s “seizure cooties,” Claudia never once shied away from holding her hand.
Froth covered Claudia’s top lip as she took a swig of her hazelnut cappuccino. Lucy loved that she knew how Claudia liked her java, that she preferred curly fries to regular, and that the spaghetti-and-meatball scene in Lady and the Tramp always made her cry. She would miss this, just spending time together, so much next year.
Lucy took her hand now and gave a squeeze.
“Why so glum, chum?” Claudia asked, her over-the-top Oliver Twist accent a marked departure from Ravi’s.
Lucy shrugged. “I’m not.”
“Liar.”
“Did Megan really claim I threw the stapler at her?”
“If you did, you have extraordinarily bad aim.” Claudia smirked, nodding at the Wonder Woman Band-Aid. Interrogation wasn’t really her style. She never prodded too hard until Lucy was ready to talk, but her concern was plain.
Lucy laughed her trademark self-deprecatory snort-chuckle. “It’s nothing so dramatic,” she said. “My locker holds a grudge is all.” In reality, the flying stapler had demonstrated perfect aim—something the pre–Tesla Suite Lucy could never have pulled off.
“If I need to kill someone, just tell me which tools to bring,” Claudia offered, dead serious despite her smile. “I can make ’em suffer.”
“I know you’ve got me covered, Clauds.”
“Damn straight.”
Lucy’s chest caved as she exhaled. Claudia scooted closer, smile fading, and placed a hand on her knee. There was no static electricity this time but a sensation similar to when she had collided with Ravi flared at the point of contact.
Lucy was confident she wasn’t attracted to her best friend in the same way she was to the Brit. (And okay, she was attracted to him, but that was beside the point.) But maybe the tingly feelings had nothing to do with an ill-advised crush. That would simplify things. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was promising.
Claudia’s eyes never left her face as Lucy put this together.
“Did something happen…” she began gently, “like, in the city?”
Lucy hadn’t offered up any details beyond telling Claudia she’d felt lightheaded, and Claudia hadn’t pressed her on the ride from the train station. Now, though, Lucy saw genuine worry—maybe fear—in her friend’s eyes. She hated herself for putting it there.
“No. Really. It wasn’t … that.” Lucy met her friend’s pained gaze. She hated herself even more for lying. “I would tell you, Clauds.” And yet there was no explanation Lucy could give Claudia that didn’t sound like a lie.
“You promise?”
A vise twisted her heart. Lucy needed more time. Once she had figured out what was happening to her, she’d tell her friend everything.
“I promise,” said Lucy, and she hoped it was a promise she could keep.
“Good.”
The tension broke as Claudia grinned, although it lacked some of her usual vigor. “Is there anything else I should know? Have you and Cole kissed and made up?”
“More or less.” Lucy plunged a hand into the book bag at her feet, knowing Claudia wasn’t blind to her evasion tactics. “Look!” She twirled the poker chips in the air. “A very sweet apology. Want one?”
Her friend extended an open palm. “Hit me.” As Lucy pressed a green-and-black chip into her hand, Claudia mused, “I don’t know what Cole would do without you.”
Lucy pursed her lips.
“What? He’d never win a hand.”
“That’s not tr—”
“He might actually have to pay a mechanic to fix his Jeep when it breaks down,” Claudia continued.
“I like fixing his Jeep.” Lucy plunked a piece of chocolate in her mouth as an act of protest. She had strategically learned everything she could about cars in the hopes that her parents might let her drive one someday. Not happening. But she enjoyed putting her skills to good use.
Claudia graced her with a half eye-roll. “I know, I know. It relaxes you.”
“It does!”
“Anyway, enough boy talk,” announced her friend, grabbing another poker chip. “There are more pressing matters at hand.”
Truer words had never been spoken. “Hear, hear.”
“We need to discuss the lighting for prom. Is your iPad handy?”
Internally, Lucy groaned. Prom was still a sore subject. Regardless of her feelings, however, she’d agreed to run the lighting and sound system. Letting Claudia down wasn’t an option.
The student council had chosen the Roaring Twenties for the theme and put the stage crew in charge of the decorations. As themes go, it wasn’t bad. Lucy needed to design a lighting scheme to show off the backdrops Claudia was creating.
Lucy had been roped into stage crew when the spotlight blew halfway through the fall musical a year earlier. She’d been in the audience to admire Claudia’s set design and saved the day with duct tape and ingenuity.
She passed her friend the iPad as cheerily as possible.
“I had a few thoughts,” Claudia said, starting to swipe at the screen. A deep V formed on the bridge of her nose. She always got this intense look on her face when she was thinking about art. “Me and Stew and Cate want to transform the gym into a speakeasy.”
Stew and Cate were the other two-thirds of the set-design triumvirate and the only other people at Eaton who made Lucy feel truly welcome.
“So we’re thinking dark, moody lighting,” her friend said.
Lucy rested her shoulder against Claudia’s so she could hold the iPad while Claudia swiped through a clipboard of images. Lots of gangsters in pinstripe suits hefting tommy guns, DO THE CHARLESTON! posters, feather boas, and the Empire State Building under construction.
“Could the budget stretch to a smoke machine?” Claudia asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to run the numbers. Dry ice would probably be cheaper—and just as effective.”
“You’re a genius, Lucy Phelps!”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far bu—” She paused mid-thought as her eye snagged on a small black-and-white photo at the edge of the digital board. “Can you make that bigger? Zoom in?” There was a rough edge to her voice.
As Claudia complied, Lucy cringed. She touched the screen with her forefinger, not believing what she was seeing.
In the center of a white-tie affair in some Art Deco ballroom, dressed exceedingly dapper, stood Nikola Tesla. In his hand was a tiny, oval-shaped object. A speck. You wouldn’t notice it unless you knew what you were looking for. It was the same shape as the object in Lucy’s backpack.
And if you squinted hard enough you’d see that the egg wasn’t in Tesla’s hand—it was floating above it.
Hot chills blistered beneath Lucy’s skin and adrenaline tightened every muscle in her body. The iPad scorched her hands like burning embers and the screen blipped to black. Yelping, she dropped the device onto the wooden floor. The screen cracked as smoke rose from the top.
“Damn,” exclaimed Claudia. “Hope you’ve got a warranty on that thing.” She poked at the smoking ruins. “Must be faulty wiring.”
“Must be,” Lucy agreed, but she wasn’t listening. She was transfixed, like a deer in headlights.
She had done this. Her adrenaline had spiked. It was her fault.
Was Lucy actually dangerous? Could she have hurt Claudia?
Before Lucy could react, her best friend was on the ground, trying in vain to collect the jagged shards of the shattered screen. Out of nowhere, the Heron girl dropped to her knees beside the sofa.
“Let me help,” she said, eyeing Claudia eagerly. Guess she’d found her conversation starter. Lucy would have smiled if she weren’t so petrified.
The skin turned rosy beneath her friend’s freckles. “It’s cool. I work here.”
“I don’t mind,” the girl replied. “Pay it forward, you know.”
Claudia’s eyes did a swift lap of the deserted café.
“If you insist.” A coy smile. “The dustpan is behind the muffin display.”
“On it,” the girl said with an equally coy smile.
“Thanks, um—”
“Jessica—Jess.” The Heron girl held Claudia’s gaze for a moment before launching herself toward the register. Right. Now that Lucy’s heartbeat was returning to a steady rhythm, she realized, “I should go.”
“What? No.”
Lucy tilted her chin in Jess’s direction. “Yes. Don’t want to salt your game.”
“There’s no game.” Her friend slapped her playfully. “She’s a customer.”
“I believe the lady doth protest too much.”
Claudia couldn’t conceal her delight. “But … what about your iPad?”
“Toss it. It’s toast.”
“Literally.” They shared a grin. “I still have another hour on my shift, though,” Claudia said, frowning. “How are you gonna get home?”
“I can call Cole.”
Claudia was about to say something else when Jess returned, dustpan in hand, flashing her an inviting grin. Lucy chugged the remnants of her latte and grabbed her book bag.
“Text me later!” Claudia called after her.
The door to the café clicked shut and, to her chagrin, Lucy realized she couldn’t text Cole even if she wanted to because she was still phoneless. But Lucy didn’t want to. Not after she’d nuked her iPad. She could use the long walk home to devise an excuse for how another expensive piece of technology had bitten the dust.
The breeze outside was summerlike but she hugged her jacket closer.
How long before Lucy short-circuited herself?