“Hunter! Emily!” Mom called up the stairs. “We’re going to be late for the meeting if you two don’t hurry up. The car is nearly defrosted.”
“Beauty can’t be rushed, Mom,” I reminded her from my bedroom desk, fully expecting my sister to be practicing her usual monopoly of the bathroom mirror for another couple of minutes. I needed that time to finish getting an e-mail written and sent out.
“Nice try, but this ‘beauty’ is all ready to go,” Emily announced from my doorway, bundled up for winter, but still looking stylish. “What’s holding you up? You’ve been holed up for the last hour.”
Ignoring the question, I stood while giving my e-mail one last read over.
Emily took the opportunity to sneak up next to me and spy out my desk’s current “paper jungle” for herself. “Research notes?” she asked, sounding surprised. In a lowered, mocking voice she added, “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “I’ve just been going through Dad’s research. You know, for all the mistakes he made, he also made some pretty amazing discoveries about how the Code of Life works. I’ve been passing along the highlights to Stretch for the last week or so.”
“Yeah?” Emily asked. “Any progress on that front?”
“A little,” I replied. “At least it’s given us something in common to talk about again. He seems to like the intellectual stimulation. But I think this next piece is going to blow his socks off! Want to see?”
Intrigued, Emily nodded and glanced at her watch. “Better make it quick though. I give us thirty seconds before Mom leaves without us.”
I quickly scrolled back up to the top of my e-mail message to where I’d inserted a black and white photograph.
“That’s the Author’s mark,” Emily said, immediately recognizing the identifiable three Vs. “But why is it all…smooshy?”
The grainy photo showed a series of irregular blobs connected by dark veins of lines, creating an undeniable resemblance to the Author’s mark—even if it was a “smooshy” one. If I hadn’t known what it was, I might have seen it as some kind of stained-glass window that had melted.
“It’s a micrograph of the proteins designed to hold our body’s cells together,” I explained.
“Micrograph? Proteins?” Emily looked impressed at my depth of proficiency on this subject. “You got this from Dad’s notes?”
“No, I found it online,” I said, showing her the journal’s Web-site where I had found and copied the image. “Dad’s notes in his Author’s Writ talked about a theory of how the Code was an integral part of every living thing. When I mentioned it to Rob the other day, he suggested I check the science journals. That’s when I came up with this gem.”
“Impressive work for a former slack-off,” Emily said in a round-about compliment. “Think it will be what finally convinces Stretch that the Author is real?”
“Probably not,” I said honestly. “But the way I see it, convincing him has never been my job anyway. I’m just planting another seed.”
Timed perfectly to Emily’s prediction, the front door could be heard swinging open and Mom shouted up the stairs, “Last call! I’m putting the car in reverse and driving away. So unless you plan on walking….” The front door closed.
I clicked the Send button, grabbed my coat and Writ and followed Emily downstairs and out into the wintry weather that had blanketed Destiny.
The car was already backing out into the street as we raced across the snow-covered lawn to wave Mom down. Even though I got there first, I let Emily “steal” the front passenger seat from me. After all, she was the first-born. That and getting to share the backseat with Trista when we picked her up wasn’t such a bad deal either.
“Playing it a bit close tonight, aren’t we?” Mom asked as we finally drove off. “I’m sure Kim could run through another training session on ‘timeliness’ if you wanted.”
She was referring, of course, to Mr. Bungle and his infamous session involving egg-timers, dodge balls and floor wax—a strange but effective demonstration on the Code of Life and always being prepared. Tonight’s weekly Codebearer meeting at the Bungle’s promised to be equally as memorable and challenging.
I was still amazed by how eager both Mom and Emily had been when Rob’s dad first approached us with the idea of joining their newly formed Codebearer home group. After returning from their traumatic introduction to Solandria as hostages, Mom and Emily naturally had a lot of questions about the Shadow, the Author, the Codebearers, and about where Dad was now. I did my best to answer, but was more than grateful for the assistance.
We were just one of a handful of families the Bungle’s now hosted at their house each Tuesday night. Each member was different from the next—young, old, newbie, veteran—but we all shared one thing in common: our deep desire to learn about the Author and his ways. There was something so refreshing about being around others who, though different, understood you and also challenged you.
One remarkable development in our group was the addition of none other than Cranton. When he finally helped set the record straight on our involvement in the school fire, he was promptly expelled from the school district for his part. That was a big blow to Cranton’s grandmother, Gabby, who was already struggling to care for this troubled teen. When Rob learned of the expulsion, he somehow got the crazy idea to reach out and offer Cranton and his grandmother help in finishing off Cranton’s schooling from home. Homeschooling wasn’t exactly a popular idea with Cranton, but Rob’s parents embraced the challenge of incorporating another kid into their family life, and he eventually went along with it. Naturally, Gabby was delighted to discover the Bungle’s home group and over time convinced Cranton to come along too.
Considering all of the amazing twists and turns my life had taken of late, it was peaceful just watching the snow lightly falling outside the car window, transforming Destiny into a city of white. Picturing the pure whiteness of the ground as a blank page, I imagined the Author sitting down, thoughtfully dipping his pen and preparing to write another chapter. Who knew what he might write next? Some of the plot might be difficult, some of it might be too mundane for me to even notice developing, but all of it would be good. Never wasting what might have come before, I knew he would continue weaving every line together toward his story’s eventual climax—another new beginning.