You were babbling on about Huron and some Rones. They’re evil or something,” Tim said, trying to keep pace with Nick up the canyon steps.
Swish. The shed door automatically opened.
Nick sighed. “OK, fine. I keep hearing this, I don’t know, voice. Something about a city—I don’t know.”
Tim stopped. “It’s true. You’re insane. Just took a while to go full blown.”
Nick stepped through the shed door.
Beep, beep.
Welcome Nick Lyons, the computer recognition system fired up. Just above the shed door was a cylinder-shaped sensor programmed to recognize and introduce every person that stepped through the doorway. Except this particular one added its own flair.
Nick, the computer recognition system announced. The believer of all things. Once, when Nick was five years old, he believed with all of his heart that people could fly. More specifically, he believed Tim could fly. So there he was, twelve stories high, holding a very scared Tim. That’s when Sonya Lyons let out a maternal shriek and lunged for Nick. “In-the-Nick-of-time” became a popular catch phrase in the Lyons’ home.
“I hate that thing,” Tim groaned. “Turn it off.”
“Can’t. Daniel hid the shut off switch.”
Nick’s uber intelligent friend, Daniel, had taken the standard computer introduction systems found in most suburban houses and demonized it. Somehow he tapped into everyone’s social utility sites, email accounts and the FBI system to give what he called a full and honest representation of the individual.
“Bet you can turn it down.” Tim leapt to the workbench and swept his hand around the edges.
Swish . . . swish. The door slid open.
Entering Caroline Wendell. One of the three Wendell sisters hailing from the refugee camp, continued the computer recognition system.
“He-llo,” Caroline greeted them in a breathy tone. She wore her usual print flower dress and horn-rimmed glasses, which was steamed up by a ceramic bowl teetering in her clutches. “I made food for the after party. Mashed potatoes.”
People only like Caroline because she can cook, from scratch, said the computer introduction system.
“I wish we could shut that off, Nikolas,” Caroline said.
A rare commodity in this century. And for only a fourteen-year-old, she is a fantastic cook. Chocolate chip cookies after school, pie on Sundays, and a large bird called turkey for Thanksgiving. If boys won’t fancy her for her looks, they’ll fancy her for her key lime pie.
“The English accent just makes it more insulting,” Caroline said.
Swish . . . swish.
Entering Brandy Wendell.
“It’s so making my hair limp.” Brandy held a large, metal platter covered in aluminum foil. “Caroline? Where do you want your murdered cow?”
Brandy couldn’t be more different. Being the youngest sister, she hates to cook. Brandy claims that it keeps her from her number one love: looking cute. In defense, Brandy also explains that cooking keeps her from talking with her friends, all 372 of them to be exact. Some people collect stamps; Brandy collects people.
“Caroline,” said Brandy. “Your roast?”
“You made a roast?” Tim said to Caroline.
“Yes, I did, Tim. It’s a recipe I’ve wanted to try out for a while.” Caroline shoved a non-functioning radio aside and set down the mashed potatoes.
“For an after party?” said Tim.
Brandy called out, “Caroline? The murdered cow?”
“Next to the other thingamajig.” Caroline took off her glasses to wipe them.
“Microwave,” Nick offered.
“Oh. Is that a microwave? Neat,” Caroline said.
“Oh. My. Gawsh. The smell of animal death—it’s so in my sweater.” Brandy plopped the roast down next to the microwave and quickly unbuttoned her cardigan. “OK. Angora. Six thousand dollars off the rack—not that I actually paid for it.”
“Where you get your clothes is a mystery,” said Caroline. “We live in a refugee camp, you know.”
“Daniel,” said Brandy.
“Where does he get your clothes?”
“He has his sources,” said Brandy. “It’s all I can get out of that boy. Anyway, it’s not like I ask where you get all your roast beef and pies.”
“Pies!” Caroline put her hand to forehead. “Oh, dear. I forgot the pies.”
“OK. Nick,” Brandy said. “I expect a full on promotion to your little inner sanctum here. Spent all morning getting the word out for your show. Most of them said ‘no’ to the show ‘cause of the last incident, but ‘yes’ to the after party.”
“What will I do? I need those pies,” Caroline said.
Brandy rolled her eyes. “Call Haley and tell her to bring them already.”
“Demonstration,” Nick said.
“What?” Brandy said.
“It’s not a show,” Nick corrected Brandy, pointing to the machine. “This is a scientific demonstration.”
“Yeah,” Brandy said. “When towers of smoke and flame are involved, it’s a show.”
Clop . . . clop .