The Search for Artemis - By P. D. Griffith Page 0,110

calm him down a bit. He had the training. He knew what he was doing. He just needed to have confidence that he could perform when the time came.

Riley glared at his friend unsurely before saying, “Anyways, I’ve got to meet some people in the Rec Center, but I’ll catch up with you later, all right?”

“Sure thing,” Landon replied. Riley then turned and headed toward the exit of the cafeteria, but after taking just a few steps down the aisle, Landon called to him. “Riley!”

Riley rotated his upper body until he could just see Landon still sitting at the table.

“Thanks,” Landon said.

Riley gave a slight nod before turning and continuing on his path to the used tray depository. Landon again sat alone in the cafeteria, still with the mission on his mind, but thanks to Riley’s words, he was starting to feel a bit less stressed about the situation. After what could have been three minutes, or thirty, of sitting deep in thought, Landon was startled back into reality when Celia slammed her tray of food down in front of him.

“What’s going on, bus boy?” she asked playfully as she took her seat across the table from him. “You’re looking a bit cerebral this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind,” he replied. “I’m sure you already know what I’m talking about.”

“Huh?” she asked through a mouthful of pasta. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t act like you don’t already know everything going on in my head.” Celia looked confused. “Our link,” he explained. “I’m sure you’ve already had a full download of everything going on in my brain even though you’ve been here all of two seconds.”

“Oh, please,” she said between bites. “I told you it doesn’t happen that often anymore. Its has gotten harder.”

“Harder, ha, so you do try and read my mind on a regular basis,” Landon returned. “Uh, are you late for something?”

Landon asked because Celia appeared to be woofing down her entire tray of food at an abnormally fast speed. He’d noticed before that Celia ate rather fast for a girl, but this was ridiculous. She seemed to be shoveling bite after bite into her mouth before she’d even swallowed the last. Within minutes, she’d cleaned her plate.

“Yeah, very late,” she answered through a full mouth.

“Oh.” Landon started to twist together another bite of his now-cold spaghetti. He knew he needed to eat everything on his tray to make sure he had enough strength for later.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to do your thing. Talk to you later.” Before Landon even could look up from his tray, Celia had risen from the bench and was making her way out of the cafeteria.

Following lunch, Landon went to the Library and holed himself up in his usual alcove on the fifth floor. He didn’t read anything or peruse the shelves—he wasn’t there for the books.

He sat in the large, tufted chair with his legs folded underneath him. Centering himself, he replayed every training session he’d had to date in his mind. He needed to remember every lesson, every technique, and every bit of information in order to prepare himself for the task that lay ahead. With every memory, his mind started to relax and before he knew it, he had drifted into a deep sleep. As he slept, a memory slipped into his dreams.

The night was cold. Darkness crept over the sky with only a faint orange glow from the mid-September sun hanging in the distant horizon. Four-year-old Landon was restless. His mother put him to bed an hour ago but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t go to sleep because he needed to know what happened next in Treasure Island. Mrs. Wicker had started reading it to him two weeks beforehand and continued through that afternoon in the park. Just as they reached the exciting parts with mutiny, treasure maps and pirates, Mrs. Wicker packed up their things to hurry home; she needed to get dinner on the table before Mr. Wicker returned from work. To make matters worse, Landon’s mom didn’t have enough time to read to him before bed. Now all Landon thought about was what happened next to Jim Hawkins and the crew of the Hispaniola. It was killing him.

He decided to put his pirate bandana on his head and then placed his plastic sword next to him and turned on the reading light beside his bed. Lying on his lap, the book sat open to the page