Suspicious Minds (Stranger Things Novels #1) - Gwenda Bond Page 0,9
see their faces easily; she always pictured the boys who’d been killed as their high school yearbook photos. Smiling out, black-and-white, trapped.
Andrew was on a student deferment, but she knew he felt nervous about graduating the next spring. The only talk they’d had about it indicated he would enroll in grad school, and stay in school perpetually as long as he needed to.
“It’s so awful,” Terry said, loathing the understatement. Some things were terrible enough that trying to describe them in words never seemed to work.
Andrew nodded and kept listening to the news.
Terry thought about her final moments with Dr. Brenner. She had convinced him at last, in some way she didn’t fully understand, to classify her as a “high potential.” The rest of the sessions would take place off-campus in a dedicated government lab. He’d conceded it was important research, on the cutting edge. Exactly what that meant, she still had little idea. She had to be back at the psych lab in three weeks, from where they’d ride to the outside facility each week thereafter.
As long as it doesn’t interfere with my studies, was all she’d said. But, inside, she’d glowed like a star shone in her chest. Proud.
She’d have to keep this quiet around Becky. Her sister didn’t soak up the same lessons from their dad. When Terry would write letters about the war and send them off to their congressmen, Becky said it was better to know now that people like them had to work hard to survive, rather than be pumped full of hot air thinking they could change the world for the cost of a stamp. Maybe Becky would never have to know what Terry was doing at all.
“I just…I don’t know how we can trust the government anymore,” Andrew said. “They’re supposed to work for us.”
“Preacher to choir. I know,” Terry said. She reached over and lowered the volume on the radio. “They did the moon, too, though.”
“Science did that. JFK told them to do that,” he said. “All they do now is send more of us to die.”
Terry decided not to fill him in on who precisely was running these experiments yet. Scientists from the government. It might give him a stronger reason not to support her involvement, and she didn’t want to fight about it. Her mind was made up.
“I’m getting popcorn and a hot dog,” Terry said. “Possibly a slushie.”
Andrew shot her a wink. “Now you’re talking, big spender.”
1.
“They make me feel like I’m not going because I’m some kind of goody-two-shoes,” Terry said. “That isn’t it.”
Andrew pulled her back over to sit down on the tangle of sheets on his messy bed in the corner of his messier bedroom. “Keep your voice down. They’ll hear you. You could come along…if you weren’t being too good to skip school.”
Terry mock-pushed his shoulder. “You could always stay with me and be my kind of goody-goody.”
“But I’m not allowed in your mad science experiment,” Andrew said, grinning at her.
“There’s also class,” Terry said. “Becky already paid the tuition. Aren’t you worried about skipping out on yours?”
Intersession term was about to start and they’d both signed up for two-week classes. Terry’s was something about pedagogy techniques and Andrew’s a philosophy seminar.
“I’m worried about life passing me by,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
Terry could never forget that screwups on her part would impact Becky, who felt responsible for her now. Andrew was more spontaneous and also a little spoiled—he’d never been in any trouble someone wouldn’t step in to get him out of. But they believed in the same things, even if they approached them differently. That counted for more than their differences.
“I do have to go back to the psych lab this week,” she said. “So I can’t.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go back?”
“Yes, and that’s why I have to.”
“Babe,” he said, her hands in his, “everyone will be playing at this. You can’t miss it.”
“I barely convinced Dr. Brenner to let me in. I can’t run the risk of getting kicked out before it even starts.”
“Okay.” He touched her cheek. “I wish you were coming, though. I’ll miss you.”
From the other room, a man’s voice called, “Hurry up, we’re leaving in fifteen.”
The voice belonged to some guy named Rick, who had oily hair and made Terry’s skin crawl. He owned the van the five of them were driving to some town no one had ever heard of in upstate New York. Woodstock. It sounded made-up.