startled.
Hollis waved too, relieved that this misunderstanding was about to be peacefully resolved. Whatever severe and unpleasant discipline his stepfather was about to impose was preferable to being riddled with bullets by some high-strung new recruit of a porter. But instead of hurrying over to take charge, Jefferson Castor stayed frozen in place. The funny way he stood, motionless and trapped, long arms caught midswing, reminded Hollis of the time Miss Betzengraf caught Rob stealing the answers to a history test. It seemed like his stepfather was going to duck back into the office, but then he unfroze and walked toward them, regaining his usual confidence with each step.
“Sir,” Hollis said.
“Dad.” Rob jerked his thumb toward the porter. “Tell this rookie where to stick it.”
Jefferson Castor walked right past the man and took Rob roughly by the shoulder.
“Why aren’t you in class?” he asked. The porter snickered.
“The Pea—Miss Betzengraf’s sick,” Rob said quickly.
Hollis cleared his throat, desperate to shift attention from Rob’s lie. “Is something wrong with the stabilizer?”
“What?” Castor said sharply, taking his hand off his son. “Oh.” His tone softened. “That was nothing, Hollis. Routine turbulence. And you should be in class, too.”
Hollis bowed his head, thinking of his mother’s threat to have the Pea tutor him personally. Getting caught skipping on the first day was pathetic. Castor fixed his stony gaze on the porter. His lip twitched once, then he flicked his chin toward the office and the man slunk away.
“I’ll deal with him. You get to class.” He smiled warmly, an entirely different person from the angry father he’d been a moment ago.
“Yessir,” Rob said.
“I’ll be working late tonight, boys. But I’ll be receiving a full report about your behavior, and you’ve already dug yourselves a hole.” He paused to scowl at Delia, who lowered her eyes. “So do your best to fly straight.” Even this threat had a softened edge. It sounded like a casual suggestion.
“Yessir,” Rob said again. Hollis kept quiet. He’d made up a secret rule on the very day Jefferson Castor became his mother’s new husband: his stepfather couldn’t tell him what to do or how to act until Hollis started calling him Dad. Behavioral corrections were for Rob alone. They had never discussed this rule, but for reasons that Hollis didn’t quite understand, his stepfather seemed to agree.
Castor spun on his heel and strode back toward the office. Through the half-open door, Hollis saw the porter talking to two other men.
“All due respect,” Delia said as Castor shut the door, “but did he seem strange to you?”
“All the time,” Rob said.
“Listen,” Hollis said. “There’s something else.” The incident seemed like his cue to share another peculiar moment, so as they walked back to the ladder he told them about the phone call just before the launch, how it had darkened his mother’s mood, how the captain had explained it away.
“That settles it,” Rob said with a single clap. “This sightseeing trip has officially become an investigation. If we’re gonna get to the bottom of this, we need a plan.”
Hollis was wary of the excitement in his stepbrother’s voice. They had already pushed their luck. His head throbbed where it had smacked the dormitory wall, and his right temple began to pulsate in time with the echoes of the chamber. The feather bed in his blessedly nonreeking stateroom loomed soft and inviting in his mind. The mere idea of crawling beneath its covers and closing his eyes seemed to bring a measure of relief.
“Name one time you’ve ever made a plan that worked, Rob. Or done anything besides get us in trouble.”
“Come on, Hollis, this is different,” Delia said. “This is something.”
Hollis rubbed his temple gingerly and winced. “Everything’s something with you.”
6
LUCY DAKOTA called her chronic headaches tiger
Hollis waved too, relieved that this misunderstanding was about to be peacefully resolved. Whatever severe and unpleasant discipline his stepfather was about to impose was preferable to being riddled with bullets by some high-strung new recruit of a porter. But instead of hurrying over to take charge, Jefferson Castor stayed frozen in place. The funny way he stood, motionless and trapped, long arms caught midswing, reminded Hollis of the time Miss Betzengraf caught Rob stealing the answers to a history test. It seemed like his stepfather was going to duck back into the office, but then he unfroze and walked toward them, regaining his usual confidence with each step.
“Sir,” Hollis said.
“Dad.” Rob jerked his thumb toward the porter. “Tell this rookie where to stick it.”
Jefferson Castor walked right past the man and took Rob roughly by the shoulder.
“Why aren’t you in class?” he asked. The porter snickered.
“The Pea—Miss Betzengraf’s sick,” Rob said quickly.
Hollis cleared his throat, desperate to shift attention from Rob’s lie. “Is something wrong with the stabilizer?”
“What?” Castor said sharply, taking his hand off his son. “Oh.” His tone softened. “That was nothing, Hollis. Routine turbulence. And you should be in class, too.”
Hollis bowed his head, thinking of his mother’s threat to have the Pea tutor him personally. Getting caught skipping on the first day was pathetic. Castor fixed his stony gaze on the porter. His lip twitched once, then he flicked his chin toward the office and the man slunk away.
“I’ll deal with him. You get to class.” He smiled warmly, an entirely different person from the angry father he’d been a moment ago.
“Yessir,” Rob said.
“I’ll be working late tonight, boys. But I’ll be receiving a full report about your behavior, and you’ve already dug yourselves a hole.” He paused to scowl at Delia, who lowered her eyes. “So do your best to fly straight.” Even this threat had a softened edge. It sounded like a casual suggestion.
“Yessir,” Rob said again. Hollis kept quiet. He’d made up a secret rule on the very day Jefferson Castor became his mother’s new husband: his stepfather couldn’t tell him what to do or how to act until Hollis started calling him Dad. Behavioral corrections were for Rob alone. They had never discussed this rule, but for reasons that Hollis didn’t quite understand, his stepfather seemed to agree.
Castor spun on his heel and strode back toward the office. Through the half-open door, Hollis saw the porter talking to two other men.
“All due respect,” Delia said as Castor shut the door, “but did he seem strange to you?”
“All the time,” Rob said.
“Listen,” Hollis said. “There’s something else.” The incident seemed like his cue to share another peculiar moment, so as they walked back to the ladder he told them about the phone call just before the launch, how it had darkened his mother’s mood, how the captain had explained it away.
“That settles it,” Rob said with a single clap. “This sightseeing trip has officially become an investigation. If we’re gonna get to the bottom of this, we need a plan.”
Hollis was wary of the excitement in his stepbrother’s voice. They had already pushed their luck. His head throbbed where it had smacked the dormitory wall, and his right temple began to pulsate in time with the echoes of the chamber. The feather bed in his blessedly nonreeking stateroom loomed soft and inviting in his mind. The mere idea of crawling beneath its covers and closing his eyes seemed to bring a measure of relief.
“Name one time you’ve ever made a plan that worked, Rob. Or done anything besides get us in trouble.”
“Come on, Hollis, this is different,” Delia said. “This is something.”
Hollis rubbed his temple gingerly and winced. “Everything’s something with you.”
6
LUCY DAKOTA called her chronic headaches tiger
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