Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(36)
Evening came so suddenly that it was not until they were in the restaurant adjacent to their hotel that Mark remembered he hadn’t eaten lunch. Dinner passed through his lips and into his stomach with a rapidity that caused his mother to raise a disapproving eyebrow. However, it was Heather’s grin that made him aware he’d dribbled barbeque sauce from the baby-back ribs onto his shirt.
“Sorry. Guess I was pigging out.”
Jennifer shook her head. “There’s not much guessing about it. No use bothering with a napkin.”
Just as he was about to deliver an angry retort, Mark felt Heather’s hand slide up onto his arm. Something about the gentle squeeze of her hand drained the anger from his soul. Her eyes caught him, pulling him deeply into their gentle brown depths. Those lovely brown laughing eyes took his breath, causing his heart to thunder in his chest so that a wave of dizziness threatened to sweep him away.
Then the moment was gone, swept away by the arrival of the waitress bringing the check. Before he knew what had happened, Mark found himself back at the hotel, alone in his room.
And, tired as he was, sleep was no longer an option.
34
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have the great pleasure of announcing the winning entry of the National High School Science Competition.” Dr. Laura Brannigan, professor emeritus at the University of California, Berkeley, the chairperson of the judging committee, paused as she held aloft a sealed envelope.
Heather’s chest felt as if someone had wrapped it in steel bands, the kind used to strap up wooden shipping crates. As much as she had tried to tell herself that it didn’t really matter if they lost, as the third and second place awards had been announced, she had come to realize what a mental liar she was. It did matter to her. It mattered a lot. Pressed close against either side, she could feel Jennifer and Mark gripping hands with hers.
Dr. Brannigan slid a letter opener along the seam of the envelope, extracting a single folded sheet of paper. She scanned the page and then, with a broad smile, she read it aloud.
“The winner of this year’s National High School Science Competition is the team from Los Alamos High School…”
Heather’s scream was matched by Jennifer’s and Mark’s yells of joy, mingled with those of their parents and a goodly number of supporters who had made their way from Los Alamos. Amidst the hugs and tears, somehow Heather found herself ushered up onto the podium beside Mark and Jennifer. As she looked out over the crowd, it looked like a sea of flashbulbs, reminding her of the lights reflected from one of those spinning disco balls. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her left hand, then stepped forward with Jennifer and Mark for the picture of the three of them holding the plaque, and then for several more official photographs with Dr. Brannigan and Dr. Zumwalt, their own Los Alamos High School principal.
By the time the congratulations were over and Heather found herself back at the hotel, hugging Mark and Jen and kissing her parent’s good night, she felt completely wrung out. Beating Jennifer to the bath, Heather let herself sink beneath the hot water, allowing her head to slip all the way below the surface so that the ceiling appeared to ripple above her.
My God, they had really done it. Popping back above the surface, she ran both hands over her hair, squeezing the water from it before leaning back and settling down once again.
A gentle knocking finally roused her. “Heather? Are you alive in there?”
“Sorry, Jen,” she said, stepping out and grabbing a towel. “I’ll be right out.”
“Okay. I was starting to wonder if I was going to get my turn.” Jennifer’s laugh sounded good. It had been a while since Heather had heard that laugh from her friend.
As Heather slid into her pajamas and crawled into bed, the thought of that warm laughter followed her gently into the land of dreams. She never felt Jennifer crawl in beside her.
Morning broke bright and clear, but the sense of unreality lingered, adding a rosy tinge to everything. Having the winning entry did not relieve them of the necessity of disassembling and packing up their project for return shipping. Heather found that several hours of hard work had the effect of restoring some of the feeling of normalcy to her life. By the time they turned the crates over to the shippers and headed out on the drive back to New Mexico, the only thing she felt was tired.
It was well past midnight by the time the Smythe and McFarland convoy rolled into their respective driveways in White Rock. When she had been a little girl, Heather’s dad had picked her out of the backseat, draping her over his strong shoulder, and carried her to her room on late nights like this. Tonight she really, really missed that. Still, tired as she was, a deep inner sense of satisfaction enveloped her. Her dad and Mr. Smythe might not have PhDs, but their kids could still kick a little ass in this intellectual snob-fest capital of the planet.
“Heather. Time for breakfast.” Her mother’s voice was like a distant beacon, calling her out of the fog.
“Mmm. Sure, Mom. Give me a minute.”
“That’s what you said ten minutes ago. You’ve got to get up if you’re going to make the ceremony.”
Heather sat up in her bed. “What ceremony?”
Anna McFarland smiled down at her. “The town is having a big ceremony over at the high school to congratulate the three of you on your award. The mayors of Los Alamos and White Rock will be there along with the press. Even a TV crew from Santa Fe is supposed to be there. You three are going to be famous.”