The Flight of the Silvers (Silvers #1)(110)
“Yeah. I see you. Stay there. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Two days ago, Zack had purchased six handphones from an Arizona vendor, all bare-bones models that were prepaid for a generous amount of usage.
On Wednesday afternoon, shortly after the van crossed into New Mexico, Hannah’s screen lit up with a chain of malevolent texts. The sender was only identified as A. Sonnet.
Hey Hannah Banana, Always-Needs-a-Man-a. I guess you found Jury in your pants.
He would have entered your knickers a hell of a lot quicker if I hadn’t messed with events.
In previous times, he was the pearl in your clam. You were the honey on his plantain.
Wherever we stayed, it was always the same. We’d all hear your screwings. Your melodious oohings.
It was not meant to be, unfortunately. He adored you, I assure you, but he always died before you. :(
You’d cry at the dirt in your little black skirt and you’d swear to us you loved him.
And yet within a week, we’d hear the mattress squeak.
The bump-bump-bump of a brand-new chump.
If only these men knew the real and awful you.
Rest assured I do, oh Hannah Banana.
:)
Now the actress paced the feet of the Power Boy, anxiously scanning every man in the crowd. She barely knew a thing about Evan Rander and already she hated him more than anyone she’d ever known. She hated him for singling her out, for chipping away at an already broken psyche.
While Amanda talked on the phone with Zack, laughing her radiant laugh, Hannah swallowed a high scream. As if her stalker problems weren’t bad enough, this voyage was quickly becoming a couples cruise, a romantic slow dance across the floor of the nation. The disparity of fortune killed her. It tortured her for reasons that were vain and petty enough to make her ashamed.
Soon Zack and Theo returned to the ground and rejoined the sisters. On the way back to the generator lot, Hannah clasped fingers with Theo. Despite her smile, her grip was tight and desperate. She hated herself for the plan she was hatching. She hated Evan for knowing her.
—
To Mia and David, the only thing better than having the Royal Seeker was having it to themselves. The moment they finished lunch, they dashed back to the van like secret lovers. Classical music played from the radio as they propped their legs on empty seats and buried themselves in nonfiction. David read Temporis in a Nutshell, an ironic title for an 594-page tome. Mia pored through The Annotated History of America, Volume IX (1912–1940). The cover was graced with a haunting old photo of a broken doll in rubble, a shot of post-Cataclysm New York.
Mia sneaked a quick glance at David over the top of her book. She could only imagine that the teenagers of the world would roll their eyes at what these two did in the back of vans, and yet recent events had forced her to wonder. Ever since she spoke up for him on Tuesday, David’s smiles for her grew a few shades brighter and he touched her arm every time he brushed past her. She didn’t think it meant anything until Hannah slipped her a furtive whisper in the hotel garage. You might have just started something.
Over the next three days, his affections simmered down to old levels, enough to stop her stomach pains. She had no idea what was going on behind that beautiful face of his. Maddeningly, Future Mia was no help at all on the matter. She could have ended the conundrum with a single spoiler, but chose to let her younger self twist in the wind. Mia had received time-traveling intel about Hannah and Amanda and Theo and Zack, but nothing about David. For baffling reasons, her future had yet to mention him once.
An advertisement on the outdoor movie screen suddenly caught her eye. She watched through the windshield as a trio of cartoon handphones danced atop a forty-foot tagline. TRIPLE-8 IS ALL YOU NEED TO FIND ANYONE IN AMERICA, ANY TIME!
Mia’s mouth fell slack with revelation. It had been an irksome catch-22 that she didn’t know the phone number for Information. Now that she had it, she had a chance to shed some light on the other mystery man in her life.
David glanced up as she dialed her phone. “What are you doing?”
She shushed him with a finger. “Hi. Brooklyn, New York, please. Peter Pendergen.”
Mia spelled out his last name, then listened to the operator with faint surprise. “Oh. Okay. Is that near Brooklyn?”
David crinkled his brow at her. He didn’t know how any of these people could tolerate holding phones to their ears. The electronic squeals and crinkles were infuriating to him, like a whistling teakettle covered in firecrackers.
She scrawled a phone number into her journal. “Okay. I’ll try that. Thank you.”
“Success?” David asked.
“No listing in Brooklyn, but there’s a Peter Pendergen in Quarter Hill, just north of the city.”
“Could be an old number,” David speculated. “Or it could be where his handphone’s registered.”
Mia bit her thumb in dilemma. “Can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t try calling?”
“I can think of several, but you have me all curious now. I say do it.”
She stepped outside, restlessly pacing beside the van as she dialed the number. Her heart skipped when someone answered on the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
Mia was surprised to hear a high young voice, a boy caught in the wavering chords of puberty. She wasn’t sure if she’d laugh or scream if she learned that Peter was her age.