Virals(32)

"My house on Sunday?" Jason was already headed to the door. "We can go over results and plan the presentation."

"Okay." Hannah and I responded as one. Jinx.

The day continued to drag. At lunch Hi and I met at our usual spot, out the cafeteria's back door and across the lawn, on a small stone bench. I ate a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. Hi worked on a veggie panini.

I was bagging my wrapper when I saw Jason walking our way.

"What the hey, Tor?" Hi murmured under his breath. "Popular jock approaching. I doubt he's looking for me."

"Relax."

"Tory, I just thought of something!" Jason called.

"First time for everything," whispered Hi.

"Shh. Jason's nice."

"Nice. Right. Watch, he won't even acknowledge me."

Flopping to the grass in front of the bench, Jason cocked his chin at Hi. "What's up, man?"

"Nothing, bro." Hi, playing it cool. "Chillin'." He leaned back, hands laced behind his head.

Jason refocused on me. "You've got an iPhone, right?"

I nodded, curious where this was going.

"Great! Download iFollow." He displayed the icon on his own cell. "It's a free GPS communications app."

"Okay." Sounded easy. "Do I need to join anything?"

Jason nodded. "Join the group: Bolton Lacrosse. Password: state-champs."

I installed, and joined. With me, the group had seven members.

"Hit Locator," Jason said.

I did. A city map appeared, with seven glowing circles bunched together at the school's address.

"See those dots?" Jason asked. "That's us. When we're logged in, our orbs will appear on the map wherever we go. Pretty slick, huh?"

"Definitely," I agreed.

I meant it. I intended to start a separate circle for my crew. But why did Jason want me to join his lacrosse group?

Jason pulled up the features page. "Now that you've linked in, we can text, chat, share documents, that kind of stuff. Exchanging project info will be a snap. Hannah's already in."

Ah. Schoolwork.

"Tory, not you too!"

Chance Claybourne could move so quietly it was almost creepy. I hadn't heard him approach.

"Not another information junky?" Chance stood behind Jason, a tut, tut expression on his perfect face. "Why do people persist with this 'new app' madness? Privacy is dead."

"You've got a cell too," Jason retorted.

"True." Chance produced a mobile probably hot during the Clinton years. First term. "My father wants me at a moment's notice, so I'm cursed with this vulgar device." A wink came my way. "Three missed calls this morning."

Chance's phone clearly lacked Internet capability, computer functions, or even an MP3 player. Hell, the thing didn't even have a liquid crystal display. It belonged in a museum.

"The current phone obsession is a disease," Chance said. "Everyone's gone mad, typing to themselves all day long like mindless robots."

Guilty. If I misplace my iPhone for fifteen minutes, I get the shakes. Call me a technology addict, but I feel naked without it. Hi looked downright offended.

"I've heard this rant before," Jason cracked. "You prefer painting messages on the walls of caves."

The bell ended further debate on the pros and cons of modern communication.

"Until the next." Chance rolled a wave as he and Jason ambled off.

"You're beginning to attract some real whack-jobs, " Hi said when the two were out of earshot.

"Mm-hm." On their own, my eyes followed Chance.

"At least they didn't blow me off. Gotta give them credit."

"Bro? " I teased.

"He caught me off guard." A touch defensive.

Heading inside, I shook the scene from my mind. We had a job to do soon. Perhaps a gruesome discovery to make.

Focus. Forget Chance Claybourne.

Just a few more hours to kill.





CHAPTER 23


Disembarking the Charleston-Morris ferry, we raced to our homes to change. The temperature and humidity were cranking again, and I looked forward to sliding into a T-shirt and shorts. Besides, ties and blazers aren't haute couture for digging up graves.

By the time the gang regrouped on the common, Mr. Blue's ferry was fast disappearing across the harbor. Coast clear. We hopped into Sewee and headed to Loggerhead.

The tide was out, so we couldn't take the shortcut through the sandbars. That added fifteen minutes, but Ben wouldn't risk grounding the boat. Not after his mishap in Schooner Creek.

Today we anchored off Dead Cat Beach. Shelton's idea. A western landing put us closer to Y-7's clearing. Equally important, we avoided any potential encounter with Karsten at the main dock.

I waded ashore, canvas duffel balanced on my shoulders. My second gift from Aunt Tempe. Admittedly, excavation tools are a peculiar present to a newfound niece. But my aunt, by all accounts, is a peculiar woman.

The gift scored a direct hit with me. Tempe seemed to get me without even trying. Better than Kit, that's for sure.

Once on land, we hunted for the main trail exiting Dead Cat. The boys were being helpful, carrying the buckets and other bulky gear. But I detected an undercurrent of impatience. They didn't want to be on Loggerhead, were taking me largely on faith.