"That's my dad," I stare at the name, written in his scratchy tall letters. "That means…"
"He knew."
"He knew about the pixies?"
Nick nods, "But look at this."
Written in pencil scratch around all the names like a border or something, it says,Don't fear. Here there be tygers, I57.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"Is might know. It sounds familiar, doesn't it?" Nick says, but his eyes shade as he pulls out his cell phone.
"You're not telling me something."
"What?"
"You're hiding something."
"And how would you know that? You're psychic now?"
"Your cheek is twitching. I have this, um, this theory that your cheek twitches when you lie or you're hiding something. It's like you're trying to run out of your own skin."
He shakes his head, keeps punching buttons. "I don't know what to do with you."
I smile. "You could just tell me what you're thinking."
"Hold on," he says and then tells lssie what we found. She says something back and he hangs up.
"Well?"
He shifts his weight and slips his cell into a little nook between us. "She thinks it's a reference to the old medieval line, 'Here there be dragons.' It was used on maps and stuff to warn sailors away from dangerous places."
"I knew it sounded familiar."
"Mm-hmm."
"But that doesn't make sense."
"Why?"
I point at the first two words. "It says not to fear."
"And it's not dragons."
"It's tigers."
"Weird."
Betty comes to the front door and yells, "Are you two going to sit out there forever?"
I blush. "I should go."
"Yeah."
I step out of the car. The cold air bashes against me as I stuff the library book into my bag with all the others. I hoist the bag onto my shoulder, buckling under the weight.
Nicks jumps out of the car so quickly that I don't even notice it, and he's suddenly beside me, taking the bag off my shoulder. "Let me get it."
I am all for equal rights and everything, but it's pretty heavy. "Thanks."
"No problem," he says, walking with me to the porch where Betty's still standing, arms crossed over her nonexistent chest, smiling at us. Nick lowers his voice to a whisper. "Don't do anything stupid."
"You either," I whisper back.
Betty snorts as we clomp up the steps. "Well, Mr. Colt. Would you like to join us for dinner?"
"She's cooking," I warn.
Betty swats me with a dish towel. "Spaghetti. What can I do to spaghetti?"
Nick puts my bag just inside the door and actually looks scared. "That's okay. I've got a steak planned at home."
"Fine," Betty winks at him and then winks at me. Nick blushes. "I'll let you two say your good-byes."
"How embarrassing," I mutter.
Nick laughs. Dimples crinkle up the skin near his lips. I will not look at his lips. How can he never have used those? That's a crime against humanity right there.
"Bye," he says. "See you in school."
"Bye," I say, and he walks away. The sun is pretty much gone. The woods are dark, tall masses that lock the sky to the ground. Anything could be hiding there. I watch him get in the car. I watch him drive away. The whole time I expect something to jump out, grab him, and take him away, a blood tribute. I shake my head. The taillights disappear around a curve.
Betty's hand comes around my waist and I jump.
"You're letting the cold in," she says, and she shuts the door.
"So, John McKee's son has a ruptured appendix," Betty says as the water for the spaghetti boils.
I put forks on the table. The tongs of my fork touch an old water stain that looks like a cloud on wood.
"That's too bad."
"It's more than too bad," Betty grumbles. "It means that I might get called in. We're the only paramedics in town. We're the only ones who can handle anything big. The first responders are just the drivers. They need John or me to deal with the big stuff."
"So?"