Crow Flight Read online

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Gin.” Her voice rang out as she walked in, heels clicking on the wood floors.

  The door to their dad’s study opened and he stepped out. “My girls are all here!” He hugged each of them, Chloe stepping away quickly before he could get dry erase marker on her dress.

  Their mom went to shower, their dad turned on the news, and Chloe hauled in a huge duffel bag of dirty laundry, then set a few packages under the tree, all wrapped in shiny blue and orange paper with big silver bows. She opened one of the Styrofoam containers of food—pork vermicelli—and picked at the bean sprouts.

  “So how’s senior year? The last year of high school.” Chloe dug a plastic fork from the bag and speared a piece of grilled pork. “Sometimes I wish I was back there. No worries. Nothing that really matters, besides sports games and dances and lunch in the cafeteria.”

  Gin rolled her eyes. “School’s good. I sent in all my college applications.”

  “That’s fantastic. Now you can party.” Chloe opened another container—this time of summer rolls—and dipped her finger in the peanut sauce.

  “Maybe. I still have classes and everything.” And a boyfriend, she wanted to add. But she knew enough not to tell Chloe anything until she was ready to tell Chloe everything—Chloe would ask for endless details, and likely would tell their parents. “How about you—school’s good? And Jackson?”

  Chloe pulled her hair over her shoulder and sighed, smiling. “Jackson’s fabulous. He’s great, we’re great. And even though it’s college, and classes are important, school is more fun than you could ever imagine. Just wait for next year.” She slid out of her heels and sat at the kitchen table, feet tucked under her. “How are your models? Anything new?”

  “Kind of. I can show you later if you want.”

  Chloe took a bite of a summer roll. “Man, I’ve missed the noodle place. And yes, absolutely. Let’s do it soon, though, because I’m driving back to school tomorrow night. There’s a huge post-Christmas party, and you know that college only happens once.” She looked at her phone, which was buzzing. “It’s Jackson. I better take this.”

  As she left, her voice turned soft and happy. “Hey there. I miss you . . .”

  Gin wondered if that’s how she sounded talking to Felix. And it made her miss him even more.

  With their mom’s busy schedule, lots of the regular Christmas Eve festivities hadn’t happened, but both Gin and Chloe still got a set of Christmas pajamas: red tops with little reindeer and green striped bottoms, which they changed into before dinner. They all ate in front of the television—Planes, Trains and Automobiles was on, which was Gin’s dad’s favorite movie of all time—then nibbled on store-made Christmas cookies and sipped Swiss Miss hot chocolate. Gin’s mom fell asleep on the couch at eight, Chloe went off to talk with Jackson, and Gin’s dad went to his office.

  Gin called Felix, but as expected, his phone went straight to voicemail. Then she called Hannah.

  “Did the Timer model say to call?” Hannah answered.

  “Merry Christmas Eve to you, too,” Gin said. “And no. Nothing told me to call you. I decided to. Because I wanted to say hi.”

  “Sorry. It’s a reflex, I think. Are you really not using all your models? I was thinking about your outfit Friday and realized I had never seen you in it. So I wondered if your electricity went out and your laptop wasn’t charged and you had to figure it out on your own.”

  “I’m not, I promise.” It was kind of funny. Maybe she had relied on the models more than she should have. “I guess I don’t need them as much. Or maybe I’m having fun trying life without the aid of logic.”

  “Sounds very . . . unlike you.”

  “I’ll assume that’s a compliment. Anyway, want to come over tonight? We could make popcorn and watch a Christmas movie?”

  “I totally would, but Noah’s taking me to the midnight Christmas Eve service at his church. And before that, his family does a big fondue dinner.”

  “Fondue. Sounds romantic.”

  “Yeah, with his mother and father and brothers all there. And probably grandparents, too. Maybe cousins. At least it involves lots of melted cheese.”

  “Wow, the whole family. You guys are serious.”

  “We’ll see. But drink some cocoa for me, okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  After hanging up, Gin checked her phone again, hoping Felix had called or texted or emailed. But he hadn’t. So she wrapped her presents: a “Go” set for her dad, an Amazon gift card for Chloe, a gel-filled sleep mask for her mom. She set them under the tree, and pulled a blanket up over her mom, who was still sleeping on the couch.

  In her bedroom, Gin opened the window wide to the cold night. The street was colorful with all the decorations. The house on the corner had all of its trees spun round with twinkly lights, bright blue like the crows’ bells.

  She glanced at her laptop and had the sudden urge to look at the crow data.

  But that wasn’t something to do on Christmas Eve. Instead, she shut her window, pulled on Felix’s fleece—amazingly, it still smelled like him—and opened her copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, settling on one of her favorites, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle.

  Gin was awake long before anyone else, so turned the Christmas tree lights on, then brewed coffee and made cinnamon rolls, the type that came in a tube. By the time everyone else started to wake up, she had already eaten two cinnamon rolls and watched A Christmas Story, which was running all day on TV.

  Chloe came down first and dunked a cinnamon roll in coffee while staring at her phone. Their dad stepped out of his office mumbling something about abstraction and perspective. And their mom came down the stairs. She rummaged through the cabinet to find the biggest coffee mug they owned—a UVA mug Chloe had bought freshman year—and filled it to the brim.

  “Doesn’t anyone else want to sleep until three?” she asked as she sat next to Gin. “I thought that’s what you young adults did. Sleep in so late, your parents have to shake you awake.”

  “Gin doesn’t count.” Chloe was scrolling through her phone. “She’s more like a computer.”

  “Hey!” Gin threw a couch pillow at Chloe.

  “Just kidding, kid sister.” Chloe laughed, then grabbed one of the presents she had brought from under the tree. “Here, why don’t you do the honors and open this.” Chloe handed the blue-and-orange package to Gin.

  Inside was a fitted gray UVA t-shirt. “Thanks, Chloe.”

  “You’re welcome. Mom and Dad got them too. That way, you all can properly cheer for the Cavs on game day.”

  Their mom kissed Chloe’s cheek, and their dad pulled his t-shirt over his pajama top. “There,” he said. “I’m ready to start cheering now.”

  He pulled a brown paper giftbag from under the tree and gave it to their mom. “I know you’ve been busy with school and work, and so I wanted to get you something extra special.”

  Their mom shook the package. “Let’s see—is it an automatic breakfast maker? Or heated slippers that turn on when my car pulls into the driveway?”

  Their dad shook his head. “Just open it.”

  She pulled out a small box first and opened it to find a silver necklace with a blue and green pendant. “This is beautiful.” She held the necklace one way then the other. “What is it? It’s so unique.”

  “A refurbished computer chip. Isn’t it nice?”

  Chloe looked at the necklace. “Wow, Dad, that’s actually cool.”

  Her dad helped their mom put it on.

  “Thank you, honey,” their mom said.

  “But there’s more. Don’t throw the bag out yet.”

  Their mom pulled out an envelope, peeking slowly inside. “A gift certificate to the Red Rock Spa? For an entire weekend? You outdid yourself.”

  “You deserve it.”

  They kissed, and Chloe and Gin rolled their eyes but smiled at each other.

  Soon the rest of
the presents were opened. Besides stocking stuffers like ChapStick and lotion and bubble bath and candy, Gin got a hefty gift certificate to TigerDirect, where she purchased all of her computer equipment, along with a new sweater and a set of good headphones. Chloe got makeup and a pair of Frye leather boots.

  After the litter of wrapping paper had been picked up, their mom turned on football and started to heat up their Christmas lunch, fresh from a restaurant, while their dad started playing with one of his presents—a large set of old fashioned metal puzzles, which he planned to have solved within the half hour.

  They ate together at the table—roast beef and mashed potatoes on paper plates—then their dad turned on the Discovery Channel, and finally, Gin slipped back upstairs to email Felix.

  She used a simple graphics interface to customize an electronic card—Christmas lights came on across a small, bucolic town, and at the end, a group of crows flew by, cawing in time to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

  She sent the card and texted him, then played Speed Solitaire while waiting to hear back. But after an hour, when late afternoon had nearly faded to evening and there was still no word, she went back downstairs.

  Chloe was packed and ready to go. Their mom urged her to stay one more night, but Chloe had never been the sort of person to change her mind because someone else wanted her to.

  Gin walked Chloe out to her car. It was dark and cool, a few stars shining. The Christmas lights already felt less magical. Chloe put her coffee and purse in the car and turned to Gin.

  “Try to have a little fun, okay?” She looked at Gin, serious—at least as serious as Chloe could look. Her glossy lips were set in a straight line, and her eyes glowed, in part because of her sparkly pink eye shadow. “That’s my only advice. There’s plenty of time for work. Like, the rest of your life. You need to seize the moment and enjoy yourself. You know?”

  She hugged Gin once and climbed in the car. “By the way, I love your outfit. And your hair. Looks like your model thing is working.”

  She waved and drove off, taillights streaming down the dark street. Back in the house, Gin’s dad puttered around, putting stray cups in the sink and humming Christmas tunes, while her mom slept on the couch.

  Gin stared at her phone, willing Felix to call. But as promised, he didn’t.

  // Twenty-Seven

  Another day passed, then another, until Christmas break was over and school was starting. Gin still hadn’t heard from Felix.

  She had tried not to worry at first, but the more time that had gone by, the more frantic she felt. She emailed and texted and called, all with no response.

  If something bad had happened to Felix, she wondered how she’d even know. It wasn’t like his dad would call her, and she still had never met his mom. Or maybe—and this almost felt worse—he had had second thoughts about whatever it was that he and Gin had started, and he was trying to let her down easily. That seemed unlikely, except that Gin had no point of reference for how these things were supposed to go.

  Hannah, who had plenty of points of reference, wasn’t worried. She said that if Grant Gartner wanted to be unreachable, there was no way he’d let his son get in so much as a text. And Gin tried to believe it. But when she walked into school the Monday after break, uneasiness had settled into her stomach, coating her insides.

  She waited at her locker until seconds before the bell for first period, hoping Felix would suddenly show up by her side. But he didn’t. She went to his locker at break, even stopping by his third period class to see if he was there, which he wasn’t. And at lunch, she looked around the cafeteria, ignoring her food.

  “Look, it’s only the first day back,” Hannah said, in between mouthfuls of the soft pretzel Noah had bought her. “They easily could’ve gotten delayed. Or maybe they extended their vacation. They have so much money, they could vacation for the rest of their lives.”

  Noah, who’s hair had been freshly cropped over break, smiled reassuringly. “I bet he can’t wait to talk with you. He probably feels really bad about the whole thing.”

  Maybe they were right. Maybe there was an easy explanation for all of this, and when Felix finally could call, he’d go on and on about how sorry he was.

  Or maybe that wasn’t the case at all. Right now, the best anyone could do was guess.

  Gin could barely keep herself together in Computer Simulations 101—which Felix did not attend—and when the bell finally rang, Gin went straight to Ms. Sandlin’s desk.

  “Is Felix marked absent today?” she asked. “Did his family call in?”

  Ms. Sandlin’s hair swung as she glanced at her computer. “Hmmm, I don’t have a message. What do teachers usually do, check with the office?”

  Gin nodded, and Ms. Sandlin called the office. “Okay, I see,” she said, then turned back to Gin. “It sounds like Felix’s vacation got extended. His parents said he’d miss the first week back at school.”

  “The first week?” Gin felt faintly sick.

  “That’s what it sounds like.” Ms. Sandlin was standing now, closing her laptop and gathering her papers. “But I’m sure you can keep the momentum going on your project. And given the progress you’ve already made, I don’t think this will negatively impact your work.”

  It took a second for Gin to realize that Ms. Sandlin thought she had been worried about the project. “Okay.”

  “I’ve got to take off for an appointment. Would you mind getting the lights when you leave?”

  After Ms. Sandlin was gone, Gin turned off the lights and stood in the dark classroom. A week was nothing. She could do anything for a week. Even stop thinking about Felix.

  But there was one major flaw with Gin’s plan: it was easier to decide not to think about Felix than to actually not think about Felix. She did her homework, and halfheartedly looked over her models, but mostly she tried to distract herself: she took walks in the chilly evenings, watched ridiculous television shows, organized and reorganized her room.

  All the next weekend, she checked her phone over and over, refreshing her email a thousand times. There was nothing.

  Hannah did what she could to help: she talked with everyone she knew, researched social media feeds, and looked at all sorts of vacation spots for the rich and famous, even calling a few to see if the Gartners were there. She didn’t find anything, but still reassured Gin that there was nothing to worry about.

  On the following Monday night, more than a week back at school and still no Felix, Gin could hear the uncertainty in Hannah’s voice. “Maybe something did go wrong,” Hannah said. “I mean, if they’re really in some isolated place, how would anyone know if anything happened, right?”

  “Exactly.” Gin felt something in her settle. At least if Hannah agreed this was strange, Gin wasn’t crazy.

  “Maybe you should look into it, you know?” Hannah said. “You’re good with puzzles.”

  The next day, right after school, Gin sat in her car in the high school parking lot and called Odin headquarters. She worked her way through a series of receptionists, until she finally reached Mr. Gartner’s secretary, who politely said that Mr. Gartner couldn’t come to the phone because he was tied up in meetings for the rest of the day.

  Gin shook her head, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “Wait, you mean he’s there? At the office? In meetings?”

  “Well, yes. Can I help—”

  “No, no, that’s fine.” Gin closed her eyes, trying to think. “I’ll call back.”

  She hung up the phone and tried Felix’s cell. It rang this time, but no one picked up, and eventually, it went to his voicemail.

  “Felix.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “I think you’re back. Call me when you get this. We have another check-in with Ms. Sandlin soon.”

  It was a curt message, but she’d already left messages about how she missed him, and if he was back in town, he likely had heard them all. He just hadn’t called.

  Her chest was tight,
her hands trembling. She didn’t know whether to be worried or angry or both.

  But she did know what she was going to do next. She started her car and left the school, taking one deep breath after another, steeling herself. Because she wasn’t going home.

  She was going to Felix’s.

  // Twenty-Eight

  Gin stood at the thick iron gate. It was securely locked, the tall brick fence looming above her on either side. For all she knew, security cameras had already captured her image. Anyone inside could know she was there.

  But she wasn’t going to think about that. She wasn’t going to think, period. Otherwise, she’d never do what she needed to do.

  She reached out of her car, held her thumb up to the fingerprint scanner, then waited. As the January air chilled her cheeks, she was suddenly sure this idea—this coming here, to his house—was a bad one. But slowly, the gate opened.

  Her stomach seemed to twist on itself. It was hard to breathe. She hadn’t expected it to work, and she stood there debating what to do next. It wasn’t like breaking and entering: Felix had added her prints to the list of allowable guests. Not that she had tried coming in before. Or ever planned to. But given the circumstances, it might pass as appropriate.

  And if she didn’t try . . .

  She drove forward, slowly, hands clenched around the steering wheel. The leafless trees and wintry lawns passed by too fast, and soon she was there, at the mansion. She glanced over to the gray barn and saw a flash of black feathers as a crow flew up to a perch. It steadied her. Of course the crows would be there.

  She stepped outside and shut the car door quietly, then walked up the brick steps. And with one shaky finger, she rang the doorbell.

  A maid Gin hadn’t seen before answered the door. The woman smiled politely, but concern flashed across her face.

  “Hi.” Gin tried to push her nervousness back down in her stomach. “I’m a friend of Felix’s. He hasn’t been at school, and I needed to get in touch with him. You know how it is. Everybody always expects to be able to reach anybody at any time.” She held her phone up, apologetically. “But it’s been more than two weeks now. And we have this big project we’re supposed to be working on. So I thought I’d stop by to check in.”