Signal Read online

  She slides down and asks, “Can you whistle?”

  I let out a sharp blast between my teeth, and Josie gives me a puzzled look, as if to say, How can I come when I’m already here? I scratch her ears and tell her she’s a good dog.

  Cam smiles and says, “Just do that to warn me if somebody’s coming.” She heads to the stream, and I pace back and forth, kicking stones and waiting. Every small sound startles me, and I keep whipping around, half expecting Ray to come up behind me. Each time, I wonder what I would do if Ray actually did show up. I have no idea.

  It’s weird: most days when Josie and I are on our run, we don’t see anyone else on the trail, except for the Dog People. Now all of a sudden the trail is like a major highway. First, four people come by on bikes. I don’t whistle to warn Cam, because these are obviously serious bikers. They’re wearing shiny, brightly colored, tight-fitting clothes, special shoes, and helmets. They pedal by with their heads down and I’m not sure they even notice me, so I figure they’re no threat to her.

  But then along comes a guy with a fishing rod, and he’s peering through the underbrush and I can see he’s trying to scope out what this stretch of the stream looks like, so I whistle real loud. He gives me a strange look because, once again, Josie is right there.

  That look makes me nervous, so I say, “I’m calling my other dog.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asks, real friendly and interested. “What kind?”

  Quickly I say, “Golden retriever.”

  “Nice dogs,” he says with a nod. “I used to have one. I’ll keep an eye out for it.” He keeps walking.

  After about ten more minutes, Cam returns from the stream, dressed in the clean T-shirt and the shorts I brought her. The shorts are too big, so she’s also wearing the belt I brought. The bandage around her head is gone, and I see the cut has closed up. Her hair is dripping and her face, legs, and arms are clean. It’s an improvement, for sure.

  But those green eyes of hers show up more now. They really are the greenest, glitteriest eyes I have ever seen. If a little kid drew an alien, it might have eyes like hers.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says. It’s not a question.

  I guess that means I should go, but it doesn’t feel right to leave her alone, not with Ray out there somewhere, looking for her. “Listen,” I say. “Why don’t you come home with me? I could hide you, and my dad would never know. He works all the time, and he’s pretty clueless, honest.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure if I told him, he’d help.”

  Cam looks alarmed. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anybody.”

  “All I’m saying is—”

  She interrupts. “The only help I want is with making the signal, and you and I can do that ourselves, Owen. Please? We don’t need anybody else. It’s too risky.”

  I hesitate. I’m worried about Ray, but I don’t want to tell her that and make her any more scared than she already is. She must think I’m still thinking about telling my dad because she adds, “Will your father believe I’m from another planet? Will he leave the police out of it, jump right in, and help us signal my parents?”

  I consider this. Dad didn’t share the fascination Mom and I had with life beyond Earth. He never came out and said he thought we were nuts or anything like that. But he didn’t join in our discussions or watch the same movies or read the same books we did.

  “No,” I admit.

  In a whisper she asks, “But you believe me. Don’t you? I can tell.”

  I look into her eyes and take a deep breath. “Yeah,” I say. “I believe you.”

  She looks so grateful I have to look away.

  “Out of all the people on Earth who could have found me, it was you,” she says wonderingly. “I don’t believe for one minute that was a coincidence. It was meant to be. Now that you’re on my side, I just know everything is going to work out.”

  I feel flattered, but a little shaken by her faith in me.

  We’re both quiet for a minute. Then Cam says, “Hey, Owen? What about your mom? You never mentioned her.”

  “Mom?” I say, taken by surprise. “She’d believe you, too, I think,” I add slowly. “But she died. In a car accident.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Neither of us speaks for a while.

  “Was she nice?”

  “She was great,” I say.

  Cam’s eyes look far away for a minute. Then she smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “You’re lucky,” she says.

  This seems like an odd thing to say. I must have looked surprised because she adds quickly, “I don’t mean lucky that she died. I mean lucky you had such a good mom.”

  Suddenly there’s a big lump in my throat. I quickly change the subject. “Look, I don’t like leaving you alone. Aren’t you scared to stay here by yourself?”

  “Yes,” she says in a small voice. “But I’m more scared of Ray catching up with me before I can escape.”

  Then she surprises me again by smiling and asking, “You know the big wheat field up there?”

  I nod.

  “It’s the perfect place to make the signal.”

  “Really? How come?”

  Cam shakes her head. “It’s too complicated to explain right now. If you can get the stuff we need and bring it here, it’ll be easier just to show you.”

  I’m intrigued by the idea of building a signal for alien visitors, but does she think I have high-tech materials like that lying around the house? “What kind of stuff?” I ask cautiously.

  “Fifty yards of clothesline,” she says. “Or something a little thicker. A four-foot-long board, a hammer, some nails, and a long tape measure.”

  I stare at her in astonishment. “That’s what you need to build a signal that will reach outer space?”

  She laughs. “Yup.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I get it. You’re kidding, right? This whole thing—it’s all a big joke.”

  Instantly, her expression changes and becomes serious. She looks me right in the eye and says earnestly, “No, Owen. Honest. That’s all we need. Just wait. You’ll see.”

  I want to believe her, and when I look back into those eyes of hers, I do. I repeat the list of materials to make sure I’ve got it right. “I’ll see what I can find,” I say.

  7

  MY DAD COMES HOME THAT EVENING AROUND eight o’clock. He puts together a sandwich in the kitchen, then joins Josie and me in front of the TV.

  “You already ate?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “I see we’re all out of tuna, so I’m having tomato and cheese. It’s not too bad with that spicy mustard on it. I guess I need to go to the store.”

  For once I’m glad my dad is such a haphazard shopper. There’s not much chance he’ll ever miss the food that I’ll be taking to Cam.

  I look at Dad and wonder what would happen if I told him about Cam. But I can’t. I promised.

  When a commercial comes on, Dad turns down the volume on the TV and says, “I saw on the calendar that you have your soccer physical tomorrow morning at nine-thirty.”

  “Oh, right,” I say. “I forgot.”

  “You can ride your bike there, can’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “And can you mow the lawn afterward? It’s getting pretty long.”

  “Okay,” I say. Our yard is a couple acres, so mowing it is not a quick job, but I don’t mind doing it so much now that Dad lets me use the riding mower.

  Cam is expecting me in the morning. We didn’t agree on an exact time, so I figure I’ll go see her as soon as my doctor’s appointment is over. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll mow the lawn later in the afternoon.

  “Great,” says Dad. “I think there’s gas in the mower.”

  I nod, and with that our conversation comes to an end. Now that I have a secret to keep, I can see the advantages of not having a father who’d say something like, “So, Owen, tell me about your day.” Tonight I’m grateful when Dad turns the volume back u
p on the TV and starts to watch.

  I decide to go into the room that’s going to be the den, if we ever get our act together and unpack everything, and look up campion in my guide to wildflowers. I find the carton marked “Field Guides” and bring the flower book back into the living room. It almost looks brand new. I never paid much attention to flowers before, I guess.

  “Looking for anything special?” Dad asks.

  “A flower I found on the trail today.” Which is actually sort of true. I look through the index until I find “Campion” and turn to the page. Next to the picture is a description and the Latin name. Then it says, “Alien. Roadsides, waste places. June–Sept.”

  So, Cam knew what she was talking about. I look up “alien” in the glossary. It says, “Foreign, but successfully established in our area by man, or as an escape.”

  I figure “an escape” is a plant that somehow travels from its native home and manages to survive where it ends up.

  And I see how her name is kind of perfect for a girl who got left on Earth by a spaceship. I think of her saying her name could have been a lot worse. Flipping through the book, I see she’s right. Some of the names are horrible, and they sure don’t sound like flowers.

  I make a list of the best, most disgusting-sounding ones I can find, and when I get into bed I have a big grin plastered on my face.

  In the morning, I rush like a madman to get to the doctor’s office on time, then have to sit in the waiting room for forty-five minutes before I’m called in.

  I meet Dr. Gupta, who checks me out and tells me I’m a “fine specimen,” which is a good thing, I guess, although it makes me feel like an exhibit at a school science fair.

  I’m pleased to learn that I’ve grown an inch and a half and gained almost ten pounds since the last time I was checked by my old doctor. The weight isn’t flab, as far as I can tell, so it must be muscle. Best of all, I’m approved for team tryouts.

  I leave the office and ride as quickly as I can through town and back up the highway to home, where I put some food and drinks for Cam in my pack. Josie and I stop at Mr. Powers’s store for another bag of Tootsie Rolls.

  After giving Josie a Slim Jim and me a jawbreaker, Mr. Powers turns the scanner down, looks at me, and says, “If you don’t watch out, you’ll rot your teeth eating all that candy. I’m proud to say I’ve still got all my choppers, which you’ll have to admit is pretty good for an old coot like me.” He opens his mouth wide to show me.

  “That’s good, Mr. Powers,” I say. “Don’t worry, the Tootsie Rolls aren’t for me.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Before he can ask me who they are for, I say, “But, hey, what about these jawbreakers you give me all the time? Won’t they rot my teeth, too?”

  He eyes me from under his thick white brows. “You saying you don’t want any more jawbreakers, is that it?”

  “Oh, no. I was just—”

  Mr. Powers interrupts with a roar of laughter, and I laugh, too, then make my escape to the trailhead.

  Checking my watch, I see it’s already almost noon. I pedal faster, and when I finally get to the deserted house, Cam is nowhere in sight. My heart flutters as I think of Ray. I put the pack filled with food on the table and call, “Cam? Cam, I’m here.”

  No answer.

  Oh man, oh man, oh man. Now my heart is racing like crazy, and I run through the kitchen and up the stairs with Josie behind me, and I’m imagining that I’m too late and Ray has come and taken Cam and—

  I burst through the doorway of the room where I first found her sleeping and there she is, lying on the bed, her face turned to the wall.

  “Cam?” I shout, filled with dread that she won’t move.

  But she does. She stirs, then hunches her shoulders and remains lying there, not looking at me.

  I grab her shoulders and turn her over, afraid that, once again, I’ll see blood on her face. But, no, thank goodness, her cut looks okay, better than yesterday, and I can see where she has put a fresh smear of first-aid cream on it. Those green eyes look up at me with no expression, but the rims look suspiciously red, as if she’s been crying.

  “Cam, what’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you answer me? You scared me half to death! I thought—”

  “It’s all right,” she says in a dull voice. “You don’t have to make excuses.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I say, “You mean because I’m late? I didn’t tell you yesterday because I forgot. I had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

  Cam sits up, very straight. “Of course you did.”

  She says this coolly and sarcastically. She might as well have said, Any idiot can see you’re lying.

  “I had a physical for soccer,” I explain angrily.

  She stands up, walks past me and down the stairs. Bewildered and angry, I follow her to the kitchen, where she busies herself unpacking the food I brought.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “Thanks for this stuff. You’ve been a big help. You don’t have to make excuses about wanting to ditch me.”

  “Ditch you? What are you talking about? I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Without looking at me, she holds up her hand, palm out, like a traffic cop. “It’s okay. I’m used to looking out for myself.”

  “Cam,” I almost shout. “Would you listen to me? I’m not ‘ditching’ you.” I pause, feeling completely furious with her. “There’s other stuff I have to do, you know, besides helping you. I had a doctor’s appointment and my dad told me I have to mow the lawn today.”

  She continues to examine the food and doesn’t answer.

  I sigh loudly. “Fine. Whatever. Don’t believe me. I have to go do the lawn now. I probably won’t make it back today, but I’ll come tomorrow morning for sure, okay?”

  No answer.

  “Okay?” I repeat, loudly and impatiently. Josie barks with alarm, but Cam still doesn’t answer.

  “You really are a pain in the butt, you know that?” I turn and leave the house.

  8

  I BIKE ALONG FURIOUSLY, OKAY, SO CAM tHINKS I’m ditching her. Fine. I won’t go back. That’ll serve her right! If that’s what she thinks of me, that I’d go back on my promise to help her, the heck with her.

  But then I realize that if I don’t go back, she’ll think she was right about me ditching her, even though I didn’t even think of it until she accused me. Now I have to go back, to prove to her that she was wrong, even though she deserves to get ditched for acting like such a jerk.

  She’s got me. I’m so mad I’ve been pedaling like a maniac, and I look back to see Josie panting and falling behind. I stop, park my bike, and walk over to the stream with her while she takes a drink. I sit down on a rock, take off my sneakers, and cool my feet in the water. When she’s had enough, Josie lies beside me and I rub her ears the way she likes.

  This feels as good to me as it does to her. The stream feels good, too, and the rippling sound is soothing. Gradually, I feel my anger begin to fade. And while I can’t put it into words exactly, maybe I understand why Cam acted so weird. Anyway, I put on my sneakers, get up, and pedal back to the foot of the hill. I climb it and walk across the yard and into the kitchen. Cam is sitting at the table, eating the crackers and cheese I brought.

  I blurt out, “Bastard toadflax!”

  I expect her to look puzzled or to laugh. But, as usual, Campion does something I don’t expect. She crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Hoary puccoon.”

  I can’t believe it. Not only wasn’t she surprised, but she came right back with one of the other gross flower names I found in the field guide last night. I pull the list out of my pocket and pick another.

  “Clammy Everlasting.”

  Quick as can be, she says, “Horny goatweed.”

  I’m amazed. I’m looking at my list, but she actually knows these names. I come out with my favorite. “Naked miterwort.”

  Saying it out loud cr
acks me up, and then we’re both laughing our heads off.

  When she can talk, Cam says, “Nipplewort.”

  This kills me.

  After a minute she adds, “Don’t forget mugwort, lousewort, and its close relative swollen bladderwort.”

  And we both lose it again. Finally, I scan the list, gasping for breath. “I think I’m out.”

  Campion smiles and says, “There are more, but we hit the highlights.”

  “Those are some rude names.” I wipe my eyes.

  She nods. “So,” she says, “you did some homework.”

  I smile.

  “Did you tell your father about me?” she asks then.

  “No!” I answer. “Why?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t think so. But I was trying to picture what you were doing last night. I guessed you were watching TV together.”

  I’d never considered that she might think about me when I was gone, or try to imagine what I was doing. “We were,” I say. Inside, I’m thinking that if she’s picturing a cozy scene with Dad and me chuckling about the show we’re watching, after confiding in each other about how our days went, she’s got the wrong family in her head.

  “I said I wouldn’t tell him about you, and I didn’t. Besides, my dad and I—we don’t—really talk.”

  She looks at me, waiting for me to go on, and I do. Maybe it’s because of those amazing green eyes, which show nothing but interest. Anyway, I start telling her how it is with my father and me.

  “I mean, we talk, like, ‘pass the butter’ or ‘I’ll be home at seven.’ But that’s pretty much it.”

  I pause, because it’s hard to explain. “I guess you could say that Dad and I are careful around each other since Mom died.” I shrug. “I’m used to it. The truth is, Dad doesn’t seem to have much to say. I mean, he goes to work and comes home and gets up and goes to work again. I swear, there is no way my life is going to end up like that.”

  Cam’s glittery green eyes are on me, waiting for me to go on, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

  Cam breaks the silence. “Sorry about being weird before,” she says quietly. “I got scared you weren’t coming back and I—I really need you to help me.”