Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Once I was inside, I kicked off my sneakers and went into the front room. The size and layout was similar to the sitting room in Anderson’s apartment, but the only piece of furniture in it was a blue beanbag chair.
I took a seat and played some music on my phone to break up the silence. An internet search for the scientist who’d written that journal produced plenty of information, and I started to read an article from the local paper.
But my mind kept wandering to another home just a few blocks away, where Anderson Chen was living a life very different from mine.
CHAPTER 8
ANDY
When I arrived at work shortly before seven the next morning, Sam was already there. I was still embarrassed about what had happened the night before, but he was all smiles. He raised a carrier with two paper cups and said, “I brought tea, since we didn’t get to it last night.”
I thanked him as I unlocked the doors, and he went inside ahead of me and flipped on the lights. When we got to the office, he went straight to the journal and settled in on the couch with it. “I read up on Dr. Mercanti when I got home last night,” he told me. “It turns out he died three years ago, in a fire that destroyed his lab. According to the newspaper, the cause of the blaze is unknown.”
“What was he working on?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but his areas of expertise were genetics and biochemistry.”
I didn’t understand why he was so interested in the journal. The only reason I could think of was because he was bored to death in the archives, and getting to do a bit of detective work made the job more interesting.
Sam studied it intently for the next hour. I was sure I’d have to tell him to get to work when his shift started, but a chime sounded on his phone at a minute before eight. He got up and returned the journal to my in-box before flashing me a big smile. “I’ll be in the stacks if you need me.”
I nodded and watched him leave my office. As usual, his dark blond hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and he was wearing what I’d started to think of as his uniform—jeans, sneakers, and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt over a T-shirt. The outfit was so blatantly wrong for an office environment that it came across as a declaration—he might work here, but he’d never conform.
A part of me secretly envied his rebelliousness. All my life, I’d tried so hard to blend in, even before my awful superpower showed up. At that point, all I’d wanted was to disappear. If only I’d inherited my mom’s power. It would have been great to make it impossible to notice me.
When Sam returned to the office a couple of hours later, he raised a brow and said, “No offense, but your musical taste sucks.”
“I’m on hold and have the phone on speaker. This is what they’re forcing me to listen to while I wait. I’ve been trying to get through to the science division for the last two hours.”
“Why isn’t anybody in the office?”
“They are. Every time I try calling back, they answer with, ‘Science division, please hold,’ and then they never come back on the line. They’ve done that to me six times already.”
“Maybe you should go see them in person.”
I got up and hit the button to disconnect the call. “I was just thinking that. It’s only three or four blocks from here.”
As I carried the journal to the funky old copy machine in the corner, he said, “You mentioned you need to authenticate the journal. What does that mean, exactly?”
“There’s no name on it. Right now, all I know is that it was in Dr. Mercanti’s lab, not that he actually wrote it. I need verification on who the author was before I can enter it into the system.”
After I photocopied the first five pages, I returned the journal to my in-box and slipped the papers into a large, manilla envelope. Sam watched what I was doing and asked, “Aren’t you going to take it with you?”
“No. As far as I can tell, the first few pages don’t contain anything that would require a high security clearance. I’m not sure that can be said for the journal as a whole.”
“Can I come with you?”
“Why?”
“Because field trips are fun.”
“Sure, come along.” I figured Sam might actually have better luck getting someone to help us than I would. He was charismatic, outgoing, and hard to ignore. None of that could be said for me.
I locked the doors behind us on the way out, and as we headed to the elevator he asked, “Can we get iced coffees?”
“We’re supposed to be working.”