“What are you even doing?” Del asked, stifling a snort of laughter. I was relieved to hear him laugh. Maybe Del wouldn’t stay unhappy with me forever.
“I’m checking to see if she has a concussion,” Nola answered curtly.
“I don’t have a concussion, Nola. I didn’t even—” I stopped talking when a small orange-striped kitten zipped past us, followed closely by Tucker.
“Tucker? Tucker!” I called after him. “Did you take that kitten from the bus station?”
“I was gonna put him back, Gypsy!” Tucker called over his shoulder. He reached down to snatch up the kitten, then he carried it back to where the rest of us were sitting. “I was only cuddling him for a minute. Then I blinked and I was in that shopping cart. It’s not my fault Cap’n Stormy hitched a ride. You’re the one who stopped time and took us both away.”
“Cap’n Stormy?” I repeated as Tucker plopped the kitten into my lap. I couldn’t help but smile when the tiny cat began to mew.
“Captain Stormalong Fuzzypants,” Tuck announced the name proudly. “I think it suits him. He’s got pretty fuzzy pants.”
“What if he’s a her?” Nola asked, stroking Cap’n Stormy’s silky tail.
“Don’t be dumb,” Tucker said. “Girls can be captains too. Right, Gypsy?”
“Right, Tuck,” I agreed.
From that moment on, Captain Stormalong Fuzzypants was a girl, and we had one more companion in our search for Grandma Pat.
The appearance of the kitten calmed everyone. It is impossible to stay unhappy or distressed when a super-soft ball of adorability curls up in your hands, closes its eyes, and purrs.
We all sat together in the bridal area. Samson took a turn petting the kitten. Then Del. When Del handed Cap’n Stormy to Nola, he said, “So, you live next door to the grandmother? Do these people’s supernatural powers rub off, if you hang around them long enough? I suppose you have some reality-crushing talent too.”
Nola automatically touched the melted sequins on her hat. “Trust me, I’m not a part of this crazy family. But I’ve got big plans of my own.” She passed Cap’n Stormy back to Tucker and hopped to her feet, striking a playful, pop-star pose. “Someday I’m going to sing in front of crowds of people and listen to them cheer.”
“She wants to see her name in lights,” said Samson.
Nola glued her fists to her hips. “Do you doubt me, Fire Guy?”
“Not at all,” said Samson. “In fact, I can put your name in lights right now.” My brother stood too, then he held up one hand and set it blazing. Using his fiery fingers, he made a quick series of motions in the air, leaving a lingering trail of orange embers that spelled out Nola’s name. Samson’s pyrotechnics only lasted for a second. When he was done, he blew out his hand like it was a giant match. Nola and I clapped. Samson blushed and took a bow.
I giggled. My moody-broody brother was showing off. Trying to impress a girl. It appeared to have worked too. Nola looked smitten. Her eyes still glowed from the light Samson had practically burned into her optic nerve.
Del shook his head, taking it all in. After a minute he turned to Tucker and said, “I wish I was a part of your family, little guy. I bet you can’t wait to turn thirteen and get powers of your own.”
“I don’t have to wait,” Tuck said, grinning. “I got my savvy early. Watch this!” Before any of us could stop him, Tuck scrunched up his face and farted.
Then he doubled in size.
“Yippee! I did it! I didn’t even have to get mad this time.”
Startled, itty-bitty Cap’n Stormy scrambled up and over Tucker’s enormous shoulder. Then she clawed her way down the back of his coat and jumped to the floor.
“Aw, man!” Del stared up at Tucker, slack-jawed and jealous.
It didn’t take much to get Tucker to shrink back down to normal size. We didn’t even have to give him any candy. A few plaintive mews from Captain Stormalong Fuzzypants did the trick. Soon Tucker was his regular small self again, cradling his new pet in his arms.
I looked at my watch. It seemed impossible, but less than two hours had passed since we’d left Grandma’s house—two hours by the clock. For me, it had been a whole lot longer.
“We’ve got to go get Grandma,” I told the others. “I don’t want her anywhere near the Larimer High School clock tower at midnight. I don’t even want her to be in the city.”
“Don’t worry, Gypsy,” Samson said. “We have loads of time. It’s only eight o’clock. We’re going to find her, I promise. Are you ready to go?”
I nodded, then paused. “We should try to call Momma. If she made it back to Grandma’s house, she’ll be worried. If she goes back out in the snow to look for us, she might trigger an avalanche.”
Samson agreed. “We can use the shop phone, before we go.”
“Del has a phone,” I said, remembering how Del pried Tripp’s cell phone out of the bully’s stony grip and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans.
Samson reached toward Del. “Can I borrow it?” When Del didn’t hand over Tripp’s phone, pronto, Samson’s eyes lit in a fierce red-orange glow.
“Whoa, dude, cool your jets!” Del quickly dug inside his pocket. “No need to get combustible.” As soon as Del slapped Tripp’s phone into Samson’s hand, I felt bad for bringing it up, remembering how Tripp had tried to blackmail Del into letting him steal from his uncle’s store. Threatening him with an image stored in his phone. It wasn’t too long ago that I could’ve stared at Del over the tops of my glasses, trying to see into his past, sifting through his history without him even knowing I was looking. Suddenly, I was glad I couldn’t do that anymore. I liked Del. He deserved his privacy.
The glow from the phone lit Samson’s face as he slid his thumb across the screen, trying to access it. My brother paused, squinting at the image that came up automatically behind the lockscreen. He looked at Del, then back at the phone again.
“Is this your sister, Del?” he said, waving the phone once in the air. “She looks just like you. Only prettier.”
“Let me see!” Nola chirped, reaching for the phone. “I want to see his sister.” Del leaped out of his chair and grabbed the device before Nola could get a hold of it. A memory tickled the back of my brain . . . something Del had said when we were leaving the bus station. But I couldn’t pry the memory loose.
“Everyone back off,” Del said, raising his arm in front of him protectively. “I’m gonna use this phone to make a couple calls of my own. You guys can use the phone behind the counter.”
Samson raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn’t force the issue. He simply nodded at Del, then sauntered over to the phone next to the cash register. Del jabbed at Tripp’s phone, cursing under his breath when he discovered it was password-protected.
As Del got up to join Samson at the shop counter, Tucker found a peacock feather in one of the store’s silk flower arrangements and began using it as a cat toy. He and Cap’n Stormy jumped and dashed around the store while Samson and Del made their calls.
“Do you want to call anyone, Nola?” I asked as we watched Tucker and Cap’n Stormy play.
“Nah,” she said. “Like I said before, my mom and dad don’t even know I’m gone. That’s one silver lining, right? It means we’ll be able to clean up Mom’s car before my parents get home.”
“Momma’s phone is still going straight to voicemail,” Samson said when he rejoined us. “I left another message. Hopefully the tow truck from that vision of yours didn’t break down, Gypsy, just because Momma got a ride in it.”
“Well, that’s taken care of,” Del said, clapping his hands together once as he too rejoined us. “I told my uncle I went home, and I told my parents that I’m staying with my uncle. Hopefully, my butt is covered for a few hours. Maybe you guys could give me a ride home, after we find your gran?” Del’s face grew thoughtful, then troubled.
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“Specs . . .” he said, looking at me. “You said your gran is going to be at the top of the clock tower at eleven fifty-eight?”
I nodded, glad that it was only eight o’clock.
Del’s frown deepened. “Yeah . . . well, remember how I told you the old high school building has been boarded up for decades? I hate to tell you this, but that clock hasn’t worked in years. Its hands are stuck at eleven fifty-eight. That’s the only time it ever tells.”
I dropped Mr. Aardman’s cold pack on the floor. I could feel the color drain from my cheeks. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“You definitely have a concussion,” Nola said, retrieving the cold pack and handing it back to me. “You should really take it easy, Gypsy.”
“I didn’t hit my head, Nola!” I said in frustration. “Don’t you see what Del is saying? If the clock from my vision always reads eleven fifty-eight—”
“Then for all we know,” Samson cut in, “Grandma could be up there right now.”
“We’ve got to go!” I said.
Del held out his hand, offering to help me out of my chair. I let him. I was surprised—and goofishly, girlishly pleased—when he didn’t let go of my hand, once we were both standing.
Gathering hats and coats and mittens and kittens, we all raced for the door. But Del stopped me, dragging me back toward him as the others exited the shop ahead of us.
“You know, Gypsy. I feel sort of . . . dumb, I guess.” Del’s shoulders wilted. Even his spiffy yellow bow tie seemed to sag. “Here I was, going on and on about stopping the clocks,” he said, “when it was you the whole time.”
“Now that you know,” I said, feeling the warmth of his fingers around mine, “do you still want to be my . . . I mean, do you still want to help me find my grandmother?” I really wanted to ask Del if he still wanted to be my friend. But I wasn’t sure I could take it if he said no and pulled his hand away.
“Of course, Specs. Just—” Del paused, like he was searching for a chuckle of the laughter he always kept so close. “Just do me a favor, okay?” He held open the door with his free hand, looking glum. “Please don’t stop time again for a while. I don’t want to be reminded of just how much I’m not a superhero.”
“I’ll try not to,” I said, sorry I’d dashed the dreams of Mr. Kool-A Iced-Tea Time. I wanted to assure Del that he was extraordinary, even if he couldn’t stop time. I already knew Del was funny and caring and brave, and that he had a massive talent for mummifying people in toilet paper. I was certain he must have other abilities too. His very own sort of savvy. I was determined to think up a new superhero name for Del, before the night was over.
SAMSON MADE SHORT WORK of clearing away the flurries that had already fleeced the car. Del sat between Tuck and me in the backseat. Tucker kept a firm grip on Captain Stormalong Fuzzypants, even though she was squirmy and wanting to play.
The engine revved and roared as Samson powered Mrs. Kim’s white SUV through the snowbound city. The night sky was an alabaster vault, withholding the moon and the stars and the darkness. Except for the occasional passing snowplow, the streets of Denver were emptier than they’d been an hour earlier. The lady on Channel 3 had been right about the storm, and people were heeding her warnings.
According to my watch, it was 8:07. But time hardly mattered now. I tried not to replay my vision of Grandma Pat’s fall over and over inside my head. But I couldn’t help it. I kept picturing her coral-pink lips making that silent O. I kept seeing her white curls fly up around her face, her poufy skirts puffing out all around her. I tried not to be afraid. But it was impossible not to be. I longed to stop time. But if I did, Del and I would be forced to walk all the way to Larimer High. Samson and the SUV would get us to the high school faster. Del assured us it wasn’t far.
Using an entire package of makeup-removing wipes, Nola scrubbed at my note on the dashboard. It was no use. The Twisted Tangerine letters smeared across the vinyl, but didn’t come off.
“My life is over,” Nola said, giving in to defeat. “I’m never going to be allowed to take my driver’s test now. My mom is going to kill me. Then, because she’s a cardiologist, she’ll pull out her defibrillator paddles and restart my heart—just so she can kill me again.”
“Drama, drama, drama,” Samson muttered, but he was smiling. Nola ignored him, stuffing handfuls of used cleaning wipes back into her cosmetics case. Del eyed the case with interest.
“You know,” he said, “if we had more time, I could give you a slammin’ makeover. My gran was a pro. I learned a lot watching her work. I could fix your makeup for you. Easy.”
“There’s something wrong with my makeup?” Nola pulled down her sun visor and slid open the mirror. Puckering her lips, she scrutinized her appearance.
“Did your gran teach your sister about makeup too, Del?” I asked, thinking of the girl Samson saw on Tripp’s phone.
“Sister?” Del wrinkled his brow. Then he remembered and rolled his eyes. He scrunched lower in his seat. “Yeah, no. About that, Specs—”
“What are you talking about, Del?” Nola interrupted him. She turned on Del, her eyes narrowing to thin slits behind her thick veneer of eyeliner. “There isn’t one thing wrong with my makeup!”
“Seriously?” Del raised his eyebrows. “Dang, girl. I hate to tell you this, but you look like the Lone Ranger. That mask is hiding all the good things you got going for you. You’re not letting yourself shine.”
“I’m not?” Nola looked in the mirror again, studying her face more thoughtfully. “But I think I’m pretty.”
“You are!” Del agreed with enthusiasm. “You’re just covering all the pretty up. If you’d just—”
But Del didn’t have time to give Nola any makeup tips before Samson slammed down hard on the brakes and the SUV slid sideways.
There was a man standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms for us to stop.
Samson carefully edged the SUV closer to the man in the street. Dressed for the weather in a hooded gray parka, the fellow jogged toward us, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward a green sedan stalled out in the opposite lane. The car’s hazard lights blinked feebly, smothered by the storm.
Samson lowered his window as the man approached.
“Thanks for stopping, kid.” The man gasped for breath, his face framed by the open window. “My car broke down, and I’m about to have a wife!” The stranger paused and shook his head, leaning one hand against the door of the SUV to steady himself. Then he pointed once more toward his car.
“I mean, my wife’s about to have a Stephanie!” Barking a deep, hysterical laugh, the man panted for breath, then tried again. “Let me start over. My wife—my wife, Stephanie—she’s going to have a baby. Our first baby!” The father-to-be thumped the edge of Samson’s open window with his palms. Then he started hopping up and down in the snow in excitement. Or to stay warm. Or both. I couldn’t actually tell.
“Fingers and toes, man!” the man shouted over the whistling wind, announcing his joy to the snowy night. “Fin-gers-and-toes! Any minute now, I’m going to be counting fingers and toes. I’m going to be a father!”
“Your wife is in that car?” Nola asked, leaning toward Samson’s window. “How close are her contractions?”
“Every two minutes,” the man answered, eyes wide.
Nola shot Samson an uh-oh sort of look.
“How can we help?” Samson asked, his low voice becoming a nervous, high-pitched jangle.
“Can you squeeze us in?” The man peered deeper into the SUV; his expression was hopeful as he waved to Del and me, then to Tucker. “Can we get a ride? I’m Jimmy, by the way. James Walker.” Mr. Walker stuck a hand inside the car for Samson to shake. Then he resumed hopping up and down, and pointing.
“I was driving Stephanie to Mercy Medical when our car ran out of gas. I tried calling 911, but I couldn’t
get through.”
“Mercy Medical Center is back that way,” Nola told Samson, pointing behind us. She turned to look at me, her face drawn in worry and uncertainty. I felt sick to my stomach again, not because of a time-stop or a nonexistent concussion, but because I knew exactly what Nola was going to say.
“If we drive these people to Mercy, Gypsy, it’ll mean turning around and heading in the opposite direction of the old high school. It’ll mean putting off our search for Mrs. B. a little longer. But . . . these people really can’t wait.”
I knew everyone in the car felt torn in two. But there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the others that I should be the one to make the decision: Help the Walkers get to the medical center so that their baby could be born, safe and warm and dry . . . or leave the parents-to-be stranded on the street, and continue toward Grandma and the high school.
“Gypsy?” Samson met my eyes in the rearview mirror, waiting. Del and Tucker both watched me intently. Everyone was calling on me to captain the futures of both a new life and an old one.
“We have to help them,” I said, trying hard to keep myself from bursting into tears. I felt like I was betraying Grandma Pat. Del took hold of my hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m scared for your grandmother too, Gypsy,” Nola murmured, turning so that she could rest her fingers on my shaking knee. Lips pressed tight, Samson nodded to me in the rearview mirror, as if he were trying to give me a boost of fortitude the only way he knew how. Then, without another word, he maneuvered the SUV closer to the Walkers’ car.
“We’ll drop Mr. and Mrs. Walker off at the medical center and get right back on the road,” I said, doing my best to sound confident and commanding.
Three minutes later, Tucker, Del, Captain Stormalong Fuzzypants, and I were all crammed into the rear of the SUV, nestled among the spilled contents of Nola’s Mall of Denver shopping bags. There were no seat belts in the cargo space, but we were going to have to make do; James Walker and his very pregnant wife, Stephanie, needed the backseat.