Secrets and Lies(20)

“I have one P to say about that,” Calum said as they pushed their way out through the mob. His white-blond curls were especially unruly today, and his stuffed backpack looked ready to split at the seams. “Pathetic.”

“Pain in the ass,” she suggested.

“Phenomenally pitiable.”

“Pleasure-killing.”

Calum laughed. “Concisely said.” He followed Sydney to her locker, waiting as she filled her backpack with books. “So, hey,” he said, fiddling with the zipper of his bright orange sweatshirt. “Want to accompany me into town for a bit? I need to pick up something at the Gadget Shack, but we could swing by Galileo Gallery, too, and maybe grab some coffee?”

Sydney smiled. This was the perfect opportunity. She’d spent all day working on a way to get into the firehouse that afternoon. She’d come up with a plan, but she couldn’t put it into action until four o’clock, when nosy Tammy—the unofficial firehouse “secretary”—left for the day. And when she did, she was going to need Calum’s help.

“Let’s do it,” she agreed. “I could go for some caffeine right now.”

“Gee, shocking,” Calum replied. He broke into his lopsided grin. “I would venture to guess that you have caffeine and sugar in your veins instead of blood, Syd.”

“Don’t forget chocolate.”

“How could I?” Calum deadpanned.

After a quick stop by the Gadget Shack and a longer stop at Galileo Gallery, Sydney and Calum headed to Bean Encounters. “I am ready for my cup of joe,” Calum announced as he held the door open for her.

Sydney looked up at him through her bangs. “Please tell me you did not just say ‘cup of joe.’ ”

“Oh, but I did,” Calum said cheerfully. “I absolutely did.”

With a smirk, Sydney headed to the counter. All day long the task of getting Kyla’s file had hung over her head, like an ever-present rain cloud. But being downtown and joking around with Calum made the whole thing feel blissfully distant. “I’d like a large coffee with a double flavor shot of hazelnut,” she told the barista. “And he’d like a cup of joe, whatever that is.”

“A small black,” Calum said, smacking her with his Gadget Shack bag.

“Ow!” Sydney yelped, rubbing at her hip. “What do you have in there? Knives?”

“Sorry.” Calum looked sheepish. “The new motherboard for my computer must have sharp edges. That or someone’s bones are weak because she exists solely on sugar.”

“Possible,” Sydney admitted, grabbing her coffee off the counter. “Ah,” she said, taking a big sip. “Caffeiney-sweet goodness.”

“So tell me, Sydney Morgan,” Calum said as they took a seat by the window. “How does it feel to be one of the esteemed few on this year’s homecoming ballot?”

“Like I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” Sydney sang out, pretending to swoon.

Calum laughed. “If you’re looking for a campaign manager, I have pretty impressive credentials. My dad even has this new printer that makes amazing posters. I’d consider letting you borrow it if I’m hired.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Sydney said. “But there’s no way I’m campaigning for this charade. The whole thing is obviously someone’s idea of a nasty joke. I mean, me, as homecoming queen?” She made a gagging motion. “Yeah, right.”

“If you say so.” Calum shrugged. “But I’m at your service if you change your mind.”

“Thanks. If I ever decide to pull a Tenley Reed, you’ll be the first to know.” Sydney grinned at him. “I mean, I owe you, after all. You did just buy me a cup of Ted.”

Calum shook his head, looking appalled. “You can’t just substitute any guy’s name in there, Syd.”

Sydney leaned back in her chair, taking a long sip of coffee. “Mmmm,” she said cheerfully. “A delicious cup of Mark.” Outside, a familiar figure caught her eye. A dark-haired guy strolling slowly along.

Guinness. She quickly slumped down in her chair, not wanting him to see her.

“Everything okay?” Calum twisted around to look out the window. “Is the crazy lady performing one-woman Shakespeare in the street again?” He paused. “Oh,” he said knowingly. “Beer boy.” Over the summer Calum had witnessed plenty of her angst over Guinness.

Sydney gave him a sheepish look. “Can you tell me when he’s gone?”

Calum kept his eyes on the window for a few more seconds. “You’re free to sit up.” He studied her as she did. “I thought things were over between you guys.”

“They are,” Sydney said quickly. “I just… It’s hard, you know? Getting over someone.” She sighed. “I’m working on it.”

“Well, if you ever need reinforcements, you just let me know,” Calum said. “I have a wide range of skills outside of campaign management.”

Sydney paused. She wouldn’t get a better opening than that. She glanced at the clock. 3:45. It was now or never. The bubble of peacefulness she’d been swept up in popped instantly. “Actually… there is something I was hoping you could help me with.” She shifted nervously in her chair. “A favor.”

Calum nodded gravely. “So you require the irrepressible genius of Calum Bauer.” He tapped his finger against his chin. “What’s the predicament? Is your computer broken? Do you have furniture that needs to be moved? You know I do have brawn as well as brains.”

“I’m sure you do.” Sydney still remembered the first time she saw Calum with his shirt off when they worked together at the Club. It had shocked her that he’d actually be kind of hot if he stopped using SPF 75 and pounding his fists against his chest like Tarzan every time he blew on his whistle. “But it’s actually your phone-dialing skills I’m after.” She hesitated, fiddling with her coffee cup. “I need you to call the firehouse and report a fire on Neddles Island.” She said it all in a single breath, turning the words into a long rush of syllables. But by the way Calum inhaled sharply, she knew he’d understood.

“That’s a pretty serious request,” he said carefully. “Unless there’s a fire raging outside my house that I’m not aware of?”

“Probably not,” Sydney admitted. “The thing is, I need to clear the firemen out for a few minutes, so I can get into the firehouse. It… it has to do with my dad. Some family drama.” It was a white lie, but Sydney was hoping it would put a crashing halt to any questions. You couldn’t live in Echo Bay without knowing Calum’s tragic family history. Four years after his sister, Meryl, became the first Lost Girl, his mom—still struggling with her daughter’s death—killed herself in the very spot where Meryl had drowned. Calum had been just a kid. The one time Sydney had brought family stuff up with him in the past, he’d changed the subject so fast she’d practically gotten whiplash. “You can tell them something vague,” she added quickly. “Like you see smoke in the cliffs by your house.”

“And when they arrive?” Calum asked.

“The smoke easily could have dissipated. A false alarm.”

“Just someone making s’mores,” Calum said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.” Sydney squeezed her hands into tight fists, her nails digging into her palms. She felt terrible bringing Calum into this, but she didn’t know whom else to turn to. She was sure Guinness would have agreed, but the last thing she wanted to do was ask him, not after last night. “So will you do it?”

Calum sighed. “You are aware you’ll be indebted to me after this, right? And not a minuscule, little favor, either. I’m talking gargantuan, mammoth, more colossal than the Incredible Hulk.”

Sydney laughed. She bet he had a T-shirt that said that. “Big,” she confirmed. “Got it.” She glanced at her watch. “Wait ten minutes and then call, okay?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Sydney twisted her ring around her pointer finger as she climbed into her car. “I can do this,” she chanted under her breath. She repeated it the whole drive over, as if saying the words enough times could make them come true. “I’m just a regular teenage girl visiting my regular loving dad.”

Ha. She was going to have to dig deep into her acting reserves for this one.

She tried to calm her nerves as she parked across the street from the redbrick firehouse. An American flag waved over its entryway, and in its driveway sat a single fire truck, as immaculately waxed as always. Most days, waxing that truck was the only thing the Echo Bay firemen had to do. Not today. In fact, pretty much never, when it came to her.

An image of a fire rose in her mind: flames roaring and embers glowing, cause unknown, except to her. She shook away the memory and climbed out of the car. She could do this.

“Sydney!” Bob Hart exclaimed when she crossed through the firehouse’s red double doors. Bob was her dad’s closest friend at the firehouse. He weighed roughly three hundred pounds and had a beard that made him look as if he’d just returned from a year in the jungle. When her dad still lived at home, Bob used to come over for barbecues all the time. Sydney still remembered how bits of the food would get stuck in his beard, as if he were saving them for later. “Your dad told me you were growing up quickly,” he continued. “He wasn’t kidding. Look at you, a real woman!”