“Let me talk to her,” Pidge said. He put his “receiver” down on the table, said to the girl, “Hi. I’m Pidge. I’m a senior. Computer sciences.” He pointed to the Gates Building. “My buddy wants to ask you out, but I was telling him that even though he saw you first, I like you better.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the girl said. “I’m sure you’re not just playing me. Some kind of goof you’re doing with each other.”
Hawk reached out, touched the girl’s forearm. “Ow, that really hurts. You’ve got us wrong,” Hawk said. “I saw you in the library, don’t you remember? I’m not that good at meeting a girl by myself.”
“That’s the truth,” Pidge said. “Hawk’s shy. I’m just helping out as his wingman. But when I saw you just now, I thought — and this is the truth now — you’re more my type than his.”
“What kind of type is that?” the girl asked, warming now to the attention. Herds of bikes whizzed by. The smell of bread baking at Subway floated over the plaza. The sun warmed the top of her head. It was a beautiful day, and now it had gotten better.
“You’re creative, right? I have a feeling that you must be creative. You’re a writer, I’ll bet.”
“I’m in hum bio.”
“Human biology? Cool,” said Hawk. “Actually, I’m a writer. What’s your name?”
“Kara. Kara Lynch.”
“I’m Hawk, Kara Lynch. This is my friend Pidge.”
“What do you write?” she asked Hawk.
“Pidge and I are working together on a novel,” said Hawk. “May I get you another one of those?” he asked. “Strawberry Whirl?”
“Yes. Thanks, Hawk,” Kara said, smiling.
When Hawk left, Pidge leaned across the table, said to the girl, “Seriously, Kara. He’s not your type. Sure, he’s a fuzzy, but I’m a computer genius. Top of my class. If I told you my real name, you’d recognize it. But look, when Hawk gets back, you’ve got to be ready to choose. Either you’ve got to step up and ask Hawk out. Or you’ve got to ask me.
“It’s got to be one or the other, so that the two of us don’t fight. That wouldn’t be good. That would be cruel.”
Kara shifted her eyes to Hawk as he came back to the table with the smoothie. Kara thanked him, then said, “I was thinking, Hawk, maybe we could hang out sometime.”
Hawk smiled. “Oh, wow, Kara. And I was just thinking you’re much more Pidge’s type than mine. He’s famous at Gates. You’d never forgive yourself if you turned him down.”
Kara turned dubiously to Pidge. He rewarded her with a blinding smile. “You have to step up, Kara,” he said.
“Uh-huh. Kiss my ass,” she said, blushing, putting her eyes back on her laptop.
Pidge said, “I can’t do that, Kara. Hawk saw you first.” He laughed.
“Ba-rinnng,” Hawk said.
“Hal-lo?”
“Like either one of us would go out with a fat slob like her,” Hawk said, making sure he said it loud so that Kara and the students at the other picnic tables could hear him. The two boys laughed, made a big deal of holding their sides, falling off the benches to the ground.
Pidge recovered first. He stood and tousled Kara’s hair playfully. “Mea culpa, Kara mia,” he said. “Better luck next time.”
He took a bow as tears slid down her cheeks.
Chapter 56
CONKLIN PARKED OUR CAR on the narrow, tree-lined road in Monterey, a small coastal town two hours south of San Francisco. On my right, one wing of the three-story, wood-frame house remained untouched, while the center of the house had burned out to the framing timbers, the roof open to the blue sky like a silent scream.
Conklin and I pushed through the clumps of sidewalk gawkers, ducked under the barricade tape, and loped up the walk.
The arson investigator was waiting for us outside the front door. He was in his early thirties, over six feet tall, jangling the keys and change in his pocket. He introduced himself as Ramon Jimenez and gave me his card with his cell phone number printed on the back. Jimenez opened the fire department lock on the front door so we could enter the center of the house, and as the front door swung open we were hit with the smell of apples and cinnamon.
“Air freshener explosion,” Jimenez said. “The crispy critters were found in the den.”