D. MacHale - The Reality Bug

Except for what the ring had deposited. It wasn’t a journal. It was an envelope. A regular old white, Second Earth-style envelope.

“What is it?” Courtney asked.

“It’s an envelope,” answered Mark.

Courtney rolled her eyes. “Duh. Why did Bobby send us an envelope?”

Mark cautiously leaned over and picked up the piece of mail. He turned it over, examining it. There was nothing weird about it. It was sealed, with no writing on the outside. Courtney gave Mark a nod of encouragement and he carefully opened it, trying not to rip it more than he had to. Inside was a piece of plain white paper.

“I don’t think this is from Bobby,” Mark announced.

Courtney looked at the page. There was handwriting on it, and it was definitely not Bobby’s. Bobby wrote in a kind of classic script. This note was written with block letters. It was actually jittery looking, as if the person who wrote it didn’t have a sure hand. The note was simple. It was an address.

“‘Four twenty-nine Amsterdam Place. Apartment Five-A. New York City,’” Mark read aloud. “You know anybody who lives there?”

“No,” Courtney answered. “Why would Bobby send us an address? With no explanation?”

Mark suddenly looked up, as if he were hit with an idea.

“What?” asked Courtney.

“Could it be?” he asked, half to himself, half to Courtney.

“Could it be what?” Courtney asked, growing impatient.

Mark looked at the address again, then back at the ring. “Could this be about the acolytes?”

Courtney deflated. This wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “Are you still on that kick?” She plopped back down onto the couch.

Mark was gaining energy. “I asked Bobby to find out about the acolytes. Maybe this is his way of pointing us in the right direction!”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Courtney said sharply. “You promised you’d think about it,” Mark shot back at her. “I did. I decided I don’t want to hear about it.” “But this could be our chance to help Bobby, for real!” “Mark, I’ve got enough stuff to worry about.”

Mark didn’t back down. “Like what?” he asked sarcastically. “Soccer?”

It was like Mark had flashed a red cape in front of an angry bull. Courtney jumped to her feet. “Yes, soccer!”

In the past Mark would have backed off when faced with Courtney’s rage. But not this time. He stood his ground. “How can you care about stupid sports when there’s so much more important stuff going on?”

“It’s important to me!” Courtney defended herself.

“But it’s just a game!” Mark countered.

“It’s not! Can’t you see that? I’ve never failed, Mark. Never. You just can’t relate!”

Mark stiffened. “Why? Because I’m used to failure?”

Courtney forced herself to calm down and speak with more control. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” She sat back down on the soft couch and took a deep breath. “It’s not just about soccer,” she continued. “Everybody’s got a role. You know? An identity. I liked mine. I liked how people looked up to me. But after what’s been going on the past few days, I’m beginning to think I might not be the person I thought I was.”

“Courtney,” Mark said with sympathy. “It’s just a game”

“Yeah, maybe,” Courtney said. “But who knows what might turn up tomorrow? It’s the first time I’ve doubted myself. Ever.”

Mark thought for a moment, then picked up the silver hologram projector and the envelope with the address, and put them in his backpack.

“I’m sorry, Courtney,” Mark said. “I hear what you’re saying about roles and stuff. I always thought mine was to be the lame-wad who everybody made fun of. But I’m beginning to think I’m better than that. You might not be the person you thought you were either, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it means you’ve got more important things to do.”

Courtney gave Mark a quick look; then Mark headed for the stairs. “Tomorrow’s Friday,” he said. “I’ll put this stuff in the safe-deposit box at the bank. On Saturday I’m going to the address on this paper. I hope you come with me, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Mark left her alone in the basement.

The next day in school Mark and Courtney had no contact. Mark met with Mr. Pike about Sci-Clops and was given a schedule of meetings for the rest of the semester. He tried to be enthused about it, but it was hard to focus. All he could think about was being on the verge of a much bigger adventure.

When school was over, Mark went to the National Bank of Stony Brook on the Ave. The pruny Ms. Jane Jansen brought him into the vault where he deposited the projector that held Bobby’s Journal #13 in the same safe box where he was keeping Journals #1-12. He didn’t put the mysterious slip of paper with the New York address in the box though. He needed that.

As for Courtney, she’d made the tough decision and took the demotion to play for the junior varsity. Her plan was to prove herself so superior that Coach Horkey would have no choice but to bring her right back up to the varsity.

Things didn’t work out that way. It was clear from Friday’s practice that she was one of the better girls on the team, but definitely not the best. She didn’t let it get to her though. She wouldn’t go so far as to accept her fate, but forced herself to try and make the best of it. At least for the time being.

The next day, Saturday, Mark got up early and told his parents he was going to take the train into New York City to go to a science museum. He was old enough to do that on his own now. Taking the train into the city was easy. The station was at the bottom of Stony Brook Avenue, a short distance from Mark’s house. He checked the schedule and planned on catching the 8:05 local that would get him into Grand Central Station around 9 a.m. He figured that would leave him plenty of time to go to the address on the note and be back home before dinner.

He was hoping to get a call from Courtney, but that call didn’t come, and he wasn’t going to beg. So he found himself early Saturday morning standing on the train platform, alone, ready to begin the next chapter in the adventure that had begun so long ago when Bobby first left home.

The train pulled into the station and the doors opened quietly. During the week this train would be packed with commuters headed in to work. But on Saturday not many people took the train, so Mark pretty much had the car to himself. He picked a seat directly in the middle because he knew it was the smoothest ride. He threw his backpack in the overhead rack, then plunked down into the seat.

“What’s the matter?” came a voice from the seat behind him. “Don’t want to sit with me?”

Mark spun in surprise to see…

Courtney.

“I called your house,” she said. “Just missed you. Your mom told me you were catching this train. I got on one stop back.”

“You sure about this?” he asked cautiously.

“No, but who else is going to watch your back?” she answered with a smile.

Mark broke out in a huge grin and moved into the seat next to her. For the time being, they were a team again. As the train took them into the city, they talked about everything except the mysterious note. It wasn’t that they were avoiding the subject, it was more that they had no idea what to expect on Amsterdam Place.

They arrived in Grand Central Station and went right to the subway. Courtney knew that Amsterdam Place was on the upper East Side of Manhattan, so a quick scan of the subway map showed them the trains they had to take. The ride took twenty minutes, with only one change. Soon enough they found themselves emerging from the underground station on Amsterdam Place. Mark double-checked the building number, 429, and they walked two more blocks north.