Read Online Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I by Lee Davidson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lee Davidson
Ads: Link
three o’clock I was sure I’d be out of there on time. That was, of course, before the last concrete load showed up an hour late. I had to bite my tongue to keep from sounding like my father.
It was six forty-five when I finally left the site. I saw the old man in my rearview mirror shooting curses at me because I took off before helping the guys roll up the tools and equipment. I clenched my teeth at his one-fingered gesture. (It was not a thumbs up.)
I anxiously dialed Tate’s number to explain, mentally noting that apologizing to her was becoming the norm. When no one answered, I felt terrible. Certainly she realized a guy like me would never stand up a girl like her? I was lucky enough to get a yes in the first place. Though covered in mud, I opted out of a shower and instead went straight to her house. Tate’s mom answered the door. Her resemblance to Tate was striking, but, unlike her daughter, she looked warmly at me and didn’t try to flee.
“Mrs. Jacoby?” I offered my hand out of habit, but retracted it quickly when I remembered the cracked dirt around my knuckles. “Sorry,” I said, unable to shake her hand properly. “I’m Grant Bradley. Is Tatum here?”
“Oh. Hi, Grant. Tate said you were suppose to meet at six.”
“Yes, ma’am, we were. I was held up at work. I tried to call, but no one answered.”
“We were out back and must not have heard the phone. Tate took her brother out to dinner.”
I could picture it already, once again trying to explain myself back into Tate’s good graces. “Do you know where they went?”
“Juju’s Arcade,” she said.
Fifteen minutes later I was inside the arcade, questioning my decision to not stop for a shower. The mud had woven a nice home into my arm and leg hairs. I effectively separated a few clumps from my white shorts, but not nearly enough to make a difference.
The place was wall-to-wall animals disguised as kids. A pack bolted by and almost took me down. I was surprised to see that kids weren’t hanging from the ceiling—they were certainly everywhere else. How I was going to find Tate in this asylum was beyond me. And I had no idea what her brother looked like.
My plan of attack was to start at the tables and hope that Tate would be sitting at one while her brother played. People stared as I passed by, which was no surprise. I was caked with mud. If I ever found Tate, I was going to leave quite an impression. Not the impression I was going for, but an impression nonetheless. The evening was not going the way I had hoped. At all.
With no luck at the tables, I scanned the play area. Hello, sensory overload. Between the squealing kids, blinking lights, and the loud ringing from who-knows-what, concentrating on any one thing was impossible. I had almost given up when I heard her name.
“You can’t get me, Tate!” The voice belonged to a brown-haired boy who was all arms and legs. He stood on the blue cushion bordering the ball pit.
I grabbed the netting and stared through it. Tate popped out of the colorful balls and grabbed the boy. He fell onto her and giggled hysterically when she tickled him.
“My turn!” he shrieked.
Tate ran like she was in quicksand and clutched the net to balance herself on the padded edge.
The boy flew after her. “You’re mine!” he yelled.
“You’ll never take me alive!” she said playfully, jumping back into the pit. She was amazing to watch. The girls I knew would never play like this; they were too wrapped up in trivial matters, nonsense like what they were going to wear to an upcoming party—things that would never matter in a month.
When her brother caught her, she pulled him into a bear hug. He squirmed to wrangle himself free.
And then she saw me.
Her arms fell off her brother, and her smile melted. “Hey, Fish, give me a sec, OK?” she said, pushing herself upright.
“Where ya going?” he asked.
“I just have to take care of something.”
Disappointment replaced the boy’s
It was six forty-five when I finally left the site. I saw the old man in my rearview mirror shooting curses at me because I took off before helping the guys roll up the tools and equipment. I clenched my teeth at his one-fingered gesture. (It was not a thumbs up.)
I anxiously dialed Tate’s number to explain, mentally noting that apologizing to her was becoming the norm. When no one answered, I felt terrible. Certainly she realized a guy like me would never stand up a girl like her? I was lucky enough to get a yes in the first place. Though covered in mud, I opted out of a shower and instead went straight to her house. Tate’s mom answered the door. Her resemblance to Tate was striking, but, unlike her daughter, she looked warmly at me and didn’t try to flee.
“Mrs. Jacoby?” I offered my hand out of habit, but retracted it quickly when I remembered the cracked dirt around my knuckles. “Sorry,” I said, unable to shake her hand properly. “I’m Grant Bradley. Is Tatum here?”
“Oh. Hi, Grant. Tate said you were suppose to meet at six.”
“Yes, ma’am, we were. I was held up at work. I tried to call, but no one answered.”
“We were out back and must not have heard the phone. Tate took her brother out to dinner.”
I could picture it already, once again trying to explain myself back into Tate’s good graces. “Do you know where they went?”
“Juju’s Arcade,” she said.
Fifteen minutes later I was inside the arcade, questioning my decision to not stop for a shower. The mud had woven a nice home into my arm and leg hairs. I effectively separated a few clumps from my white shorts, but not nearly enough to make a difference.
The place was wall-to-wall animals disguised as kids. A pack bolted by and almost took me down. I was surprised to see that kids weren’t hanging from the ceiling—they were certainly everywhere else. How I was going to find Tate in this asylum was beyond me. And I had no idea what her brother looked like.
My plan of attack was to start at the tables and hope that Tate would be sitting at one while her brother played. People stared as I passed by, which was no surprise. I was caked with mud. If I ever found Tate, I was going to leave quite an impression. Not the impression I was going for, but an impression nonetheless. The evening was not going the way I had hoped. At all.
With no luck at the tables, I scanned the play area. Hello, sensory overload. Between the squealing kids, blinking lights, and the loud ringing from who-knows-what, concentrating on any one thing was impossible. I had almost given up when I heard her name.
“You can’t get me, Tate!” The voice belonged to a brown-haired boy who was all arms and legs. He stood on the blue cushion bordering the ball pit.
I grabbed the netting and stared through it. Tate popped out of the colorful balls and grabbed the boy. He fell onto her and giggled hysterically when she tickled him.
“My turn!” he shrieked.
Tate ran like she was in quicksand and clutched the net to balance herself on the padded edge.
The boy flew after her. “You’re mine!” he yelled.
“You’ll never take me alive!” she said playfully, jumping back into the pit. She was amazing to watch. The girls I knew would never play like this; they were too wrapped up in trivial matters, nonsense like what they were going to wear to an upcoming party—things that would never matter in a month.
When her brother caught her, she pulled him into a bear hug. He squirmed to wrangle himself free.
And then she saw me.
Her arms fell off her brother, and her smile melted. “Hey, Fish, give me a sec, OK?” she said, pushing herself upright.
“Where ya going?” he asked.
“I just have to take care of something.”
Disappointment replaced the boy’s
Similar Books
