The next morning Mike awoke to the usual sound of Micky snoring. He opened his eyes slowly, allowing his brain time to remember where it was. Davy was lying next to him, still soundly asleep, and Micky was in the other bed.
Alone.
“Peter?” Mike called softly, hoping that the blond had just fallen out of bed. As he sat up he could tell by Micky’s monopoly of the pillows that Peter hadn’t slept in the bed at all.
“Mike?” Davy’s sleepy voice said. “What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Peter?”
Davy sat up, suddenly wide awake. “Didn’t he come to bed last night?”
Mike tossed the covers aside and leapt out of bed. “I don’t think he did. I’m gonna go find him.”
“Hey, man, wait for me!” Davy said, flinging his half of the covers aside.
As they crossed the room Micky cracked one almond-shaped eye open. He saw Mike and Davy disappearing through the door and immediately sprang to his feet, nearly tripping in his haste to get to the door. As he exploded from the room he crashed headlong into Mike and Davy, spilling all three to the floor.
“Ow! Micky, for cryin’ out loud!” Mike groaned, reaching for his displaced hat.
“Sorry, sorry,” Micky said breathlessly. “I just didn’t want to be alone, that’s all.”
“Aw, Micky, that’s so sweet!” Davy teased.
“C’mon, you guys,” Mike said, crawling to his feet. “We gotta find Peter.”
“I bet I know where he is,” Micky said, smiling evilly.
~*~
They found Peter exactly where Micky had predicted he’d be. The door to Ella’s room was still slightly open; as they peeked their heads in they could see Peter sleeping blissfully on the bed. Ella was lying perpendicular to him, using Peter’s chest as a pillow. Peter’s right arm was draped over her, and as the three watched with barely contained amusement Ella shifted slightly, tightening her grip on the limb.
Micky had just slipped past the door when Mike reached out and grabbed him by the collar. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Nowhere,” Micky said in a singsong voice. “I just wanted a closer look.”
“Uh huh,” Mike grunted doubtfully. “You two are gonna stay out here and keep quiet. I’ll go get him.” Mike shoved Micky back out into the hall and entered the room quietly, making it to the bed just as Peter began to stir.
“Hey, Pete,” he whispered, touching his friend gently on the arm so as not to startle him. “Wake up.”
Peter’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh, hi Mike,” he said. “Where am I?”
“We’re in Dr. Mendoza’s house, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” He paused, noting the bemused expression on Mike’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” Mike said, pointing down. Peter followed Mike’s finger to the brown head resting on his chest. He looked back up at Mike, his cheeks flushed a dusky red.
“Mike, nothing happened . . . honest! We talked for a long time and . . . I guess we fell asleep.”
“Easy, shotgun. I believe you. But, um, look . . . you might want to sneak out of here before Micky or Davy has the opportunity to razz either one of you.”
Peter nodded, gently easing himself out from under Ella. She murmured restlessly and rolled onto her stomach, still sleeping blissfully as Peter and Mike stole quietly from the room.
When they reached the door Peter paused, casting a backwards glance at Ella.
“You really like her, don’t you?” Mike asked softly.
“Yeah. I do.”
~*~
“Okay, Micky, try it again!”
For the umpteenth time Micky ran his fingers across the control panel, flicking the silver switches that spanned the top. As each one was thrown a red indicator light came on, with the exception of the last, which remainded stubbornly dark.
“They’re all up except the last one, El.”
“Dammit!” she cursed, hurling her pliers across the room. A few moments later her flushed, sweaty face appeared. “Miserable, no-good piece of . . . ”
They had started working early that afternoon, and four hours later they had managed to restore most of Dr. Mendoza’s machinery to full operation—except for the main control panel. Micky and Ella—the only ones with any electrical knowledge—had spent almost two of the four hours hunched behind the bulky piece of equipment, twisting and splicing wires until their fingers ached.
Peter ran to the other side of the room and retrieved the pliers. “It’s okay, Ella. We’ll get it soon, I’m sure.”
She tried to smile as he handed the tool to her. “I wish I shared your optimism.”
“Well, look,” Mike said. “Can’t you just leave out that one little light?”
“Yeah,” Davy said. “How important can it be?”
Ella stood, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans. “Well . . . without that indicator light to signal that the circuit is working properly, it’s very likely that whichever pair of you go first will have ten thousand volts of electricity sent directly to your brain. I don’t think you’d like that.”
“We most certainly would not!” Micky said, casting a nervous glance at the panel and its one non-functional light.
“And I cannot figure out why it’s not working . . . I’ve rewired the damn thing six times, and I tested the bulb twice.” She bared her teeth in frustration and kicked the machine.
“Hey, hey,” Mike said, holding up his hands. “Kickin’ it ain’t gonna do any good.” He wiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead; it came away dark with sweat. “Look, guys, we’ve been workin’ awful hard and I think we need a break. Let’s just leave it for now and we’ll come back when we’re cooled down, okay?”
“Fine,” Ella said, a slight edge to her voice. She pulled the tools from her pocket and tossed them onto the floor, then stalked up the stairs, slamming the door behind her.
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