think you’re mad if you think I’m responsible for this,” said Mike, “but if you think I deserve a reward, I won’t argue.”
Another kiss, and this time, Bobby slid his hand under Mike’s T-shirt and stroked the warm skin he found. “Now that’s more like it,” said Mike, cheeks flushed once more.
No matter how good it felt to have Mike so close, Bobby knew he needed to get home. “I need to tell my dad. He’s been waiting for today for as long as I have.”
Mike groaned but rolled off. He helped Bobby to his feet. “Here’s probably not the best place to do this anyway—imagine if we got caught kissing by one of my brothers?”
As he stood, hand in hand with Mike, Bobby stared across the fields to the farmhouse, and swore he could hear the disgruntled moaning of the cabbages and the chattering of excited carrots. Even with the overcast weather, the farm looked bright and alive, filled with nature in all its glory. Every story his dad had told him raced through his mind, stories that, until now, had been nothing more than the abstract ideas of long-dead men and women, of impenetrable myths and legends. But now, as the energy of the land charged through him, Bobby could appreciate the legacy his family held.
“Come on, we’d better go.”
“Promise to come over to mine later?” asked Mike. “Maybe we can work out just what you’ll need me to do as your sidekick.”
“Definitely!”
They set off down the field toward the farmhouse. Bobby could only guess how he would use his powers in the future, but for now, he would be happy if all they ever did was keep the happy smile on Mike’s face.
Part Two: Away From the Land
T HE alarm clock’s insistent ringing couldn’t be ignored, and Robert flailed out an arm from under his duvet and silenced it with a barely aimed hit. Groaning, he dragged himself from the warmth of his bed and, shedding his pajama bottoms as he went, padded out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. His vision still bleary from his interrupted deep-sleep cycle, Robert fumbled with the sliding door of the shower and then swore loudly as he caught his toe on the shower’s tray while turning on the spray. Not the best start to the day.
Dressed in the black trousers and luminous orange T-shirt that was the garden center’s uniform, Robert made himself a cup of coffee, although he had to do without milk since what remained in the carton was well on its way to becoming yogurt. And the mold on the bread made his decision to skip breakfast all too easy. His journey to work passing in its usual haze of anonymous faces on the bus, Robert rested his head against the window but was careful not to close his eyes in case he nodded off to sleep and found himself at the end of the route. Last time that had happened, he’d received a warning from his manager, and she’d made it pretty clear that it wouldn’t take much more for her to give him his final marching orders. While the job was hardly the best in the city, it was the best he could hope for with only a handful of qualifications from school—none of them particularly impressive—and a performance record that didn’t have prospective employers vying for his talents.
The day was overcast, not dark enough to threaten rain but dense enough to spread a blanket of dullness across the day. Robert stared up at the gray sky as he got off the bus, and if he believed in the sentimental claptrap spouted by bad poets, he would have said it mirrored his mood beautifully. He walked around to the staff entrance of the garden center and punched in the code on the keypad to the left of a gate, waiting for the click of the lock before he pushed open the gate and entered the corridor to the staff-only area.
Robert nodded in the direction of Clive, a spindly teen with unfortunate acne who wore an expression that said the coffee he was gulping would not help how he felt but it was his best shot. He trudged past, stopping only to clock-in and check
David Drake, S.M. Stirling
Kimberley Griffiths Little