Over the next week Leslie and Gray spent their lunch breaks huddled over their table, calling Browns from pages Leslie tore out of the phone book. It took a lot longer than Leslie thought it would. Lots of the Browns didn’t answer, and Leslie marked them with a star so she’d remember to try them again.
“Why don’t we call them after school at home?” Gray asked.
Leslie shook her head. “I don’t want to risk Savannah or Dad coming in while we’re making phone calls. Plus, our hour before they get home is already filled.”
Since there wasn’t much Leslie could do against larger shifters, Gray focused her training each afternoon on speed. They jogged to the beach, and once there Gray assigned Leslie to sprint, pivot, and maneuver at top speed through obstacle courses he set up. It took a lot more out of Leslie than she thought it would. She was used to jogging at moderate speeds, but sprinting for any sort of distance was foreign to her.
On Friday in P.E. the coach stood in front of the class. He waved a handful of strips of papers at the students. “Who here thinks they’re up for joining the cross country team?” asked Coach. None of the students answered. “Our annual cross country training camp is coming up in two weeks from today, and if any of you kids want to go and prove your worth, you’ll need these permission slips. The cost of the camp is twenty-five bucks, which isn’t too shabby considering the fact that it’s an overnighter and we’ve got to provide rooms, food, and transportation for you. So if any of you want to go, come pick up this form at the end of class.”
As they left P.E., Leslie picked up two permission slips. She handed one to Gray.
“We’re going to the camp?” Gray asked.
“No,” said Leslie. “But hopefully we’ll contact Professor Brown soon, and when we do I want us to say when and where we’re meeting. If my dad signs these permission slips, he won’t worry if we’re out late.”
“But it’s an overnighter,” Gray pointed out. “What if it doesn’t take all night?”
“We’ll sneak back into the house and stay quiet until we’re supposed to come home,” said Leslie.
When they got home, Leslie handed the permission slips to Mr. Matheson the first chance she could. “Can we go?” she asked.
Mr. Matheson looked at the permission slips. “You want to join cross country?”
Leslie nodded and bit her lip.
“It’s been two years, hasn’t it?” Mr. Matheson smiled and put a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Leslie. It must have been hard to stop cross country after your mother died, but it must be harder to join again.”
Leslie smiled, but she felt sick inside. Why did Dad have to say that? It was harder to lie to him when he was proud of her. “I’ve been training,” she said softly.
Mr. Matheson’s smile broadened, and he whipped out a pen and immediately signed the two permission slips. He handed them to Gray and Leslie, hugging Leslie tight as he did so. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of it.”
Leslie’s stomach tightened even more.
Throughout the next week, Leslie continued to call Browns and train, but she did so half-heartedly. The permission slips and money sat in Leslie’s backpack, burning a hole in her conscience. She sat down at the lunch table with a sigh.
“What’s wrong?” asked Gray. He set his tray of food on the table and sat down.
“Everything,” Leslie said, looking around. Teens milled around the lunchroom, ignoring Leslie and Gray as they gossiped about sports, fashion, music, and other normal things teenagers usually had to deal with. “I hate lying to my dad.”
“We don’t have a choice,” said Gray. “You yourself said he wouldn’t understand. And we’re running out of time.”
A girl walking by laughed shrilly, and Gray winced and covered his ears. Leslie stared at him forlornly. He was right. Even though he changed into a panther every day, ran, ate right, and did everything he could to remain healthy, the disease was taking its toll. Just yesterday Gray had collapsed during their jog, writhing in pain. And today his senses were too sharp. “Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s keep calling.”
The third Brown Leslie tried picked up the phone. “Hello?” a man said. He sounded old and reminded Leslie of talking on the phone with her grandfather.
“Hi,” Leslie said. She hesitated. The next part was always the hardest to say. “My name’s Leslie. You don’t know me, and I’m not even sure you’re the right Mr. Brown. I’m not selling anything, and I’m not trying to get you to take a survey or anything like that. Could please have a moment of your time?”
“Sure,” the old man said. “What is it you need?”
Leslie relaxed. She’d been hung up on or yelled at so many times, it was a relief to find a willing listener. “Sir,” she said, “over the past several weeks I’ve been trying to contact a man known as Professor Brown. Are you a professor?”
“I am a retired professor, yes,” said the man.
A thrill went through Leslie. This was the first time anyone had answered yes to that question. “Do you—do you know anything about a place called the Other Side?”
“Do you mean Heaven and Hell?”
“No,” said Leslie. She shook her head, a gut reaction even though the man couldn’t see her. “I mean another world. Like this one, but different, where people can, well, change into…”
“Where people can change into animals?” asked Professor Brown. “Yes, I know about the shifters’ world.”
Leslie nearly jumped out of her seat. She waved a hand in front of Gray’s face until he looked at her. She flashed a smile and gave a thumbs up before continuing, “There’s a boy with me who needs your help. He’s sitting right here.”
“Let me speak to him,” said the professor.
Leslie covered the speaker of the phone and whispered excitedly, “It’s him. It’s really him. He wants to speak to you.”
Gray held out his hand, and Leslie handed him the phone. He held it tentatively to his ear. Throughout all the time he’d been with Leslie, he’d never used a phone. “Um, hello?”
Leslie could hear some muffled speaking, and Gray winced and held the phone away from his ear. “Yes, sir,” said Gray. “My name is Gray, the son of Azure. I’m from Westwood in the province of the Giants.” Pause. “My father sent me to seek your help concerning a plague that has struck our village. This world’s medical knowledge is greater than ours, and he believes you can help us find a cure.” Another pause. “Yes. The details are in a scroll I have in my possession.” Pause. “I understand. We’d like to name a time and place to meet. Leslie has the particulars.”
Gray handed the phone back to Leslie. “I hear you want to name the time and place we’ll meet?” asked Professor Brown.
“Yes,” said Leslie, “if that’s all right with you.”
“That’s fine,” said the professor. “I understand why you feel so cautious, what with this being so strange and all.”
Leslie gave a small laugh. He didn’t know the half of it. “Okay. Do you know where the Stanford Shopping Center in Palo Alto is?”
“Of course.”
"And do you know where Jamba Juice is?"
“I'm sure I can find it on a map.”
“Meet us in the food court in front of Jamba Juice at seven-thirty pm next Friday.”
“Friday?” Professor Brown interrupted. “Why not sooner? This sounds urgent.”
“No,” Leslie said sharply. She calmed down and continued, “It has to be next Friday at seven-thirty. I’ll be wearing a pink bandana and Gray,” Leslie paused and looked at Gray. “Well, Gray will probably be wearing a long-sleeved dark colored shirt under a t-shirt. How will we recognize you?”
“Oh, just look for the old man with a cane standing in front of Jamba Juice,” said Professor Brown with a chuckle in his voice. “I look forward to meeting you, Leslie.”
“You too,” said Leslie. She hung up.
Gray grinned. “Friday?”
“Yes,” answered Leslie. Relief flooded her body, and she allowed herself to smile. “Friday.”
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