‘Tomorrow.’

It was almost all that Joe Hardy could think about.

‘The time went so fast! Why did it have to get here so quickly?’

He lay on his bed, staring at the drawing before him, one he’d made almost two months ago. This was one had hadn’t shown to his brother. This one was his treasure. He was trying to find the resolve to show it to Frank- and if he was going to, it would have to be tonight. There wouldn’t be time tomorrow.

‘I can’t believe this,’ he thought, suddenly sitting up and closing the sketchbook. ‘He’s not even gone yet, how can I be missing him already?’ But he was; the anticipatory loneliness was all too real. It was like a weight, a burden so heavy that he had little energy for talking, that every smile was harder and harder won.

Was Frank feeling like this too? He didn’t seem to be. He had already taken most of his things down to the car. Their father’s car- they’d agreed that he should use that one, since it was larger. More space for his stuff. And that left the boys’ car for Joe to drive while Frank was away.

‘He almost seems like he wants to leave. He’s all organized- no. He’s always organized, even when he’s doing something he doesn’t want to.’ A hint of a smile touched the teenager’s lips; his brother had even drawn up a list of things that Joe mustn’t forget to do. ‘As if I would forget! I can’t believe he went to so much trouble to remind me about stuff I’ve done for years.’ But that was how he knew Frank was reluctant to leave. He was being protective again, having trouble breaking loose of the old habit.

‘I should go down to his room...’ Joe hesitated. He wanted to spend these last few hours with Frank. But every time he went in there, he seemed to get in the way. Besides, it wasn’t as if they could share any sort of meaningful talk, what with Gertrude bustling in and out and reminding Frank of this or that or the other.

Joe and his aunt had not exactly made peace since the violent quarrel nine days ago. Gertrude had actively avoided him for three days, and the remaining six had been full of cold courtesy. Which was, to Joe’s mind, a major improvement over the overt hostility of the two weeks before that. It didn’t solve the problem of how he was going to teach her to send her thoughts- and how to guard them- but it was a beginning. They could at least be in the same room without biting each other’s head off. He wondered vaguely how much longer she would tolerate being able to hear people’s thoughts and feelings before she admitted she needed to learn how to control it.

‘Glad I finally figured out how to make steel walls. Akilana was right; if I just don’t let myself feel anything, it’s a lot easier. And then once the wall is up, I can start feeling again, and no one can overhear me.’ Another small smile crossed his face; Frank had been so proud. “I knew you could do it,” he’d said. “It’s harder for you, since you feel so much, but I knew you’d get the hang of it!”

‘I wish I didn’t feel so much!’ Joe sighed and kicked disconsolately at the side of the bed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was August 28. Tomorrow, Frank was due at Unity College in Maine for his Orientation. A week and a day later, Joe would start his senior year at Bayport High.

“Been wondering where you were hiding,” Frank said from the doorway.

“I’m not hiding,” Joe retorted, looking up. “If I was hiding, I’d be in the closet or something.”

“Oh, I see,” Frank answered, a brief smile flashing across his serious face. “I wasn’t sure- you keep appearing and then vanishing again.”

Frank was a great one for asking questions without actually asking anything, Joe observed once again. He just made an observation and left you feeling compelled to explain your motives for it. “Too much fuss and- and interruptions,” he replied. He knew he didn’t have to say anymore; Frank’s brown eyes darkened with comprehension and he nodded.

“I think that’s all pretty much taken care of, I’ve gotten everything together- and she’s getting tired of going up and down the stairs,” he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder.

Joe’s eyes widened a little. “Were you doing that on purpose, then?” he asked in a whisper. And grinned as Frank winked. Very clever- keep their aunt on the run long enough with requests or errands and she either got huffy and told them to do it themselves, or got tired out and found something else to do. It probably wasn’t the nicest way to treat her, but after all, she kept volunteering!

Besides, Joe wasn’t nearly as worried about his aunt’s welfare as he used to be. Not after the way she’d treated his mother- and him. He supposed he didn’t want her to die, or get in any way hurt or ill, but he didn’t particularly care about her comfort, either. She’d always insisted she was perfectly able to take care of herself; very well, then- let her!

Joe pulled his thoughts away from Gertrude as his brother came into the room, closed the door, and sat beside him on the bed. “I don’t suppose I need to mention how blue you look,” Frank said softly, sliding an arm around him. Joe leaned against his brother, sighing.

“Weird, I don’t feel cold,” he tried to joke, but it fell flat and he shook his head at himself. “Am I nuts?” He could feel the curious look Frank was giving him.

“Well...that’s open to debate. If you mean, does thinking differently from other people make you nuts, then no. But you do seem to be on a different wavelength a lot.”

Joe felt another wave of loneliness, felt suddenly cut off. He didn’t want to be on a different wavelength. He wanted company in his thoughts, his feelings. He didn’t want to be alone in a crowd, thinking B while everyone else was thinking A...

“Joe, it’s not a bad thing. Besides, there’s always going to be some of us who can connect up with you,” Frank said gently, giving him a little squeeze. “I don’t think the way you do- but I still understand your thought process. It’s not like you’re some unsolvable eccentric or something. Like that guy we met who insisted he was King Arthur’s heir- that’s nuts. You could pelt him with facts from here to next year, and he would never change his outlook- he’d never be truly understandable.”

“Thanks, that does make me feel better,” the younger boy said gratefully. He might think differently, but Frank was right; different didn’t mean crazy. And people still did understand him, even if they didn’t always agree.

“What made you ask in the first place?”

Joe grimaced. “Don’t laugh?”

“I won’t laugh.”

“I- it’s crazy, you can laugh if you want- but...” Joe sighed again. “You haven’t even left yet, and I already miss you.”

Frank Hardy wrapped his arms tightly around his younger brother, pulling him closer, closing his eyes and trying to- to- He didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he was trying to forget something- like the fact he had to leave tomorrow. Maybe he was trying to memorize something- like how good and comforting it felt to hug his brother. “It’s not crazy, and it’s not laughable either,” he murmured, his voice suddenly tight. “I feel exactly the same way.”

It was very convenient that they were so nearly the same height, he thought as Joe snuggled a little closer. “I almost wish you didn’t,” the younger Hardy said quietly. “It’s a miserable feeling.”

Frank nodded, running one hand over the tousled blond head resting on his shoulder. It was going to be rough tomorrow. It was already rough. He couldn’t imagine driving away, leaving his home, his friends...his brother. But tomorrow he’d do it.

Maybe he’d made the wrong decision. Maybe he should stay. Or maybe he’d let himself become too close to Joe. Perhaps it would have made it easier if they’d tried to distance themselves a bit, sort of loosen their bond... No. That was unthinkable. It would only have made them both that much more unhappy, that much sooner. They’d had enough misery without trying to sever their relationship. And they weren’t going to sever it, anyway, he reminded himself, trying to think positive. “Don’t forget this,” he sent to Joe, and felt the sense of aloneness fade.

“Yes. Our secret advantage,” Joe replied the same way, his own sorrow lifting somewhat. No matter where they were, their minds could connect, exchange feelings and worries, confidences and affection. “And it’s really not that long until your Thanksgiving break,” he added aloud.

September, October, half of November. “Two and a half months, that’s shorter than this summer,” Frank agreed, but a little chill went over him. The summer that had passed so quickly had brought so many terrible changes. What would the autumn bring?

“Whatever it brings, it won’t change us that much,” Joe told him silently. “We’ve survived the summer and we’ve still got each other, so we can take whatever autumn is going to send our way.”

Frank nodded, allowing his brother’s optimism to persuade him. “It’s nearly six,” he remarked aloud, glancing at the lowering sun outside the window. The days were growing shorter again. “Hungry yet?”

“A little.” Joe sat up, looking a good deal more relaxed than he had when Frank entered the room.

“I’m more than a little.” Frank’s stomach was sending an unmistakable message: Feed Me Now!

“You’ve been up and down the stairs so much today, burning all that energy will do the trick.” Joe shoved his ever-rebellious hair from his blue eyes and smiled. “Let’s go see what’s for dinner.” Gertrude still did the cooking, though she no longer baked as often as she had formerly.

Dinner turned out to be beef pot roast, a favorite of both boys. Their aunt said very little during the meal and helped them with the cleaning up, two very unusual occurrences these days. Then she told them where to find dessert, and a moment later stated that she was going to bed. Both her nephews dutifully said good night as she walked slowly from the kitchen.

“I think she’s going to miss you, too,” Joe said very softly as he moved to get out the lemon pie that was awaiting their attention.

Frank got out two dessert plates, two forks, and the big butcher knife. “You may be right. But I’m surprised,” he said briefly, cutting a generous hunk and then passing the knife to his brother. He was fairly sure he’d succeeded in driving her away. It was a shame, but apparently it had to be one extreme or the other. Either he had to condone her attitude, or condemn it; he’d chosen to condemn it and he was not going to change his mind. “Maybe she’s just picking up on us and it’s affecting her more than she likes.” That seemed more likely than the thought she’d miss him.

“Equally possible.” Joe cut his own slice, put it on the plate, and sat back down to eat. Frank noticed it was a smaller piece than usual.

“Maybe it’ll go some way to persuading her to learn from you,” Frank suggested, lowering his voice. Like it or not, and none of them did, Gertrude would have to learn how to handle her gift of telepathy.

“It might.” Joe took a few bites of pie. “I’m sort of surprised she’s lasted this long. I doubt she’ll ever really want to use the sending, but I’m sure she’ll make good use of the shields.”

“Speaking of that, how’re yours going?” Frank asked curiously. It wasn’t what he really wanted to ask, but it was a start.

“Oh, pretty well. I still don’t like doing it, metal just feels all wrong, but I’m not expending nearly as much effort on it now. And it might be necessary someday,” Joe replied with a resigned shrug.

“Haven’t needed it this last week or so?” Frank hadn’t sensed any further outbursts of rage from Gertrude’s direction, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been some.

“Well, a few times.” Joe frowned at his remaining wedge of pie. “But nothing on the scale of those first ones. I think the fact that I’m not letting her get to me is throwing her for a loop. She keeps expecting me to make a big deal out of it, argue back at her, and instead I just cut her off.”

That was a shrewd observation, Frank thought. Gertrude always had thrived on attention, and not getting a response from Joe would certainly disconcert her. “Doesn’t know how to handle it,” he mused.

“Yeah.” Joe looked up, his expression slightly malicious, but also amused. “It’s a big shock when someone who used to blow up at you suddenly stops reacting to you at all.”

Frank smiled, then grew serious again. He finished his slice of pie, pushed the plate away, and regarded his brother for a moment. Joe looked over and cocked his head questioningly. “She hasn’t tried to guilt you out again, has she?”

Joe looked back down at the plate with a sigh. “She hasn’t been bombarding me with it,” he answered. “But she hasn’t changed her mind, either.”

“And you?” Frank asked gently, leaning over to touch Joe’s arm. “Have you changed your mind?”

“I...” Joe stopped and put the fork down. “Some days I have. Some days I haven’t. I don’t know, Frank. I didn’t do it. But I didn’t stop it, either.”

‘Just what I was afraid of,’ the older boy thought sadly. ‘Still blaming himself for not preventing it. And even if she’d had the seatbelt on, she- it might not have turned out any different. I wish Dad were here, he always seemed to be able to come up with some airtight piece of logic when one was needed.’ Frank himself wasn’t too bad at that, either, but he’d already used several persuasive arguments, and he had to admit they weren’t nearly as ‘airtight’ as his father’s usually were.

“You’re what-if’ing,” he said at last, still speaking gently. “You’re telling yourself that if you’d only noticed and reminded her, that she’d have put it on. And that as a result, when they forced you over the embankment, she would have come through it. But the fact is, we don’t know if either of those predictions would be accurate. After all, the airbag-” Frank stopped, aching inside; Joe looked close to tears. “It might just be that, no matter what happened, she wouldn’t’ve made it,” he finished quietly, his grip on his brother’s arm tightening.

“But the chances-”

“Joe, airbags were added to cars because seatbelts weren’t doing enough of a job in preventing life-threatening injuries,” Frank stated. “Yes, they helped. But they weren’t enough on their own. You would have been very badly hurt if not for your airbag.” He didn’t even venture to suggest that Joe might have been killed; the thought still made him go cold inside.

“That...is true,” he heard his brother say slowly. “I- the explosion-”

“Don’t talk about explosions,” Frank said sharply, unable to prevent the words from coming out.

“Sorry,” Joe murmured. His thoughts brushed reassurance into Frank’s mind, dissipating the cold fear, helping to push the memory of Lynch’s blazing mansion away.

Frank relaxed, gave his brother a grateful look, and then slowly stood up. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he suggested, releasing Joe’s arm and picking up his crumby plate. “I mean, after we finish the cleanup.”

An hour after they had gone upstairs, Joe once again found himself alone in his room, staring at the closed cover of his sketchpad. The sound of water running came from down the hall, where his brother was washing up. The clock read eight-fifteen, but fading sunlight still tinted the summer sky. Joe had always liked the long summer days, always grew a little subdued when autumn closed in and the light faded earlier and earlier. He did like winter, though; there was skiing, ice hockey, sledding...and there was almost always one major snowball fight each year. He wasn’t wild about getting cold and wet, but getting warm and dry afterwards was worth the discomfort.

The shower shut off. Joe idly traced the logo of the sketchpad with his finger. He wasn’t at all surprised that Frank had asked him those questions after Gertrude had left the room, but he rather wished Frank had not. ‘I know he’s just trying to make sure I’m all right, but I hate talking about it.’ He was still trying to cope with his emotions; sometimes he still forgot that his parents were both gone now. Other times he simply didn’t want to believe it. But mostly it just hurt.

‘Hurt’ wasn’t really the right word for it, he thought. But it was the best word he could come up with describe the emptiness, the crushing weight that seemed to have fallen on his spirit. It was always there, sometimes more noticeable, sometimes less so. It wasn’t anything like a physical pain, but it did show itself in physical ways. His appetite had diminished, he didn’t have as much interest in activities that he used to enjoy, his moods were- well, not ‘bad’ he decided, thinking it over. He didn’t fly off the handle or get irritated as much as he used to- couldn’t summon that much interest. Subdued, maybe that was it. And it seemed a lot harder to make decisions than it used to be.

His brother was feeling the same, he knew. Only worse. ‘He doesn’t look as vulnerable now as he did, but I know he’s still getting bad feelings, still waking up wondering if I’m alive or dead.’ Not as often as he had when they first got home, which was a good sign; that meant he was getting over the incident. But judging from his sharp response earlier to Joe’s mention of an explosion, he still had a ways to go.

Soft footsteps in the hall. Joe frowned at the sketchpad, undecided. A pause as Frank went into his own room, and then more quiet footsteps. Then he appeared in the doorway, walked in, and stopped at the foot of the bed. “Whatcha thinking so hard about?”

Joe lifted the cover and paged rapidly through the sketchbook, his pulse suddenly accelerating. He found the page quickly, turned the book around, and said simply, “That.” He sat up, turned away and gazed out the window, feeling like he’d let the genie out of the bottle.

The picture was one he’d made in June, at the beach. Their first night there, they had gone out on the porch to watch the sun set and listen to the sea. Several days later, Joe had tried to catch the moment when they had sat together, mesmerized by the beauty and peacefulness. He hadn’t included himself in the sketch, simply because he had no idea what his own expression had been at the time. But he remembered his brother’s serene face and relaxed pose, and had tried very hard to transfer that memory to paper. He felt he had succeeded.

What was troubling him was how Frank was going to react. Not just for the fact of having been caught in an unguarded moment, but for the sheer inappropriateness of it. Frank had changed since that June night. Maybe he wasn’t that person at all anymore. Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded. And maybe he just wouldn’t think the likeness was any good...

Joe heard Frank’s intake of breath and wondered why it had taken him so long to actually look at the picture. Or maybe he’d just now recognized it!

Silence. Joe leaned an elbow against the windowsill, cupped his chin in his hand, and watched clouds roll in from the Bay. Lightning flickered in the sultry air and the last remains of the sunset were soon snuffed out. Joe was starting to get antsy, but controlled it. Barely. He wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t turn around. He’d give his brother plenty of time to-

Joe jumped as Frank’s hand landed gently on his shoulder; turning his head, he blushed fiercely at the look on his brother’s face. “Is- I never-” Frank started, putting the sketchpad on the bed. He handled it very gently, as if it might crack at a too-harsh touch. “Is...this...really how you see me?” Frank finished at length, slowly sitting down beside him.

Joe wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the question. “Well,” he said uncertainly, looking away and nervously pinching the bedspread. “It’s- how I saw you. I-I did it in June, so...” Out of words, he glanced up again.

Frank closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think it’s me, not anymore-”

A deep feeling of disappointment went through Joe. ‘He doesn’t like it? I was afraid he might not. But I hoped he would at least say-’

“-But I sure would like it to be me.” Frank sighed, opened his eyes. “And maybe- maybe it will be again. Some day. Could I-” he hesitated, and Joe saw with surprise that color was rising in Frank’s face. “Could I keep it?”

“What? No! I mean- you- why?” Joe blurted out, bewildered. “Why would you- you don’t mean you like it that much, do you?”

“It reminds me,” Frank murmured, his eyes returning to the picture. “Reminds me of the beach, and learning to send and spending time....” ‘Spending time with you,’ was the conclusion of his thought, Joe heard it clearly.

Joe bit his lip, torn. He wanted that picture near him, it reminded him of the wonderful week at the beach, too. Well, wonderful with an exception or two. But how could he keep it to himself and deny his brother a memento of their time together? “Well,” he said at last, “you want it and I want it, so I guess we need a printer or something.”

Frank looked up and smiled. “The library is still open, it’s only eight-thirty and they’re open till nine. And they have an excellent copy machine.”

“Let’s go!” Joe hopped up from the bed, crammed his feet into his shoes, and was down the stairs in five seconds, his sketchpad under his arm and his brother right behind him. Seven minutes later they were standing in the library, waiting impatiently for an older gentleman to finish copying what seemed to be an entire U.S. atlas. The only sound was the hum of the copier. The place was always silent, but tonight, so close to closing, there was no one but the boys, this man and the lady at the reference desk.

“Finally,” Frank murmured as the man gathered his copies and headed for the desk to pay for them. He quickly opened the top; Joe arranged the sketchpad just so, closed the lid, and touched the Print key. The copy that was extruded was black and white, which ruined a good deal of the shading, so the boys tried it in color instead. This had a far better result, and Joe put it in the sketchpad to keep it from wrinkling while Frank dug fifty cents from his pocket.

“I remember when copies were fifteen cents each, not twenty-five,” Joe remarked as they departed, hearing the heavy door boom closed behind them. It was the shortest trip he’d ever made there; usually he ended up spending several hours among the tall stacks of books.

“Yes, and I remember when stamps were twenty cents, not forty,” Frank replied. “Gotta love inflation. Of course, the income per capita was a lot lower then too, people just didn’t make as much money back then.”

“Wouldn’t it be great,” Joe said rather dreamily, “to live back then, but with the salary people make now?”

“Up to a point,” Frank agreed, pulling out of the parking lot and stopping for a red light. “But there wouldn’t be nearly as much of the technology we’ve gotten used to. Think of it...only three channels on your TV!” He grinned over at Joe, who pretended to faint at the thought.

“Okay, that was just scary and quite cruel of you to suggest,” he responded after an appropriate amount of ‘unconscious’ time. Joe was a cable addict. “And of course you wouldn’t have any Internet,” he added thoughtfully.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Frank replied mock-seriously as the light turned green. Lightning flashed across the sky and he accelerated. “Hope we can beat the storm.”

“Hope we don’t lose power,” Joe remarked. “I’ve gotten very tired of resetting the clocks this summer.”

“I noticed you kept going around and resetting ‘em all,” Frank answered, sounding amused. “Even though you had to know you’d just be doing it again the next day.”

“There’s just something about a clock flashing that bugs me,” Joe explained as they pulled up into the driveway. “I think it reminds me of a bomb. Wait, better park on the street.”

“Why- oh, right.” Frank pulled their car back out, leaving the driveway clear so that he could back their father’s car out the next morning. “Hey, the window’s up, isn’t it?”

Joe glanced at the passenger window and nodded. “All the way up to the top.” He hopped out, locked the door, and closed it. “Hurry up, I can feel the rain already,” he called, running towards the door as thunder boomed overhead. Another flash of lightning lit up the front of the house.

A minute or so after he got inside, he heard the rain begin in earnest. Frank came pelting in then, smiling, and wiped his face with his sleeve. “And that was a completely unnecessary second shower,” he commented, shaking his arms.

“Shhh,” Joe suggested. “You don’t want to wake her up. Let’s take some candles upstairs, just in case we need them, so we don’t have to find our way back down.”

“What happened to your flashlight?” Frank asked, going over to the dining room cupboard and removing two large pillar candles from a drawer.

Joe grimaced, remembering the miniature flashlight he habitually carried with him. It was more reliable than matches, though those could be extremely useful, too. “I think I left it over in East Side,” he grumbled. “Keep telling myself to get a new one, and I keep forgetting.” A bright flash outside punctuated his remark, and the thunder rumbled loudly. “How many storms does this make so far this year?”

“I’ve lost count.” Frank headed for the stairs. “Didn’t get wet, did it?” he asked anxiously, turning and pointing one of the candles at Joe’s sketchpad.

“A few drops on the back, but it’s cardboard, so no problem,” Joe assured him, running his hand over the surface to wipe some of the water away.

“Good.”

Joe followed his brother up the steps, his thoughts returning to the sketch. Of all the reactions he’d played through in his mind, having Frank ask to keep the picture had not occurred to him at all. Walking into his room, he kicked off his sneakers again, put the sketchpad on his desk, and pulled out the copy. Regarding it for a thoughtful moment, he finally nodded, turned, and nearly walked smack into Frank. “Whoa. I thought you’d gone to your room.”

“I did, I put one of the candles in there,” Frank explained, setting the other one on Joe’s desk.

“You would give me the peach-scented one.”

Frank gave him an odd look. “I guess you’d prefer cinnamon apple?”

“Hm, let’s just hope the power doesn’t go out!”

Frank smiled, then looked pointedly at the copy of the sketch. “I think I’ll need something to keep that flat,” he said thoughtfully as thunder rumbled outside.

The boys spent the next hour in Frank’s room, trying to find something in which to put the sketch. Finally Frank dug out an old portfolio from the past high school year. There were a few of his English compositions in it, and some college material from the assorted schools he’d been looking into. He pulled these out and laid them on his desk; Joe, ever curious, picked up one of the compositions and started reading it. “You write pretty well,” he remarked after a while. “If it were only legible.”

“Thank you,” his brother answered sarcastically, carefully closing the portfolio and putting it on top of his laptop, which he would put in the car in the morning.

“You’re welcome. Why didn’t you just type these out on the computer?”

Frank scratched his head, thinking that over. “I don’t know. I suppose the printer going haywire had something to do with it, but we got that fixed. I guess I just never got into the habit.”

Joe nodded, glancing over at the system. It was an IBM clone, running on Windows 2000, and it had caused them both a considerable amount of trouble, what with all the internal bugs and virus weaknesses. Phil Cohen had been a tremendous help in fixing and patching the system, but they all would have preferred it had that not been necessary. Frank could get a lot out of the old machine; Joe mainly used it to ‘surf’ whenever he was in the mood to do so, which wasn’t all that often. However, it was remaining in Bayport with him; Frank’s laptop was both easier to haul around and a great deal less antiquated. “You sure you don’t want to take this one?”

“What, and leave my laptop for you to monkey with?”

Joe paused at the ‘monkey’. “I know most schools have computers, but are they hooked up to printers?”

“Hmmmm, fair question.” Frank sat down, then shrugged. “If not, I’ll lug the printer away at Thanksgiving- you never use it and my laptop’s compatible with it.” A sigh. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Joe put the composition down, turned, and smiled. “Let’s do that. Let’s talk about why you still keep comparing me to animals! So far I’ve been a racehorse, a camel, and- what’d you call me when I went down the basement steps? A herd of rhinos?”

Frank laughed. “Something like that. And don’t forget, when you sat on me I decided you were an elephant.”

“Oh yes.” That had been back in June, around the third or fourth evening after he’d been employed at Starmail. “And now I’m ‘monkeying’ with your laptop? Just what is the deal here, you thinking of becoming a zoologist now?”

“I might have to think about that, you’re a menagerie in your own right,” Frank retorted, grinning.

The storm overhead spent its fury and drifted off as the boys talked quietly together. Frank stretched out on the bed, his head propped on his hand; Joe sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up at his brother. Eleven o’clock came and gradually both of them began to realize they were feeling weary. It had been a tiring day. “I probably better get to sleep,” Frank said at last, sitting up. “It’s a long drive tomorrow.”

Joe felt his smile fade as he nodded. Then, as he stood up, he groaned. “I’ve got to stop doing this,” he complained, sitting down on the bed and drawing up his knees to rub his numbed feet. He paused as his brother’s arm went around him, and he felt again the ache of impending separation.

“Joe?”

“Yeah?”

A pause. “Stick around.”

Despite his sadness, Joe smiled. “I was about to say, if you want me outta here, you’re going to have a battle on your hands,” he replied lightly, and heard his brother’s amused snort.

“I’m in no mood for battles,” Frank assured him.

Joe stood up from the bed. “Be back in a few,” he explained as he went out the door, wincing a little, for his feet were still giving him pins and needles. It was a bit too late for a shower, but there were some other evening routines that needed doing. After he returned to Frank’s room, his brother went to take a turn in the bathroom.

Soon the brothers lay side by side on Frank’s bed in the dark, Joe on the outside to keep his ‘bed-hogging’ to a minimum. The room was silent; moonlight shone wanly through the curtained window and the unused candle on the desk spread its spicy smell across the room.

Frank fell asleep first; he’d been more active than Joe, making all those trips to the car with his stuff. Joe lay awake for a while, thinking- not so much about the passing summer, but about the many other years now past. He and Frank had always been together, as close as twins if not closer. Maybe it was time they learned how to cope apart from each other. He only hoped they could do so without losing that closeness that made them best friends, a strong team. ‘The sending,’ he reminded himself, as he had often in the past two weeks. ‘The sending will make the difference for us.’ And with that comforting thought, he drifted to sleep.

The alarm went off, breaking the morning stillness with its shrill ringing. Frank Hardy grumbled a sleepy protest and reached over to turn it off, only to have his arm unexpectedly collide with something soft beside him.

“Hey, ow, watch out,” a voice protested.

“Sorry, I don’t have my eyes open yet,” Frank mumbled. “Turn the alarm off, would you?”

The bed creaked as weight shifted, and a moment later the annoying noise was stilled. “Eight-thirty,” Joe’s voice remarked, and then he yawned. Frank opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and focused on his brother, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Joe’s back was to him and his blond hair was severely tousled.

“I’m amazed,” Frank said, slowly sitting up.

“Hmmm?”

“For once in your life, you didn’t take over the entire bed.”

Joe stretched. “I never do, you know; if I did, you’d end up on the floor every time,” he corrected, turning around with a sleepy smile. “Why did you set the alarm for so early? I feel like a zombie.”

Frank grinned, but merely said, “I usually wake up before it goes off.”

Joe groaned. “No wonder you’re always such a grouch in the mornings!” Standing, he ran his hands through his tousled hair, then went to the door. On opening it, the smell of bacon wafted in.

Frank got up, hearing his stomach suddenly growl. “I wonder what time she was up,” he speculated fuzzily as he opened the dresser drawers. He’d want something comfortable enough to drive several hours in, but something that would also make a good impression on people when he arrived...

“I’m going to have my shower,” Joe said, apparently not heeding Frank’s remark. No surprise; if Frank was often grumpy in the morning, Joe was often vague. It was funny how both of them could wake at a moment’s notice and be hyper-alert when working on a mystery, yet be groggy and slow-moving when they woke on an ordinary day. Frank had speculated about it once or twice, but never reached a conclusion. Sighing, he pulled out a pair of good jeans, one of his less-casual short-sleeved shirts, and a pair of socks, and began to get ready to leave.

Breakfast consisted of bacon and scrambled eggs, blueberry muffins and fruit salad. Gertrude was silent, sipping at her coffee and eating very little. Joe, somewhat revived by his shower, attacked his breakfast with almost his usual appetite. Frank was glad to see it; it bugged him in an incomprehensible way to see his brother pick at food. He himself ate less than he’d expected to; he’d been hungry, but on reaching the table he’d found his appetite abating in favor of nervous butterflies.

After helping with the breakfast cleanup, Frank went back upstairs and started looking for his sneakers. One of them was in plain sight on the bedroom floor; he finally found the other under the bed. They were new; he’d gotten them not long after they returned from East Side. He pulled them on and tied them, then stood up to make the bed. The rest of the room was in acceptable shape, though he did pause to tidy a few things and take the unused candle back downstairs.

Returning to his room, Frank noted the time. Nine-fifteen. The butterflies in his stomach grew more noticeable. Taking a breath, he unplugged the clock and wrapped the cord around it, then set it beside the laptop. Then he opened his desk drawer and took out the packet of Orientation paperwork that Unity had sent him, and the directions on how to get there. He’d gone there once before to see the campus and was fairly sure he remembered the way, but it was a good deal wiser to have a map than not to. He set the packet on top of the portfolio- and then he removed it again and opened the portfolio to gaze again at the sketch Joe had given him.

‘Was I ever really that sure of myself? That much in control? I thought I could handle anything I needed to- now...now I’m not sure of that, not at all. Why am I doing this? Why am I leaving home? I don’t think I want to. But I can’t back out now.’

Frank Hardy had learned a great deal about emotions over the tumultuous summer, but his mind still worked in a logical, factual manner. Had he been Joe, he would have found nothing wrong in deciding that his instincts were trying to tell him he wasn’t ready to leave yet; Joe was accustomed to heeding his inner warnings. Frank was not; all he knew was that, despite how uneasy he felt, the logic of the situation was driving him on. He was expected, a room and roommate were waiting for him, his schedule was ready and the car was packed. Therefore, he had to go, even though something in him screamed that he shouldn’t. Backing out now would be ridiculous; he’d look like a fool for getting so close and then calling it off. Besides, he wasn’t a quitter.

‘Remember, if it turns out not to be the right choice, you can always come home,’ he told himself, recalling Callie’s calm advice. The thought eased his uncertainty. He had to at least try it; how could he know if it was right or not until he did? Feeling a little less unnerved, he closed the portfolio, stacked the packet and directions on top of it, and gathered up the pile to take it downstairs. Joe appeared as if by magic, taking the alarm clock and documents and leaving Frank with just the laptop to carry. Frank smiled in gratitude and led the way down to the garage.

Fenton and Laura Hardy’s car had been well repaired after the crash that took Laura’s life. The broken windows had been replaced, the dents and dings hammered out, and the car repainted. The engine had been carefully tuned and all the parts inspected to be sure they were in good working order. Getting all the glass out had proven rather challenging, according to the garage men. The seats had had to be re-upholstered in light tan plush, for the flying glass had made dozens of cuts in the original coverings.

No one had mentioned the other aspect, that blood was very hard to get out of leather.

Joe wouldn’t drive this car. Probably he never would again, not unless there was an emergency of the most extreme kind. It was about all he could do to get into the passenger seat, and doing so had sent him into shock the first time he’d tried it.

Frank placed the laptop on the passenger seat, then took the map and directions from Joe and put them on the computer. Opening the trunk, he put the portfolio in his suitcase pocket and wedged the alarm clock securely into a corner. “That’s it,” he said quietly, and closed the trunk lid. Joe shut the passenger door as they walked back up the driveway.

Gertrude was waiting in the living room, suddenly looking far older than her years. But she gave Frank a smile and a quick kiss, then proceeded to list all the things he was to do: wear the proper clothes, eat right, get plenty of sleep, all the usual little admonitions she made before he went anywhere. This time, though, she added, ‘Study hard, but not too hard,’ to the list.

“I will,” he promised. His aunt smiled again, then turned and went into the den, her private refuge. For a moment, he felt a surge of sympathy for her. It couldn’t be easy, being her. She really didn’t have anyone but them. She tried to pretend she didn’t need anyone, but they all knew it was just a show.

Frank turned to his brother then, looked into eyes the color of a bright winter sky, and felt a deep sadness. “You take care of yourself,” he murmured, putting his arms around Joe.

“I will. I’ll be okay, Frank. I’m safe here, especially with the gang around,” Joe answered softly, returning the hug. “And I promise not to get into any ‘trouble’ until you get home.”

Frank nodded. “Good. I won’t, either.” Of course it was possible that trouble would find them, but neither of them had much heart for anything mysterious these days. “If something does land on you, let me know, okay?”

“It does do that, doesn’t it?” Joe remarked ruefully. “I’ll keep you updated. Let me know when you get in tonight.”

Frank nodded again, closed his eyes for a moment, and then released his brother with a sigh. “I better go before I decide not to.” Still he hesitated, brushing his hand lightly over Joe’s rumpled hair. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too,” Joe murmured, and Frank felt color heat his face. Not from embarrassment, though. Then he forced himself to move away, to walk to the door and go out, to get into the car, start it, and back out of the driveway.

It got a little easier when he reached the Interstate, but it still felt very peculiar to be driving without his ‘navigator’. Joe had a knack for finding good routes and shortcuts that didn’t get them lost, though he preferred to drive whenever he could. Frank felt a smile touch his lips; now Joe would be doing all the driving at home. That would probably drop his enthusiasm for it by a couple notches.

The drive from Bayport, New York to Unity, Maine, was about six and a half hours; Frank had departed from his home around nine-thirty and arrived at the college close to four that afternoon. As he pulled into the parking lot at the faculty building, where the registration office was, he noticed that there were few cars in the lot. Probably not too many people arriving this late, he thought. Draping his coat over the laptop, just in case, he got out and went in to find out his dorm assignment.

“Hi,” the blond young woman at the desk said, looking up. “A late start, huh?”

“It’s a long drive from New York,” Frank explained.

“Oh, an out of state-er! Welcome to Maine. What brought you so far from home?”

“Thanks. Well, my aunt has some friends in this area that we’ve visited a few times, and they mentioned the place while I was doing my searching.”

“Ahh, I see. Okay, so let me have your name.”

“Frank Hardy.”

“Let’s see. Oh yes, here you are. You’re in room 135, over in Morgan Hall, and your roommate hasn’t checked in yet. But it says here you’re both nonsmokers, so that’s one thing you already have in common,” the young woman said cheerfully, handing him a key.

“Thanks...?”

“Beth,” she answered with a smile. “I’m a junior here. Business administration.”

Frank smiled. “Thanks, Beth. Just out of curiosity, how many students are there at Unity?” He knew how many had been here the previous year, but he was curious to know how many incoming freshmen there were.

“Just about 1700 of us,” Beth replied. “Most of us are from in-state; the place is too small and too far from the big towns to attract much attention.”

The Hardy boy nodded thoughtfully, then glanced up as several students entered the room. “Thanks. See you around, maybe,” he told the young woman, and went out to find Morgan Hall.

The hall turned out to be quite easy to locate; it was the first one on the right as he entered the area of campus where the dorm buildings were located. Leaving the car, he went in through the side entrance, again noting a very small number of vehicles in the lot. Odd, but at least it meant he didn’t have to park far away. Walking down the corridor, he found room 135 and went in.

‘Small’ was Frank’s first thought on seeing the place. A single bed stood on each side of the room, with a desk at the foot. A large wardrobe had been put on either side of the door; opening the one on the right, he discovered a number of hangers and several shelves. ‘No dresser?’ he wondered, then saw the three drawers down below the wardrobe doors. There was also a shelf above each bed that ran the entire length of the wall.

It took more trips to get everything into the room than it had to get it all into the car, since he was doing it all himself. Frank set up his laptop first, though he knew he wouldn’t have Internet access until the phones were hooked up on Monday or Tuesday. Then he arranged his clothes in the closet-dresser, discovering that he had just about enough room for everything. A small rug that his aunt had given him for graduation went on the tile floor beside the bed, so he wouldn’t freeze his feet every morning. The mini boom-box that had been Joe’s present went up on the shelf, along with the CDs he’d brought, a few useful computer things, some books and family pictures, and the precious portfolio.

‘There, that’s everything- oh, the bed,’ Frank thought suddenly, realizing he’d be sleeping in the bed tonight and therefore it needed some sheets. He made it up quickly, frowning at the thin bedspread provided by the college and feeling glad he’d brought his electric blanket. There was no room in the wardrobe for his shaving kit, and he had the feeling it wouldn’t be wise to leave it in the communal bathroom, so that went up on the shelf too. Towels were a problem, and he finally stuck them back in his suitcase and shoved the suitcase under the bed. ‘Not bad, considering,’ he thought as he sat down in the chair by the desk and looked around. It hadn’t taken nearly as long as packing had!

“Joe...” He let his body relax, his mind stretch out over the miles, and wondered with a sudden fear if the distance was too great for them to reach each other. But Akilana had told them not to worry about that. “Joe?”

“I’m here,” his brother’s voice replied. “So you got there safe and sound?”

Frank smiled, his eyes closing. It almost felt as if his brother was in the room with him. “Safe and sound, and so far so good. Haven’t met my roomie yet, I hope he doesn’t mind that I already picked the bed I wanted.”

“What’s to pick?” Joe inquired, smiling. “Left or right, big deal. Jeez, you’ve unpacked already? Brother, you are too organized!”

“It only looks that way to you because you’re not at all organized,” Frank was sending when a noise at the door alerted him. “Visitor,” he said quickly, and let the contact lapse.

The door swung open and a guy walked in, lugging a suitcase behind him. He was just about Frank’s height, but thinner, his arms and legs unmuscled. He wore glasses, and his hair was a mid-brown mop. His clothes were very casual; faded jeans and a dark-blue ‘Unity’ sweatshirt. His face wasn’t particularly handsome, but he wasn’t unattractive either. “Hey,” he said carelessly, pausing a few steps into the room. “Derek Williams.”

“Hi. I’m Frank Hardy.” Frank stood up and the two shook hands briefly.

“When’d you get in?”

“A little before four.”

“No way, man! You must be super organized to have got all this done in an hour and a half,” Derek remarked with a grin. “What part of the great backwoods are you from?”

“Oh, I’m from a little town in New York,” Frank explained. “On the ocean. Bayport.”

Derek’s smile twisted into something sardonic. “Oh, out of state. ‘Bayport’? Not the most original name in the world, but no matter, I suppose.”

Frank just shrugged, disliking how Derek’s attitude had suddenly altered at the mention of Bayport. “Hope you don’t mind that I picked my side already,” he ventured after a moment, sitting back down in the chair.

“No big deal. I won’t be around long enough to care.” Derek dropped his suitcase beside the other bed.

“Oh?” Frank thought that was an odd attitude. Why would he bother coming to the school if he wasn’t going to stay?

“I’ll be moving into the frathouse as soon as they accept me,” Derek explained, lying down on his bed and propping his feet on the iron rail at the foot. “In a day or two, three tops. You being out of state you probably don’t know, but very few people take the dorms. They either bunk at the frats or take other off-campus housing. Some lucky stiffs even manage to commute back and forth from home.”

Frank raised his brows, nodding comprehension. “Are there that many fraternities, or is it just that few students?” he asked, mildly curious.

“Not that many fraternities, not compared with the big schools, but it’s no difficulty getting in. So long as you’re a righteous sort.” Derek grinned. “You a righteous sort, roomie?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Frank replied. “What’s it take to be considered righteous?” He had a sinking feeling that he knew the answer, though. True, some fraternities were highly respected organizations, but at college level they were often less than fastidious about the behavior of their members. Hazing, dangerous and cruel pranks, and heavy alcohol consumption often featured prominently.

Derek’s next words confirmed his fears. “Well, let’s see. Gotta be able to hold your booze. Gotta be able to make it with the chicks. Gotta be able to dish out rough stuff if it’s needed- and take it too, if it comes to that.”

“Rough stuff?”

“There’s certain rivalries,” Derek amplified. “The house I’m going in has a grudge going against another house. So they’re the enemy. Of course, we’re all Unity guys, so when there’s a school event, like the football games, we make nice and go under a truce.”

“But when the game is over, the truce is over too,” Frank surmised.

“Got it in one. So, think you’re righteous?”

“Probably not,” Frank replied. “Just for starters, my girlfriend would not appreciate me dating anyone else. And I’d rather not risk getting caught with alcohol.” Frank wasn’t naive; he knew perfectly well that the ‘dry campus’ theory was just that, only a theory. In practice, there was hardly a college or university in the country where he wouldn’t find illegal drinking. But that didn’t mean he wanted any part of it.

Besides, he’d never cared for the taste. Fenton had allowed both his sons to try small quantities of various alcoholic drinks from time to time after they had turned sixteen, and Frank’s reaction had been pretty well uniform: the stuff was revolting, no matter what form it was in. Only once had he overimbibed- much to his dismay the next morning. Not only had he felt wretched, he’d been teased mercilessly for a week, by family and friends alike. Everyone had claimed he’d been singing, and very poorly at that. He didn’t remember it himself and had not been at all sure that there wasn’t some elaborate joke being played on him.

“Didn’t think so,” Derek said with cool contempt. “You look like one of the studious people. Well, as long as you don’t give the frats any trouble, trouble won’t come looking for you.”

“I don’t go looking for trouble,” Frank remarked. That was an outright lie, considering all the times he’d tumbled into trouble when checking out some mystery or other- but that was different. When nothing mysterious was involved, he kept out of trouble fairly well. It was Joe who was always getting into scrapes and situations and incidents, usually because someone- like Chet- talked him into pulling some prank.

“Just as well.” Derek yawned.

“So that’s why the parking lots are so empty, most people are parking at the fraternities or at their off-campus place,” Frank mused aloud.

“That’s it.”

“And that’s why you didn’t bring much with you?” Frank looked at the single suitcase.

“Oh, I brought more, but no sense unloading it and then repacking it to move to Delta,” Derek explained. “So, you’ll have this mansion all to yourself before the week’s half over,” he added slyly.

Mansion... Frank stood up and took his light jacket off the back of his chair. “Before you got in, I was thinking about walking around the campus,” he explained as he pulled it on. “Figure out what buildings my classes are in.” He slipped his cafeteria card into his pocket, figuring he’d be hungry by the time he was done. Then he paused and rummaged on his desk for a moment, finding his class schedule. “You wouldn’t happen to remember when the cafeteria closes, do you?”

“Oh, man, you don’t want the caf,” Derek replied, looking over and blinking a bit. “Trust me.”

“That bad?”

“It purely sucks.”

“I thought you were a freshman,” Frank started. The food he’d had on his visit had been quite good- not as good as his mother’s cooking, and definitely not on par with Gertrude’s, but it had certainly not ‘sucked’.

“My cousin graduated last year, told me what to expect.”

“Oh, inside information. Thanks for the tip.” Civility didn’t cost anything, even if he didn’t believe the kid. Derek seemed to have a low-level contempt for life in general. Frank headed for the door with a brief, “Later,” making sure he had his room passcard in his pocket as well.

Finding his buildings proved to be slightly more of a challenge than finding his dorm, but it wasn’t at all difficult; the campus was quite small. By the time he got to the building where his last listed class was held, Frank had memorized the campus, his detective training having taken over automatically. It was a bit annoying to find that he’d have to double back on himself a few times, but that was inevitable when one’s classes were arranged by time rather than by building.

After he had finished his personal tour, Frank found his way back to the cafeteria/student lounge. The lounge was on the lower level and consisted of a moderate-sized dance area, a small combination grocery-soda bar-drugstore, and the postal area. The cafeteria was on the upper level and the seating took up most of the floor space. Frank went into the cafeteria, and the smells made his stomach grumble. There were only about twenty students in the place, despite the fact that it was almost six-thirty. But it was only freshmen here tonight, he reminded himself. It’d probably be more crowded when the upperclassmen arrived.

Strange to be the low rung on the totem pole again, was what Frank was thinking as he held his card out to be scanned by the bored-looking older man at the door, then went through the line. He hadn’t felt so insignificant since his first year of high school. Now, though, he felt it more than he had then, because he was far from home-

“But not alone,” a voice whispered quietly in his head. Frank paused in the act of scooping up some mashed potatoes, then smiled, recognizing the voice. “Eat your dinner, then we’ll talk.”

Frank blinked, suddenly glad there was no one else in line to witness his slightly peculiar behavior, and continued to fill his plate. Taking it out and finding a seat at one of the tables, he mused that he was going to have to learn to divide his attention between what was going on around him and what he and Joe were communicating about. Hopefully it wouldn’t be much harder than multitasking on the computer.

After he’d eaten and taken his tray to the cleanup area, Frank slipped out and just walked for a while, not paying a great deal of attention to where he was going. The sun had not set yet, and the air had a quality to it that he’d seldom seen before; a sort of clarity, a luminescence that made details seem much sharper and clearer. Down in Bayport, it was often muggy or foggy. When he started paying attention to where he was going again, he noticed a well-used footpath that veered off from the sidewalk and led to a narrow wooden bridge. Curious, he crossed the bridge, pausing to look down at the shallow little stream, then walked down the white-gravel path under numerous tall trees. The sunlight dappled the trunks, branches and multicolored leaves with brightness and shadow.

Brightness and shadow. His brother- and him.

Frank sighed a little, then noticed a sort of murmuring sound coming from ahead of him. Turning a corner, he saw a small circular fountain in a clearing. There were wooden benches around it, and several picnic tables were not far away. The fountain itself was of dark gray polished stone; it had one central burst and eight smaller bursts in a circle around that. Seating himself on the chilly stone, Frank noticed the spotlights hidden under the edge. It was probably a very pretty sight at night. He wondered how long it would be running. He wondered how many people came here to enjoy it. The soft sound of the water was very soothing.

“Ah, there you are,” Joe said quietly in his mind. “Feeling a little contemplative?”

“Feeling a little...let down. Some orientation this was,” Frank replied. “Everything I’ve done today, I’ve done by myself- checking in, looking over the campus, finding the cafeteria... there was no input from the faculty at all.”

“I wonder if arriving at four p.m. had anything to do with that,” Joe remarked. “Bet most of the announcements and speeches and such went on earlier.”

“Maybe so,” Frank had to admit. He probably should have left yesterday, not eked out his time at home till the last minute. But he had been determined to have as much home time as possible.

“What’s your roommate like?”

“Hard to say yet, but he’s moving into the frathouse at first opportunity, so there’s a significant hint right off the bat. He seemed...he seemed friendly, until he learned I was from out of state. Then he just seemed condescending. Not right out in the open, but definitely there.” Joe wanted more details, so Frank related the conversation, noting in passing that conversations passed much more swiftly when sending thoughts than when choosing the words to speak aloud.

“Hm-m, I thought this school was focused on academia, not festivities,” Joe remarked a few moments later. “This Derek fellow sure gives a different impression, though.”

“Well, there’s always going to be party animals, no matter where you are,” Frank pointed out. “And I am sorta looking forward to having the room to myself, to be honest. So,” he added after a moment. “That was my day, what was yours like?”

Joe Hardy stood on the front steps of his home and watched his older brother drive their father’s sedan away. Not just running off on an errand, he told himself mercilessly. Not working on a mystery. Leaving. Going to college just like he’d planned. But why did he have to go all the way to Maine? It was so far away. It would be such a huge change for him- and Frank needed more change like he needed a kick in the head.

Sighing, Joe turned to go back in the house, then hesitated. He was feeling at loose ends, unsure of what he was going to do to fill the day- particularly now, when he didn’t really feel like doing anything at all. Still, some activity would be better than sitting around and moping. ‘Besides, you’re not made to sit around and do nothing, J.’ That had been well proven on many occasions. Walking inside, he looked around, then went over to the den.

As he had suspected, his aunt was sitting on the sofa, the window behind her spilling light into the small, usually dark room. She was wearing her reading glasses and perusing a thick novel, and didn’t look up as he stopped in the doorway. Joe waited a moment, then rapped gently on the doorframe to get her attention.

Gertrude looked up with a start. “He’s gone?”

‘She’s gone, Joe...’

Joe bit his lip and forced the memory away. “Yes, he left,” he replied, deliberately using a different word. Gertrude nodded. “I was wondering,” he went on, feeling a little unsure how to phrase it, “why you won’t let me show you how to handle this gift of yours-”

Gertrude ‘hmmphed’ and turned back to her book.

“I mean, aside from the obvious reason that learning anything from me must be a revolting notion to you,” Joe went on, feeling his temper heat up a little. “But if learning is a revolting idea, picking up my thoughts must be downright nasty. And I assure you, overhearing yours is no fun for me, either.” Fortunately, he was able to block most of her thoughts out; only when he was sleeping did his shields sometimes drop a bit.

Gertrude lowered the book, but didn’t look at him. She seemed as though she were about to say something, perhaps argue or make some bitter comment, but then she just sighed.

“So, give me a day or two to show you how to keep your thoughts in and everyone else’s out, and that’ll be the end of it. We’ll both feel better, and you won’t have so much difficulty concentrating. And no more headaches.” Joe added the last as an afterthought, remembering his own terrible headaches when he was just learning the telepathy. A needle of guilt jabbed him; maybe that was why Gertrude was so pale and cross and hard to live with. He’d had enough trouble functioning when his head was throbbing, and he’d been able to lie around and do as little as he wanted. It must be more difficult for her.

“The headaches?” Gertrude repeated, startled. “Those- they’re caused by this? I-”

Joe straightened up from his rather insolent posture and slowly stepped into the room. “You’ve been afraid you’d have a stroke again, haven’t you?” he asked gently, having caught the tail of her thought.

“Isn’t this ‘gift’ what gave me a stroke in the first place?” she asked hesitantly, still not looking up. But her hands were trembling.

“Actually, it’s the other way around,” Joe explained, sitting down rather cautiously on the sofa. “The stress you’d been under gave you the stroke, and that trauma opened a part of your mind that had been closed before. Akilana- my Teacher- told me that trauma occasionally does spark something in the way of ESP.”

Now Gertrude looked at him, and her posture had relaxed as well. “Your teacher?”

Joe explained about meeting Akilana when they were at the beach, and for good measure, told her in detail how the sending had saved his life twice that June. “It’s like fire,” he finished. “Uncontrolled, it’s very dangerous, but controlled, it’s extremely useful. The headaches just mean you’re not doing it right. You don’t have to send,” he added when she frowned. “Though it’s best if you know how to, just in case. But since you’re not interested in using it, all you need to do is shield yourself- it’ll protect other people, as well as you.” Joe fell silent then, knowing that if he hadn’t persuaded her yet, he wasn’t likely to. The clock ticked quietly on top of the bookcase as his aunt turned over all he’d said.

“I need to think about this,” she said at last, straightening up. “It’s hard to believe, and even harder to accept. I suppose you and Frank had an easier time accepting it, being so young, but I’m rather set in my ways- you needn’t smile like that, young man!” she added indignantly, but a hint of a smile was tugging at her own lips.

Joe looked away and grinned. Set in her ways didn’t begin to describe Gertrude! His smile faded quickly, though. Their momentary meeting of minds had almost made him forget how cruel and spiteful she’d been lately. Perhaps...perhaps this could be a start at repairing their relationship. Perhaps not. He wasn’t sure if they could forgive each other. “Well, let me know when you’re ready- though it would be better if it was before school starts, I’m going to be getting distracted when that happens.”

“My goodness, that’s just a week away, isn’t it?” Gertrude replied, startled. “You’ll need to get over to the mall and get your school clothes organized.”

Joe smiled again, rather ruefully this time; ‘organized’ was a word very few people used to describe him. But he did need some new outfits; detecting was hard on clothes. Normally his mother would take him to the mall- and drive him more berzerk than not, since their notions of what he should wear were...had been...entirely different. Still, he’d enjoyed the trips- after they were over.

Frank had never had that problem; he and their mother had never particularly agreed on clothing either, but Frank was more likely to compromise, more organized, and in his own quiet way, just as stubborn as Joe. Where Joe and Laura would get into outrageous debates over whether a given shirt was ‘ridiculous’ or not, Frank would simply look at the shirt, shake his head, and start walking. If his mother persisted too long, he’d give in; if Laura could tell she wasn’t going to win this one, she’d give in.

Joe sighed as he left the den, wondering how long it would be before everything that came to his mind stopped bringing memories of his parents and his brother. ‘At least Frank’s okay,’ he reminded himself firmly. ‘Away, but all right.’ The house seemed so much bigger now, so much more silent, though it had been quiet enough this past month. He could almost imagine that his brother was upstairs at his computer, trying to beat his last chess time. That his father was in the study, talking on the phone to a client. His mother would be at the bookstore...

Feeling gloom descend on him, Joe went through the kitchen and opened the door to the basement. Moving slowly down the stairs, he paused at the bottom and looked around. So much here, so many memories. There was a feeling of sadness to it all now, he thought as he glanced from one spot to another. Not just for the many old memories, but for the recent past as well. There’d been plans for this summer, plans involving the old camping equipment, the bicycles, the fishing stuff, even the rock-climbing ropes. And none of it had happened. Joe had the fanciful notion that if the things could talk, the basement would be loud with protests of neglect.

Slowly he moved across the floor, the concrete chilly on his bare feet. The bookcase beckoned; here were all the books they’d read as children. Here were his old ‘Superman’ comics and Frank’s ‘Batman’. Books for every age group, he thought with a wistful smile. From the ancient ‘Winnie the Pooh’ on up through the classic ‘Treasure Island’ and ‘Tom Sawyer’, and moving into such complicated things as ‘The Good Earth’.

A gaping hole in the midst of the old ‘Power Boys’ collection caught Joe’s eye and he smiled fondly. Frank had loved that series, and the books reflected it. Worn, torn, scribbled on and dog-eared, every one of them. Joe had never quite figured out what Frank found so fascinating about them; they were from the 1960’s and were now archaic. They were probably worth something to a collector- or would be, if they were in decent shape. Joe didn’t question why Frank should take one of the old books along, though; it didn’t even occur to him to wonder about it. Most people didn’t know Frank had a sentimental side behind all that cool, calm rationality.

“Of course, if anyone saw me right now, being equally sentimental...” he murmured aloud, and shook his head at himself. “So much for not mooning around, J. Go find something productive to do.”

Something productive turned out to be not very productive at all, but it did cheer him up a great deal. He called Iola and they went to one of the numerous little beaches in the area. Iola loved to swim and wanted to get as much time on the bay as possible before it got too cold. Chet tagged along and met another of their gang, Liz Webling, in one of the local shops when they went in to get a snack. She joined them and the rest of the afternoon was most enjoyable.

“Sounds like a good day to me,” Frank remarked silently, watching his brother’s memories of the afternoon. A feeling of homesickness clenched inside him; he would have liked to be on the beach with his friends, enjoying the day and their company- and Callie’s company.

“We would have enjoyed it even more if you two had been there,” Joe agreed, picking up on it. “Daytime is for group activity, nighttime is for pairing off.”

Frank laughed softly at that; he couldn’t begin to count how many times the gang had gotten together at night. “New rule?” he asked jokingly.

“Sure! But I don’t know how we’re going to enforce it. I’ll think of something, though,” Joe responded cheerfully.

“And you got Aunt G to actually consider some training, that’s a major step forward,” Frank went on more seriously.

“Yeah, I hope she does take the final step fairly soon though. Can you imagine me trying to squeeze telepathy lessons in among homework and football practice?”

“That would require careful scheduling,” Frank remarked. “So, no, I can’t imagine it.” And grinned as he got the mental equivelant of a punch on the arm, which actually felt a great deal like a punch on the arm. “Hey! No hitting.”

“How about shoving? Can I shove you into the fountain?” Joe asked, and Frank could practically see the devilish shine in his eyes.

“You may not. I’d have too much explaining to do when people noticed me,” he retorted.

“Spoilsport, taking all my fun away...”

“Deal with it, kid.”

“Kid?! I’m a senior now, buddy, so watch your step...freshman!”

“You may be a senior in school, but I’m the senior in years, baby brother!”

“It’s a year, Frank. A single, solitary year, not fifteen of them.”

“Almost eighteen months,” Frank retorted.

“Oh, excuse me. A year and a half, that still doesn’t qualify for an epithet like ‘baby’.”

Frank was grinning, could sense his brother’s broad smile. “You’ll always be my little baby brother,” he replied in the most annoyingly saccharine ‘voice’ he could manage, and got another light punch, this time on his shoulder. “I said, no hitting!”

“Definitely a spoilsport.”

“Yeah, well, don’t try to turn me into a punching bag.”

“You mean you aren’t?” Joe asked incredulously, and laughed. Frank laughed quietly too, then looked around quickly to make sure he was still alone.

“We’ll need to do something about this,” he remarked, turning serious. “When we’re sending, it’s hard to remember to be careful. I’m going to try and see if I can send to you and also do other things, eventually, but right now the sending takes the majority of my concentration.”

“Yeah, and we don’t want people wondering about our sanity,” Joe agreed. “Laughing out loud for no apparent reason is one thing, but if you happen to make the wrong response to someone- like if someone said they had the flu and you looked amused at something I was saying to you-”

“That would be a distinct problem,” Frank finished. “Tactless, at the very best.”

“Yeah. I guess until we get complete control on it, we better just send when we’re alone.”

“Or when no one is going to notice.”

“Like in the middle of an exam?”

“Well, no,” Frank mused. “We’ll need to concentrate pretty hard than. I was thinking more like in the middle of a dance or football game.”

“I do tend to concentrate pretty hard on the game when I’m playing, bro,” Joe reminded him.

“I meant the ones here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I did!”

“Whatever you say,” Joe responded, in a tone that clearly meant he wasn’t buying it for a second.

Frank thought very hard about putting his brother in a headlock, and grinned with great satisfaction at Joe’s indignantly surprised, “Hey!”

“Payback,” he observed.

“Oh, man, that’s cheating, Frank! You...you-”

“Jerk? Opportunist? Let’s see, what were the other ones...”

“I don’t remember, I’ll have to write ‘em all down sometime,” Joe remarked, in one of his complete reversals. “It’ll be a long list. I’ve been called for dinner,” he added a half-second later.

“Had mine, I’m going in and getting online. Actually, no, I’m going to the student lounge and buying some stuff from the store in there, in case of hunger emergencies,” Frank reflected. “Then I’ll get online.” He got up from the edge of the fountain and started walking back; the sun was nearly set now and the shadows were long.

“All right. Hey, when you go to bed, give me a- well, not a headlock, if you don’t mind, but a nudge or something,” Joe suggested.

Frank chuckled. “Okay, no more headlocks...tonight,” he agreed, grinning at Joe’s grumble. “Later, brother.”

Joe ‘waved’, which was another interesting feeling, and then the contact was broken.

Joe was sketching in his room when a brief mental touch told him Frank was giving him the ‘nudge’ he’d requested earlier. His bedside clock read eleven-eleven. “So is your roomie an early-to-bed sort too?”

“Don’t think so. He’s not here, at any rate,” Frank answered. This was followed by a yawn. “I hope he doesn’t come barging in at two or three a.m.”

“That’d be a pain, but at least it’d only be for a couple days- if he gets into the frat,” Joe pointed out.

“Thought I was the pessimist,” Frank muttered.

“Mostly you are,” Joe had to agree. “Or at least the realist... I’ve been thinking- no comments from you!” he added as he sensed his brother’s sly smile. “I’ve been thinking about this sending business. Maybe we should set specific times of the day to get in touch. I mean, it won’t always go like clockwork, but it’d be better than just reaching out randomly and finding the other was busy each time.”

“I’m suddenly thinking of busy signals on a telephone line.” Frank sounded amused. “Sure, sounds like a good idea. Synchronize our watches, so to speak.”

“Synchronize something, I guess.”

“It’ll probably vary, though. I’ve got labs on Tuesday and Thursday, and they run late.”

“Well, sure. And it’ll probably take a little while to get coordinated. Since you’re starting before me, we can get a pretty good notion of your routine before we compare mine to it.” Joe paused, wondering if that made as much sense as he wanted it to.

“You mean, we can see where there’s an overlap of free, clear and private time once we can compare your schedule with mine,” Frank clarified.

Joe sighed, nodding. Sometimes he was quite articulate, other times his ideas only seemed to make sense to himself. Fortunately, Frank seemed able to decipher him most of the time. “That’s what I meant.”

“Why so discouraged?”

“My picture’s not cooperating, and-” he hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of having to synchronize their schedules. What if they didn’t have much time free simultaneously? In fact, it seemed depressingly likely that they wouldn’t.

“Oh, that.” Of course Frank had caught the thought, and he sounded just as subdued about it as Joe felt. “I was thinking that myself a little while ago. You’re right, we probably won’t have much time for extended sendings like we had this afternoon. Maybe on the weekends, though. But who knows, maybe in time we won’t feel the need for ‘em. Besides, just being able to put you in a headlock whenever I feel like it has it’s compensations.”

Joe laughed, quickly muffling the sound in his sheet. “And there’s the fact that you’ll have a room to yourself, if your roomie does skip out. A lot more privacy that way.” It was great to be able to to keep in touch this way; Joe knew they’d both be feeling pretty miserable tonight if it weren’t for the sending. But he couldn’t help wishing they could be in touch all the time, or at least not have to focus so tightly that everything else got reduced to mere blurs. If they could just do ordinary things and send at the same time...

“Yeah.” Frank’s response was to both the remark and to the feeling behind it.

Silence fell between the brothers. Joe could sense Frank’s mind still quietly working, but slowly and sleepily. He felt as though he were sitting on the side of the bed, watching his brother drift off.

“That’s what it feels like to me, too,” came the drowsy comment.

Joe smiled. “It still seems a little weird to feel stuff when you’re not actually doing it, doesn’t it?”

“Not weird,” Frank disagreed. “Close.”

Close. As though the vast distance didn’t matter, couldn’t keep them apart, couldn’t even stop them from feeling the other’s touch.

“Or punch.”

Joe chuckled, ‘leaned’ down and ‘hugged’ Frank. “Among other things. G’night, big brother. See you tomorrow.”

“G’night, kiddo. Don’t stay up too late.”

Joe waited till Frank was asleep, his mind drifting through dreams, before releasing the contact and coming back to the other reality of his own room. The sketchpad lay before him, the figures of Chet and Iola still rough but recognizible. Joe glanced at the clock; eleven thirty-nine.

“ ‘Don’t stay up too late’?” he repeated with a little grimace. “I’m not even in school yet, Frank, give me a break. Besides, eleven-thirty isn’t late.” Having conducted his quiet protest against over-protective big brothers, Joe turned back to his work, but his mind kept coming back to dwell on his own words.

‘It’d be a hell of a lot worse if he didn’t care enough to worry about me,’ he reminded himself- and shuddered, because right now the only thought worse than the idea of Frank not caring about him was the thought of his brother being in some danger that Joe couldn’t do a thing about. Not that he thought that Frank was in danger, but the possibility haunted him; it was part of his anxiety about having his brother away from him in the first place. What if one of them got into trouble they couldn’t handle on their own? Sending was great, but what if a physical presence was needed? It would take him more than six hours to reach Frank. Anything could happen in six hours.

“Now look who’s being overprotective, J,” Joe muttered aloud. “Stop fretting. Nothing’s going to happen to him up there.” And he resolutely turned his attention back to the sketch. An hour later, fairly well satisfied with his efforts, he gave up for the night, got ready for bed, and soon was asleep.

“They are a rotten bunch!” Frank told his brother in exasperation the next night.

“Upperclassmen usually are rotten to the freshmen, at least at first,” Joe pointed out, but he didn’t sound too confident in his assertion.

Frank was sitting cross-legged on his bed, an open book before him, just in case anyone came in and wondered what he was up to. Joe, he knew, was in his usual posture, feet on the pillow and chin in his hands. Joe had no need for subterfuge.

“Well, that’s true, freshmen do get picked on, since they haven’t proven themselves,” Frank admitted. He’d seen it in high school, though neither he nor Joe had ever joined in. In fact, they’d occasionally put a stop to some of the more obnoxious pranks; some of them had verged on being dangerous. “But these people...I don’t know. They’re going overboard. I mean, hitting people. Shoving them. Throwing their stuff into the dumpsters. One guy actually tossed some kid’s stereo out the window- lucky it didn’t hit anyone.”

“Out the window?” Joe repeated incredulously.

“From the top floor, three stories up,” Frank replied gravely. “I heard the crash and went to the window to look; there was the stereo on the ground and there was the guy who’d thrown it, laughing. A bunch of guys on the ground level were laughing and cheering too. It makes me wish I hadn’t brought the boombox you gave me. I stuck it under the bed for now, and my CD’s too. And hid the portfolio, first thing. Wouldn’t put it past someone to light it on fire, there’s been a couple little fires today. I think most of the ruckus is dying down now, but all the same I don’t believe I’ll go to the cafeteria tonight.”

“Jeez. Sounds like wise thinking. Good thing you got some stuff at the store, so you won’t go hungry.”

Frank grimaced a little. “Yeah, such as it is. I wish I had a refrigerator, don’t quite dare put anything in the one that’s down in the rec-room.”

“Rec-room?”

“It’s really more a socializing room/kitchen,” Frank amended. “Microwave, refrigerator, a couple tables with chairs, dartboards on the walls, TV and VCR... that sort of thing.”

“A hang-out.”

“Yeah. I’ve got some of those dried-noodle soup things, and some other microwavable stuff, but I wouldn’t mind having one of the sub sandwiches they had out.”

“So, go get one.” Joe sounded amused. “Drop in, buy one, leave...”

“And get waylaid on the walk back and have some thug senior steal my dinner? No thanks.”

“Hmmm. I know, wait till they’re all in the fraternities celebrating their return to school,” Joe suggested. “Campus should be deserted then. By the way, how’s that roomie of yours?”

Derek Williams had been dropped off by a group of very drunk guys the previous night- although early morning would be a much better description, as it had been about two a.m. Naturally the commotion had awakened Frank, but he’d managed to get back to sleep fairly easily.

“Oh, he was flat on his back until well past noon,” Frank answered mildly. “I was tempted to make some remark about it, but thought better of it- being a smart-mouth is your department.”

“So nice to have my talents acknowledged,” Joe commented airily. Then his tone grew serious. “Why isn’t the faculty doing anything about all this? It’s got to be against the rules to go assaulting students and destroying property?”

“Yeah, but it’s also against the rules to have alcohol on campus, and they aren’t stopping that, either.”

“But are people drinking right out in public view?”

“Yep.”

“What?” Joe was flabbergasted; Frank could actually see his brother’s wide eyes and open mouth. “They are?”

“They are. I saw one big guy tossing out cans of beer the way a pitching machine tosses baseballs. Right out in front of the building.”

“That’s unbelievable. Someone should report that.”

“Someone should,” Frank agreed. “If they thought it was worth the harassment they’d get for doing so, and if they thought the jerks would get anything but a slap on the wrist. But someone might just document it.”

“Someone might, huh? That someone happen to go by the initials F.D.H.?”

“He might.” Frank smiled tightly.

“You can tell me, Frank, I won’t tattle.” Joe sounded somewhere between amused and still-stunned.

“It’s not much of a documentation, since I don’t know who the heck they were, but I did take note of the fraternity jackets. Anyway, enough of that, tell me what you did today.”

“I spent most of today at the mall,” Joe’s clear thought replied, sounding a little disgusted. “Doing the back-to-school-clothes-shopping trip. I really didn’t expect it to take so long to get four pairs of jeans, a couple decent long-sleeved shirts, a couple sweatshirts-”

“Socks?”

“Yes, I remembered socks and all the rest of that stuff. New shoes, too. And before you ask, I did get one nice shirt for the dances.”

“You’re going to the dances in just a shirt?” Frank asked with a quiet laugh. He turned to look at the clock, but it was a moment before he really absorbed the time. Six forty-five.

“No, you goof, I am not going to the dances in just a shirt! My good pants and jacket are still in fine shape, and as far as I’m concerned, one tie is about three too many, so I don’t need any more of those,” Joe explained impatiently, and then grinned. “As if you didn’t know exactly what I meant!”

“I’d love to know how a single tie can be three too many,” Frank mused.

“I believe it’s due to the law of unstable proportions,” Joe explained.

“I would bet it’s due more to the law of exaggeration,” Frank said, after double-taking slightly.

“I resemble that remark,” his brother answered mildly.

“You certainly do! You exaggerate freely and without cause-”

“Above and beyond the call of duty- yeah, yeah, but at least I admit it. Now you, my dear brother, suffer from Melodramania.”

Frank leaned back against his pillow and laughed. “Is this your night for making up weirdness?”

“Every night is that! But it’s true, Frank, you don’t exaggerate numerically, but you get caught up in your descriptions and carry them to extremes. ‘Freely and without cause’ is a perfect example.”

Frank was about to reply when he suddenly heard many loud footsteps clomping to a halt outside the room and the sound of a passkey being used. Picking up his book, he let the mental link fade to a mere thread and focused his attention on the here and now. He didn’t like halting the conversation like that, but he knew he’d like the alternative even less.

The door opened and Frank’s roommate Derek staggered in, followed by several other students. Three of them were clearly upperclassmen, two were very drunk-looking freshmen. “Hey,” Derek muttered briefly.

Frank put the book down again, a twinge of nervousness going through him. The freshmen were no threat, they were swaying where they stood, but the three older guys looked like linebackers, and though they had been drinking, they were not incapacitated. “Hello,” he replied. One of the big guys gave him a brief nod, then focused on Derek, who was fumbling in the side pocket of his suitcase. Another one glanced over, eyed the young sleuth dismissively, and then wandered out of the room, apparently curious about the racket that had suddenly erupted in the hallway.

“C’mon, man, get with it,” the first guy said impatiently. Derek pulled out a wallet, grimaced in triumph, and began counting out twenty-dollar bills. Frank said nothing. It didn’t take a great stretch of imagination to figure that the big guys were senior frat members and the three freshmen were initiates. Nor did it take much effort to deduce that if Derek’s funds held out, he would soon be a member in high standing. If they were willing to let themselves be fleeced, that was their business, Frank supposed. They’d probably regret it in time, though.

The third big fellow was now regarding Frank. “Delta Phi,” he said briefly. “Ted Madison, president, and RA of this dorm.”

“Frank Hardy,” the boy replied, nodding courteously. He deliberately didn’t mention Bayport, not wanting to get the same unfriendly response as Derek had given him.

“Play any football?”

“Quarterback my junior and senior year.” Oops, Frank thought as the other guy’s eye went to him. Now they’d ask what school.

“Don’ wasssss’ t-time on hi-im,” Derek slurred. “He’z outta state. Neeeewww Yeork.”

Madison’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah. Well, not all outta state people are bad. Just most. Stick around long enough, Williams, and you’ll learn that.”

“Why are out of state people bad?” Frank asked tentatively.

The other guy spoke up, his voice shockingly deep. “Out of staters make trouble. They come in thinking it’s going to be a particular way, and when they find out it’s not, they don’t conform; they make waves and try to change the school to suit them. Then they get disciplined, and then they whine and complain about it. So we’re not too welcoming.”

“I have no intention of making trouble,” Frank assured him. “If I can’t conform, I can at least keep my mouth shut.”

That drew a faint smile from Madison. “Told ya,” he said to the other guy. “Are you finished yet, Williams?”

“Los’ count,” Derek murmured, squinting at the bills on the floor.

“Oh, for-” Madison crouched, steadied himself on the bed, and picked up the money. He counted it swiftly, then frowned. “Three more.” Derek obediently counted out three more twenties.

“Hey, Root! C’mere, Williams’ fee is settled!”

The third guy came back in, a lit cigarette in his mouth. He took the wad of money and shoved it into his pocket, then herded the freshmen out like sheep. Frank watched as Madison quietly handed a twenty to each of his classmates, pocketed the third, and then looked directly at Frank.

“See you around,” Frank said neutrally, knowing a challenge when he saw one. He was not surprised when the big RA nodded approvingly.

“Well, maybe you will tough it out here. Later, Hardy.”

The door closed behind them; Frank slowly picked up his book, frowning. So that was the resident assistant for Morgan Hall. The fellow who was supposed to be available to assist and support the dorm residents, rather like a ‘Big Brother’ or Scout troop leader.

‘This,’ he thought, ‘does not look promising.’ The faint tendril of thought between him and his brother quickly strengthened.

“What was that about?”

Frank described what he’d just seen. “I’m not sure I like this,” he finished.

“What, that they’re skimming off the freshmen’s frat-entry fees?”

“That, and what he said as he left.”

“Oh, that since you didn’t make a protest, you’re cool. Sounds like there may be a bit more of that quiet documentation than you thought, big brother,” Joe sent sympathetically.

Frank sighed. “Not just that- Ted Madison is the guy who threw the stereo out the window. That tells me that even if I do make a list and quietly report it, no one’s going to pay attention to it.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Frank. Your RA might not be honest, but that doesn’t mean the faculty is dishonest too.”

“Yeah, but how much of a chance will I have, my word against a senior, president of a fraternity, and RA of my dorm?”

Joe mused over that for a moment. “No ordinary freshman would have a chance,” he agreed. “But remember, partner, you’re no ordinary freshman.”

Frank had to smile. “If you say so!”

“Well, ‘course I say so! After all, it’s not everyone who has me for a brother!”

“Joe-!” Frank’s smile turned into a quiet laugh. “Yes, and how lucky everyone else is!” he teased back. “Seriously, though, I guess you’ve got a point. A rep for crime investigations in Bayport might not be the greatest help here, but it’s more than anyone else would have. I just hope,” he added dourly, “that it’s not needed.”

The first week was the best, was what Frank would conclude in retrospect. The worst thing about it was his seven a.m. class, a real trial for someone who hated getting up early as much as Frank Hardy did! The next-worst thing was his psychology professor; there were times he wasn’t even sure what language she was speaking. She used terms in peculiar ways, but worse, she jumped around so much in her lecture that it was almost impossible to figure out what she was talking about. Frank learned more from the book than he did from the teacher, and he knew it wasn’t supposed to work that way.

On the positive side, the campus did calm down after the initial arrival ruckus, and there were no major incidents. All of the fraternity guys seemed to have a bent for practical jokes, but Frank was used to that, having coped with Chet Morton for several years. When he told his brother that it was like having a couple dozen Chets around constantly, he was met with an enthusiastic, “Cool!”

And so it went; some things more positive, some things less so. Labs were not his favorite, being three hours each, but they couldn’t hold a candle to psych. The food was pretty good, and if he felt like a change there was the lounge, plus several restaurants in town. The library did not have printers, which meant his English papers were all being handwritten- and he got a note saying that his poor handwriting could cost him a letter grade, so he had to work on that- but he would remedy that by swiping the printer from home come November. Derek had been rapidly initiated into Delta Phi and departed from the dorm, leaving the entire room to Frank, who was not at all displeased about the situation.

Socially, things went reasonably well; by the end of the first week Frank had already made one friend. Dan Wu was a sophomore who was taking the same psych class as Frank and who was able to make more sense of it than most. Frank was also on nodding acquaintance with several other people from various classes. People were a little reserved, but reasonably polite and good natured toward him, and he assumed that more friendships would develop in time. He did miss Bayport and his friends, but the telepathic contact with his brother kept his spirits up. They ‘chatted’ often, usually several times a day.

The second week was much like the first, with one significant difference: Joe began his senior year at Bayport High. On his first day, the brothers made the disheartening discovery that their schedules didn’t come anywhere near to coordinating. When Frank was free, Joe was in class; when Joe was at lunch, Frank was in class. When Frank was done for the day, Joe was at football practice, and often stayed late since he had missed the pre-season practices. Frank had a fairly heavy workload, but since his classes were spaced an hour or two apart, he was usually able to complete, or nearly complete, an assignment before his next class. His final class was at two, so he was usually done for the day by five; Joe often had homework that took him until ten or eleven p.m. to finish.

These time conflicts meant that telepathic communication between the brothers dropped to nearly nonexistant, and they both felt the lack very keenly. Frank’s homesickness intensified; he knew that almost every freshman in the college was feeling similarly, but he also knew no one else could possibly be feeling it as intensely as he was. Joe was as miserable about it as he was; his infrequent contacts were full of affection and wistfulness. The affection helped a little, but it wasn’t until the end of the second week arrived that the two managed to have a good long mental talk about how things were going and how upsetting it was to not have time to send to each other.

“It’s not that we can’t,” Joe sighed after a bit of discussion, “but that we’d be getting distracted from other things, and people would notice. I still can’t split my attention very well, and I know you can’t either.”

“Yeah. You’d think I’d be better at multitasking, wouldn’t you? Hey, that gives me an idea,” Frank remarked suddenly. “Start using the computer.”

“Emails? Well...I guess it’s better than total silence,” Joe agreed, though not enthusiastically. “Maybe it will help, at that. Every day I keep seeing or doing stuff that I want to tell you about, and you’re not here and I can’t reach you- it’s so frustrating.”

“And depressing.”

“That too. All right, I’ll start emailing. I can send you mail when you’re busy and I’m not-”

“And I can read it and reply when it’s vice versa,” Frank agreed, feeling a bit better. “After all, we’re adaptable!”

“We’d better be,” Joe agreed. “Or we’re in the wrong profession entirely!” That made them both laugh, but there was very little teasing between them this time around, and it was with great reluctance that they finally ended the contact.

The third week was better than the second, as far as homesickness went. The emails helped considerably, and Frank noticed with amusement that his brother was as much a chatterbox in print as he was verbally. What surprised Frank was how good the spelling was; there were few to no typos in each email.

As the days passed, Frank found his emails were actually getting longer, rather than shorter. That was because of the situation that he had been noticing on the campus, and was growing rather troubled by. The fraternity pranks had not died out over time; on the contrary, they seemed to be getting more numerous. And what bothered the young detective particularly was that they seemed to be aimed at two groups of people: the minorities, and the out of staters. With one significant exception- no one had pulled any tricks on him.

“The attitude towards us out-of-staters was explained to me by my RA on the first day,” Frank wrote to his brother one evening. “Apparently, we’re troublemakers- but it’s not *us* who’re making trouble, it’s the frat guys pulling these stupid pranks. But what’s really bugging me is the minority situation. There are very few minorities on campus- not so surprising way up here in Maine. But- and I’ve just figured this out- virtually all the minorities are in my class, new freshmen. And they’re being picked on mercilessly. My friend Dan Wu has had his room trashed twice this week, his books ruined, and some of his classwork stolen and- you’d probably rather not know what they did with it. I don’t think there’s any minority juniors or seniors at all, and only a handful in Dan’s class- sophomore. So I’m wondering... does that sound to you the way it does to me?”

Joe’s response was to the point: “Sure does, bro. Deliberate harassment- to chase ‘em away. Question is why are they doing it? Pure prejudice, or some ulterior motive? And you can’t tell me the admin’s not aware of it, so has it got actual support, or are they just playing ostrich and doing a coverup? Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the last, bet there’s plenty of alumni donations that would start drying up if the big bad professors started disciplining Junior for being mean to a handful of minorities. You know, the ‘all in good fun, if you can’t take the heat get out of the kitchen’ sort of thing. Next question: why are they leaving you alone? Think maybe that RA of yours has anything to do with it?”

On reading this email, Frank was struck by his brother’s last question. He distinctly remembered Ted Madison’s approval of him; it was not at all unreasonable to conclude that Joe was right and Madison was ‘sponsoring’ Frank, telling people to leave him alone, that he was a ‘cool’ guy. The thought didn’t please him very much. It wasn’t that he wanted people to play pranks on him, it was that he didn’t like favoritism. He didn’t want people to think he was kissing up. And he didn’t much like the thought of owing Madison for keeping people off his back. He didn’t like the guy, and didn’t respect him very much either.

“But what am I supposed to do about it?” he muttered to his empty room. The administration had not assigned him a new roommate, and he was rather glad of that. Frank was a private person and there weren’t too many people he felt comfortable sharing his space with. Times like this he was particularly glad of it; Joe was used to hearing him mutter out loud when thinking hard, but anyone else would probably think he was nuts.

Frank sighed as he looked at the clock. No time to ponder it now. He had a class to get to. “Another fine day in psychology,” he grumbled as he collected his book and notebook and left the room.

The rest of the week passed without any major problems, which was a bit of a relief. On Saturday Frank got a letter from Callie; it made him very happy to hear from her, but it also made him so intensely homesick that for a little while he wasn’t sure whether he was coming or going. Fortunately, Joe sent to him a little while later and, after some initial surprise at how upset he was, helped him calm down.

“I’m glad I got it today,” Frank admitted after a while. Physically, he was lying on his bed, looking at the ceiling. Mentally, however, the brothers were sitting side by side, Joe’s arm around Frank’s shoulders.

“Today?” Joe asked curiously.

“Yeah, because yesterday we wouldn’t’ve been able to do this, and it probably would have taken me quite a while to shake it off on my own.”

“Ohh, yeah.” Joe was quiet a moment. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Being so glad to hear from somebody, yet missing them so much that you feel miserable...almost miserable enough to wish that you hadn’t heard from them...it’s very confusing.”

“Yeah. Makes me wish she was telepathic too.”

“Hey, speaking of other telepaths, I forgot to tell you. Aunt G finally let me teach her how to shield herself. Now all I have to do is teach her to send, just in case she ever needs to. You’d be amazed how fast she learned.”

“I’ll give her this, she always was good at learning anything she set her mind to. No pun intended... Hey, Joe, you use the printer any more now than you used to?”

“Less, probably. You going to take it with you when you come home for Thanksgiving?”

“I might make a special trip for it. My handwriting is not winning me any popularity contests with the professors,” Frank explained ruefully.

“I’ve always said that your writing would make an unbreakable code,” Joe teased, and chuckled as Frank tousled his hair. “No headlocks!”

“I was thinking about it...”

“Well, stop.”

Frank turned to look into the bright blue eyes, fully intending to do something very like a headlock. Somewhat to his own surprise, he hugged his brother instead. “I want to come home,” he admitted painfully after a moment, the homesickness tugging at him again. “I really do. But I want to tough this out, too.” He felt Joe’s hand move over his back, smoothing away the tension from his body- or maybe from his mind, it was tough to be sure at this point. “Joe...”

“Hmmm?”

“What should I do?”

Silence. Frank felt his brother’s cheek rest against the top of his head. “You can come home any time you want, brother,” the young voice said at last. “Whenever you feel like it’s too much, or you’re not comfortable, or the burden’s too heavy...home’ll always be here waiting for you.”

It wasn’t the answer Frank was expecting, but all the same it made him feel as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from him. It was the same thing that Callie had told him on the beach that day, just in different words. Somehow, knowing he had the option to quit whenever he wanted made the teen feel less inclined to do so. But... “And- you?”

“Me?” Joe sounded surprised. “You don’t need me to wait for you, Frank- I’m here. Whether you’re home or not, I’m right with you. Not constantly,” he added thoughtfully. “But whenever you want.”

The two boys sat silently together for what seemed like a very long time, aware only that it was good to be near each other in mind, even if they were still seperated. And then Frank became vaguely aware of a noise- several noises. Frowning in irritation, he let go of his brother and let his thoughts return to the here and now. Faintly, he heard Joe ask what was going on. “I’m not sure,” he answered aloud. ‘I sound like I just woke up,’ he thought as he got up from the bed and went to the door. “Oh,” he replied sourly, closing the door again and locking it. “Another prank.”

“What now?”

“Looks like someone set somebody’s gerbils free, they’re racing all over the hallway.”

“You’ve got some real cute jokers there,” Joe remarked, the sarcasm in his voice tinged with disgust. “Letting someone’s pets out and chasing them around is just cruel to the poor creatures.”

“So what’s going on in Bayport lately?”

Joe nearly dropped his pen, a smile spreading over his face as he looked up from his calculus homework. It was Friday night; it had been almost a week since he’d heard his brother’s voice touch his thoughts. Last weekend, Frank had been in a very unusual state of mind, bouncing between being cheerful and suddenly falling into bouts of unhappiness. That sort of mood swing was more Joe’s territory than Frank’s, and it had troubled the younger boy a bit. This time, though, Frank seemed calm, if rather resigned.

“Things are pretty acceptable over here,” the younger Hardy replied, leaning back in his chair and stretching his aching arms over his head. Football practice was always extra-intense on Fridays. “School sucks, of course, but that’s not news...”

“What specifically sucks?” Frank inquired. “Um, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Just calculus, nothing I’m not glad to take a break from. As for specifics: all of it. You remember what the homework load was like, don’t you? Every subject, every night.”

“That’s not very specific, but yes, I do remember that.”

“Aside from school there’s not much going on,” Joe told him, musing over the last week. “Mark Gold still thinks he’s the next Elway, but luckily coach disagrees and has blistered his ears with criticism.”

“He took my place as quarterback?” Frank asked, dismayed. Mark Gold was a gifted enough player on his good days, but his attitude left a lot to be desired.

“Unfortunately. Hey, you going to do football next year?” Joe knew why his brother hadn’t tried for the team this year; he’d been elsewhere when tryouts were being held in August. So had Joe, for that matter, but the coach had let it slide, knowing Joe’s record and being aware that the circumstances were unusual enough to warrant an exception.

“I was thinking about it. Until I learned that you have to be a frat to get accepted on any sports team here.”

Joe felt his eyes widen. “These people just don’t give a crap about fair play, do they?” he remarked irritably. “That shouldn’t be allowed.”

“I was tempted to try out anyway, just to let them see what they were passing up when they had to strike me off the list as ineligible,” Frank answered. The apparent brag was not without cause, for he had been one of the best quarterbacks in Bayport High’s history.

“Sounds like one of my tricks.”

“I admit, I do get inspired by you sometimes. But then I attended one of the practice sessions.”

Joe had a distinct sense of Frank shaking his head. “Play dirty, do they?”

“Rotten would be more accurate,” Frank answered. “And the coaches- they aren’t yelling at the players for fouling. They’re yelling at ‘em for doing it when someone might see it. Not my kind of team, especially not for a tryout that I know I’ll fail.”

“If it were me, I’d sit in the Visitors section during the games,” Joe suggested, frowning.

“No, I’m just going to add to my ‘documented violations’ list after every game. Sitting with the enemy will not go over well and I want to be a little cautious.”

“Good point.” Joe paused a moment.

“How’s Aunt G?”

“It’s funny, she’s all quiet these days. Hardly says a word. It’s nice, but sorta weird. I’ve asked her if she’s okay and she says yes, but that’s about it.” The young telepath shrugged. “She’s got her shields secured- I think they’re almost as strong as yours- and she did manage to learn to reach out, but didn’t like it at all. As expected.”

“At least she knows how to, if she needs to.”

“Yeah.... The gang’s all pretty well. Smaller, of course. Oh! Frank, you’ll never guess who’s back in town!”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Slim Robinson!” Joe grinned as he felt his brother’s surprise. “Came back from Harvard last week, he’s taking a year off. He didn’t say why, so no one asked.”

“They never were very well off, even after Mr Applegate raised his dad’s pay,” Frank concurred. “’Specially with his mother not able to work. But it’s cool that he’s around. Say hi for me?”

“He already beat you to it,” Joe answered with a grin. “He says hi and good luck. And ‘it passes’. I guess he was pretty homesick for a while, too.”

“Well, hi back then.”

“I’ll pass that along. Anyone else you want to say hi to? People miss you around here.”

“Do they?” Frank sounded sort of pleased at the thought, but also rather wistful.

“Yeah. Every time the gang gets together now, we spend time reminiscing. I know we’re a bit young for that, but we do; we talk about you and Biff and Callie and Liz a lot. At least we do see Callie and Liz now and again, since they’re at Bayport U. No one’s heard from Biff since he left for Montana. Tony’s always working, same as Slim. Phil’s a teacher’s assistant in the computer lab, so he’s technically around, but he’s busy a lot too. So that leaves me, Iola, Chet, Jerry, and whoever’s not at work or school at the time. They seem to expect me to be the leader now,” he added. “I guess they figure there’s some peripheral effect from hanging around you so much.”

“So now you get to see what it’s like to keep such a rambunctious lot under control.”

“Not exactly; rambunctious doesn’t describe us very well these days,” Joe answered soberly, sighing a little. As much as he enjoyed the company of his friends, they just weren’t as cheerful as they had been. They got together to ward off loneliness, not to have fun.

“That’s hard to imagine. Be an interesting sight when we all get out of school for the holidays, all you youngsters being serious and solemn,” Frank teased gently.

“Well, no, because when you all get home we’ll be so happy to see you that we’ll be twice as wild as usual,” Joe explained, smiling and reminding himself to pass this plot along to his friends.

“Oh, great. Well, whatever. I’m still looking forward to coming home at Thanksgiving.”

“So am I,” Joe exclaimed, not even realizing that he’d spoken out loud. “That’ll be... what, seven weeks?”

“Just about. I’m glad September’s passing so quickly.”

“So am I,” Joe agreed, “but man, October is really going to drag. You know how it is when you’re waiting for something! Time slows down to a crawl.”

Frank laughed. “That’s usually true,” he agreed. “But I have a feeling this might be different. You’re keeping pretty busy, right?”

“My teachers are doing that for me,” Joe replied sourly. “I’ve hardly even had time to take Iola out...oh, I see what you mean. Well, we’ll see. The only thing worse than being swamped is having the time pass slowly when you’re swamped. Because then you have more time to notice how much you need to do. And just what is so funny?” he demanded at Frank’s laugh.

“You are!” his brother answered, grinning. “Your ‘logic’ never fails to amaze me.”

“I think you mean ‘amuse’, not ‘amaze’,” Joe muttered, disgruntled. “I thought it was very good logic.”

“That’s because you’re not logical,” his brother pointed out.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to win that old argument, Joe changed the subject and the two sent for another hour or so before letting their connection lapse until the next day.

‘How did I let myself get talked into this?’ Frank Hardy wondered as he looked around the crowded room. It was the most people he’d seen together at any one time since he’d arrived at Unity- except for the football games. Hard rock boomed through the room, pouring from two three-foot speakers attached to a disproportionately small stereo in one corner. A bunch of tables running from one side of the room to the other held more bottles of alcohol than he’d ever seen outside a grocery store, and there was a large beer keg squatting at the end. There were several coolers of ice, piles of plastic cups and paper napkins, and a seperate table of chips and crackers and deli platters and sweets.

The room was thick with cigarette smoke and stifling from the heat of so many bodies. Even the windows, open to the cold night air, couldn’t make much of a dent in the atmosphere. People flowed from one room to another, upstairs and down, sitting on chairs and sofas and even on the floor. How anyone could actually make themselves heard was a mystery and a half, but that was one he’d let pass. At any rate, some of these fraternity guys and their sorority girlfriends didn’t seem to feel any need to talk to each other; they were a bit too busy being intimate.

Frank ignored most of the uproar, staring silently at the empty plastic cup in his hands. This was all wrong. He’d been in a fairly good mood earlier, but now his spirits were low and his head felt foggy. He knew why; glancing down, he grimaced at another plastic cup lying at his feet. He hadn’t intended to finish it, much less start another, but somehow he had finished them both without realizing. He didn’t think he was drunk yet, but he wasn’t nearly as rational as he preferred to be. He couldn’t understand why anyone would do this on purpose, but most people probably didn’t find themselves feeling depressed after imbibing, either. Frank glanced up briefly, smiled bitterly, and amended his thought: other people obviously did not find themselves getting depressed. Everyone in here was in a great mood, except for him.

“It’s a terrible feeling,” he remarked to his brother, and felt Joe’s startlement.

“What is?” Joe asked. “Are you okay?”

“Ever find yourself in a crowd of people and feeling completely...cut off?”

“Yeah. It’s one of the penalties of having a weird thought process,” Joe answered with a sigh. “Where are you? You sound really weird.”

“I’m at the Delta fraternity house,” Frank answered slowly. “I’m watching these people who’re having a wonderful time and I’m thinking, what the heck is so great about this? I suppose if I actually knew some of them...”

“You’re at a party?” Joe sounded surprised. “And...Frank, have you been drinking? Is that why you sound so fuzzy-headed?”

“Don’t be mad,” Frank pleaded. “I was lonely, I thought- I thought it would help...”

“Calm down, I’m not mad.” Joe sounded more quizzical than anything else. “I’m not Aunt Gertrude, and I’m not going to tell her, either. I’m just surprised. It’s not like you, that’s all. And I know you don’t like the fraternity people.”

“It was Ted Madison- my RA. He wanted to talk to me about pledging to Delta,” Frank explained, suddenly remembering why he’d been talked into coming here. “He seemed to think I’d leap at the chance, was disappointed when I turned it down, but he was decent about it. Told me to hang out, see if maybe I’d change my mind.”

“Sounds like his tactic backfired,” Joe remarked, mildly amused. “Seriously though, I’ve been told that drinking with people you don’t know and can’t trust is not a good idea. Especially since your tolerance has got to be about zero, compared with theirs.”

“Sub-zero, compared with theirs,” Frank corrected him. A bunch of loud laughter and yelling caught his attention and he glanced up, took in the scene before him, and frowned. “You’re right,” he told his brother. “This was a bad idea. I think I’ll make a quiet exit.”

“That was abrupt.”

Frank dropped his cup on the floor and got to his feet, bothered by how the room seemed to sway out of focus. It was sort of like having a concussion- a feeling he’d never been fond of. “There’s a guy passed out on the sofa,” he explained, edging between the packed bodies to the door. “They’re shaving his head.”

“Damn,” was Joe’s quiet reply. “And these people are supposed to be a couple years out from high school, too.”

Frank made it to the porch and glanced around to get his bearings. There was Morgan Hall. He moved carefully down the steps and trudged off around the corner of the building, passing several people who paid no attention to him. Just as well. Five minutes later, he noticed that he’d left his jacket behind and the air was definitely nippy. Folding his arms to conserve heat, he quickened his pace, only to stumble and nearly take a tumble. “Ridiculous, can’t even walk right,” he growled. “That is the last time I do something so stupid.”

“Promises, promises,” Joe needled.

“Oh, shut up!” But despite himself, the dark-haired boy grinned. “Let me guess,” he went on as he slowed down again, shivering a little. “You’re going to pick a battle of wits with me now, ‘cause you know it’s the only chance you’ll ever get to beat me- when I’m fuzzy-headed.”

“Aw, you figured it out!” his brother joked. “Well, all the better- if you’re sharp enough to deduce that, you can’t claim that I’m taking unfair advantage of your mental state, now can you?”

Frank was about to reply when he stopped in his tracks and stared. Three big guys were in a semicircle around a fourth, smaller guy- and they were punching him! The victim’s back was against the wall of the Morgan building, and he seemed to be trying to shield his face with his arms.

Frank reacted without thinking; he ran forward, swearing softly as he stumbled again, and then took out one of the letter-jacketed figures with a hard kick to the back of the knee. A second figure whirled on him; Frank recognized the attackers as players on the football team. Then he dodged the clumsy hit that came his way, and flattened the big guy with another kick that landed right on the goon’s chin. The third hesitated, then turned and ran; the first fellow staggered to his feet and limped off after his teammate. Frank was tempted to go after them, but instead hurried over to the attacked student.

“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling beside the guy, who had slumped to the ground.

“I- I- think so,” the other murmured, breathing hard. “Who- Frank?”

“Dan?” Frank slid an arm around the sophomore and helped him stand up. “Why did they-?”

“They want me out of Unity,” Dan Wu answered grimly. “And they’ll get their wish, damn them. I’ve had it with this place, I’m out of here. Tonight.”

“But- Dan, you’re hurt, you need-”

“I’ll get checked out when I’m well away from here,” the older boy muttered.

“But...” It would take hours for the sophomore to pack up, he’d be exhausted by the time he could leave. “You won’t be done packing your stuff until-”

“My stuff’s gone, Frank. I went into my room and found one of those guys in there. He ran out- knocked me over, and I got a good look at what they did to my room while I was picking myself up. Destroyed. Everything. I lost it and went after him- and it turned out to be those three, not just one. They must’ve figured I’d come after him, so they ambushed me.” The young man took a deep breath. “You’re gonna get into a lot of trouble for helping me out tonight, you know.”

“I probably will,” Frank had to agree. He’d written down too many incidents of minority harrassment to be in doubt what would happen to someone who defended a minority student. “But I’d still help you, Dan. C’mon inside and warm up, at least. You don’t have to race off just like that.”

Dan shook his head and drew his arm from Frank’s grasp. “They’ll come back with reinforcements. Besides, I- I already left my passkey at the RA’s mailbox. I’ve been planning to leave anyway, and now’s better than later. I’m not going far, not tonight. Just into town. I’ll sleep at a hotel there. Be home in New Jersey sometime tomorrow.” The boy sighed. “You’ve been a good friend, Frank- take care, and watch your back. Maybe someday I’ll drop in on Bayport and see you.”

“Good luck, pal. And drop by anytime,” Frank said softly. He watched as his friend walked away, then looked down at the unconscious football player with a scowl. The big guy was stirring. Time to get out of sight. He opened the door and went into the hall, then wobbled down to his room. The adrenaline rush had just worn off, he thought tiredly. He used the passkey on his door and stepped inside, closed the door, and sank down on the bed.

“Well, that was...educational,” Joe sent slowly. “Poor guy. I hope he does come down sometime, I want to meet him.”

“Educational in all the wrong ways,” Frank agreed, pulling his electric blanket around him and switching it on.

“Shoulda gone after that third one...”

“Oh, was that your impulse, to chase after him?”

“I guess it was. Didn’t seem right that he got off without a bruise. But I guess Dan was a lot more important.”

“Yeah. I hope he wasn’t too badly hurt. Didn’t look like it, but it’s hard to tell under the sidewalk lights. I am glad he’s getting away from here, he was more unhappy than I am, and that’s going some.” Frank was silent for a moment, musing as he warmed up. “Hey... Joe, if that was your impulse to go after the third guy...that means I was multitasking!”

“You were, weren’t you! Hmmmmm. Maybe it’s not a matter of concentrating, then. Maybe it’s something else. Relaxing in the right manner or some such thing.”

“Well, if getting tipsy is what it takes to achieve it, I’ll pass and just concentrate,” Frank told him ruefully. “Don’t ever get drunk, Joe. It’s worse than seeing double when you’ve got a concussion.”

“Now there’s something I can relate to,” his brother answered in similar tones. Then he laughed. “Someone could start a whole new fad. ‘Want a buzz? Don’t waste time drinking liters of alcohol- just one application of our blackjack will get you that woozy feeling and the morning after feeling- all at the same time!’ And you know what, I bet some people would go for it.”

Frank snorted, amused. “You should be in marketing. Just remember the part about ‘applied by a professional, not an amateur- no risk of-” Frank stopped in mid-thought, every ounce of humor draining away as the memory of his father’s bloody face rose in his memory. A bitter silence fell between the brothers.

“I’m sorry,” Joe whispered at last.

“It’s not your fault,” Frank told him quietly. “No, it wasn’t. Don’t argue. It was my memory, and it was what I was saying that brought it on.” He couldn’t quite tell if it was his tears he was feeling on his cheeks, or Joe’s, which confused him a little. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

It took me off guard,” Joe murmured, and Frank felt the hot drops being wiped away. “Whenever I think about it, I think mainly of- of Mom...”

“You’re in their room,” Frank said suddenly, abruptly recognizing the ‘feel’ of the place.

“I-” Joe took a deep breath. “I come in here sometimes. It helps.” A vivid mental picture followed; Joe lying on the big bed, on his side, his arm tucked under his head.

“Facing the headboard, how unusual,” Frank mused, and felt the faint smile that was Joe’s response. “At least you have plenty of room...” The older Hardy closed his eyes, imagined his parents’ room, pretended the bed under him was the king-sized mattress. And felt a warm hand touch his shoulder.

“Plenty of room for us both. Especially in our minds,” Joe agreed, recovering some of his equilibrium.

“Now, if you knock me off this bed, I’ll- I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I’ll make it something you’ll remember,” Frank replied, opening his eyes and smiling. He was seeing the master bedroom in the stone house on Elm and High- and seeing his brother smile back at him from about a foot away. The pain of memory had not left completely for either of them, but being together eased it to a bearable ache. Neither of them said anything more, and after a while the warm drowsiness that was creeping over Frank claimed him completely.

“Good morning, big brother. How’s your head?”

“Go away.”

“Not so good, eh?”

“Joe...leave me alone. Please.” Frank didn’t even try to open his eyes; his head was pounding too hard to risk it. “This is as bad as any concussion, and the sending’s not helping.”

“Ohhh.....kay,” Joe drawled. “Let me know when you’re up for chitchat.” And the sense of him was abruptly gone. Frank shivered, wondering why the sudden absence in his mind made his body feel cold.

‘I’ll have to apologize,’ he thought with a twinge of conscience. ‘But not right now.’ Letting go of awareness, he fell back into sleep. Waking several hours later, he found the headache was greatly improved, but a look at the clock made him groan. It was after eight-thirty; he’d missed his first class.

Dragging himself out of bed, Frank Hardy reflected that it was probably not going to be a very good day.

It wasn’t quite that terrible a day after all, was what he was thinking when he left the cafeteria around one o’clock. True, he’d have make-up work to do, and true, he hadn’t been quite prepared for the last class- a pop quiz. That professor Jenks was a sly one; he had to know that most of the campus had been celebrating Columbus day a few days early. Still, Frank was feeling better, the headache was gone and his appetite had returned.

“Hey, Hardy!”

Frank turned to see Derek wandering toward him. “What’s up?”

“Madison said to tell you that ya left your coat at the Delta house last night. Probably want to go get it before someone takes too much a liking to it, know what I mean?” His one-time roommate gave Frank a sly look and made a little gesture, as of grabbing something and pulling it towards him.

“I’d forgotten about that,” the young detective admitted ruefully. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll run over and grab it now.” Frank did pause long enough to drop his books at his own room; no point hauling them halfway across campus. He’d be glad to get his coat back. It was cold today, but sunny; it was going to be colder this weekend, and overcast, and there was a possibility of snow. Some people were wondering why there hadn’t been any yet, in fact.

When he reached the Delta fraternity house, Frank slowed his pace, rather shocked at the condition of the place. He wondered who picked up after these parties, the Deltas themselves or the groundspeople. Probably the Deltas, and they clearly weren’t in the mood to do so yet. Trash littered the ground and two windows were missing their glass.

The boy hesitated a moment, not quite sure how to go about this. Well, if Derek was up and about, others must be, too. He walked up the steps and knocked on the door; it didn’t seem right to just walk on in. The door swung inwards a moment later and a tall, muscular young man stared at Frank with bloodshot eyes. “What?” the Delta asked rudely.

“I left my jacket here last night,” Frank began.

“Oh, right, Mad told us to let you in.”

‘Mad?’ Frank wondered, stepping inside as the youth opened the door wider. Probably Madison. He took in the mess; it was worse in here than it was outside, and it stank of spilled liquor. Not that it was any of his business. Three other big guys were sitting in sofas and chairs in the squalid room, and they all looked very much the worse for wear.

“This is the one Mad mentioned,” said the guy who’d let Frank in. “Come for his coat.”

“Izzat so, Johnny? Well, why don’t we give it to him,” remarked one of the seated fellows in an insolent voice.

“Sure. Why don’t you get it for him, Mike?”

The insolent fellow- Mike- got up and went to a closet; Frank watched, feeling his body tense as the other two guys got up as well. “So did you decide to take Mad’s offer and pledge?” one of them inquired.

“I appreciated him asking, but I had to decline. I’m more a loner than most,” the Hardy boy explained.

“Oh, he’s gonna be furious about that,” Mike remarked. “He doesn’t like declines. Jason, I can’t find the coat, what’d your lazy ass do with it?”

The boy who’d asked about the pledge scowled. “My lazy ass, your momma. I didn’t do a thing with it.” He brushed past Frank and peered into the closet. “You blind fool, it’s right here.” He reached into the closet and flung something at Frank’s feet.

Frank stared at the collection of rags that had once been a warm winter coat, now only tattered strips held together at the collar. “What’d you guys do, run it through a paper shredder?” he asked calmly, seething inside.

There was a slightly taken-aback silence after his cool remark. “Close enough,” Johnny said from behind him.

“Boy, I guess Mad really was mad,” Jason remarked, and snickered.

“He was,” Mike agreed. And that was when Frank realized he was surrounded. The fourth guy had moved around behind him and was standing near Johnny; Mike and Jason were in front of him.

“Well, on to part two,” the fourth guy said briskly, and a second later they all charged at him.