When Mark and Courtney opened up the safe-deposit box, they found the four journals. They had been lying in that box for over sixty years.
This whole episode was another bizarre twist in an already incredible situation. Bobby Pendragon had mysteriously left their hometown of Stony Brook, Connecticut, with his Uncle Press almost nine months before. Since then his family had disappeared, and the journals began showing up. The only people who knew the truth were his best friends, Mark and Courtney. Bobby trusted them to take care of his journals in case he might need them again someday.
But more important, it seemed to both Mark and Courtney that writing these journals helped keep Bobby sane. He was now smack in the middle of an incredible adventure that had nothing less than the future of everything at stake. Writing the journals seemed like a perfect way for Bobby to help keep his head on straight, while everything around him was so twisted. Both knew that one day Bobby’s adventure would take him home. But until then, the only thing they could do to help him on his quest was to read his journals, try to understand what he was going through, and keep them safe. ”We’re closing,” snapped Ms. Jane Jansen, the bank manager, making Mark and Courtney jump.
Ms. Jane Jansen had only just met the two, but she didn’t seem to like them. She didn’t seem to like much of anything. Her face was in a permanent state of pucker, like she had a lemon in her pocket that she was constantly sucking on.
“Oh, sorry,” said Mark, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. “We were reading. Can we come back tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” snapped Ms. Jane Jansen. “And this isn’t a library. You children have spent far too much time here already.”
Courtney didn’t like Ms. Jane Jansen’s attitude. And she definitely didn’t like being called a child, especially by such a prune.
“So if we can’t read here, what are we supposed to do?” asked Courtney politely, trying not to let her distaste for the woman show through.
“The content of that box belongs to you,” Ms. Jane Jansen said. “Do whatever you want with it.”
“You mean, we can take it all home?” asked Mark.
“I said, whatever you want,” said Ms. Jane Jansen impatiently.
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” asked Courtney. “Or do you always provide such lousy service?”
Mark winced. He hated it when Courtney clicked into wise-ass mode.
Ms. Jane Jansen’s eyes popped open wide. “Miss Chetwynde, I have been an employee of the National Bank of Stony Brook for over twenty years and I have always provided thorough and professional service.”
“I’ll be sure to include that in our report to your president,” Courtney said. “That’s what this is all about, you know. To test how bank employees deal with unusual situations. So far, you haven’t exactly rolled with the punches, now have you, Ms. Jane Jansen?” Ms. Jane Jansen’s eyes grew wide. She suddenly turned all friendly and polite. “Well, uh, if you have any complaints I’d be more than happy to personally ensure your complete satisfaction.”
“Thereissomething,” Courtney said. “If you’d be so kind, would you return the empty drawer to our safe-deposit box? We’ll be taking the contents with us.”
Ms. Jane Jansen clenched her teeth. It wasn’t her job to clean up after people. But she sucked it up.
“Of course,” she said with a big, phony smile. “I’d be happy to.”
Mark quickly scooped up the four journals and stashed them in his backpack. He wanted to get out of there before Courtney got them into trouble.
“Th-Thanks,” he said with sincere courtesy. “We’ll get out of your hair now.” He went for the door, pulling Courtney along with him.
“Thanks for all your help, ma’am,” said Courtney sweetly. “You really put theassin ass-istance.”
Mark yanked Courtney out of the vault, leaving Ms. Jane Jansen with a twisted smile that actually looked painful. A minute later they rushed out of the gray bank building onto Stony Brook Avenue. Courtney was all smiles. Mark was angry.
“Are you crazy?” he yelled. “What if she threw us out of there? We could have lost the journals!”
“No way,” assured Courtney. “You heard her. They belong to us. Besides, she deserved it. She treated us like a couple of turds.”
“Yeah, well, some things are more important than your bruised ego,” Mark muttered.
“You’re right, Mark,” Courtney said sincerely. “I’m sorry.”
Mark nodded, then looked at Courtney and smiled. “Shediddeserve it.”
The two burst out laughing. Now that their bank adventure was behind them, their thoughts turned to the important issue. After waiting for months, they had another journal from Bobby! Better, they hadfourjournals. In Mark’s pack was an entire new adventure. They wouldn’t have to wait impatiently for new journals to show up. They had a full story in their hands.
“I don’t know about you,” said Mark, “but once I start reading again, I’m not going to want to stop.”
“Agreed,” said Courtney.
“Here’s what I’m thinking. It’s getting late. How about if we wait till tomorrow?”
“You’re kidding!” protested Courtney.
“I’m serious. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll come over to your house real early, like eighta.m. We’ll go down to your father’s workshop and won’t come out until we’re finished.”
Courtney gave this some thought. “You promise not to read anything tonight?” she asked.
“Promise,” Mark said, crossing his heart.
“Okay, cool,” she said. “I’ll make some sandwiches. You bring chips. We’ll make it a marathon.”
“Excellent. I’ll bring the Dew, too,” Mark said with excitement.
“Whatever.” Courtney didn’t do the Dew.
“This is gonna be great!” Mark shouted.
The next day at 8a.m. sharp, Courtney’s doorbell rang. Courtney’s dad opened the door to see Mark standing there with a loaded grocery bag.
“Morning, Mark,” he said through sleepy eyes. “Going on a picnic?”
“Uh… no,” answered Mark. “Courtney and I are working on a school project in your basement. It’s gonna take all day so we need provisions.”
“Really?” said Mr. Chetwynde. “It’s August.” ”Right,” said Mark, thinking fast. “Summer school.”
“Courtney doesn’t go to summer school.”
“I know,” Mark said, mentally kicking himself for being such a lousy, uncreative liar. “I do.”
Mr. Chetwynde looked at Mark. Mark smiled innocently.
Mr. Chetwynde shrugged and yawned. “Whatever, c’mon in.” He stepped aside and Mark rushed in.
Mark knew exactly where to go. He and Courtney had used Mr. Chetwynde’s basement workshop as a private place to read Bobby’s journals many times before. Mr. Chetwynde had set up an entire workshop down there and never used it. He was a lousy do-it-yourself type guy. Mark and Courtney could be there all day, even on a Sunday, and never worry about anybody coming down.
Mark settled into the big, dusty couch as Courtney ran down the stairs. “Sandwiches are in the fridge,” she announced. “Ready when we need ‘em.”
She sat next to Mark on the couch as he pulled the four red-leather journals from his backpack. He put them down reverently on the low table in front of them. The two sat there, staring at the precious stack. Neither made a move to pick one up.
“This is kind of weird,” Mark finally said.
“Really,” agreed Courtney. “I’m excited and afraid at the same time. I’m dying to know what happened to Bobby, but what if it’s bad?”
The two fell silent, staring at the books.
“There’s something else,” added Mark thoughtfully. “This wholeFirstEarth thing makes me nervous.”
“Why?” Courtney asked.
“It’s like Saint Dane is coming closer. To us.”
“You don’t know that,” Courtney said quickly.
“No, but Second Earth is a territory like all the others. One day Saint Dane is going to come here, too. And when he does, we’re going to be doing more than just reading about it.”