Phantom Writer by Jerry B. Jenkins & Chris Fabry

Author:Jerry B. Jenkins & Chris Fabry [Jenkins, Jerry B. & Fabry, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUVENILE FICTION / Religious / Christian / Action & Adventure, JUVENILE FICTION / Religious / Christian / Relationships
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2020-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 42

ASHLEY

I called Clancy to see if we were still on for another movie at his place, but he said, “Yeah, about that. I was going to call you. I’ve got something else going today. Maybe another time?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. I wondered if he had heard about what happened at church, or if he really did have something else going on.

I was still dying to know what kind of trouble Clancy was in at school. He had that alternative, rebel look but seemed like such a good guy at heart. . . .

I wandered outside to the front of the writing house and sat on a bench near a small pond and waterfall. I watched the big goldfish.

“Those are koi,” someone said. I turned to see Gerald.

I wondered what he was doing here, but I didn’t want to ask. “How big do they get?” I said.

“Huge.” He pointed. “That’s the oldest, Griselda. Mrs. Konig named them after characters in Jake’s books.” He paused. “You having a good time here?”

“Sure.”

“Glad to hear it. If you need anything, please let me know. I’d be glad to run any one of you to the grocery, or if you give me a list of what you need, I’ll pick it up myself.”

“Thanks,” I said, not sure what to think. Bryce and I hadn’t known what to make of Gerald, and here he was, being as thoughtful as a person could be.

I wondered if I could get him to tell me anything about Clancy’s troubles without directly asking. I said, “Sir, what school does Clancy go to in California?”

“That would be Wildmore Academy. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. He mentioned it.”

When he was gone I went back in and sat at Jake’s computer, praying no freaky messages would appear. I missed home, so I clicked on our family Web site. There was Dylan on his swing set wearing his “Future President” shirt. If that’s true, we’re in big trouble, I thought. Seeing his face made me miss him more. I had watched him wake up a few days before, something I didn’t have time to do during the school year. Peeking into his room, trying to stay quiet and not laugh, I saw his arm move. Then he sang, looked out the window, and started talking to himself. Finally, I couldn’t hold it any longer and I laughed out loud. He grabbed his sippy cup and blanket and the stuffed animal he’d slept with and bounded toward me, arms outstretched.

I wanted this trip to be over.

I experimented with Web addresses and finally found the Wildmore Academy home page. It showed kids playing violins and cellos, others playing polo, some studying around an oak table—all smiling. The ad said it was “an exclusive education that prepares young adults for a global community.” That sounded like a boot camp for the end of the world. It boasted students from all 50 states and 75 countries.

I clicked on the admissions video. It was

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