“This?” She held her wrist over the table so I could see the clunky black watch. It had three dials and a little silver needle that rested on a rectangle with zigzags all over it, sort of like one of those machines that track the strength of earthquakes. “It’s a selenometer.”
I looked at her blankly.
“Selene, the Greek goddess of the moon. Metron, or ‘measure’ in Greek.” She smiled. “A little rusty on your Greek etymology?”
“A little.”
“It measures the moon’s gravitational pull.” She turned one of the dials, thoughtfully. Numbers appeared under the pointer.
“Why do you care about the moon’s gravitational pull?”
“I’m an amateur astronomer. I’m interested in the moon, mostly. It has a tremendous impact on the Earth. You know, the tides and everything. That’s why I made this.”
I almost spit out my Coke. “You made it? Seriously?”
“Don’t be so impressed. It wasn’t that difficult.” Liv’s cheeks flushed again. I was embarrassing her. She reached for another fry. “These chips really are brilliant.”
I tried to imagine Liv sitting in the English version of the Dar-ee Keen, measuring the gravitational pull of the moon over a mountain of fries. It was better than picturing Lena on the back of John Breed’s Harley. “So let’s hear about your Gatlin. The one where they call fries by the wrong name.” I had never been any farther than Savannah. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like in another country.
“My Gatlin?” The pink spots on her cheeks faded.
“Where you’re from.”
“I’m from a town north of London, called Kings Langley.”
“What?”
“In Hertfordshire.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
She took another bite of her burger. “Maybe this will help. It’s where they invented Ovaltine. You know, the drink?” She sighed. “You stir it in milk, and it makes the milk into a chocolate malted?”
My eyes widened. “You mean chocolate milk? Kind of like Nesquik?”
“Exactly. It’s amazing stuff, really. You should try it sometime.”
I laughed into my Coke, which spilled on my faded Atari T-shirt. Ovaltine girl meets Quik boy. I wanted to tell Link, but he would get the wrong idea.
Even though it had only been a few hours, I had the feeling she was a friend.
“What do you do when you’re not drinking Ovaltine and making scientific devices, Olivia Du
rand of Kings Langley?”
She crumpled the paper from her cheeseburger. “Let’s see. Mostly I read books and go to school. I study at a place called Harrow. Not the boys’ school.”
“Is it?”
“What?” She scrunched up her nose.
“Harrowing?” H. A. R. R. O. W. I. N. G. Nine across, as in, gettin’ on in years and can’t take much more a these harrowin’ times, Ethan Wate.
“You can’t resist a terrible pun, can you?” Liv smiled.
“And you didn’t answer the question.”
“No. Not especially harrowing. Not for me.”