by Will Taylor
I blinked. Okay, that was a lot all at once.
“But look how well you’ve handled it!” Ms. Sabine went on. “You’ve used art to deal with your grief and regret and lack of control. Art!” She shouted the word to the rafters, squeezing us in tight and positively vibrating with enthusiasm. “If you two can convince the homesick kids to conquer their fears using this wonderful project, and they write and tell their parents how much fun it was, then maybe I can convince Director Haggis to give me a grant for the art department! Maybe I can get a decent cabin! Maybe we can finally afford crimping scissors!”
Charlene looked wary. “What sort of letters would we be helping these little kids write?” she asked.
“Well, it’s your project, dears. But they could write pretend letters from their parents, maybe, or siblings, or friends back home. Those are good ideas, right, Maggie?”
“They could write letters from their pets, too,” I offered.
“Pets!” Ms. Sabine threw back her head again, her eyes closed in bliss. “I knew this would be perfect. I’ll write up a lesson plan tonight and tell Director Haggis about it tomorrow, and we can get started!” We got one last Earl Grey–scented squeeze, and she released us, heading for her desk. She stopped and turned back. “Oh, of course that will mean you’ll be missing your swimming and archery lessons next week in order to be here for the younger children’s art classes, but you won’t mind that, will you?”
I didn’t mind. I was too caught up in the Abby situation to even be able to think about next week, but Charlene spluttered, her face turning red.
“Excellent, excellent,” sang Ms. Sabine. “Now, if your independent project is at a good stopping point, I’m dying to see what you two world-class artists can come up with in the exciting realm of collage!”
Twenty-Five
Maggie
Charlene and I finished our collages just before the end of class, which was kind of a miracle considering we spent most of the time whispering about everything we’d learned from the letters. Charlene had thousands of questions about NAFAFA, the Council, its politics, and the Hub, and by the time we headed off to lunch, I’d answered enough of them for her to be more or less ready for the meeting that night.
I realized I hadn’t thought twice about Charlene coming to the meeting. It seemed obvious that she should. And it was nice to have someone to keep secrets and make plans with again. It felt like home.
Charlene and I were going over our sneaking-out agenda, eating corn chips and ignoring the—ugh, there it finally was in person—cucumber casserole we’d been served, when the chatter around us died away ominously. Charlene’s mouth snapped shut.
Director Haggis was crossing the mess hall, flanked by two grown-ups in official-looking green uniforms with patches on their sleeves that said WASHINGTON STATE SEARCH AND RESCUE. They stopped at our table.
“What? Did you find something?” Charlene practically yelled, leaping to her feet. Her Safety Monitor sash caught the corner of her tray, knocking it into mine. A handful of casserole slopped onto my lap, and I jumped up too.
“That is not how we greet visitors at Camp Cantaloupe, Miss Thieson,” Director Haggis said, turning his eyebrow V on her. “But yes, we did find something.” A little gasp ran through the room, and I stopped swatting at the congealed cucumber slices oozing down my pants. Everyone leaned in, listening.
Charlene looked like she might faint. I understood why. We both knew there was no chance the search teams had found Abby, and the only other thing they could have found was Charlene’s moose trap hidden in the woods. Maybe they’d spotted tracks from the golf cart, and put that together with the stolen cantaloupes to figure out whose cave it must have been.
“And . . . um, what did you find?” Charlene asked.
“A letter,” answered one of the officers.
“For Maggie Hetzger,” said the other.
“From Abby Hernandez,” said Director Haggis.
The silence was so complete I could hear the last slice of cucumber slip off my shoe and splat onto the linoleum floor.
A low murmuring began, building to chatter, then uproar. The Girl Who Went Missing had somehow sent The Girl Who Broke the Treehouse a letter, and apparently everyone had something to say about it. Some of the kids at our table rolled their eyes and started telling everyone to ignore us, since it was probably just part of our overachiever art project.
“Perhaps we should talk with Maggie Hetzger in private?” suggested one of the officers, speaking over the noise. Director Haggis nodded and held out a hand, inviting me toward the exit.
My brain went completely numb. Leaving a shocked Charlene still standing over the mess of the lunch table, I followed Director Haggis to the door, the officers falling in behind me.
What was going on? How could there possibly be a letter for me from Abby? She hadn’t been gone long enough, and the trapdoor had taken her to le Petit Salon, not a post office. Or had another letter turned up in my arts and crafts fort just since class, and Ms. Sabine or someone had seen it? Only no, that would mean Abby was safe in the NAFAFA networks, and then why wouldn’t she just come back to camp herself?
I looked up, realizing I hadn’t been paying any attention to where we were going, and discovered we were outside my cabin. Director Haggis opened the door and I went in, the officers’ shoes thudding on the floor behind me.
“Now, Miss Hetzger,” said Director Haggis. “You will notice these officers have acted in their official capacity, and—”
“Looked through Abby’s stuff!” I said, pointing. Abby’s bunk had been stripped, and all her things were spread out on the floor. “You had no right to do that!”
The taller of the search and rescue officers gave me a sympathetic smile. “Actually, Miss Hetzger,” she said, “we do. Your friend Abby has been missing for a long time now, and everyone is very, very worried about her. You more than anyone, I’m sure! That’s why we thought it would be worth taking a look at what she brought to camp, because any clue, no matter how small, might help us find her.”
“That’s how we located this,” the second officer said, pulling an envelope from the pocket of his uniform. “It was the only unusual item. And it’s addressed to you.”
He held it out, and I took it, my stomach swooping. All three grown-ups were watching me closely. The envelope was a normal envelope, with four words written across the front: For Maggie, in case.
For Maggie, in case. What did that mean? In case what? I flipped it over.
“You didn’t open it,” I said in surprise.
“Director Haggis suggested we let you read it first, Maggie,” said the tall officer. “We just hope you’ll tell us if there’s anything in there that can help us find Abby.”
“Got it.” I looked back down at the letter. More than anything in the world—well, almost anything—I wished they would all go away and let me read it on my own. But that clearly wasn’t going to happen.
For Maggie, in case.
I ripped open the envelope, took a deep, slow breath, and unfolded the letter.
Dear Mags,
If you’re reading this, we tried the Oak Key in the trapdoor, and nothing happened. Maybe the lock didn’t open, or the magic didn’t work, or something else went wrong, but basically we didn’t get the great big adventure we wanted, and now, if I’m right, you’re sad.
You’re probably pretending to be sick so you can be sad alone in our cabin, and maybe you’re mad at me for still going to activities, and that’s why I’m writing this letter here at home before we leave. (Samson’s asleep on my left foot right now. He says hi.) This is my just-in-case letter.
And what I want to tell you is we can still have fun! Don’t forget we planned to be here together last summer, but now we finally ARE here, and we’ve wanted this for a literal year, so to be honest I’m only gonna let you mope for a little while before I fill your bed with water balloons or something and make you get involved with camp. Because Mags, I really
need Camp Cantaloupe this summer.
I haven’t talked about it much, but it’s been SO weird helping my dad and the twins pack up our house. And you know I love Tamal, and he’s gonna fit in great, but having him move in with us, and becoming a whole new kind of family starting over in a whole new house, that’s a lot of stuff changing all at the same time. And to be super seriously honest, I’ve been feeling pretty sad about it.
What I want is just a chunk of time where everything stays the same, and that’s camp. And obviously the main person I want to hang out with at camp is you. So quit moping! Get out there and try things! Take some risks!
Samson’s stuck to one of the moving boxes now, and I have my foot back, so I’m gonna wrap up.
You’re my best friend in the whole world, Maggles, and I know we’re gonna make this a summer you and me will never forget.
Love,
Abs
P.S. I’ve got a treasure-hunt mission to help cheer you up. When I was at camp last summer I made you a necklace in art class, and I hid it in a secret place as a sort of guarantee that you’d be here with me this year. When you get the chance, head over to the tree marked on the map, climb to the third branch up from the ground, and look in the gap in the trunk. Unless Scrabbles McFloof (this squirrel I became enemies with last year) stole it over the winter, you should find it.
I looked up, surprised to find the room had gone all blurry, then blinked down at the paper again, trying to make out the map sketched at the bottom. I sniffed loudly. I could smell the cucumber casserole drying on my shoes.
“So? What does it say?” Director Haggis asked impatiently. “Does the letter relate to Miss Hernandez’s disappearance?”
I shook my head. “It’s a letter Abby wrote me before we came here,” I said. “In case I got . . . homesick.” It was mostly true, kind of. And it was the best story my brain could come up with under the circumstances. I might have seemed frozen on the outside, but inside I was swimming for my life against a tidal wave of feelings.
Abby had written me a letter, just in case. Abby had made me a necklace and hidden it so she could surprise me with a treasure hunt. Abby had thought ahead about how I’d feel at Camp Cantaloupe, and what I might end up needing, and what she could do to make sure I got it.
I’d never done anything like that for Abby. Not on my own. Not just out of the blue. Not once.
And Abby had written that she’d been feeling sad lately. I’d had no idea. I’d never imagined she might be unhappy about moving, or worried about Tamal moving in. I only had my mom, so Abby’s family always seemed big and fun and wonderful to me, and I figured she’d be over the moon about getting even more of it.
Only I guess the new stepdad and the new house would be a lot of things changing all at once for Abby. And maybe I should have thought about how that felt. And what that might mean she needed. And how I could help her get it.
She shouldn’t have had to write a letter to get me to notice.
I had the best best friend in the world, and I had not been keeping up my side of things. At all.
“Miss Hetzger?” the tall officer said in a much gentler voice than Director Haggis. “Maggie?”
I looked up again and opened my mouth, but no words would come out. I couldn’t even manage another deep, slow breath.
It took me a minute to realize I was crying.
Twenty-Six
Maggie
Thirty seconds of crying turned out to be all Director Haggis could take, and he raced out of the cabin, shouting a reminder to reunite with my buddy when I went back to lunch. The officers were a lot more professional, and they waited quietly as I sat on my bunk and sobbed.
Five minutes later I was splashing water on my face in the bathroom, waving goodbye to the officers, and heading back to the mess hall. Charlene was waiting for me on the front steps.
“Hey,” she said, jumping to her feet.
“Hey.”
“So . . . what happened?”
I told her about the letter.
“Oh.” Charlene looked very relieved. “Yeah, that sounds like something Abby would do.”
“She also hid a treasure last year for me to find. Look.” I showed her the map, with its rough outlines of the cabins and a big X on one side of the field.
“That looks like the oak tree behind the drama cabin,” said Charlene. A group of screaming first-year kids ran out of the mess hall and down the steps past us. “We’ve still got half an hour of free time. Should we try to go get it now?”
“Obviously,” I said, hiding a sniff, and we set out across the field.
It looked like Scrabbles McFloof had gone into retirement, because the necklace was right where Abby said it would be. It was a simple design, just three clay beads molded to look like cantaloupes, with M&A painted on them. I sat on the branch, holding it and thinking, while Charlene, who was being super cool about all of this, kept watch beside me.
So many times last summer I’d stretched out on my roof at home, staring out west and thinking about Camp Cantaloupe, and how much fun Abby was having without me. Had Abby actually been sitting up here too sometimes, looking east?
A gust of wind swept across the field, pushing into the trees and blowing through my hair. I pulled the necklace on.
“Hey,” Charlene said, elbowing me. “Look.” I looked and saw a new official-looking vehicle pull into the parking area beside the admin cabin. Three people got out, all in uniforms, their badges and dark glasses glinting in the sun. They looked professional and serious.
“Ooh, that’s the sheriff’s office,” said Charlene, squinting at the car.
We watched as Director Haggis and the two officers I’d met earlier came to greet the newcomers. There was a round of handshakes and nodding. The new officers turned a slow circle, examining the camp, then stared out at the trees.
“Looks like they’re going to be searching the woods again,” I said. “What if they find your moose trap this time?”
“They better not,” said Charlene. “But if they somehow find it and come asking questions, I can just talk my way out of it.” She gave her bangs a flip. “I’m good at getting around grown-ups.”
The group of grown-ups outside the admin cabin finished their serious nodding and went inside.
“When are you gonna tell me where this secret cave is, anyway?” I asked, sitting up a little to stretch my neck. Charlene had learned most of my deepest secrets in the last twenty-four hours. It was time we evened the score.
Charlene leaned over to my part of the branch and pointed into the woods. “That’s the tree, there, see? The old, tangly one sticking out in that gap.”
“That’s close. And the moose-trap cave’s at the bottom of it?”
“Yup.” She sat up. “Hey, want to check it out? We’re not supposed to go in the woods alone, but we know those search and rescue people are all inside, and we’ve got enough time if we hurry.”
“Seriously?” I said. Miss Safety Monitor was surprising me again. Sneaking into the woods at night was one thing, but this was broad daylight.
“Yeah. Do you want to see it or not?”
I chewed my lip. I was already in plenty of trouble, but hey, they hadn’t sent me home yet. And what had Abby said in her letter? Get out there and try things! Take some risks! No time like the present.
“Of course I want to see it!” I said. My official camp buddy grinned.
We climbed down and headed into the trees. Camp Cantaloupe might have had terrible lunch food and a tyrannical director, but I had to admit the woods surrounding it were perfect. The ground was a tangle of fallen logs, ferns, bushes, and saplings, with moss and tiny flowers covering everything. The big trees didn’t start their branches until twenty feet up, so following the winding path was like walking through a cool, dim room full of sweet smells and birdsong, with a green roof stretched overhead.
We stopped at a bend. “There it is,” said Charlene. “Shoot. Still no moose.”
I looked where she was pointing. A sort of mini-hill rose from the forest floor a little way off the path. Ferns and brambles grew around it, sharp slabs of boulders stuck out through the moss, and an ancient, crooked tree perched on top, its roots hanging over the edge of the mound and down the side like fingers.
I whistled, impressed. Somewhere in the woods behind us a bird whistled back.
“Good call picking this spot,” I said as Charlene led the way off the path. “The moose would definitely get its antlers caught if it tried to go in there.”
The bird whistled again, louder. I glanced up at the sky and replied.
“We shouldn’t stay long,” said Charlene, ducking down and pushing a tangle of ferns away from the roots. “It’s risky in the daytime. But here, come and see.”
My new bird friend whistled a third time, closer now. I spun in a circle, hoping to catch a glimpse, my lips ready to whistle a reply . . . and saw something else instead.
“Go!” I said to Charlene. “Go! Go! Go!”
“What? Why?”
“Shhh!”
I ducked into the ferns beside her and pointed.
Five people were heading along the path in our direction: the two search and rescue officers I’d met over lunch, and the three scary-official new ones from the sheriff’s. One of them raised his head, pursed his lips, and whistled.
My bird buddy was a grown-up.
“Ohhhh, no,” breathed Charlene. “We cannot get caught out here. What are we gonna do?”
“Get inside,” I said, pushing Charlene toward the cave.
“But there’s no room in there! It’s full of cantaloupes.”
“Pretend you’re a cantaloupe, then.” I could hear footsteps. “Just until they’re gone. We’ve got no choice.”
I held back the roots as Charlene squeezed between them, then snuck one last look over the bushes. The officers had reached the bend in the path.
I ducked into the darkness. The hollow space Charlene had carved out under the tree was almost pitch black, and it smelled like wet earth, rotting bark, and the overwhelming warm melony sweetness of cantaloupes.