We were immediately dismissed, fired, uninvited, kicked off, left at the curb, abandoned, disowned, disavowed. It was over. My friends drifted away to other things, to Paul, to Bodhi. Our team dissolved.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lost in my thoughts, but from the look on Hannah’s face, it’s too long. And I’ve probably been mumbling to myself too. Great.
She waves at me. “I said we’re going. Me and Jin. You can stay if you want. To put Frank 4.0’s face back on or whatever.”
“You guys are leaving?” I bleat pathetically. “But what about regionals? We don’t even have an idea.”
Jin glances up from texting and shrugs. “Maybe we skip regionals,” he says.
“Skip the regionals?” I’m aware my voice has gone squeaky and a little desperate.
Jin throws up his hands. “I mean, we don’t have a project and we’re not really into it. I’m just putting the possibility out there. Don’t freak out.”
Oh, I’m beyond freaking out. Freaking out is for amateurs. I’m in full-on catastrophic meltdown mode. I clench my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t shatter.
Hannah, refusing to meet my eyes, mutters something about Bodhi waiting at the gym, collects her stuff, and waves a vague goodbye. Jin, thumbs still flying, leaves for his Minecraft game with Paul. Before they go, neither Jin nor Hannah mentions when we should next get together to work on our STEM project or just to hang out.
And that leaves me alone in Jin’s backyard, staring at a mangled Frank 4.0, as if he might hold the answers to my problems. But he has nothing to say, so I shrug on my backpack and head for home. My throat is tight, my eyes threaten to spill tears, and worst of all, I’m out of ideas, a completely foreign experience for me. Maybe it’s time to bring this problem to Dad? He claims to be an excellent out-of-the-box thinker, and right now the box I’m in feels bottomless.
CHAPTER 3 THE GREAT GREAT-AUNT IRMA
IT’S A SEVEN-BLOCK WALK FROM Jin’s house to Great-Aunt Irma’s dusty old Victorian. I came to live here when Dad was secretly tangled up in the Stone of Istenanya mess, and I’ve never left. Along my route, I meet the usual suspects. Back in my old life, when I traipsed around the world after my father on his expeditions, I never really got to know anyone. There was no routine. There were no familiar faces. But that’s all different now. This is my neighborhood.
There’s Marceau, who owns the upscale furniture store and is always sweeping the sidewalk out front even when there is nothing on it. He throws me a friendly “Bonjour” as I pass.
Next is Channa of Channa’s Rainbow Yoga, who always waves from her big store window even if she’s in downward dog or has her legs wrapped around her neck or something. Tom, or I think that’s his name, sits in a vestibule a few doors down from the yoga studio, surrounded by several grungy garbage bags containing his belongings. At first, I’d given Tom a wide berth. He never so much as batted an eye in my direction, but he made me nervous anyway. One day, I spotted a woman in a yellow parka giving Tom a coffee from the place on the corner. In return, he offered her a wide smile. And in that moment, Tom stopped being scary. Now I wave and he waves back.
Dashing around a dog walker dressed in a wool hat, down jacket, and flip-flops, and his seven furry charges, I make my way up the small hill to the half-falling-down Victorian that I now call home.
Home. It never occurred to me how much I wanted one until I had one. Dad felt all kinds of guilty when he realized how much it meant and that it was basically his fault that I had spent most of my life living out of a suitcase. I milked that situation to the tune of a new smartphone because Great-Aunt Irma’s cast-offs always came preloaded with tracking apps, as if she didn’t trust me. Which she didn’t. On account of my former vocation as a thief.
Zeus greets me at the door with an accusing “Where’s Jin?” Zeus is an African gray parrot with a terrible attitude and a massive crush on Jin. He gets all moony-eyed whenever Jin comes over, leaps right to his shoulder, and immediately begins nibbling his ears and hair. Great-Aunt Irma says it’s love. But her voice carries a hint of jealousy because Zeus is her oldest and best friend.
You don’t have a lot of friends when you are agoraphobic. That means you don’t go outside, and Great-Aunt Irma last left the house sometime during the 1990s, although we can’t be sure. She also won’t say what it is that drove her inside. According to the internet, which you should never ever consult for medical purposes because everything you search will end up being terminal, even an ingrown toenail, there is usually a precipitating event that drives a person to develop the disorder. Once I asked her what happened and her response was stony silence, very unlike Great-Aunt Irma, and I knew not to push it.
“Where’s Jin?” Zeus asks again, fluttering around in my face just to make sure I haven’t hidden his object of desire up my nose or something. “Jin! Jin! Jin!” I get why Great-Aunt Irma is a little jealous. Zeus wears his love on his sleeve for all the world to see.
“He’s not here,” I say, swatting the bird away. “He’s busy with Paul.” For my troubles, Zeus swoops in and pecks my cheek. “Ow!”
“Bad Lola! Bad Lola!”
“Who taught you how to say that?” I demand. But Zeus flaps up to his perch in the living room, purposefully sitting with his back to me. Is there anything worse than a lovesick, temperamental parrot? I think not.
“Lola?” Great-Aunt Irma calls out. “Is that you?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
“Are your friends with you? Or are they with Bodhi and Paul?”
Wait. What? Sometimes Great-Aunt Irma’s ability to know things is downright creepy.
“They are with Bodhi and Paul,” I mutter, dejected all over again.
“No matter. Come here. Quick!” This is probably a good time to explain that Great-Aunt Irma is not your average great-aunt. Or average anything, if we are being honest. Her uniform is shockingly bright dresses and Ugg boots for all seasons. A pouf of white hair sits on her head like a cloud. People say we look alike, but I don’t see the resemblance. I never wear Ugg boots. They make my feet sweat.
Great-Aunt Irma spends most of her day coding apps for senior citizens. There are apps to help find your car in the mall parking lot, apps to keep your brain sharp, and dating apps because, in Irma’s opinion, why should old people miss out on all the fun? For a person who doesn’t socialize at all, ever, she seems to think it’s very important that her fellow seniors get out there and mingle. Irma Benko is often called to speak to important gatherings of tech entrepreneurs, but she never goes on account of not leaving the house. Lately, however, she has agreed to the occasional Skype visit, which she reports is a total hoot. I particularly enjoy the stunned looks on the faces of the young Silicon Valley types when they first get a load of her. It’s the best.
But my favorite thing about Great-Aunt Irma is that she actually listens to me, even when I’m griping about math or my stupid Redwood uniform or how Zeus passive-aggressively pooped on my homework. She never tells me that I’m being foolish. She never dismisses my feelings as not being real. And I never get the sense she’s thinking about other things when I’m talking to her.
Which is sometimes the case with my dad. Of course, I didn’t notice this until I started living with Great-Aunt Irma. And I get that Dad’s brain is always chewing on important stuff, but sometimes it would be nice if he focused on me. Is this selfish? Maybe. Right now, Dad is in Peru, in South America, looking for the Florentine Diamond, a 127-carat yellow-green rock that went missing in the early 1900s. In case you are wondering, 127 carats is, well, a lot of carats.
The Victorian has seen better days, sagging under the weight of Great-Aunt Irma’s odd collection of junk: dusty paperbacks, half-dead potted plants, a life-size cardboard cutout of Indiana Jones, and an extensive collection of ceramic cat figurines and phoenixes—those mythical birds that burn up and rise again from the ashes to start a whole new life. Zeus likes the birds but hates the cats. His favorite sport is t
o knock the cats to the ground, where they shatter into a million tiny bits. Their numbers are dwindling.
“Lola?” Great-Aunt Irma calls out again. “I said come quick!”
I find my great-aunt in the kitchen, the rickety table cluttered with at least six or seven open laptops. It’s about ten degrees hotter in here than the rest of the house. Irma is pacing before the array of machines, rubbing her hands together as if in anticipation of something remarkable about to happen.
“What’s the urgency?” I ask.
When she turns to face me, her eyes are bright and energized. “A lot of old people can’t travel, you know? They are stuck at home for health reasons or because they are afraid to go out in the world or they can’t find their passports. You know, obstacles.” She describes these people as if they have nothing in common with her. “So I figured why not harness the power of all these drones that are littering our skies these days, make it so us oldsters can watch something other than the boring garbage on the TV. For example, these military drones see some crazy stuff.”
She points to a screen. It’s a bird’s-eye view of a heavily fortified compound in some unidentified desert. Armed guards stalk the grounds. Big trucks move in and out of a single massive gate. My aunt is offering up a front-row seat to a live-action military intervention against possible drug smugglers or arms dealers or other bad-guy types.
“You hijacked military drones?” I ask carefully.
Irma shrugs. “I can also control tanks and other vehicles. But those don’t make for great viewing, being at ground level and all. Believe me. My customers will be over the moon.”
“Will anyone notice?” I ask.
“Oh, I doubt it. I’m good at what I do.” That much is true. I’m living with a white-haired black hat. A septuagenarian hacker. Great. This might end with both of us doing time in some remote black-site prison, but if there is one thing I’ve learned about Great-Aunt Irma, it’s that she cannot be talked into or out of much. I will have to keep my fingers crossed she a) doesn’t get caught; and b) gets bored very soon and returns to her dating apps, which seem much less hazardous.
The microwave pings and Great-Aunt Irma pulls out a bag of popcorn, ready to settle in and see what sort of havoc the United States Army rains down on this desert compound. She offers me a seat, and while I’d dearly love some of that popcorn, I’m not as keen on the show.
As I leave the kitchen, Great-Aunt Irma yells after me, “Oh, your father called earlier! He has something he wants to talk to you about. Call him back, will you?”
Perfect timing, Dad. I head upstairs to my bedroom to call him back.
Maybe he found a 127-carat diamond?
CHAPTER 4 STAR AND FISH ARE NOT OKAY
To: Agent Fish
From: Agent Star
Level: Priority—Urgent
Subject: Those terrible, terrible kids who are just plain terrible
I can’t stop thinking about Pegasus. I know you told me to get over it, but I feel like our good names have been besmirched by those annoying, loud, rude, horrible, terrible, no-good kids. You know the ones I’m talking about, right?
And now we are stuck up here in Siberia. Literally Siberia! I know everyone eventually draws a Task Force hardship assignment, but this stinks of punishment for Pegasus. It’s too much of a coincidence. And it was not even our fault! It was those terrible kids! They have gotten us banished literally to Siberia!
Yesterday, I walked out into my new village and almost bumped into a polar bear. A polar bear! In the middle of the street!
I keep thinking of the cautionary tale of Phoenix and Gryphon, those legendary treasure hunters who supposedly found Zeus’s lightning bolt, but then Gryphon went insane with power and killed Phoenix, and the bolt was lost forever. Was Pegasus our lightning bolt? Did we aim too high and will now pay the price? More important, are you going to go mad and try to kill me?
Boy, my room is freezing. My mustache is dripping with icicles. Bits of it keep cracking off. It’s all the kids’ fault.
So how are you?
To: Agent Star
From: Agent Fish
Level: Priority—Urgent
Subject: Re: Those terrible, terrible kids who are just plain terrible
I know you don’t like Siberia, and I will agree that it is a bit on the frosty side, but everyone gets their turn in places that aren’t exactly tourist destinations. You are being paranoid thinking we are being singled out. We are up here in the endless frozen tundra doing our duty as others before have done and will do and so on.
And it is nothing like Phoenix and Gryphon! Besides, did that really even happen? Sometimes I think it is just a story made up to terrorize new Task Force agents. The whole “Magic can drive you mad” routine so you exercise caution. And I definitely don’t believe the part where Phoenix broke the bolt up into pieces and hid them. Still, it would be great to find Zeus’s lightning bolt.
Even a piece of it.
That’s the ultimate!
And for the record, I have not seen any polar bears, but a Siberian tiger has been terrorizing this small town for ages. I think he is a phantom, a made-up tiger. I think they all spend too much time in the dark up here, and it is warping their brains and making them see imaginary tigers.
Also, sorry about your mustache. Fortunately, as a woman, I don’t have to worry too much about frozen facial hair. However, I think my toes have frostbite.
To: Agent Fish
From: Agent Star
Level: Priority—Urgent
Subject: Re: Re: Those terrible, terrible kids who are just plain terrible
I’m having nightmares!
Actually, they are awake-mares. Is that a thing? I see all three of their annoying little faces everywhere. Do you think this is a sign of snow blindness? Or snow insanity? I believe people can go insane if they are kept too long in a climate like this. I would not even know if the sun went out because I have not seen it since arriving in this awful place.
And why are we here to begin with? There are no magical mythical potentially dangerous treasures hidden in the snow! This is definitely punishment. I’m sorry about your toes, but I’m not being paranoid. You are in denial.
Our records were perfect until we got involved with those kids. Flawless! And there was never any mention of Siberia.
The hairs in my nose have frozen and cracked off. It is most disturbing.
To: Agent Star
From: Agent Fish
Level: Priority—Urgent
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Those terrible, terrible kids who are just plain terrible
You need to get a grip! Listen up. We never have to deal with those kids again. The Task Force banned them for life. It doesn’t matter that Lola’s dad is the famous Lawrence Benko. Even he doesn’t have enough pull to fix what they broke. This is what happens when you completely screw up.
As for us, we can rebuild our reputations. We need to be patient. To bide our time. To plan for the future and what comes next.
Oh, and I saw that tiger. You might be right that we need to get off the ice.
To: Agent Fish
From: Agent Star
Level: Priority—Urgent
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Those terrible, terrible kids who are just plain terrible
Now you’re talking.
Also, was the tiger pretty? I’ve always liked tigers.
CHAPTER 5 #SAVEOURSUMMER
ZEUS ACCOMPANIES ME TO MY room, a small space on the second floor with a view of the postage-stamp backyard that is mostly weeds. But the room could face an oil refinery and I would still love it because it’s mine. I love my fluffy comforter decorated with kittens so unbelievably cute I squeal with delight every time I see them. I love my desk, buried in junk—papers, bits of tinkering projects, books, and chewed-up pencils. There is also a pile of random items, like refrigerator magnets and pieces of string, that belong to Zeus. He gets bored when I’m doing my homework and flies around the house gathering t
hings for his ever-growing collection on my desk. It’s fine. That parrot needs a mission. Otherwise he sits on my shoulder and criticizes me, and who needs that?
One of my favorite things about having my own room is that I can leave my things lying around and not worry about stuffing it all in a suitcase the moment Dad gets a bee in his bonnet about some new treasure that requires investigation. I love knowing that everything will be exactly the same when I get home from school each day. Except for the items Zeus has rearranged, but that is to be expected.
I lie down on my bed and FaceTime Dad. The screen fills with something terrifying. Oh wait, that’s only his gaping mouth, caught mid-yawn. Gross. I can see his fillings. He rubs his eyes and grins.
“Lola,” he says.
“Did I wake you up?” I ask. “What time zone are you in anyway?”
“No, no,” he says. “I’m only two hours ahead of you down here. If you follow the coast from San Francisco for a very long time, you will eventually hit Lima, in Peru, which is where I am at the moment. It’s quite lovely if a bit wet this time of year.” One of the great things about Dad is he is an optimist. The glass is not only half-full with him, but it is overflowing, even when the situation he faces is grim.
“I miss you,” he says, smiling.
“I miss you, too, Dad.” And I do. A lot. But I also didn’t want to go with him to South America to chase after some diamond that was probably cut down into a handful of much smaller diamonds and scattered to the winds a hundred years ago. Dad did his best not to look hurt when I told him I preferred to stay with Irma, and he almost pulled it off.
“How is the STEM project coming?” he asks.
“Not so good,” I confess. “Jin is with Paul, and Hannah is with Bodhi, and I’m, you know, alone.” A third wheel. Superfluous. Unneeded. Unnecessary. Redundant. Surplus.
“Irma says you’re moping.”
“I am not!” Okay. Maybe a little?
“She also says you’ve gone boneless and droopy and that you’re brooding.”
The Midnight Market Page 2