On the way to Illinois, Blair sat with her headphones in while I wrote for Planet Pirates and Jade texted some guy with a nose ring. Our entire family was nervous, full of audition anxiety, even though Blair would be the one dancing. It’s like we all sensed something bad was going to happen. It felt kind of like we were marching toward our doom, like Harry going to see Voldemort when he knew He Who Must Not Be Named was just going to kill him. We were going to stay in a hotel, though, which we almost never got to do, and Mom said she would go swimming with me since Blair had to go to bed early, so I tried to keep a positive attitude. I imagined Blair in New York, riding the subway in her leg warmers like a scene in her favorite ballet movie. My optimism lifted weights, getting ready for battle. It was the underdog in that car.
After we arrived at the hotel and checked in, we ordered room service. Mom told Blair she needed to eat to keep her strength up for the audition in the morning, but they got in a big fight. Mom had asked Blair to finish her turkey burger and Blair had burst into tears. My fearless sister, the Performer, the Tough One, the Athlete. Queen of double-dog dares and oh yes I can. Crying over a chunk of meat.
To get us out of the drama, Dad took Jade and me swimming instead. I thought Jade would sit on her phone the whole time, but she actually went down the water slide with me, both of us racing to see who could go faster. We floated on our backs and she told me about Nose Ring Dude, who she didn’t really like but just needed for a date to the Valentine’s Day dance. I didn’t say much, because it felt like a spell I could break. Jade talking to me, besides calling me a nerd or telling me I needed a life? It gave that optimism of mine another jolt, kicking his treadmill up a few notches.
The next morning, we walked Blair to her tryout. Chicago in late January is not a great place to be. The snow is all dirty and brown, with everyone’s Christmas trees already dragged off by garbage trucks, and the cold is there to stay. There were soggy ice patches on every sidewalk, and Blair, as she had reminded us a thousand times, couldn’t fall and break an ankle before the biggest audition of her life.
When we got to the theater, we were informed by a guy in all black checking people in that we weren’t allowed to watch Blair try out. It was as if we were dropping her off at CIA headquarters for an interrogation. We waved goodbye, but she didn’t wave back; she just disappeared in her leotard and pink tights, clutching her pointe shoes. Dad went to the hotel bar to watch some basketball game. I wanted to go to the planetarium or the Museum of Science and Industry, but Mom and Jade wanted to go shopping, so that’s what we did.
We were arguing over a scarf when Mom got the call.
“It’s so sparkly,” said Jade. “It’s not you at all.”
“It could be me,” I insisted. “I could be sparkly!”
“Gold sequins? Are you a Barbie doll? I thought you were some science genius. Look, this one has stars on it, at least.”
“That is pretty cool. . . .”
Mom’s phone went off, quacking like a duck, which made us crack up. Jade was always changing Mom’s ringtone when she wasn’t looking. She was still funny Jade, silly Jade, make-everyone-laugh Jade when she wanted to be. Mom laughed, too, until she saw it was Blair.
“Hello? Blair? Are you done already?” She glanced back at her phone, and I knew what she was thinking—we weren’t supposed to be picking her up for another hour and a half.
“Blair.” Serious voice. “I can’t understand you, sweetie. Slow down. Take a breath.”
Jade kept babbling about some feather earrings. But I was watching my mom’s face. It crumpled.
“Oh, sweetie. Oh, my girl. Okay. You know what? It’s okay. We’ll be there in five minutes. Sit tight.” She threw her phone back in her purse. “Girls, come on. We need to pick up your sister.”
“Already?” asked Jade. “I thought we were gonna get lunch.”
“Jade. God. Something’s wrong, obviously,” I said.
She rolled her eyes, slamming the feather earrings back on the counter. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t get the memo that the world was revolving around Sugar Plum Fairy again.”
“Girls, I cannot handle a fight right now,” snapped Mom. “I just can’t. So shut it and follow me.”
Back at the theater, we found Blair shaking and crying, as she told my mom in whispers what had happened. One of the women with Joffrey was there with her. She had white skin, blue hair, and sad eyes, looking at my sister, who was unraveling like an old sweater.
Sorry, she told my mom. They can’t allow redos. Maybe next year. Maybe with a little more training.
Blair was like a car without enough gas. She couldn’t point her toes, she couldn’t leap in the air, she couldn’t move like a flower petal. She was tired and gray, like the snow on the ground. She had fainted halfway through the class. The Joffrey people had almost called an ambulance.
The whole car ride back to Moose Junction, my dad listened to the basketball game on the radio and Blair leaned against the window and pulled her sweatshirt hood over her face. Her shoulders shook, and when we stopped for lunch, she didn’t get anything and Mom didn’t push her.
All the maybe-just-maybe excitement was gone. Our fears had been confirmed. It had been complete and utter defeat. There would be no Joffrey Trainee Program for Blair. She wouldn’t be dancing with a professional company. She wouldn’t be living in New York City. She wouldn’t be doing anything at all.
Anna Rexia was rubbing Blair’s back and singing to her while the rest of us plugged our ears and closed our eyes.
In the weeks after her failed audition, Mom and Dad tried hard to get Blair to think about next year.
“Sweetie, you can major in dance almost anywhere these days,” Mom reminded her as they sat in the living room, surrounded by college brochures. Mom had put out a bowl of chips but Blair hadn’t touched a single one “Even UW has a dance major.”
“Great,” she groaned. “I can major in dance at a Big Ten school while the kids at Joffrey and Julliard have actual careers. I can shake my butt at basketball games and minor in business and wind up selling insurance. Wow, what a life. How lucky am I.”
“Chicago, then. Columbia College has a ballet program. . . .”
“Yeah, for losers who can’t get in anywhere real!” She started tearing up. Blair was constantly crying these days, like the leaky faucet in Spruce, our oldest cabin. The house being five degrees colder than usual or Obi getting hair on her bed could set her off. We tiptoed around her like we were ballerinas ourselves.
“Maybe it’s for the best, Blair,” Mom said. “Maybe ballet—”
“You hate ballet, Mom,” she snapped. “I got the memo.”
“I don’t hate ballet!”
“You do! You’ve always hated it! You want me to fail. You want me to spend the rest of my life renting out cabins to doctors from Iowa. Well, guess what? I have a dream. I have a passion. I’m not just quitting ballet!”
Mom slammed her hands on the table, pushed her chair out, and went upstairs. Dad followed behind. He squeezed Blair’s shoulder as he walked around her. I went over to my big sister and looked at the shiny brochures.
“Maybe you should do art,” I suggested. “You’re good at drawing.”
Blair sighed and yanked on my ponytail, wiping her eyes. “Oh, Abby. You don’t get these things. You’re just a kid.”
This was something that eternally bugged me. Just a kid. Like kids were stupid. Like we couldn’t know things. I knew plenty of things. I knew that Minnesota called itself the Land of 10,000 Lakes even though Wisconsin had more. I knew that the sun was actually a star and 400 times larger than the moon. I knew that Saturn would float if you put it in water. I knew that the Stormtrooper hitting his head in Star Wars: A New Hope was actually an accident but they left it in.
And I knew my mom really did hate ballet. She hated it when she wrote the huge checks for new tutus, she hated Aleksander and how snobby he was, and she hated how often we had to go to Milwaukee. But mostly she hated wh
at it did to Blair. How my sister would make a mistake in rehearsal and cry for hours. How when she didn’t get the lead in Giselle last year she hadn’t come out of her room for two days. How she stretched so far it seemed as if she would break. How she was forgetting how to eat—first a little here and there, now entire meals, soon entire days. How she would walk by mirrors and suck in her cheeks. The way she would grab handfuls of side fat that weren’t there. How she was disappearing into thin air.
“Here,” I said, handing her our Planet Pirates book. “Your turn.”
“Thanks, Abby,” she said. “I need a little fantasy in my life right about now.” She smiled, and I exhaled as if I’d been holding my breath all day. That one small smile felt so important to me. Life wasn’t over, even though there would be no Joffrey. We’d still have our comic, as small as it could seem.
“Are you dorks having a lovefest?” Jade bounded into the kitchen, opening the fridge, headphones in. “It’s like the Hallmark Channel in here.”
“Aww, feel left out?” said Blair. “Come be our bestest friend, Jadey-Pants.” She made kissing noises and faces, and I copied her. Jade rolled her eyes.
“Freaks,” she said, grabbing a soda. But she smiled, too, just a little. I saw it. I swear.
8
AUGUST, PRESENT DAY
Twelve years old
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked. “You have a Star-Gazer Twelve? And you think it’s buried at the Moose Junction Library?”
Simone and Dr. Lacamoire glanced at each other.
“Underground,” I clarified.
“That is what the word buried means, yes,” said Dr. Lacamoire smoothly.
“I told you,” snapped Simone. “I told you this was a waste of our time.” She looked back at me. “I’m sorry, Abby. We shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“It’s just—it sounds kind of . . . you know. Hard to believe,” I said. “A time capsule? And why would there be a Star-Gazer Twelve in it? How did it get there?”
Dr. Lacamoire shook his head. “That’s the wrong question. The question is, how are we going to get it out?”
“We?” I asked.
“Yes. You have to help. You’re friendly with the librarian. You know the lay of the land. I can’t just take a bulldozer to the place, as much as I’d like to,” he said. “I need someone familiar with the library to help me figure out where exactly it’s buried on the library grounds, and then procure it while I’m otherwise occupied. They would never expect some local child to have dug the thing up.”
I shook my head. “First of all, I’m not even sure there is a time capsule.”
“Show her!” Dr. Lacamoire barked at Simone. She rolled her eyes but pulled a piece of paper off the mantel and handed it to me. It was a black-and-white photo of a group of people in City Hall. I even recognized some of them. Joe Kitt from the hardware store still had that same denim shirt, but his hair was blond instead of its current gray. Miss Mae. My grandmother! My own grandma, smiling wide. In front of them was a table full of stuff, from books to a creepy-looking doll to a baseball.
And circled in red, the Star-Gazer Twelve. One of the best telescopes in the world.
Preserving Time, the headline read. The caption of the photo: Citizens of Moose Junction buried a time capsule outside the Moose Junction Public Library this weekend to preserve what life was like in the small resort town in 2000.
“There,” said Dr. Lacamoire confidently. “Proof. That article came from Waukegan Weekly. I printed it from the archives. I thought for sure there would be some sort of detail about where the thing was, but of course, this was probably Jim Bob Smith, the Reporter. Not exactly an investigator. They should have higher standards.”
Yes, because there was so often breaking news here in the Northwoods. The last time Moose Junction had made the Waukegan Weekly was when an albino deer had been spotted.
“But if it’s yours, how did it wind up in the time capsule?” I asked again.
Simone’s eyes shot toward Dr. Lacamoire. His entire face turned stony. I had clearly tiptoed onto some forbidden land.
“Not by any fault of mine, I assure you,” he said flatly. “The telescope was stolen. I’ve been searching for it for years, and it was recently revealed to me . . . No, no, Abigail, don’t ask how! These are the wrong questions. That the thief buried it in this time capsule is what we should be focusing on. The telescope is mine. I want it back. And you’re the only one who can help me.”
I just stared at him. An MIT professor with one of the most-viewed TED Talks on YouTube, begging me for help.
“Why can’t we just ask someone where exactly on the grounds it’s buried?” I said. “All of these people were there. Someone should know.”
“Because it might seem a tad suspicious when a week later, it turns out the thing was dug up,” said Simone.
“But how would they even know it was taken?” I asked.
“This isn’t some tiny thing. It’s large. We’d have to dig a significant hole. The fresh mound of dirt wouldn’t tip people off?” said Simone pointedly.
“I mean . . . I doubt it. It’s not like we have a shortage of dirt around here,” I said.
“We can’t take chances,” said Dr. Lacamoire firmly. “We need to know exactly where the capsule is buried—”
“And we need to make sure we don’t get in trouble for digging it up,” Simone finished for him. “So. Our best shot is metal detectors. They sell them at the hardware place in town. We need to go to the library one night and figure out where exactly the thing is buried, and then you’d need to return another night to dig it up.”
“It’s going to be tricky,” said Dr. Lacamoire. “You’ll have to go at a time when I’m somewhere else, for a solid alibi, but also during hours when nobody in town would be driving past.”
I knew the perfect time. But I had a question first.
“So, what’s in it for me?” I asked.
Simone looked surprised, but Dr. Lacamoire simply looked at me.
“I’m just saying,” I continued. “This is probably illegal. If nothing else, I’d get the grounding of my life if I got busted. So what are you planning on doing for me?”
“It seems as if you have something in mind,” said Dr. Lacamoire.
I did.
“Listen, Abigail,” Dr. Lacamoire started.
“Abby.”
“This telescope was the most important item I owned,” he said, his voice quiet. “It means everything to me. I will do anything—anything—to get it back. I’ll give you whatever you want. But I am begging you to help me.”
Maybe I could help two people at once.
“I need an introduction,” I said.
“Done,” said Dr. Lacamoire instantly. But Simone held a hand up.
“Wait a second. God, Leo. To who?” She seemed suspicious.
“To your book editor,” I said.
That surprised both of them.
“Joanna?” asked Simone. “What on earth for?”
So that she could turn Planet Pirates into a real book that went to real libraries.
So that Blair and I could be best friends again.
So that I could save my sister.
She’d forget all about ballet if we were famous comic book writers. I could fix it. I could fix it all. Even my dad knew how important “that comic thing” was to Blair. Her smile after the Joffrey meltdown, when I passed Planet Pirates back to her—it reminded me that anything was possible. But I needed Joanna Creech’s help to do it.
This was my only chance. When I’d googled Dr. Lacamoire, Joanna’s name had come up over and over again. They’d been working together for years. She wasn’t any old editor—she was one of the best. She had edited almost one hundred other books, and a bunch had gone on to be New York Times bestsellers. She had a fancy office in a real skyscraper. Even her picture made me want to work with her. She had a tight bun, dangly earrings, and her eyes seemed to say I got this.
She probably got
eighty emails a day from aspiring writers who thought they’d written the next Harry Potter. Billions of people think they’re good enough to have books in Barnes & Noble. But I wasn’t dumb, no matter what Jade thought. I knew I needed someone to knock on her door for me first.
“Don’t say another word,” said Dr. Lacamoire, holding up a hand. “It’s done.”
“But, Leo—”
“Simone, for heaven’s sake, Jo is one phone call away. It’s an easy trade-off for the return of my telescope.”
Simone stared at me, eyebrows narrowed. She didn’t trust me. Fine. Maybe she shouldn’t.
I never said I was perfect. That was Blair.
“Then I know how to help,” I said. “The eclipse.”
It would be hard to pull off. Nearly impossible, really. Dad and I had been talking about the eclipse ever since it had been announced. We’d ordered our glasses, made plans, and counted down the days. Everyone was expecting me to be at the viewing party. But the whole town would be distracted, and Dr. Lacamoire could easily be visible. While residents and tourists alike were focused on the day becoming night, I would dig up the time capsule and retrieve the Star-Gazer Twelve.
“That could be perfect,” he mused. “No one will be at the library then?”
“No way. This eclipse is the biggest thing that’s ever happened here. Everyone will be on Main Street,” I assured him.
What Happens Next Page 7