“Yeah.” Our gym teacher, Mr. Fergus, taught health. He droned on about eating disorders for like ten minutes one day before reminding us of the dangers of obesity and heart disease. It wasn’t exactly emphasized.
“I’m sorry. I should have called you. I don’t want you to think we’re not friends anymore.” She bit her lip. “I mean, school starts in two weeks. And it’s just us on the bus for so long. We’re still friends, right?”
I could have said no. What kind of friend just ditches you for the whole summer? What kind of friend ignores you when you need her most?
But.
What kind of sister just ditches you for the whole summer? What kind of sister was I, ignoring Blair when she needed me? I wasn’t being mean. I was scared. I was afraid things couldn’t go back to the way they were. Sophie probably felt the same way.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course we’re still friends. But thanks for saying sorry.”
She looked relieved. “Want to come over on Sunday? If it’s nice out we can do the paddleboards or something. All of the tourists will be on their way home.”
I loved Sophie’s house. Her mom always made the best snacks, and she had a big dog named Rufus that loved jumping in the lake. I grinned.
“I’ll call you Sunday,” I said.
As Sophie got on her bike and left, I felt that feeling wash over me again. Hope: that I still had friends. That I could get out of this time capsule mess. That Blair really could get better.
Stop it, a piece of me said. But another piece, a louder one, said, Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.
That night, as Jade drove off to the movie theater and Mom and Dad ran around making sure all the tourists were ready for tomorrow, I sat in bed and tried to write Blair a letter. I could write Captain Moonbeard into a thousand quests, but this seemed impossible.
What I really wanted to tell Blair was not that I was angry, even though part of me was. Or that I still loved her, even though I did. Or that I understood, even though I was trying to.
I wanted to tell her I was sorry.
I’m sorry you fell and none of us caught you.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell Dad how scared I was the night you went to prom.
I’m sorry I believed you when you lied.
I’m sorry I thought you were too perfect to be struggling.
I’m sorry that I acted like you were a superstar instead of my sister.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I wrote them all out, apology after apology, my hand flying across the lines, my pencil practically digging into my notebook. I filled a page with regret and remorse. Then I tore it out, walked to the window, and ripped the letter into tinier and tinier pieces, letting them flutter to the ground. Sorry for littering. Add that one to the list. I would send my apologies to the trees and the birds and the lake and the woods itself, and maybe they’d burrow underground and find their way to my sister, sad and sick and stuck.
16
APRIL, FOUR YEARS AGO
Eight years old
Four years and four months before Jade eavesdropped on my plan, Dr. Leo Lacamoire was being honored at MIT with a Distinguished Professor award. He wore a tuxedo to the ceremony. He had made a breakthrough in new planetary discoveries this year, and although his past mistakes—and oh, he had made them!—clung to his memory, he could easily shove them out of his mind. He didn’t yet know that his Star-Gazer Twelve, stolen from him years before, was buried underground in Moose Junction, Wisconsin.
He didn’t know that the thief was dying.
But we aren’t at that part of the story yet. The story where I learn just how the Star-Gazer Twelve got from Dr. Leo Lacamoire’s observatory in Cambridge, Massachusetts, to a box in a tourist town. No, I’m only eight years old. I’m a third grader, learning how to add three-digit numbers and make connections from books to my own experience. Dad and I go to the park almost every night to look through his telescope.
Blair goes to the Sweet Toes Ballet School in Cedar Valley. She’s fourteen years old, and by far the best in her class. Everyone says so.
Their spring recital was boring. I almost fell asleep. You always think ballet is over, and then it keeps going and going and going. Mom let me bring Sophie, and we spent most of the night writing notes back and forth and giggling. When it was time for Blair to dance, we all sat still as stone. She was dynamite, as usual. I wished I was as good at something as Blair was at ballet, but I was pretty average in every way you could think of. I got good grades, and I could read quickly, but I couldn’t dance or draw or play sports. Jade bought Sophie and me candy with her own allowance money at intermission. We went downstairs and checked out the fancy bathrooms. Blair was usually busy now, taking ballet five nights a week, but Jade still looked out for me.
Afterward, we were in the parking lot getting ready to go. Blair was with us, but she was just coming home to shower before going to sleep over at her friend Elisha’s house. A man ran up to our family, his nose delicately pointed in the air, his wrinkly hands holding out a card.
“I own the most superior dance studio in the Midwest,” he said stiffly. “My studio’s in Milwaukee. Auditions are over, but for a dancer of your caliber, I suppose I could open a spot. Is she homeschooled?”
“What?” asked Dad.
“Homeschooled,” he said impatiently. “Do you go to school? Most dancers in the Aleksander Alekseev’s Milwaukee School for Classical Ballet devote half of their day to ballet.”
“School? She has to go to school,” Dad said.
But what my mom said, in a soft voice was, “Company? You want her to dance on a company team?”
And that was how Blair was put on the path to stardom. Because we didn’t get into the car fast enough.
We didn’t know, then. We couldn’t see. And that’s the story of the universe, pretty much—guessing, fumbling around in the dark. Trying to figure out what happens next. Doing the best you can with the information that you have, until you learn more.
It would be easy to blame ballet, or Aleksander. My mom does. But I think there was something in Blair that whole time. Anna Rexia was always there, like a little seed, waiting to be watered. Sure, Aleksander Alekseev’s Milwaukee School for Classical Ballet handed it to her. But Blair was the one who listened.
That night, Dad and I looked at the stars through my telescope.
“It’s mind-boggling how far away they are,” he said. “They feel so close, like we could reach out and touch them, don’t they?”
But they weren’t. You could fly for hours and hours, years and years, and not even come close to some of those stars. They looked small enough to fit in your pocket, but they were actually gigantic.
It’s crazy, really, how different things are from how they look.
17
AUGUST, PRESENT DAY
Twelve years old
The morning of the eclipse, I woke up early. I could hear Mom running around downstairs, throwing a pile of laundry in the wash and tripping over Obi’s bowl of food.
When I got to the living room, Dad was already watching the news. He stood behind the couch, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was so bizarre to see Main Street in the background of every major news channel. There were journalists from the Today show standing in front of Java Jane’s. I saw Harrison in the background, his very own ten seconds of fame. Jade was parked at the kitchen table eating cereal.
“Hey, kiddo!” said Dad. “Today’s the big day! I thought we’d head over around twelve o’clock. Make sure we get prime seating!”
“The eclipse is happening in the sky,” said Jade, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like you’re going to miss it.”
“What are you even doing awake?” I asked.
She shrugged, looking right at me. “Couldn’t sleep.”
A lie can affect everyone around you, and mine was like the beating heart in that freaky poem we had read in school. It pounded under the floor
boards and kept the whole room awake. It was becoming best friends with Anna Rexia, haunting the house.
My plan was to go downtown with Dad, check out the festival, and then tell him I had to go quickly say hi to Sophie. I would disappear, then claim the crowds had been so packed I hadn’t been able to find my way back. He would be totally disappointed, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I had told Leo and Simone I’d be digging during the eclipse, when everyone was occupied. I had hidden a shovel the night before, tucked under the bench in front of the library.
It was far from a foolproof plan, but it was the best thing I had.
“I have to go run an errand,” said Mom. “But I’ll be back in time for the big event.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, surprised. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
“Traffic is gonna suck,” Jade pointed out.
She bopped Jade on the head with a dish towel. “A guest was driving back from Washport this morning and they’re having car trouble. I’ve got to go give them a jump. I’ll be back, don’t you worry.”
I spent the rest of the morning being lazy and watching pre-eclipse coverage with Dad while Jade sat on her phone. All I did was wait, wait, wait, staring at the clock.
Main Street was packed. You could barely move through the crowds. Disappearing was going to be easier than I thought. All the shop owners had tables out front, and news vans lined the side of the road. Coontail’s had huge buckets of mini sunscreens and bottles of water, sweating in the heat. Everywhere you looked, there were lawn chairs and excited tourists. Loud music played out of speakers and it was hot enough that people were running around in swimsuits. Almost everyone I knew was there, on one single street.
I imagined what we would have been doing if Blair was here. She would have been so excited, picking out the best viewing spot, sketching Captain Moonbeard sailing across the sky in front of the moon. I wondered if she’d be watching from the front lawn at Harvest Hills.
I’m doing this for Blair, I reminded myself as I looked at my dad. If he knew why I had to do it, he would understand.
But was I doing it for Blair? Or was I doing it for me? Or for Dr. Leo Lacamoire? The reasons swirled together, mixing with all the inevitable bumps in the road and people who could get hurt. All I knew was that I had to do this. Sometimes you just keep saying yes and you don’t even know why.
That telescope was being returned, and it was being returned today.
Dad and I walked around for a little bit, just taking it all in. I glanced at my phone. The eclipse was starting in only thirty minutes. I had to get moving.
“Harriet!” She was sitting outside of Java Jane’s at a card table, with a handmade banner reading Save the Library draped across the front.
“Hey, Abby,” she said. “This is perfect, isn’t it? I’ve been in the background of, like, four news cameras so far. Maybe if we got some national publicity, people could start sending in some dollar bills. Lord, it’s hot out here.” She fanned herself with her clipboard.
“That’s awesome,” I said. “Are you getting lots of signatures?”
“Tons,” she said.
I said goodbye and Dad gave me a Look. The Look clearly said: Poor Harriet. Keep your expectations nice and low. That library is going down, signatures or not.
It was hard, though, not to feel hopeful just then. The energy on Main Street made the entire town feel electric. Everyone’s eyes were upward, toward the sky, wondering, When? How? What will it be like? You couldn’t not feel hopeful, in a place like that. I understood Leo just then—knowing the truth about hope’s frailty but placing all his bets on it anyway. Because what, really, was the alternative?
Someone grabbed my arm. When I whipped around, I was surprised—it was Simone. Our plan had been to avoid each other all day. We didn’t want to cause any suspicion. Leo’s paranoia had worn off on me.
“He wants to go,” she said through her teeth. I glanced over at my dad, who was chatting excitedly with Harrison.
“What?”
“Leo. He wants to be there when you dig the stupid thing up. I swear to God, this is the last crazy thing I do for this man. I’m quitting in the morning. But until then, I’m under strict orders to grab you and bring you to the library.”
“I’m riding my bike!” I insisted.
“Not anymore.”
“He can’t come,” I said, almost out of breath. “The CNN interview. The alibi . . .”
“He doesn’t care. Oh, Abby, he’s lost his mind,” said Simone, shaking her head. “He wants this telescope so badly. He wants it the second it’s dug up. He’s skipping the CNN thing, and he wants to be with you when it happens. There’s no talking sense to him.”
Crap. This was not the plan. I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Simone! He can’t be there. Telescope goes missing, famous astronomer, hello?”
“I can’t. I tried.”
“Then you don’t need me,” I said desperately. “Dig it up on your own.”
“He wants you there. You’ve helped us so much. This is your thing, too. He wants to do it together, so you get a chance to see it.”
I put my face in my hands. Suddenly, I saw: I didn’t want to rescue that stupid telescope. I didn’t want an introduction to Joanna Creech. I wanted this whole thing to disappear. I couldn’t do this. The determination that I had felt so strongly only a minute ago had sailed away like a tourist on a boat, flying off across Fishtrap Lake into the sunset.
“There’s only one shovel,” I said desperately, my last-ditch attempt.
“Abby,” said Simone, grabbing my wrists. Her hands were sweaty. “I know we’re asking you to do something ridiculous. But—Leo has been through so much. He is so, so desperate. I am begging you to help me out on this.”
Harriet’s face flashed through my mind. Oh, this is why you don’t lie! The tangled web, Mr. Linn had quoted in English. That stupid tangled web I had woven.
But what could I say? There she was.
“Dad,” I said, turning around. “Dad!” He had been talking with Harrison and his kids about which setting on their iPhones would take better eclipse photos, but now he turned to look at me. “I have to go somewhere. I’ll be right back.”
“What? Where on earth could you have to go?” We were practically yelling to each other over the noise.
“I forgot my eclipse glasses.”
“Abigail! How could you? But I’m sure we could buy some around here . . . or you can just look through mine.”
I shook my head. “No. I need those specific ones. I’ll be right back. Simone can drive me.”
“My car’s only a street over,” she told Dad.
“Abby, geez! Run like the wind,” said Dad. “Traffic is going to be horrible. Hurry! You can’t miss this. It’s what we’ve been waiting for.”
Simone and I raced to her car, not one street over, but a solid three blocks. We hopped in and she slammed on the gas, weaving in and out of tourists looking for parking spots. I held on for dear life.
We stopped at Eagle’s Nest, and Dr. Leo Lacamoire came outside, looking terrified. I was about to learn so much. So many questions were going to be answered. But in that exact moment, all that I saw was a scared, sad old man—nothing like the man in the TED Talk. This one didn’t look like he could find his shoes, let alone a new planet.
He got in the car, slamming the door.
My phone buzzed. It was Dad—where ru?
“Maybe I shouldn’t do this,” I said weakly. “I promised my dad I would watch this with him ages ago. It’s, like, our special thing . . . if you’re going to dig it up, you don’t need me.”
Leo waved something in front of my face. I looked a little closer—it was a business card. Joanna Creech.
“Just like I promised,” he said. “She owes me; I’ve made her piles of money. You helped us find where it was, now you’ll help us get it out. I’m an old man and my back isn’t what it used to be.”
There was no getting o
ut of this.
We sped down the road to the library, bypassing Main Street. There was the crowd of people, and among the miles of tourists, I saw a few familiar faces. Miss Mae, in a shiny American flag T-shirt. Joe from Hank’s Hardware and More, giving someone directions. My own parents. And—
A flash of brown hair, the same shade as mine.
Could it be?
“Stop the car!” I yelled.
“We can’t. No time,” said Simone, eyes straight ahead as we sailed over a pothole. “This thing starts in fifteen minutes.”
My eyes must have been playing tricks on me. I craned my neck, trying to see Main Street better as we whizzed by. But I could have sworn I had seen—
“We’re almost there,” said Leo, bouncing in his seat like a toddler about to get a Happy Meal.
When we pulled in front of the library, I was right—there was nobody there. Uselman Road was completely deserted.
We got out of the car and hurried over to the spot on the corner of the property. Simone dragged the shovel behind her, but when we got there, she handed it to me.
“You do the honors,” she said. “That was the plan.”
Think, Abby! Think! But I did the only thing I could do—I started digging. Simone and Leo stood there, antsy, looking around. It was already getting much darker as the moon and the sun met in the same place. It was as if the sun was setting in rapid speed. I wanted to look, but I didn’t want to burn my eyeballs off. Leo offered to help dig and let me look through his glasses, but I shook my head. I had to do this. I couldn’t just be standing there when he learned the truth.
“CNN has sent eight emails,” said Simone, shielding her eyes and flipping through her phone.
“CNN will be fine,” said Leo, practically shaking.
I dug and dug and dug, my arms burning, until the shovel went pling against something metal.
“That’s it!” said Leo, his voice sounding wild. “That’s it!”
I dug around the edges, trying to find a way to wiggle the box out. It seemed big. No, it was huge, half the size of my refrigerator and way too heavy for us to get up. Yet another hole in the World’s Worst Plan. We bent down and tried pulling it. We got it about halfway aboveground, yanking and grunting with all our might as the sun set above us. Dust and dirt fell on the lawn, covering my legs. I looked like I had been cave diving or something. The thing was super heavy; I dug a little more on the sides.
What Happens Next Page 13