The Library of Lost Things

by Laura Taylor Namey

  “’Course I made it. And feliz cumpleaños.” Marco kissed Marisol’s cheek, then both of mine, handing us bouquets of six roses. Each bloom was a different color. “Family plan had you getting these along with the necklaces, but I got held up on campus.”

  “Thank you—they’re beautiful.” I sniffed my roses.

  Marco leaned close. “Hey, sorry again about the dinner surprise. I feel really bad about leaving you without a handyman.”

  I gave a quick, dismissive nod. My eyes flitted left and right to make sure no one else had heard.

  “Everything okay there?” he added.

  This wasn’t the place to get into my fix-it woes, and my eighteenth birthday wasn’t the time. “All good, thanks. I’ll take care of it,” I said, because it had to be true. “And congrats again on the new job.”

  I glanced at Asher. He’d slouched down in his seat, right elbow plunked on the armrest, index finger propping up his chin. His body angled toward me. Watching. A half smile dressed his face as he glanced from his flowers to mine. He rested his bunch in front of his feet.

  “Asher, you haven’t met Marco, right?” I asked. “Marisol’s older brother?”

  Marco reached across me, tipping his chin. “Hey.” Asher returned the greeting.

  “Marco must’ve been a senior your first year here,” Marisol told Asher. “Knowing my snob brother, he didn’t mingle with lowerclassmen and never knew of your existence.”

  “I bring you flowers and all I get is shade?” Marco said.

  Asher snorted. “Nah, it’s all good. I was back here for a couple weeks building the set, and it felt super weird. Sitting here must be even more surreal for you after all these years.”

  “Oh, that was you?” Marco pointed at the stage. “Marisol mentioned some alumni pitching in to help. She said it looks really good.”

  “It looks better than good. It looks real,” I said.

  Asher nodded at Marco, but landed soft eyes on me. “Well, you’re the best the judge of that, Miss Newly Eighteen Lit Expert. I hope people who really know Shakespeare appreciate the mood I was...”

  The houselights lowered over Asher’s words and the lingering gaze between us. My next breath fell heavy as Much Ado’s melodic prelude streamed into the theater. The curtain parted, and Asher’s set did look real—more magical and authentic than during rehearsals. Stage lights and shadow work framed the foliage, stone walls, and scenic garden features, creating the illusion of height and mass.

  I soon forgot about Asher. After all, it was the Shakespeare I loved, right in front of me. For all the plays I’d read, I hadn’t seen many performed live, the language real and present. My mind couldn’t help tracking along with some of the more famous passages. The cast translated the funny and poignant story well, and I only caught a couple of flubs. Marisol’s costumes worked beautifully, adding a touch of refined elegance to the story. Asher’s Italian garden sets did, too.

  We stood, enthusiastically applauding when the actors linked hands for final bows. As the lights came up, Asher grabbed his flowers. I thought he’d bolt, searching out London, but he matched my lazy pace and escorted me to the stage door while the Robles siblings barreled ahead. A small crowd hovered; cast members were trickling out, greeting guests and posing for pictures.

  Marisol and Marco left to chat with Alyssa as Jase crossed the courtyard in jeans and a sweatshirt. After a short wave in my direction, he high-fived Asher and tugged the cellophane paper. “Major fail, dude. You know yellow roses are my first love.”

  Asher snapped his fingers. “Nice job on Benedick,” he told Jase. “Gonna kill UCLA theater.”

  “Thanks, man.” Jase backed away, saying, “Now I’m gonna kill one of those meat pies.”

  “Aww,” I said, glancing down at my own bouquet. During the play, one of the stems had snapped. I flicked the dangling pink rosebud. “Oh well.”

  Asher stepped closer. “Nope, that can’t happen. No broken birthday flowers for Darcy Wells tonight. Turns out, this handyman works outside of University Avenue, too.” I watched, wide-eyed, as he plucked out my broken pink flower and tossed it into a nearby planter. He dislodged one of the red—not pink—roses from his bouquet and held it out.

  I was so busy trying not to lose both my cool and my footing, I missed a costumed London Banks striding up to us. “Ooh, for me?” she said, grabbing the bouquet and snatching my fix-it flower right from Asher’s hand. I shifted uncomfortably when she pecked him on the lips. “Thanks, babe. My favorites, and a spare to keep backstage on the makeup table. Sweet. Makes my bitch of a headache not so bitchy.” She smirked at me. “Quick, my mom wants pictures before I change.”

  “Right,” Asher mumbled, following on her arm. He turned back for a quick, apologetic frown.

  I shrugged, forcing a smile. Asher’s bittersweet gesture lodged inside my chest.

  Jase returned with a meat pie, watching his friend pose for a series of shots. “London did pretty well as Hero. Between you and me, she would’ve made a better Beatrice.”

  I didn’t want to say what was in my head, but my mouth opened anyway. “Based solely on snark and attitude?”

  “’Tis truth you speaketh, milady,” Jase orated. “But Alyssa really shone in her audition. Nailed Beatrice’s sharp tongue and sass. Mrs. Howard had to give her the part.”

  “You nailed it, too. Tonight, I mean.” I fiddled with my bouquet. “So you’re going to UCLA?”

  He crossed his fingers. “Let’s hope. And thanks.”

  “Marisol’s going to design school in LA, too.”

  A wide smile cracked his face. He leaned in, dark eyebrows wagging under his bangs. “If I catch her out and about and up to no good, I’ll report back to her keeper.”

  I couldn’t help grinning back. “Deal.”

  Marisol left Mrs. Howard’s side and came up to nudge me. “Time to bust this joint and find us some more birthday.”

  “Whose birthday?” Jase pointed at me. “Yours?”

  I nodded. “And Marisol’s, in a few hours.”

  “You know, I’m as big a theater nut as anyone, but this was the evening highlight of your celebration?”

  I lifted one shoulder. His rich, stage-honed voice made it sound even more pathetic than it was. “Well—”

  “That’s what they think.” This from Asher, who’d crept up behind us. Bionic knee, stealth motion. “We’re only getting started with birthday antics.”

  We are? Marisol leveled a curious look at him. And where was London?

  “I’m feeling pretty good tonight. I can round up a few more partygoers? I mean, unless you have some other gig brewing?” he asked.

  We didn’t, and our faces must’ve told Asher, because he leaned into Jase’s ear, whispering.

  Jase considered, then bobbed his head. “Interesting, and a little out-there. I like it. Clever.”

  “So, you’re in?” Asher asked his friend.

  Marisol draped her crossbody purse over her shoulder. “In for what, exactly?”

  “Your milestone eighteenth birthday is missing one key component,” Asher declared. “A unique activity you’ve never done before.”

  When he looked at me, challenge splashed across his face, I almost choked on my own tongue. Something I’d never done before? My mind reeled.

  Marisol gave me her best sure, why not, it might be fun expression.

  “All right, I’m game,” I said. Of course, London would be included in our group, which I’d have to accept along with Asher’s secret plans. Tonight, I didn’t want to miss out, and my curiosity was climbing by the second. And London or not, I was still touched that he wanted to celebrate with me and Marisol.

  Asher grinned. “You’ll need the address.” He looked around and settled for the play program he was already holding. Marisol handed him a pen. “Give us maybe thirty minutes for, um, preparations.”

  “My mom is probably looking for us anyway,” Marisol said, glancing at me and rolling her eyes. “You know how
she is about birthday pictures. They could take twice that long.”

  I laughed and accepted the program. I recognized the street name, but couldn’t remember driving it.

  Asher stepped back. “Put that into your nav and turn into the main drive. Take the first left and park in any of the spaces until we get there.” Then he was off, with his partner in crime trailing behind.

  Marisol snatched the program, squinting. “What’s at the end of this goose chase? A rave hall?”

  “Or a secret club where you need a whack-a-doodle password for the door to swing open?”

  When we finally left campus to follow Asher’s directions, we realized our guesses were way off. Marisol exited the freeway when the navigation voice commanded, and I started to get suspicious. “He can’t be serious.”

  Marisol stopped at a red light, eyes narrowing out the passenger side window at the endless, blocks-long complex running parallel to the road. “Maybe there’s a restaurant along here we don’t know about.”

  But there wasn’t. Marisol took a right turn and followed the access road, straight through the main gate of Montgomery-Gibbs Executive Airport.

  Eighteen

  Piper

  “‘It was then that I rushed in like a tornado, wasn’t it?’” Again. You’d think I’d learn to just stay under safe cover for once.

  —J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan, and Peter Pan Mystery Scribbler

  Marisol set the parking brake and looked at me, dumbfounded.

  I thrust out both arms aimlessly and laughed. It came out half breathy, half hysterical. Even though it was late, the airport lot felt too deserted. Only a handful of other cars surrounded Marisol’s SUV.

  “Well, I guess we wait.” Marisol unwrapped two pieces of strawberry gum and stuffed them in her mouth. She flipped down her visor and checked her lipstick in the mirror.

  “Hopefully Asher isn’t punking us, and sending us to Montgomery-Gibbs for no reason is his idea of ‘something new we haven’t done,’” I said.

  “Ugh, bite your tongue. If that’s true, I’m going full force on Donnelly and Fleet.”

  I believed her. I rummaged through my tote for a novel, but let go when another set of headlights streamed into the lot. Asher’s black Ford pulled up beside us. “Looks like you’re gonna have to find something else to sic your Robles on.”

  Marisol blew a bubble and unlocked our doors. “Don’t tempt me, babe.”

  Asher gingerly hopped out of the imposing truck. Jase followed and Alyssa jumped from the rear cab, holding a stack of blankets.

  “Welcome to my happy place,” Asher said.

  “You’d better let them off the hook before they think we’re actually going flying,” Alyssa said.

  “Yeah, not this time.” Asher eyed me quickly, a hesitant smile tugging his mouth. “But tonight, you guys are getting more than just cake. How many people can say they’ve had their eighteenth birthday party in an airport hangar?”

  Then I understood. Asher was trying to give two best friends new memories. My heart caught again, a snare hooking behind my ribs.

  I could only manage a grateful smile. But Marisol, always equipped with whatever I seemed to be lacking, said, “This is more than decent of you guys. Once my mom finds out, she’s going to bury you in tacos.”

  Jase wagged his brows. “No better way to go. We’re perpetually hungry, so your birthdays are giving us license to pig out.” He started unloading bags from the truck. “We tried to round up a couple more people, but Bryn has early Nutcracker rehearsal and London went home with a nasty headache.”

  I glanced over at Asher. He nodded. “Yeah, it was only getting worse. She’s got the matinee tomorrow and needs a bottle of aspirin and one of those glitter bath bombs she spends ten dollars apiece on.”

  This tidbit was better than any rose. Considering what had gone down the last time London and I were at a party, I wasn’t entirely comfortable around her. I slid into a faded denim jacket and followed our small group from the access road onto the taxiway. A silent prayer of thanks fell from my lips when Marisol tossed her chewed gum wad in the nearest trash bin rather than saving it for later. As we reached a section of stowed private aircraft, the setting—unique, like Asher had promised—reminded me of a graveyard. Unlike gravestones, the white planes rested with inert life. The promise of movement and power seeped from wings and propellers, even though they sat tethered and still.

  We walked on until Asher stopped at a small hangar, with its opening directly facing the runway. He swung the wide door upward and flicked on lights. There it was, the beautiful turboprop I’d seen on his phone. “Our family jewel,” Asher announced as we entered.

  The Fleets’ Piper Meridian was larger and sleeker than many of the other planes we’d passed. The nose stretched long and narrow, like the snout of a powerful animal. Black and speckled gold swept around and underneath the front of the plane, then dipped one side of the tail in solid color. Marisol strolled the perimeter, her designer’s eye skimming over the carefully crafted details.

  Alyssa spread beach blankets outside, right in front of the entrance, and unpacked the snacks. Jase keyed up music on his iPad and portable speakers as the rest of us joined them.

  “As for party fare,” Jase said, “I’m afraid Ash being Ash limits our beverage options.” A deep bow, even though he was sitting. “Apologies, ladies, your party has been designated squeaky clean by Mr. Anti-Vice over there.”

  Asher pulled glass bottles from a cooler bag. “What’s wrong with this? It’s the best brand of cream soda and root beer out there.”

  Jase’s expression soured. “Doesn’t make it real beer.”

  “Seriously?” Alyssa smacked Jase on the shoulder. “Like Ash would actually drink on a tarmac, flying or not.”

  Post-Concussive Syndrome or not, I thought.

  Alyssa pulled out chips, napkins, and dessert plates with green and blue stripes. She handed them to me to unwrap. “I tried to find some cuter birthday ones, but Food King didn’t have much in the paper goods aisle. Plus, Asher was rushing me out. We had to go to a special place for the cupcakes.”

  “What?” Too much surprise pitched my voice as my fingernail slit through plastic wrapping.

  “He insisted on a real bakery. Heavenly Cupcake.” When my eyebrows flicked up, she asked, “You’ve never been there? It’s right by school. We were late because we couldn’t decide on flavors.”

  Asher produced a white bakery box with a gold halo logo and hinged open the lid. I spotted Marisol, one hand dropped over her chest as she gazed at me with soft eyes and a parted mouth. She realized what Asher had done, and why. But after what Alyssa just said, I also knew he hadn’t told the others why he had to bring artisan cupcakes with mounds of pillowed frosting.

  “Asher, you really went all out,” Marisol said. “Thanks. These look amazing.”

  He ducked his head. “I’m breaking my no-sugar, no-gluten rules tonight, so we need the good stuff.” He glanced up at me, smiling. “Your fault, birthday girls.”

  My throat closed for a beat. I knew I had to stop trying to make these details and this night more than it was. Cupcakes and celebratory sugar, just a kind gesture for two friends. That was the beginning and end of it.

  “Marisol and Darcy get to pick first. We have salted caramel, lemon cream, and chocolate marshmallow,” Jase said.

  Marisol’s eyes grew wider. “Chocolate? Ooh, my magic word.”

  Alyssa grinned and handed her the large treat with toasted marshmallow icing. I chose salted caramel and so did Asher. He might risk a few bites of sugar and flour, but never prime migraine-enemy chocolate.

  Jase shook out a grocery store bag. “We forgot candles. How could we forget candles?”

  “Instead of candle flames, you guys get runway lights,” Asher said. “But we still have to sing. Triple-threat Jase can lead us in a Broadway version of ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  And he did, with Asher and Alyssa joining in. We ate the delicious cupcakes,
along with salt-and-vinegar potato chips, washing it all down with chilled bottles of frothy cream soda and root beer. I reclined on the blanket and drank in the extraordinary view, too. Yellow slashes of flood lighting grayed the night sky.

  Minutes turned to an hour, then nearly three. Asher took us on a tour around the hangars and rows of tied-down planes. Alyssa taught us silly dance moves, and Jase, amateur comedian, entertained us with impressions and stupid jokes. He even challenged Marisol to a foreign accent duel and conceded my Mexi-Cuban masterpiece of a friend made a better Australian than he did.

  I couldn’t help remembering another party, not so long ago. Only this time, I stretched my legs over blanketed asphalt instead of beach sand. Airport warning lights twinkled instead of stars. A few late-night aircraft landed, the whoosh of engines pulling another kind of tide. Back then, I’d felt uncomfortable and shamed—alone, even though I’d sat in the middle of a huge crowd of classmates. But alone wasn’t any part of now.

  I checked my watch. Grinning, I sat up and pulled Marisol away from her conversation with Jase. “It’s happening! It’s officially been your birthday for five minutes.”

  She draped her arm around me, squeezing me tight. The group sang again, just because. And when Jase and Asher went inside to fiddle with the plane, Marisol said, “I have an idea.” She removed her heart necklace. “Take yours off.”

  She handed me the heart and took my unhooked chain with the golden, dangling star. “I’ve been thinking about this since Mama gave these to us. I’m going away next year, and...”

  I filled in the rest myself, emotion glazing my eyes. “Let’s do it.” I fastened my star around her neck. Marisol’s smile gleamed, wide and lopsided, as she clasped her gift around mine. It felt good wearing a little piece of her. The biggest heart I knew.

  What would happen when Marisol eventually packed her SUV with her trendy clothes and shoes—with all of her—and I had to watch the red Pathfinder drive away?

  I shook away that lonely thought and returned to the others. Jase and Alyssa were complaining about their early call time for tomorrow’s matinee.