No, Alice thought. That was impossible.
Then Sophie whispered, “Alice, I think that it’s looking at you.”
Alice felt the gaze of her classmates—hot and intense. Where was her invisibility when she needed it?
“Once we were camping and this bear came into our campsite at night,” Liam said. “We could see it through the tent, bashing around in our stuff. It ate all our bacon, so in the morning my dad went out and found a doughnut shop so we could have breakfast.”
“It ate your raw bacon?” Brady asked.
Liam shrugged. “A bear’s gotta eat.”
“I thought they ate blueberries,” Izzy said. “Like in Blueberries for Sal.”
That was a book Alice’s mom had read to her over and over and over again. Kuplink, kuplank, kuplunk she would sing as Sal dropped her berries into a pail. When they would go out picking on the blueberry plains, Alice would sometimes linger behind her parents hoping she, too, would run into a bear. She would not back away as Sal had. She would hold very still and watch the bear, and maybe she and the baby could be friends.
She still felt that ache, she had to admit. Alice leaned so far forward that her forehead touched the cold glass of the window. As much as she wanted the bear to ignore her, she also wanted to be out there with the cub. Wanted to hold out her hand and feel the bear’s heavy paw in her own. How different it would be from the light weight of Dare when she hopped into her hand.
For a moment it almost seemed like the bear heard her longing. It stopped and pointed its nose into the air. Then it trotted toward the window. It was a goofy, bounding gate, and Alice was sure it was coming to her.
But it didn’t.
It stopped by the window at the other side of the room as if something had caught its attention. It turned its head and went straight at the window. Straight to Melanie.
“Oh!” Mrs. Zee exclaimed. “Get back from the windows, kiddos. Back, back, back.”
None of them moved.
The bear lifted its front paws and put them on the window. Then it let out a sad sound somewhere between a moan and a cry.
“What the?” Brady asked.
“Kids, please, step back.”
Melanie lifted one hand and placed it flat on the window, right up against the bear’s paw. Alice burned with jealousy. Melanie whispered something. Her lips barely moved. The bear trotted off across the playground and into the woods.
After hockey practice, Lewis hooked his bag on his shoulder and raced toward the door of the rink. He found himself pausing in front of the trophy case. Their runner-up trophy from the year before was on display in the center. Lewis’s favorite thing in the case was an old picture of Alice’s dad. In the photograph, Buzz was seventeen, but he looked younger to Lewis. He held a pen up in the air, and he had a crooked, goofy smile. Behind him, Donny held a Boston University jersey. Signing day. Alice’s father had played four years there, won the Hobey Baker award and two national championships, and then he’d gone on to the Oilers where he played two seasons. He was as fast as anyone in the NHL but not as big, and he moved down to the American Hockey League, and then a year in Germany before he came back home. He and Donny bought the ice rink from Willy Laughton, who had owned it for years. Times were tough, and even though the town still loved its hockey, there were fewer folks who could afford all the gear. Buzz joined the Army Reserves. No one thought he’d be deployed. He did his monthly drills, his yearly trainings. And then, when Lewis and Alice were finishing up second grade, they sent him overseas. It was supposed to be a six-month deployment, but he was gone for a little more than a year. That was the life story of Buzz Dingwell—a story that Lewis had studied carefully—up to the point where things started to go south.
“Back before he went crazy,” Brady said from behind Lewis.
Lewis hooked his gear back up on his shoulder. The strap dug in, but he didn’t mind.
“Of course, from what I hear, he was never the great guy everyone always says he was.” Brady smirked. “In fact, I heard a story about him and the witch in the woods. I wonder what your new girlfriend would think about that.”
Lewis didn’t want to, but he blushed.
“Where’d he even go?” Brady asked.
“None of your business,” Lewis shot back.
That made Brady smile. He could see he’d gotten under Lewis’s skin. “What I can’t figure out is why Alice can’t play anymore. It’s her dad who’s nutty, not her. I mean, she’s a little bit nutty—”
“Shut up,” Lewis said.
As they argued, some of the other boys from Lewis’s grade came in: Liam, Taylor, and a few of the fourth graders. Lewis played up an age group. So had Alice. Brady and the others were still in peewees.
Their eyes lit up at the obvious tension in the air.
“You guys were shoo-ins for the championship this year.”
Lewis squared his chest. “We still are.”
“Not without Alice you aren’t.”
Lewis didn’t want to get into it with Brady. He had to go meet Melanie at the Museum to find the book so they could figure out—well, he wasn’t sure what, exactly, but he was sure it was important. “I have to go,” Lewis said. “Have fun at your little-kid practice.”
As Lewis went to leave, Brady stepped in his way, and they bumped shoulders. “Hey!” Brady said.
“Watch yourself,” Lewis shot back.
“You bumped into me!”
“You did!” Liam agreed. “You totally checked Brady.”
Brady dropped his hockey bag. “Are you going to punch me? Go on, do it! I can’t believe wimpy Lewis Marble is actually going to punch someone!”
“Fight!” Liam cried out gleefully.
Some of the older boys from Lewis’s bantam team were starting to come out of the locker room.
“You okay, Lew?” Silas asked.
“Go ahead, Lulu, punch me! You’ll get kicked off bantam, and then you guys will have no chance of winning!”
“Watch yourself,” Trevor said.
Lewis felt his fists clamp. He hated fighting. He hated hitting. It was the one thing about the sport that bugged him, the way the players would throw their gloves to the ice and start pounding each other. Prove it by putting pucks in the net, that’s what he always thought. But right at that moment he wanted to punch something, and Brady was inviting him. He stuck out his chin.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what’s going on here?” Coach Donny strode out of the locker room. He towered over all the boys and made them realize just how small they were. “Did I hear something about a fight?”
“No, Coach,” Brady said. His voice dripped syrupy sweet and only made Lewis want to punch him more.
“I wanted to punch him, but I didn’t,” Lewis said.
Donny raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t quite expecting that level of honesty, but I’ll take it.” He clapped his hands together. “Peewees, change up. Bantams, get lost. Lewis, a word.”
When the other boys were gone from the waiting area, Donny asked, “You angry about something?”
“Yes,” Lewis replied.
“You want to talk about it?” Donny asked.
“No,” Lewis said.
“I figured. You and Alice. She doesn’t want to talk to me, either. Hey—maybe you two should talk to each other!”
Lewis scowled.
“It was worth a shot. You wanna skate it off?”
Lewis wanted to. Even after the sprints they’d done, he wanted to do more. He wanted to skate until his legs exploded. “I have somewhere I have to be,” he said. “I’ll run.”
He turned to go, but Donny had something else to say. “I’m proud of you, Lew. Buzz would be as well. Nothing harder than not punching someone who’s asking for it.”
Lewis figured there were a lot of things that were harder than that, but he said, “Thanks, Coach,” and pushed his way out the door.
The rain had settled into a cold mist that pricked his face. His bag thumped against
his back. He wiped water out of his eyes as he ran across the street right to the Museum. Melanie appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost.
“Hi,” Lewis huffed.
“Hi,” she replied.
They stared at each other. Lewis was glad his cheeks were already pink from running.
“Should we go in?” she asked.
“What? Oh, sure.”
He hesitated at the door. There was one potential problem: Alice.
When the bells rang, Alice looked up from her perch behind the counter. She was using a price-tag gun to label the bottoms of army figurines. She narrowed her eyes at them. The mannequin next to her seemed to glare, too.
“Hi, Alice!” Melanie called cheerfully.
Alice kept putting price tags on soldiers, lining them up in neat, even rows.
Lewis tugged Melanie by the sleeve over to the bookshelf.
The books were carefully organized by Henrietta. Lewis started in the children’s area and found nothing. He pointed to a small shelf. “That’s folklore and mythology,” he told Melanie. “You check there, and I’ll look in short stories.”
While he looked, he stole glances at Alice. She had her eyes trained on the television, but he couldn’t believe she was watching Mary Lawrence talk to local politicians about the candidates for governor. Anyway, the sound was turned down so she couldn’t hear their yelling even if she were watching.
“It’s not here,” Melanie said. “Maybe it’s out back. We should ask.”
“We’re not ask—”
But Melanie was already back across the store. “We are looking for a book. A special book,” she said to Alice.
“The books are over there,” Alice replied.
“We thought maybe it was held in back.”
“I doubt it,” Alice said.
“Come on, Alice,” Lewis said.
She turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. He didn’t know why she was so mad. She was the one who had stopped talking to him.
On the television, Mary Lawrence launched into the local news roundup, leading off with a story about the park. Alice grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
“A storm damaged much of the equipment at this work-site,” intoned Mary Lawrence. “Now some locals are wondering if building should continue.”
Alice gritted her teeth. Lewis, too, felt his body tense. Locals like who?
Mr. Sykes’s face filled the screen. Of course.
“Independence is fortunate to have a number of places for outdoor recreation,” Mr. Sykes said. His face was stiff, and his eyes shifted from side to side. “What we don’t have are jobs.”
“Turn that off!” Henrietta yelled from the back room.
Alice didn’t move, so Lewis picked up the remote and clicked off the TV.
“It’s called The Story Web,” Melanie said, as if she’d missed the whole news story. She didn’t notice Alice’s face go pale. “It’s a thick book. Blue cover, I think—”
“Who told you about that?” Alice asked.
“About the book? My parents did. They used to read it to me—”
“Stop it,” Alice said. “Just stop it.”
“Alice,” Lewis interrupted. He leaned in. “I don’t know what this is about, but—”
She glared at him. Hard. “Don’t lie to me, Lewis Marble. You know I can always tell when you’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“Did my dad tell you about it once? Is that what this is?” Alice shook her head. “I mean, I know I—I know I haven’t—and your—” She sounded like she was choking on the words. “Find some other way, okay?” Her voice cracked.
“Alice, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Alice squeezed a soldier in her hand.
Then it occurred to Lewis why Alice was getting so upset. The Story Web meant something to her. “Do you know about the web?” he asked.
She crossed her arms across her chest. “Lewis, I swear to you—”
“Guys,” Melanie interrupted.
“I’m not messing with you, Alice. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong in Independence, and there’s this giant web in the woods, and—”
“Guys, look.”
“What?” Alice exclaimed.
“Look!” Melanie pointed out the window.
There, in the middle of Main Street, stood a moose.
It tossed its head from side to side, its antlers coming dangerously close to a banner for the Harvest Fest that crossed the street.
“A moose,” Alice whispered.
As if it heard her, it turned. It took a step.
“Oh my g—” he began. Before he could finish, he felt someone brush past him. Alice. Followed almost immediately by Melanie. They pushed through the door one right after the other, the bells chiming to mark their exit. After a moment’s hesitation, he went after them.
Alice stood in the middle of the street, practically nose to nose with the moose. Melanie was right behind her.
Lewis walked as slowly as he could toward Alice’s stiff back. He told himself that there was not a moose standing directly above Alice and Melanie. Moose were herbivores, he was pretty sure, but they could stomp on a person. Or it could ram the girls and flip them into the air with the impressive set of antlers that swept off the top of his head like dragon wings.
The moose, though, just stood there. Its nostrils flared, open and shut, open and shut, emitting puffs of white air. As Lewis drew near, it tapped one front hoof against the street, but that was it.
Alice’s breath came in fast puffs, too, audible and shallow. But Melanie was still. Then she reached out her hand as if she were going to pet the moose right on top of his nose, like it was a horse.
“Melanie,” Lewis whispered. “I don’t think you should do that.”
The moose took a single step back.
Alice still had not moved.
The moose nudged its muzzle against her shoulder, and she gasped.
There was a squealing of brakes. The moose stiffened.
“Get back, kids! Get back from that animal!”
The moose’s fur shines like coffee fresh from a pot. She feels her hand going up. What would it be like to touch that fur? Would it be soft like a fox or rougher and matted, like a beaver? The bellow beneath his chin quivers.
Melanie grasps her pendant. She whispers the spider’s name. Maratus volans.
The moose focuses on Alice. So curious, moose are, and this one has trained all his curiosity on Alice. He snorts out a puff of air, like clearing his throat. Then he presses his nose into Alice’s shoulder.
Be brave. The words are clear as whip-poor-will calls in her mind.
“He’s telling you to be brave,” Melanie whispers to Alice.
“I know.” Then, softer, to the moose, “I will.”
“Get back, kids! Get back from that animal!”
White truck. Not one scratch. Not one dot of mud, not even on the silver platter hubcaps.
The door swings open. A work boot steps out. A man follows the boot, then hitches his belt up over his waist. His keys jangle together. “I’ll take care of it.”
His words are solid, sure, final, and wrong.
He reaches into the back of his truck. There is a clicking sound, latches being undone. Then the grating sound of metal against metal.
The man emerges, raindrops on the brim of his ball cap, holding a rifle across his body.
No! Melanie thinks, but the voice that calls out isn’t hers.
“No!” Alice screamed.
She held up both hands, putting herself between the moose and Brady’s dad.
“Out of the way, Alice,” he said to her.
“It’s a moose,” Alice replied, as if that were a reasonable response.
“Exactly. What’s a moose doing in the middle of the road?”
“There must be something wrong with it.” Alice recognized that voice: Becky Clancy, Izzy’s mom.
“Sure is,” Brady’s dad said. “
Best thing to do is put it down.”
“Last I checked, that’s not your job, Alan.” Henrietta walked out from under the awning of her store. Her layers of clothes seemed brighter and heavier out here. “Anyone call Officer Hammersmith?”
Brady’s dad scoffed at that. “Why call for backup when I can take care of it myself?”
“No,” Alice said, more firmly this time. She wasn’t looking at him, though, she was looking at Izzy, who had appeared in the crowd with her mom.
“Officer Hammersmith won’t shoot him,” Lewis said. “She’ll sedate him, maybe, but she won’t kill him.” His voice was calm, with none of the jittery edge of Mr. Sykes’s voice.
“Right,” Alice agreed, though she wasn’t positive Lewis was correct. He was right beside her, though, and she was reminded how sure he always made her feel. When an opponent had the puck and she’d see him zipping in on defense, or when Izzy was mad at her, or when she messed up on her spelling test. He was always there. Always Lewis. Even in the early days with her dad, when the cracks were first starting to show, she’d go and find Lewis, and the world would feel more right.
“Kids,” Mr. Sykes said. “This isn’t some ‘save the world, all animals are precious’ mumbo jumbo. This moose is dangerous.”
“You’re the one who looks dangerous,” Alice said.
“You ever even shoot that before?” Lewis asked.
“Why don’t you kids just come out of the way,” Becky Clancy said. She had her phone in one hand, ready to dial. “You come with me. I’ll drive you all home and—”
“He’s not dangerous,” Alice said, and then, to prove it, she held out her hand toward the moose. She moved too fast, though, and the moose backed up, his back leg pressing against a small car. The driver crawled out of it, hands over his head.
Alice lowered her hands. “It’s okay,” she said to the moose. It was the way she sometimes had to approach her dad, if he’d just woken up and wasn’t quite in their world yet. It’s okay, Dad. It’s me, Dad.
“It’s okay,” she said again. “We’re all safe here.”
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