The Key to Extraordinary

by Natalie Lloyd

  I ran at Topher and Blue with my arms open wide, hugging them tightly. “I’ll find every dancing song hidden in those drums,” I promised.

  While Blue made birthday breakfast downstairs, I snuggled Bearclaw and looked at my page in the Book of Days. I hadn’t filled out the page since that first frantic night’s ramblings … because how in the world do I sum up an adventure on a page?

  Beside the book was a recent issue of the Tailfeather, with Earl Chance, Cody Belle, and me on the front page. We were standing behind the trunk we found in the caves below the Boneyard Cafe. We’d barely caught our breath from that adventure before people started coming in droves to tour the cemetery … and the caves beneath the cafe. They’d stay for a fried banana sandwich and, of course, the Boneyard Brew.

  “You did it, Emma,” Cody Belle said to me one day, after an especially large tour group waved good-bye. “You saved the cafe.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I mean, I wasn’t the only one who saved the cafe. I had some help from my friends. And a funny old crow. And the long-ago dearly departed. When the State of Tennessee finally agreed with me and said Warren Steele couldn’t touch the cafe—or the nearby grounds—because of the historical significance of the place, I felt like a superhero.

  I felt like a Wildflower.

  I bounced out of the bed and pulled my blinds. Penny Lane sat fluffed and steadfast in her tree outside the window.

  I pushed open the glass and grinned at my faithful bird. “Morning, Penny.”

  “I’ll put your keys in the fridge,” she squawked back.

  I laughed. Penny Lane looked down her long beak at me. She blinked her beady eyes and crooked her head, as if she wanted to know why in the world I still hadn’t written something in the book.

  “Because the Big Empty is still here,” I whispered, tapping my fingertip over my heart. “I thought it would go away once I fulfilled my destiny. But it’s still here.”

  Birthdays are the worst when you’ve lost someone you love. Other days are that way, too, of course. Tuesdays. Fridays. Sunday afternoons. Holidays and school picture day and rainy days. There’s at least a few lonely minutes hiding in every day, once you’ve said good-bye to someone you love. But birthdays are fierce.

  I closed my eyes and imagined my mom was there, lighting the candles on a giant pile of pancakes downstairs.

  I imagined her kissing me on the cheek and declaring the truth of the situation. “Someone loves you, Emma Pearl. Someone will always love you.”

  Then I realized that I wasn’t imagining her voice at all.

  I heard her.

  I opened my eyes to find a Telling Vine, blooming up the trellis outside my window. A warm tear rolled down my face as I pulled the bell-shaped flower toward me. I held it to my ear. And listened to my mama’s voice:

  “I’m connected to you by words on a page,

  Connected to you by warm, summer days,

  Connected to you by secrets we keep,

  Connected to you in dreams when you sleep.”

  “That’s our song,” I said to Penny Lane, as if she’d actually answer me. “That’s my mama. She left me a song.” I wiped the tears off my face with my sleeve. And I pulled the flower to my ear again.

  “I’m connected to you with each breath you take,

  I’m connected to you in new memories you make,

  And someday, far away, when the last story ends,

  I’ll be there, sweet Emma, and we’ll dance again.

  Someone loves you, Emma Pearl. Someone will always love you.”

  Bear whimpered at my ankle. I let go of the vine and picked up my pup, snuggling her close to me. I could still hear my mom’s song faintly, repeating as if it really didn’t end.

  And a thought occurred to me, a hopeful thought.

  Maybe the Telling Vines are exactly as Uncle Peri said. Maybe they carry messages. Maybe they’re nature’s own email system.

  Or maybe, as Cody Belle would say, they’re a sacred echo. I know some people think of angels and harps and rich stuff when they think of heaven. But I thought about my mom—barefoot on a back porch, her hair blowing long around her face. She’s strumming a guitar that never goes out of tune. She’s singing a song that doesn’t end. She’s thinking of me. I’m thinking of her.

  Maybe we never really lose the ones we love.

  Maybe we’re connected, always.

  Granny Blue declared that night’s jamboree a Birthday Spectacular. Because the weather was warm, and because the cafe was packed, we let crowds flow out into the front yard and the graveyard, too.

  When the crowd had finally gone home—mostly—I sat on the back porch steps with the Book of Days in my lap. I heard the screen door shut behind me as Waverly and Topher stepped out on the porch.

  “Hey, Emma,” Waverly said as she came down the stairs. “I was just telling your brother that I saw people dancing out here earlier. Dancing in a graveyard. That’s bizarre. Not as bizarre as having a graveyard for a backyard … but still.”

  Topher laughed, and tousled my hair as he bounded down the steps. “It’s not that bizarre.” Topher swung his arm around Waverly’s waist. When he spun her in a circle, I noticed she’d tucked a red rose into her hair.

  Cody Belle flopped down on one side of me, and looped her arm through mine. “Greetings, BFF.”

  Earl Chance settled in on my other side. Even though Earl talked now, he was still a boy of few words. He pointed to the book. “Want us to, uh, leave you alone? For just a minute?”

  “You can stay,” I said. “It’s just that I have no clue what to write in here.” I’d erased all my penciled scribbles, but all I had so far was just:

  Emma Pearl Casey

  But what would I write? What would my story be?

  The Drummer?

  The Expert Tour Guide?

  The Treasure Seeker?

  Those were all things I did. But it’s hard to find a word that summarizes your destiny.

  And it didn’t seem right, taking any kind of credit for a heroic deed that wasn’t all mine.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t write anything,” I said. “Maybe that’s my contribution to the Book of Days—‘Dear future daughters in my wacky family: You are peachy just the way you are.’ ”

  “What’d Blue write?” Cody Belle asked.

  “She wrote about boxing gloves,” I said. “Then she ripped her page out because she didn’t think she’d fulfilled her destiny. And my mom wrote about her guitar.”

  So I flipped to my mom’s page but stopped before I got there. Blue did have an entry in the Book of Days. It had been taped in, with duct tape, no less. The handwriting was unmistakably messy and Blue-like:

  Grandmother to Topher and Emma Pearl

  I, Granny Blue, had the dream of my ancestors in the year of 1962.

  By some standards,

  I have done at least a few extraordinary things.

  At least, that’s what I thought.

  But then I held Topher Maine.

  And then I held Emma Pearl.

  I watched them grow up.

  I saw them bloom.

  That extraordinary duo

  is responsible for giving me the greatest days of my life.

  So to future generations I say:

  Every day you live is a day for dreaming.

  Every day is a day for adventuring.

  And every day is for sharing with people you love,

  because love’s all that lasts.

  It’s the only thing we carry out of this world.

  It connects us all, in the end.

  I wiped away the tear before it trembled down my face. “She said we’re her extraordinary destiny—Topher and me.”

  Cody Belle elbowed me. “I always knew Granny Blue was really a softie.”

  “I know what you should write,” Earl said.

  “Then write it for me,” I said, handing him the book.

  He wrote:

  Emma Pearl Casey

 
Friend to Earl Chance

  And then my best friend leaned over and added:

  And to Cody Belle Chitwood

  “That’s perfect,” I said. “That’s exactly what I want my legacy to be:

  Emma Pearl Casey

  A True and Faithful Friend.”

  “I have one bit of bad news,” Cody Belle sighed. “It’s about the stupid zoning laws. They changed again. And … I’ll be at school with you and Earl.” She grinned. “Forget Beretta and her minions. We’ll be together. We’ll have a Daisy Brigade!”

  “Stop.” Earl held up his hand. “We can’t call it Daisy Brigade.”

  “Better idea,” I said. “We have our own Club Pancake.”

  Cody Belle squealed and hugged me tight. Earl laughed and rolled his eyes.

  I don’t like to be morbid, but when you work in a graveyard and you come from a family of prodigies, it’s hard not to think about what you’ll be remembered for.

  So this is what I’ve decided:

  In the eyes of many people, I may never live an extraordinary life.

  But I will love in extraordinary ways. And I hope I choose to always see the best in people.

  She believed in magical things: buried treasure, skeleton keys, and Telling Vines. She loved.

  I took a deep breath and added these words to the Book of Days:

  In my twelfth year, I had the great dream of my ancestors.

  I dreamed of a key

  and a bundle of flowers—

  a daisy, a violet, and a single red rose.

  And because of that dream,

  I found a song that someone left behind,

  a buried treasure too wonderful for words,

  and two friends I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.

  Best I can tell (though I might amend this someday),

  I know my destiny is to bring people together.

  To help lonely hearts find a place where they belong.

  Believe me, future Wildflower:

  You are living an extraordinary life,

  day by day by glorious day.

  Never doubt your starry aim.

  The sweet sound of a familiar fiddle made us all look up.

  Topher was playing his violin under the tall oak, while Waverly Valentine watched with her hands clasped over her heart.

  “I’ll bet the long-ago dearly departed are grateful for a song,” I said.

  Cody Belle grinned. “The dearly here-on-the-porch like it, too.”

  Topher pulled the bow across the strings in long, fluid motions. The song he played reminded me of an old hymn, a bittersweet song full of sadness … but also hope.

  Club Pancake came around the corner then, holding bundles of flowers and mugs of Boneyard Brew. Granny Blue saw me on the porch step, and winked. Uncle Peri followed Greta to the statue of the fallen soldier. Greta kissed a folded piece of paper and passed it on to Periwinkle. Peri tucked it securely into the soldier’s hand. Bear pounced among the headstones, more interested in a yellow butterfly than an old grave.

  Penny Lane swooped through the trees in a gentle black flutter. Crows might not have much of a singing voice, but Penny Lane’s good at watching over us all. Fireflies blinked across the graves, and into the woods.

  As for me, I closed the Book of Days.

  And I held those stories tight against my chest.

  With every turn of a page, and every beat of my heart, and every day ahead of me, I was connected to all the women who came before me.

  “Listen,” Cody Belle whispered softly. “I think I hear the song … do you hear it?”

  I closed my eyes and listened. Maybe it was a song we heard that night.

  Maybe it was only the wind.

  My heart is spinning with gratitude as I think about the people who’ve added their time and creativity to Emma’s adventure.

  First—thank you for taking the time to read this story. As I’ve visited schools, libraries, and bookstores over the past few years, I’ve been especially inspired by the creativity and kindness of young readers whom I’ve met. I hope you never doubt your starry aim.

  I’m also grateful to my lovely agent, Suzie Townsend, for believing this story deserved to be book-shaped. She’s passionate, thoughtful, and has a knack for sending the most perfectly timed encouragement, which means so much to me. I’m grateful for the entire team at New Leaf Literary: Joanna Volpe, Kathleen Ortiz, Pouya Shahbazian, Danielle Barthel, Jackie Lindert, Jess Dallow, Mackenzie Brady, Jaida Temperly, Chris McEwen, and Dave Caccavo. Thanks for letting me be a Leafy.

  My editor, Mallory Kass, is a combination of enthusiasm, vision, and imagination that I can only describe as the best magic. Sheila Marie Everett, a publicity wizard, has coordinated many fun opportunities to share stories, and she’s helped me pick up some courage along the way. I’m grateful for their kindness and their funniness. I am also grateful to many more brilliant people at Scholastic, including: Lori Benton, Tracy van Straaten, David Levithan, Bess Braswell, Whitney Steller, Rebekah Wallin, Nina Goffi, Lizette Serrano, Emily Heddleson, Antonio Gonzalez and Michelle Campbell. Thank you, Jana Haussman, and the entire team at Book Fairs, for keeping my stories on your sparkly silver shelves. And I am a major fangirl of the passionate, generous, and wonderful folks who make up the Scholastic sales team. Working with all of you is a dream.

  I’m grateful for booksellers, who spend their days matching the right book with the right reader, to librarians and teachers who’ve given my characters a home in their classrooms, and to my #NerdyBookClub friends for pulling me into a community where geeking out over books is acceptable and expected. I’m also grateful for teachers and mentors who’ve been part of my life, and encouraged me to keep writing.

  Like Emma, I believe home is more about friends and family than a physical location. I’m forever grateful that I got to spend many years with grandparents who were vivid storytellers. Words can’t express how thankful I am for my own Club Pancake: Mom, Dad, Bridgett, Chase, Ed, Erin, and Andy. I’m also indebted to my Cody Belles—Melanie, Hannah, Kristin, and Sarah—for always making me feel brave. My friend Jeff Zentner, a brilliant storyteller, was kind enough to read an early draft of this novel and offer feedback. I can’t wait for his books to be out in the world. And many thanks and treats are due to my fuzzy BFF, Biscuit, who makes sure my days are full of sweet snuggles, long walks, and squeaky toys.

  And above all, I’m grateful to God—for love that never turns me loose, and for hope that finds me even on the darkest days.

  I wish I could go on a treasure hunt with every person listed here, and give them big mugs of Boneyard Brew. And I wish I could tuck these words into a Telling Vine and hide it for them to find in the pages of this book:

  You are a wonder and you are wonderful. I am so grateful for you.

  Natalie Lloyd lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee. She collects old books, listens to bluegrass music, and loves exploring quirky mountain towns with her dog, Biscuit. Her first book, A Snicker of Magic, was an ALA Notable Children’s Book, a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice, and a Parents magazine Best Children’s Book. You can visit her online at www.natalielloyd.com and follow her on Twitter at @_natalielloyd.

  Copyright © 2016 by Natalie Lloyd

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lloyd, Natalie, author.

  The key to extraordin
ary / Natalie Lloyd.—First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: Twelve-year old orphan Emma Casey lives by a haunted graveyard in her Tennessee town, giving tours, and helping her brother and Granny Blue with the family bakery, and waiting for the destiny dream of her ancestors—but when it comes it shows her only a key, and she finds that she must solve a ghostly mystery that has haunted her town for generations.

  ISBN 978-0-545-55274-5—ISBN 0-545-55274-5 1. Haunted cemeteries—Juvenile fiction. 2. Dreams—Juvenile fiction. 3. Treasure troves—Juvenile fiction. 4. Orphans—Juvenile fiction. 5. Families—Tennessee—Juvenile fiction. 6. Tennessee—Fiction. [1. Haunted places—Fiction. 2. Ghosts—Fiction. 3. Dreams—Fiction. 4. Buried treasure—Fiction. 5. Orphans—Fiction. 6. Family life—Tennessee—Fiction. 7. Tennessee—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.L7784Ke 2016

  813.6—dc23

  [Fic]

  2015028849

  First edition, March 2016

  Cover art © 2016 by Gilbert Ford

  Cover design by Nina Goffi

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-55275-2

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.