Maggie & Abby's Neverending Pillow Fort

by Will Taylor

“A lot of people are, Maggie.” Murray started up the hall again. “So now you see,” he said, returning to his tour-guide voice, “why it’s so important we make sure new members deserve to join our group. NAFAFA is one of the most exclusive secret societies in the world, and you’ll need to prove that you and your network are worthy to join.”

  “How do we prove it?” I asked as we pushed past the tapestry into the Hub.

  Murray attempted a Bobby-wink over his shoulder.

  “That’s for Noriko to tell you.”

  We returned to the platform, where Noriko, Miesha, and Ben stood around the table, studying a large sheet of paper spread open between them. Noriko jumped and rolled it up hastily as we approached, but not before I thought I recognized the lumpy shape sketched across it.

  “Wait, wasn’t that Camp Pillow Fort?” I said. “Is that a map of our network?”

  Three pairs of silver sunglasses turned in my direction. Murray nudged me and shook his head. I ignored him.

  “It looked funny,” I pressed on. “We’ve got a map too, and the shape the forts make when you draw them together is different. Yours had extra lumps. Can I see it again?”

  Ben turned to Miesha, who turned to Noriko.

  “Let’s deal with our business first,” she said. “We can talk about other issues later.”

  They all sat down, and Murray directed me to a new chair tucked beside his. I scooched in. It felt right, sitting at the table with the other kids in charge. They might have had more experience, but I ran a network too, just like they did. When it came down to it, we were equals.

  Noriko folded her hands. “So, Maggie Hetzger,” she said. “If Murray has done his job, you should now have some idea what NAFAFA is all about. This is a historic organization with a grand history, and it is our duty to protect its strength and integrity for the fort builders who will come after us. They, after all, will be our judges, and we cannot let them down.”

  She sounded exactly like Murray doing his tour-guide voice. The other Council members were nodding.

  “As I said before, your network has come together unusually quickly. Now it’s time to make things official. So as NAFAFA applicants, you and the other members of Camp Pillow Fort are hereby forbidden from: one, forging new links; two, adding new forts; and three, passing linked-fort information to a single other person until your admission into the Alliance has been approved.”

  I felt my mouth fall open. So much for being equals. “What?!” I said. “But Camp Pillow Fort is mine—I mean, mine and Abby’s. What makes you think you can tell us what to do with our own personal network?”

  “Hey, easy,” said Miesha. “This is how it’s been done for centuries. And it’s for your own good. You wouldn’t be able to cope with more links right now, anyway.”

  “We totally could!”

  “No, you totally couldn’t.” Miesha shook her head, smiling. “I know you think that, but trust me, I manage sixty-four links in my network. That’s on top of school and friends and everything else—”

  “Like Sprinkles the puppy,” piped up Murray.

  “—like Sprinkles the puppy,” continued Miesha. “And it’s a ton of work, even with four years of experience. It’s really better to start slow.”

  “Miesha’s correct,” Ben said. “You’re hopelessly behind everyone here, so you should just do as you’re told. It’s not like you have a choice, anyway. Our rules must be followed.”

  I scowled at him, and at his overalls. This kid sure was good at getting under my skin. Why was he always so rude? And for that matter, what was a little boy like him doing on the Council in the first place?

  “Okay, how old are you anyway, Ben?” I asked impulsively. “Aren’t you kind of young to be sitting at the big kids’ table?”

  Miesha threw back her head and laughed. Murray bopped me under the table with his foot. Ben smiled. It wasn’t particularly friendly.

  “I’m nine,” he said. “I’m the youngest Council member ever. And someday I’ll be the youngest head of Council, too.”

  “Maybe, buddy, maybe,” said Noriko. She turned to me. “Ben’s a bit of a special case.”

  “If you say so,” I said. “But hey, Murray said my group was a special case too. Does that mean I get some say about the rules?”

  There were three seconds of silence, then . . .

  “Way to give it away, Murray!”

  “We agreed not to say anything!”

  “That is completely against regulations!” Ben was on his feet, waving his clipboard. “You could be kicked off the Council for that.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” said Murray, holding up his hands and looking alarmed. “Easy with the regulations, eh? All I said was their group is a special case. I didn’t give away anything important.”

  “Telling them they’re a special case is plenty!” said Ben. He rounded on Noriko. “What are you going to do about this?”

  Noriko tilted her head, considering, then shrugged. “Nothing. If Murray only mentioned the situation to Maggie Hetzger, I don’t think it’s a disciplinary matter.”

  “Thank you,” said Murray. “Ben, sit down.”

  “This is completely ridiculous!” Ben yelled, plonking down in his chair. “I move for a special vote to throw Murray and Noriko off the Council!”

  “Now who’s being ridiculous?” said Noriko.

  “You are!” Ben sounded like he was on the verge of a tantrum.

  “Hey, don’t talk to Noriko like that,” said Miesha. “Especially not in front of guests.”

  “Maggie Hetzger is much more than a guest,” objected Murray.

  Suddenly everyone was talking at once, waving their hands and pointing dramatically across the table. It was turning into a full-blown ruckus when one of the bulbs in the chandelier above us blew with a sharp pinging pop.

  “Bulb!” cried a muffled voice from the maintenance crew over our heads. A tiny shower of glass shards tinkled down behind Ben’s chair.

  The Council members all looked up. “Bulb!” they shouted in unison. The background hum of voices filling the Hub stopped abruptly.

  In the silence Noriko raised her hands over her head and clapped three times. I glanced around. Every eye in the place was fixed on the chandelier.

  “WAY TO GO, KID!” yelled every last person in the Hub except for me. “KEEP IT UP! HAAA-AAAVE FUN!”

  Noriko clapped again, and the talk and chatter returned as everyone went back to what they were doing.

  “So,” said Noriko, turning to me, “as I was saying, in addition to freezing your network—”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said. “What just happened?”

  Noriko frowned. “Please don’t interrupt, Maggie Hetzger. We’ve had enough of that for one day.”

  “But what was that chant thing you all just did?”

  “Oh, that. There’s a tradition that every time a bulb burns out in the NAFAFA chandelier, a kid somewhere in North America has just built their first pillow fort. That means they might discover linking and end up here someday, so we mark the moment to wish them well.”

  I looked up at the chandelier. “Really?” That was pretty out-there, even for me.

  “Yes, really,” said Miesha. “Now will everyone please let Noriko give the instructions so we can get this meeting over with?”

  “Thank you, Miesha!” said Noriko. “So, Maggie Hetzger. In addition to freezing Camp Pillow Fort, there is one important thing you need to do before you and your network can be accepted as members of NAFAFA: you must use your forts”—she paused dramatically, her sunglasses glinting in the golden light—“to perform a good deed.”

  I blinked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You must use your forts to perform a good deed,” repeated Noriko. “A very good deed. And you have exactly three days to do it.”

  I stared at Noriko for a full five seconds before I realized she must be joking. Weird lighting-fixture traditions or not, these just didn’t seem like the sort of kids
who would run their club like a fairy tale. I burst out laughing.

  “Ha!” I said. “That’s hilarious. What, are we supposed to give a wandering old woman shelter for the night? Or defeat the evil adviser to the empress? Or rescue a cursed prince who’s been turned into a washing machine that makes everything washed in it turn to gold, and the only way to save him is to track down his matching dryer and decipher the counterspell written in code on the lint trap?” I made a mental note to actually remember that one for later. “I mean, you’re totally kidding, right?”

  Four silent faces told me they weren’t.

  Oh, cucumber casserole. Way to go, Maggie.

  “Wow, okay.” I tugged at my pajamas. “So, um, what do you want us to do?”

  “That’s up to you and your network,” said Noriko. “Coming up with a quality good deed is part of the test. We want to know you can think of others and use the powers of the forts for good. We’ll judge your efforts and vote, and if we approve, you’ll be in.”

  “And if you don’t approve?” I asked. “What happens then?”

  “If you don’t meet our expectations, then you are officially declared a rogue network and we attack and shut you down.”

  She spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that I almost missed it.

  “Wait, attack?!” I said as the news reached my brain. “What sort of attack?”

  “Parental,” said Noriko, “the most effective kind. Break our rules or fail to meet our expectations and we’ll let kids loose in your house. Kids who will eat your food, mark up your floors, track dirt on your carpets, leave the cap off the toothpaste, unmake your bed, hide your family’s favorite things in your fort, and generally do everything they can to make sure you get in trouble. There’s no way to prove it wasn’t you, and nine times out of ten it results in the demolition of the fort and loss of fort-building privileges forever.”

  I stared at her. The fairy tale had become a gangster movie. I looked over at Murray, but his eyes were fixed on the table. “That is . . . that’s horrible,” I said. “Do I even want to know what you do the one time out of ten it doesn’t work?”

  “In those cases we remove the causal element ourselves,” said Ben. His unfriendly smile was back.

  “The casual what-now?”

  “The cau-sal el-e-ment,” he said, tapping out each syllable on his clipboard. “The thing with a scrap of the First Sofa in it that makes your network work. For you that means the patchwork scarf.”

  “My scarf?” I said, appalled. “But Abby made that for me. You can’t just steal my things!”

  “We know,” said Miesha. “That’s why removing the causal element is only used as a last resort. We don’t really want to take someone else’s things, but if it’s a choice between that and endangering the entire Alliance, well, we kind of have to.”

  “Exactly.” Noriko nodded. “And Ben is correct, Maggie Hetzger. You don’t have a choice about the good-deed test. If you refuse to take it, we’ll declare you a rogue network and shut you down right here. The only way you can keep your links is to do what we say and pass the test. Maybe that seems unfair now, but the benefits of NAFAFA membership outweigh any unfairness by a thousand to one. In the end, we’re doing you a huge favor by asking you to join.”

  I looked around at them. After that tour I’d been ready to sign up in a heartbeat so Abby and I could go all real-life-secret-agent on those museums and palaces and secret archives. But in just the last few minutes I’d been insulted, ordered around, and threatened, and I wasn’t totally sold on the idea of merging my very own personal pillow fort network with a group of kids like that.

  Then again, if it came down to either joining NAFAFA or losing the links forever, well, Noriko was right—I really didn’t have a choice. Abby would always be next door, but losing Uncle Joe and Alaska? Losing all that space and freedom when we’d only just found our way there? That was definitely not an option.

  “It looks like you’ve got a lot to think about,” said Noriko, eyeing me. “Why don’t we assume for now that you’re agreeing to the test, and you can go home and talk it over with your network? It’s not really such a big deal, doing one good deed.”

  “Talk it over with my network,” I said, “right.” What would Abby say to all this? Old Abby would have loved the woolly mammoths and famous pillows and palace doors and missing keys, but what if New Abby didn’t? Or hey, even worse—

  “What do I do if Abby doesn’t believe me?” I said.

  Murray tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t she? You’re best friends, right?”

  “Obviously,” I said. “But she’s not exactly the same as she was before she went away to camp. I don’t know if I can guarantee I’ll be able to convince her.” It felt weird to be talking about it with them, but there was too much at stake here not to bring up potential problems while I had the chance.

  “Don’t worry,” said Miesha. “You’ll be fine. I had the same trouble with some friends back when I joined. We’ll help if you need it.”

  Noriko got to her feet, and everyone else did the same. It looked like the meeting was over.

  “Good-bye, Maggie Hetzger,” Noriko said, reaching across the table and shaking my hand. “Thanks for coming. Carolina will take you home.”

  I jumped as Carolina appeared at my elbow, then I shook hands with Miesha, who smiled encouragingly, and Murray, who turned pink again. Ben hugged his clipboard to his chest and gave me a curt nod.

  Carolina and I set off down the steps, but I only made it a few feet before I stopped and turned back, the one big question I’d been dying to ask since the beginning tumbling out before I could stop myself.

  “Hey, so why exactly are you all wearing silver sunglasses?”

  Everyone froze. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Carolina put a hand over her mouth. There was a very uncomfortable silence.

  “Because, Maggie Hetzger,” said Noriko, drawing herself up to her full height, “we . . . are the Council.”

  And she waved me away.

  Eleven

  I lay awake for hours after my visit to the NAFAFA Hub, going over every unbelievable detail in my mind and trying to figure out what exactly I should do.

  The trouble was, those Council kids had made it crystal clear I didn’t actually have a choice. It was pass their test or lose the links forever, and that was that.

  Well, if I had to join their club, at the very least I could set up rock-solid boundaries. Camp Pillow Fort was a network of two, and it was going to stay that way. The rest of them could have sixty-four links and all the kids they wanted, but Abby and I only needed each other.

  I stared into the darkness of Fort Comfy, trying to imagine everything that could possibly go wrong in advance; and when I finally did fall asleep, my dreams were full of locked doors, dusty halls, broken mirrors, and creepy children singing songs about licorice.

  So it was a rough start to the morning when Abby crowded into the fort, tickled me awake, and demanded I do my duty as vice director and lead a proper morning roll call.

  “Director Saa-aa-mson,” I said, losing a battle with a yawn. I’d barely gotten any sleep, and I felt all bleary and blotchy next to Abby, who was unfairly bright eyed and shiny haired and raring to get on with the day.

  “Probably napping on the back porch,” said Abby. “So, absent!”

  “Hernandez, Abby.”

  “Hesitant!” Abby punched the air.

  “And He-etzger, Magg-ieee.” Another yawn. “Pleasant.”

  Abby poked me in the ribs. “Is that the best you can do?”

  I propped myself up on one elbow and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “I’ve got something to tell you. . . .”

  “Cool, but first,” said Abby, “can we make it a plan to come up with a camp dance today? It was one of the very best parts about Camp Cantaloupe, and I think we’ve been overlooking it.”

  “If you want,” I said. “But you really, really need to hear this. . . .”

  I told her ev
ery detail of my adventure, from the Hub kids to the First Sofa to the Council’s ultimatum. Abby listened, her eyebrows inching higher with every word.

  “. . . so we actually have a lot to do today,” I concluded, “because this is Day One, and if we don’t get this done by Day Three, we’ll lose the links for good.”

  Abby stared at me. “Wow, Maggles. I am impressed.”

  “Huh?”

  “You must have been awake all night making that up!”

  “What?! No, I didn’t—”

  “We should still focus on our summer camp setup, since we’ve put so much time into it, but we could work this new game in around the sides, maybe. Who did you want to pretend to be the Council?”

  “Hello,” I said, waving at her. “This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a game. This is real, it’s happening, and we need to get started.”

  “Dude, it’s okay,” said Abby. “You don’t have to try so hard. I’ll play along.”

  “No, I do have to try so hard because you’re still not getting it.” I sat up and looked her dead in the eyes. “This is not a game. I’m—not—kidding.”

  Abby blinked, the smile sliding from her face. “You’re not?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “But Mags, come on. You have to be. I mean, all that secret-room, mysterious-key stuff, it’s totally you. It’s the exact kind of story you would stay awake all night dreaming up.”

  “I know, but I swear I didn’t,” I said. “Look, I’m the one who went. I know what happened and you don’t. You’re in no position to argue here.”

  “Well”—Abby looked around the fort—“do you at least have some proof, or something? Like a souvenir, or a mark on a pillow?”

  Shoot. I’d been hoping she wouldn’t ask that. “No,” I admitted. “I don’t. Carolina came in through the blue-plaid pillow in my fort, but it doesn’t lead anywhere now; I checked as soon as she brought me back.”

  “Huh.” Abby crawled past me through the link to Fort McForterson. I followed, watching as she pulled the pillow free, studied both sides carefully, and tapped the chair legs behind it. It all looked so mundane and normal in the morning light.