by Will Taylor
“Kids! Get in here—it’s Joe!” We ran back to the kitchen as my mom put the phone on speaker.
Uncle Joe sounded great. He said the doctors up in Alaska were baffled by the disappearance of “that weird tourist family,” but he was claiming ignorance across the board as a result of his concussion. He was already using his hospital time to sketch out a paper on Orpheus and his tremendous scientific discovery, and his doctors were already sick of hearing about it. At one point my mom tried to explain why and how we’d left him all alone at the hospital, but Uncle Joe stubbornly la-la-ed over her until she stopped, and she had to let it go.
By the time we hung up the phone Abby and I were feeling pretty good about everything, even if the Council was taking forever to vote. My mom, however, turned out to have a bone to pick with us.
“Okay, you two,” she said, leaning against the counter and folding her arms. “Now that we know everyone is okay, I’m sorry to say, this is where I step in.” Abby shot me a glance. “I want to acknowledge that what you two have discovered is extraordinary, in the literal sense of the word, but here’s the thing, and Mr. Hernandez agrees with me on this: Now that I know, I can’t—as a parent, doctor, grown-up, any of it—let you keep having free access to your forts, even if those Council kids decide to let you join their club.”
Our jaws crashed right through the floor.
“It’s a question of safety and responsibility,” said my mom, ignoring our stunned faces. “Not to mention academics. You’re starting middle school in the fall, and you’ll need to focus on work, not running in and out of each other’s houses at all hours of the day and night, which”—she raised a hand as I tried to interrupt—“I know you’ve been doing, so it’s no use arguing.”
“How do you know?” I demanded.
“Because that’s exactly what I would have done at your age,” said my mom. “A magical pillow fort kingdom with my best friend? I would have gotten into so much trouble.”
“But we haven’t gotten into any trouble,” said Abby. “At least not because of things we’ve actually done.”
“And that’s the way I want to keep it,” said my mom, nodding. “Besides, think about the stuff you have gotten up to, in just a few days. Sneaking around people’s homes at night? Taking food without permission? Fibbing to your parents about where you are? It sounds like harmless kid stuff, and maybe it is, but those are some seriously blurry lines there, and chances are one day you’re going to cross a real one.
“And what about Alaska? What if one of you got badly hurt on one of your trips? Or separated from the others and lost? I don’t think you understand how lucky you’ve been so far. I’d never stop worrying about you if I let this continue, and I’m sorry, but the fact is it’s not safe and it’s got to stop.”
“But this is ours,” said Abby. “We created Camp Pillow Fort by ourselves. You can’t just make us shut it down!”
“I can’t let you continue to run wild either, Abby,” said my mom. “So what I’m proposing is a compromise. You can keep using the forts, and the links, and all the rest of it, but only with me as chaperone. Or camp counselor, if you prefer that term.”
We stared at her in dead silence. I could hear the kitchen clock ticking.
“Oh, come on, you don’t have to look so defeated,” said my mom, smiling. “I can’t go with you everywhere—I’ll be at work too much. But I will need to know which fort you’ll be in, when, and for how long, and approve any and all trips to Alaska ahead of time. And any new links, I think you called them, will have to be coordinated with the permission of parents on both sides. But that’s it. Apart from that I’ll only interfere if things are getting out of hand.”
I looked over at Abby. Abby looked over at me. We were agreed: no way. It was impossible. My mom might as well have asked us to take the forts down then and there.
“What about Kelly?” I asked, putting off having to give an answer. “That wasn’t ‘running wild.’ We did a really nice thing for her.”
“That’s actually even more serious,” said my mom. “I saw her fort, so I know you did a nice thing for her, but what you may not know is that it’s incredibly unsafe bringing knickknacks into a hospital like that. It wasn’t just decorations, it was germs and allergens, too. Kelly will be fine—she’s actually getting better—but I work with some very sick kids, and you could have done one of them real harm. So Kelly’s fort is going to have to be closed off. Period. I know she’d love to have you come visit her the normal way while she’s still in the hospital, but the health and safety of my patients is more important than anything else.”
We hung our heads. That was bad. We never meant to put anyone in danger.
“Now, don’t worry,” said my mom. “Everything turned out okay.” She smiled encouragingly. “And it’s not like the adventure’s ending, is it? You’ll just be getting a brand-new member.”
She actually seemed excited at the idea of joining in. I almost felt sorry about breaking the bad news.
“Well, see, the thing is, even if the Council votes us in, grown-ups aren’t—”
But I never got to finish telling her, because a scuffling suddenly erupted from the living room. Abby and I jumped up just in time to see the front of Fort McForterson fly open and a kid in silver sunglasses crawl out. It was Miesha.
I grabbed Abby’s arm. Finally, this was it!
Miesha got to her feet, spotted us, raced into the kitchen . . . and shoved the key from le Petit Salon into my hands.
Twenty-Five
“Here!” said Miesha. “Take this. Keep it safe.” She had feathers stuck to her shirt and pillow stuffing in her hair.
“What is— Why are—” I said. “What happened to you?”
“Anyone can see I just won a pillow fight,” said Miesha, fishing a feather from between her fancy tortoishell and silver Council glasses.
“How do you win a pillow fight?” asked Abby.
“By being in one.”
“Oh.” Abby smiled. “Well, don’t keep us waiting! How did the vote go?”
“The vote hasn’t happened yet,” said Miesha, backing up toward the living room. “We’ve been too busy with other things. Just keep that key safe.” She sneezed violently. A handful of feathers floated to the ground. “Ugh, I passed your cat coming through your fort. Allergies are the worst.”
“But, wait, you haven’t voted?” I held up the key. “What’s this for, then?”
Miesha stopped and glanced at the clock on the stove. “Oh, all right. I can spare a couple minutes to explain.”
“Sweet!” Abby patted a stool. “In that case, you have to, have to, have to try one of these cinnamon rolls.”
“Ooh, thanks!”
We all sat down as my mom plated up a roll. Miesha dove right in. “Okay, wow! This is incredible! Way to go, local Snack Committee. But yes, news, super important.” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “So, last night one of Ben’s clipboard spies found out Noriko set up that alley-cleaning deed for you. Big drama. Ben made a formal protest and called to have the Council remove her from power.”
“Isn’t he’s always doing that?” I said.
“Yes,” said Miesha around another bite of cinnamon roll. “But this time he told his whole network about it first, and they all turned up to support him. Things got, you know, heated, and soon everyone was involved, and I mean everyone. There were snacks flying everywhere and pillow fights in every corner of the Hub. NAFAFA hasn’t been through something like this since the Great Stuffed Animal Debate of 2009. Anyway, in the end Noriko had to step down as leader just to ease the tension.”
“What?!” said Abby. “You mean you gave in?”
“Calm down,” said Miesha. “Calm down, it was her idea. Well, hers and mine. Noriko’s aging out of NAFAFA so soon it doesn’t really matter to her. And she’s still on the Council for now—she’s just not head anymore.”
“Who is, then?” I demanded.
“No one. We’re on a cooling-o
ff break before we vote on who the next leader will be. After that we can decide whether you all should get in. Like I told you, we’ve got a lot going on.”
“Wow,” I said. It was weird to think all that had been happening while I’d been sound asleep in my fort. “But wait.” I spotted a major problem here. “Wasn’t the whole point to get us on the Council before Noriko stepped down so we could be the fourth vote for you? Isn’t having no leader exactly what Ben wanted? Won’t he hold his vote hostage until he gets our territory?”
Miesha sneezed. “Ugh, sorry,” she said. “And you’re absolutely right, Maggie Hetzger. That’s where my part of the plan comes in. Noriko stepping down has Ben thinking he’s already won. But he doesn’t know you have that key—my idea, thank you, thank you—and once he realizes you do, we can put as much pressure on him as it takes to get me elected head.”
“This. Is. Incredible,” said Abby, staring wide-eyed at Miesha. She was completely entranced. “Intrigue! But, okay, why does us having this key let us tell Ben what to do?”
“Because Ben’s obsessed with that key,” I said. “He thinks he’s the chosen one or whatever, and that someday it’ll let him open the door in le Petit Salon.”
“Exactly,” said Miesha. “With you holding it hostage here, I’ve got him by the overalls. Either he gives up the west coast for good, votes for me as head, then votes you in along with the rest of us, or we cut you two off permanently from all links and he never sees it again. He’ll have to do what we tell him. He’s got no choice.” She took another bite. “Mmph, seriously, why don’t I eat cinnamon rolls every day?”
“That is brilliant!” Abby said. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Miesha snort-laughed just like Abby. “Aw, thanks,” she said bopping her with an elbow, “but this is already way outside your skill set. I want you on my Council, for sure, but you two are still beginners here, and I’ve been doing this stuff for years. Just hang on to that key, keep it safe, and I’ll come get you after it’s all over. I’m totally making you two in charge of Snack Committee once I’m head, by the way. You bring these to every Council meeting and we’ll probably never have a serious pillow fight again!”
She beamed at me. I smiled back as best I could, but my brain was spinning.
I honestly didn’t know what to think anymore. Was being on the Council always going to be like this? This constant battle of votes and plans and hostages and schemes? It wasn’t exactly the type of secret-agent detective work I’d signed up for. And how could Miesha say she wanted us on her side, then calmly talk about shutting us down for good if she and the others didn’t get their way?
“Wow, that sure is a lot to take in,” said my mom. I jumped. I’d completely forgotten she was in the room.
Miesha nodded. “Yes, ma’am, it is. And like I said, that’s why you all should just leave it to the pros.” She glanced at the stove clock. “Thanks again for the amazing cinnamon roll, but I really gotta get back. Don’t worry—one of us will be in touch soon.”
We said good-bye and watched her disappear into Fort McForterson. My head was pounding with questions, questions, and more questions, but it looked like I’d have to wait until after the vote to get any answers.
I was about to ask Abby what she wanted to do while we waited when there was a cry from the fort, followed by a yowl and a storm of angry hissing.
“Samson!” cried Abby. We jumped up and ran for the living room.
“Hey, you’ve got a rat in here!” came Miesha’s yell. “Also—achoo!—angry—cat! Great.”
Abby reached the quaking fort first and ducked inside. “Oh!” she said. “It’s Mr. Chompers!”
I followed after her and stopped in the entrance, staring.
The fort was in pandemonium. Half the links were knocked open, postcards were flying everywhere, and the contents of my arts-and-crafts corner were scattered wildly across the floor.
Abby had become a one-girl hurricane flailing after Samson, who was tearing around and around in circles, hot on the heels of an enormous, panicked rat. Miesha was up against the sofa in a standing crouch, sneezing nonstop and dancing from foot to foot, trying to reach her link without stepping on anyone. As I watched, Samson and the rat streaked right between her feet and she staggered, slipped on Creepy Frog, and fell hard, grabbing at the walls on the way down. The ceiling began to collapse.
“Gotcha!” cried Abby, seizing Samson around the middle. “Are you okay, Miesha? Ouch, Samson! Maggie, get that ceiling up!”
“On it!” I said, shoving the key in my pocket and squeezing in to help.
It was chaos. I battled against the blanket and fallen pillows; Abby wrestled with a squirming Samson; Miesha sneezed nonstop and clawed her way toward the link to the Hub; and the huge rat tore over everything—pillows, books, and people—in a scrabbling panic.
I struggled to my feet just in time to see Mr. Chompers make a sharp turn, scamper up one of Miesha’s legs, and disappear through the half-open link back to the alley. Miesha spun around, kicking frantically at the tumbled pillows.
“It’s out,” I said, batting at the collapsing ceiling sheet with my arms. “The rat’s out! Quick, close the link!”
“Kinda busy here,” said Abby. “Samson, let go!”
“Ugh, rats!” said Miesha. “Achoo!” She scrambled away on her hands and knees, making a beeline for her link. “Only thing worse—achoo!—than cats!”
“Mags, grab that alley pillow.”
“I’m holding the ceiling up!”
“Achoo!”
“Miesha, wait, you’ve got my scarf—”
“Ouch! There, you’re back home, Samson.”
“Miesha, stop!” I yelled.
Abby looked up at the panic in my voice and spotted what had made my blood go cold: my patchwork scarf was wrapped around Miesha’s right ankle.
“Nope, you’ve got your—achoo!—instructions!” Miesha crawled faster, her head and shoulders already back through the link. “I’ve had—achoo!—enough of this—achoo!—zoo. This is like being in the worst—achoo!— Lisa Frank—achoo!—picture ever!”
“Miesha!” Abby yelled as I threw myself across the fort, reaching desperately—but it was too late. Miesha’s feet slipped neatly into the NAFAFA Hub, and the colorful tangle of my patchwork scarf went with her.
A gentle breeze swept through the fort as all the links snapped shut, and the ceiling settled over us like a soft and terrible cloud.
Twenty-Six
It was Abby who finally pulled the sheet away. My mom stood in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed, watching.
“Is that it, then?” she asked as we emerged.
Abby nodded.
“No more magic pillow forts?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, kids.” She watched us for another moment, then slipped quietly down the hall.
We sat together in the ruins of Fort McForterson, grieving and silent, until Abby clambered to her feet and reached out a hand. She had some impressive new scratches on her forearms, and her fancy braid was coming undone. I let her pull me up.
“So, they took away my scarf after all,” I said. “We’re back where we started.”
“Yup,” said Abby. She sighed. “But hey, at least we had some adventures in the real world for once.”
I gave a half smile. “Eh. It could’ve been better. More chase scenes. And a volcano would have been nice. And would it kill us to finally get to ride in a helicopter?”
Abby forced a laugh. “Oh, hey,” she said, bending down and pulling something out of the remains of the fort. She handed it to me. It was Miesha’s silver sunglasses.
“Huh, it must have been all the sneezing,” I said. “Hope she’s got a spare pair. Do you want them?”
“Nope.”
“Same.” I turned them over in my hand. They didn’t mean much now that we’d never get to be on the Council. I looked around, then leaned down and put them on Creepy Frog.
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“Ha,” said Abby. She gazed at the fort, stirring the mess of fallen blankets with her foot. “Why did you call it Gromit’s Room, again?” she asked.
I looked at her. “Seriously? Welcome home, finally.” Abby had the grace to look a little embarrassed.
It was weird. With the loss of Fort McForterson, I’d gotten everything I’d spent the summer wishing for: my best friend all to myself, with no one around who might take her away from me. Only I wasn’t feeling even the teeniest bit happy. We’d lost our whole glorious, tangled, oddball new world just as I’d been getting the hang of it. And with our only scrap of First Sofa trapped somewhere we could only reach with a working link, there really was no way back.
“I can’t believe those Council kids are making everything so messy and complicated,” said Abby. “We’d do such a better job if we were the ones in charge.”
“Obviously,” I said.
She grinned. “Hey, can I see this super-mysterious key?”
I pulled it out. The metal gleamed in the late-morning light, the oak leaves curling around the sun shining in the center.
“So this,” said Abby, taking it and weighing it in her palm, “this is from France?”
“From le Petit Salon in the palace of Versailles. Yes.”
It was a strange thing to hear myself say, standing there with Abby in my quiet Seattle living room.
“But it doesn’t work in the door there?”
“Right. No one knows what lock it really goes to. Or why Louis hung on to it. It’s been a mystery for centuries.”
Abby held the key up to her nose. “This is a big deal, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, didn’t you say—” She stopped and narrowed her eyes, squinting. Her hand shot out and whapped my arm. I yelped.
“Ouch! Dude, what—? Again with the hitting!”
“Mags! Mags-Mags-Mags-Mags!” she said, batting me on the shoulder. “Remember the tree house, the one at Camp Cantaloupe I told you about? Made of driftwood and stuff that washed up onshore?”
“Vaguely,” I said. “What—”
“Remember how I said it had a trapdoor, but it didn’t open? The trapdoor was a solid piece of wood, an old one, with these metal bands across it, and a big heavy lock holding it shut. . . .”