The Mystery of the Tenth

by Chantel Acevedo

  Eventually, it was Athena who turned away, smiling, as if she’d secretly won a prize. “It’s all settled then. See you at the contest!” She waved goodbye and was an owl again, soaring into the sky above New York.

  We all breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the biggest challenge of all was still to come.

  Ari versus the Dread Goddess, Athena.

  I didn’t know if Ari would win. The tapestry in her hands was nearly shredded to bits. How could she beat Athena with that?

  Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed the hour. It was only noon. No matter how intimidating Athena’s visit had been, today felt like a victory, because Ari had all the pieces of the tapestry at last.

  And you know what else? This time, I wouldn’t be home late.

  Chapter 29

  Future-Callie’s Problems

  There were two weeks left until the Student Showcase. Ever since the lions at the library, Papi had been coming home early, as promised. We’d spent the afternoons going to the park, or eating at Laura’s favorite pizza place in Flushing, or having ice cream at the Queen of Corona. One weekend, Papi took us to see the American Museum of Natural History and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Laura bought books in the gift shops, and I spent much of the time wondering what my entrance point might be if we moved Muse Headquarters to either location.

  “I wish your brothers were here,” Papi said in the room full of mummies at the Met. “They’d like this place.”

  My heart broke a little. Mario and Fernando were still mad at Papi for leaving us. I wasn’t mad anymore. Just sad sometimes.

  “Maybe next summer? You’ll have to get two more pin-pan-puns,” I said.

  Papi brightened a little. “You want to come back here next summer? ¿De verdad?”

  “Yeah, Papi. I’d love that. And I’d love to go back to Corona Arts, too. If it’s still open, that is.”

  He crossed his fingers. “Here’s hoping,” Papi said, and we left the mummy room hand in hand.

  Sometimes my muse bracelet would heat up, and I’d go over to headquarters at the Hall of Science. We were still looking for the tenth muse. For a second, we thought we’d found her when a twenty-three-year-old in Brooklyn saved a man who had fallen onto the subway tracks. But when Clio, posing as a detective, asked her a few questions, she quickly realized that the woman was brave and heroic, but not a muse after all.

  We were stumped.

  As for Ari, she was worried and anxious about her tapestry, which had been damaged by all the monsters in some way or another. I was nervous for her. She was spending all her time restoring her artwork, skipping camp sessions, and refusing to answer any texts I sent her.

  One night, I went looking for her at the bodega. There was Aphrodite, greeting customers and being her usual, fabulous self.

  “Hi,” I said to her, trying not to be too nervous. It was hard knowing you were speaking with a goddess, one with incredible powers and a reputation for having a temper. Even though Aphrodite said she’d changed, I was still careful. “Is Ari here? I’ve been missing her at camp,” I said.

  Aphrodite’s smile turned into a frown. “She’s holed up in my apartment, working on that tapestry. I can barely get her to eat dinner most days,” she said. “This is why I’m stealing her away for the weekend.” Aphrodite opened the palm of her hand and a postcard appeared. It read “Come to Seaside Heights, N.J.!”

  “There’s a boardwalk, and arcades, and amusement park rides.” Aphrodite’s voice dropped to a whisper. “This here is called a roller coaster,” she said, pointing to one on the postcard. “It’s a torture device. It turns you upside down and drops you from great heights. Apparently humans love them,” she said with a smile.

  I swallowed a laugh. I guess there are certain things the gods just didn’t get.

  “Looks like fun,” I said.

  “I hope so.” Aphrodite sighed. “I hate seeing Ari so worried. Her tapestry is gorgeous. Almost as breathtaking as I am, honestly. She needs a getaway. And from what I hear, Seaside Heights is a top-notch New Jersey attraction.”

  This time I did laugh, just a little. But I hid it with a cough. Aphrodite smacked me hard on the back a few times.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, concerned.

  “Oh, yes. And I think taking Ari on a vacation is a great idea.”

  “Good to know. I have to get back to work, little muse. Inventory calls!” Aphrodite swept away, picking up items that had been incorrectly shelved as she went.

  I was watching her go when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Hey.” It was Maris. She was holding an ice-cream cone. “Double chocolate mint,” she said. “Ice cream always helps when I’m down. Want to go for a walk?”

  “Sure,” I said. Clio had been true to her word. Nobody at the library that day remembered a thing about the lions, including Maris, who called the trip “a total bust” after she found out the World War II exhibit was closed. I followed Maris out of the bodega and down a shady street. We stopped at a park with a small playground and a baseball diamond. Kids were playing ball, while their friends sat on the bleachers and shouted.

  “I don’t do sports. Do you?” Maris asked.

  “Nope. One time, I broke my arm playing kickball. I meant to kick the ball and ended up standing on it, balancing like a circus performer for a second before falling,” I told her.

  Maris laughed. “Sorry. It probably wasn’t funny.”

  “Not to me. But my brothers laughed a lot.”

  “Ouch. Literally.” We headed over to a seesaw, sat on either end of it, and started moving up and down.

  “Excited about the Student Showcase?” I asked.

  Maris nodded. “And nervous. If we don’t impress the donors, then I really won’t have any place where it feels like I belong, you know?” I didn’t say anything, so Maris went on. “I love Corona Arts. I get to write poems all day, and nobody thinks I’m weird for loving that. At school, I’m the only kid who likes poetry. I wish I played sports or could be part of the school play. But the truth is, I love poems. I love how words sound, how they make me feel. The word ‘crystal’ is my favorite. It’s so quiet, like a hush. Or the word ‘haunted.’ So spooky.”

  “I guess I don’t feel that way about anything. Well, I love people. Certain people,” I said. “I wish I had a passion. My best friend back home, she wants to be a performer. And my sister is going to be a scientist. I’ve got, um, another friend who loves comedy, one who is obsessed with all things NASA, and another one who likes sad plays and country western music. But me? I’m just Callie.”

  Maris thought for a minute as she went up and down on the seesaw. She was wearing her Wonder Woman cuffs again. She’d been wearing them so often they’d gotten a little dingy. “The way I see it,” Maris said at last, “these are problems for Future-Callie.”

  “Future-Callie?” I asked.

  “Yes. You are Now-Callie, not Future-Callie. When Future-Callie becomes Now-Callie, she’ll be able to deal with all her problems and realize they aren’t actually problems at all. Future-Callie will find her purpose.”

  “Purpose,” I repeated.

  Maris nodded. “Your destiny. The thing you’re supposed to be someday. It’s going to be great, but it’s Future-Callie’s problem. Now-Callie should just take a deep breath and focus on the showcase.”

  That night, I lay awake in bed, thinking about the way my summer had turned out. When I came to New York, I thought I knew exactly who I was. Callie Martinez-Silva, Muse of the epic poem, Eater of Arroz con Pollo, Watcher of Television, and Good Friend.

  But then I learned about what Tia Annie had done to help save Ari. I’d broken curfew a bunch of times, lying to my dad and Laura. My magic had changed, and I was the storyteller. I had all this power and I didn’t exactly know what I was supposed to do with it. All my friends seemed to know who they were, and what they were meant to be.

  Me? I didn’t have a clue.

  I was New York–Callie. M
iami-Callie. Now-Callie. Future-Callie. Papi’s daughter. Mami’s daughter. Fernando and Mario’s little sister. Maya and Rafaelito’s big sister. The ninth muse.

  I was all these things, and yet I still didn’t know what my purpose was, or if I had one.

  Future-Callie definitely had her work cut out for her.

  Chapter 30

  Showdown at the Student Showcase

  Maris and I finished our poems for Poetry-palooza a week early. We’d painted 107 different poems onto colorful butcher paper. It wasn’t enough to wallpaper the school, but it was a lot. I’d learned about sonnets and sestinas, haikus and ghazals. Who knew there were so many kinds of poems?

  “I knew there were so many different kinds of poems,” Maris said one day when I asked just that, as we were hanging up the last of the butcher paper. Next to Emily Dickinson, her other favorite poet was Khalil Gibran, who was Lebanese-American, like Maris. There were fifteen Gibran poems represented in our Poetry-palooza presentation, and fourteen by Dickinson.

  “All done,” Maris announced, tacking up the last poem near the auditorium. “What should we do now?”

  I peeked through the doors and saw Ari hard at work on her tapestry in the back of the auditorium. “Let’s help a friend,” I said.

  The place was dimly lit. Onstage, a few students were quietly singing the opening song of Into the Woods. Ari was crouched on the floor, stitching the pieces of the tapestry together with a long needle.

  Ari’s cheeks were still rosy from her trip to Seaside Heights with her aunt. She’d come back bearing gifts for me and Maris that she’d won in carnival games on the boardwalk. I got a stuffed crab with googly eyes, and she’d brought Maris a blow-up T. rex in a pink dress.

  “You wove this?” Maris asked in awe as she studied Ari’s tapestry.

  Ari looked up and smiled. “Yep. I used a standing loom back when I first made it. I’m just sewing it back together now. It got . . . a little beat up.”

  “This is amazing,” Maris gushed, kneeling down to get a good look at the fabric. “How’d you get it to look so old?”

  Smooth as ever, Ari only shrugged. “It’s a family technique,” she said, leaving it at that.

  Maris whistled a long, low note. “Well, if this doesn’t impress the donors, nothing will. I hope they don’t shut down Corona Arts. Even if there aren’t many poets around, it feels like home when I’m here,” she said.

  My eyes got a little prickly then, which I decided was okay. I was going to miss Maris when I went back to Miami. I made up Callie’s Muse Rule #742 on the spot: A muse never knows where she’ll find a friend.

  When the summer first started, I could never have imagined befriending an ancient twelve-year-old girl, who could summon spiders and was courageous enough to face a god, or a Wonder Woman–obsessed poet. But I was so glad I did.

  “If those donors don’t love your tapestry, Ari, I’ll eat my left shoe,” I said.

  “With ketchup?” Maris asked.

  “Honey mustard will make it go down easier,” Ari said, winking at me. I remembered Aphrodite’s office, and the ambrosia she was eating.

  “Definitely,” I said.

  The morning of the Student Showcase was a rainy one. Water ran down in torrents from the sky, and students hustled into Corona Arts Academy as quickly as they could, shielding their props and costumes. It was the first rainy day of the summer. Inside, everyone was running around getting their presentations together. So many students filled the halls carrying props, buckets of paint, costumes, and slabs of plywood, that the teachers had to stand around and direct traffic in case anybody got knocked on the head by a stray canvas or tangled up in a long wig.

  Back in the poetry room, Maris, Mr. Theo, and I wrote one last exquisite corpse poem together.

  Mr. Theo wrote: Talented poets impressed whole school.

  I wrote: Reluctant girl appreciates magnificent poetry!

  Maris read hers out loud. “Good friends are living poems,” she said, looking at me with a smile.

  “You’re not much of a hugger, are you?” I asked, because what I really wanted to do was give Maris the biggest hug.

  “Nope.”

  So I reached out my hand, and we shook on it. “To friends,” I said.

  “To friends. I’ll miss you when you go back to Miami,” Maris said.

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Mr. Theo sniffed and wiped his eyes.

  “Come on, you two. The Student Showcase is about to start, and I’m the emcee!” Mr. Theo reached behind his desk and pulled out a blue sequined jacket. “How do I look?”

  “Like a star,” I said, laughing.

  “Poetry in motion,” Maris said.

  Mr. Theo beamed at us and pulled a bedazzled microphone out of his pocket.

  Together, we left the room and headed to the auditorium.

  The Muse Squad was already in their seats when we arrived. Maris gave me a questioning look as I walked in. I waved at them and they all waved back.

  “These are my friends,” I said, and introduced Maris to the others. The grown-up muses were scattered around the auditorium. One by one, they turned around and waved hello. Clio was right in the front row, and beside her were—

  “That’s impossible,” I said, standing up to get a better look.

  Mela got to her feet, too. “No way,” she said, pulling her headphones off her ears.

  “Well, that’s a treat,” Thalia said.

  “What are the Gray Sisters doing here?” Nia asked.

  They were sitting down, wearing flower-print dresses, house slippers, and big, dark sunglasses. Each sister carried a shiny black purse on her lap. Clio was trying to talk to them, but they were ignoring her as they bickered over an oily bag full of churros.

  Finally, Maris got up to see what we were talking about. “Those ladies up there? I just found out that they’re the donors!” She narrowed her eyes and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why are they wearing sunglasses indoors? Who knows what they’re hiding.”

  It was probably for the best that Maris didn’t know about the one eye, one tooth thing. “If the Gray Sisters don’t like what they see today, they could yank their funding from the school,” I explained to the others.

  “And Corona Arts will be no more,” Maris said, slumping in her seat.

  “We’ll see about that, right, squad?” Nia said quietly, cracking her fingers one at a time.

  “On it,” Thalia said, then left her seat and went to whisper into the ear of each of the muses.

  Ari joined us a moment later, and she squeezed into the row, sitting down next to Maris. She looked a little green, as if she’d eaten something funky for lunch.

  “Where’s your tapestry?” Maris asked her.

  “Backstage,” Ari said. Then she fell silent, chewing on her thumbnail. Her friendship bracelets seemed to have tripled overnight.

  “Did you make all of those . . . recently?” I asked.

  “I told you I like to make things when I’m nervous, okay?” she grumbled, and after that I let her be.

  A moment later, Mr. Theo took the stage in his glittering blue jacket, holding the bedazzled microphone. “Hello, Corona Arts Summer Camp! Welcome to the Student Showcase. Parents, friends, and family, settle in for an hour of visual and auditory delight!”

  The house lights dimmed, and the theater kids took their places. They ran through a few musical numbers, which had everyone on their feet and cheering. Do they look even better than usual? I wondered. I scanned the room and spotted Tomiko twirling on her feet. Elnaz was in a different spot in the room, accompanying the musicians with her flute. Nobody seemed to think this was strange, and I guess that made sense. It was an artsy kind of audience, after all.

  A soloist sang next. From her seat in the second row, I spotted Paola conducting the music with her fingers, and I could swear I heard her bells ringing.

  When the one-act plays started, Mela and Thalia went into full concentration mode. The first p
lay, a sad story about a boy grieving his brother, made everyone cry, including Mela, who was definitely inspiring the actors with her magic.

  The second play, about a baker who couldn’t get a single cake right, had everyone howling with laughter. Thalia, of course, was laughing right along with them.

  The Gray Sisters had to be impressed!

  Ballet dancers, salsa dancers, and Irish step dancers were next, followed by three violinists, and a live portrait-painting demonstration. Through each act, the muses were hard at work. The air buzzed with muse magic! Finally, after an intermission and another round of dancers, it was Ari’s turn.

  Mr. Theo called her onstage. My insides started writhing as I watched her go. Somewhere, Athena was waiting.

  Gritting her teeth, Ari climbed the steps to the stage. Mr. Theo gestured at someone standing in the wings. A white girl with blond hair, freckles, and thick black glasses emerged from the opposite side of the stage. She was wearing a plaid skirt and a sweatshirt that was too big on her. She moved forward, every careful step echoing loudly in the auditorium, which was quiet except for the occasional voice whispering, “Who is she?”

  Mr. Theo raised the glittering microphone to his lips. “We have a new student in camp this week with a spectacular project for the Student Showcase. Please welcome Tina Olimpica!”

  Thalia muttered, “Not very subtle with the name thing, is she?”

  “Tina and Ari will be staging a little textile arts competition just for us. Presenting . . . the Battle of the Tapestries!” Mr. Theo announced. The curtain rose, revealing both tapestries hanging from the ceiling, the images carefully illuminated by a spotlight from the back of the auditorium.

  People gasped, then applauded. I would never get tired of looking at the two tapestries. The effect of both was similar—they appeared to be real, living figures, not just people and creatures woven from wool.

  But while both tapestries were beautiful, Ari’s was simply more—

  “Astonishing,” Maris said, rubbing her arms. “Emily Dickinson once said, ‘If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry.’ That’s how looking at Ari’s tapestry makes me feel.”