“Grandma!”
She gave my shoulder a gentle punch. “Hush, I’m kidding.”
“The fairy outfit suits you. You should wear it every day,” I said as revenge. Grandma’s knees were a bit knobbly, and she had to wear a lumpy support bandage around one of them under her tights. Her dark fairy-floss hair looked perfect, though.
She wrinkled her nose and held out her wand like it was a dead mouse. “No way, nohow. First chance I get, I’m hanging up my tutu forever.”
As I carried armfuls of used dishes and half-eaten party food into the kitchen, I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for myself. If the satellite crushed me, I would die fatherless, with a ridiculous name. And I had a bad feeling my mother had just wheeled a suitcase of important clues about my dad out of the house.
Mom had slept in the same room her whole life. Technically, she wouldn’t like me nosing about in there while she was gone. But technically, she was not home to find out, and I needed whatever information might be left after she had taken the suitcase away.
Calling on my Focus Pocus spy training, I eased the door open, taking care not to trip on the spots where the carpet was worn almost through. The room still had things from when Mom was a kid, like faded bits of wallpaper with bunnies on it and the cradle both Mom and I had slept in when we were babies. She kept everything that mattered even the tiniest bit, and I hoped that something of my father would still be there. It looked suspiciously tidy that day, though.
Her bed was buried under a quilt patched together from the same green-and-brown fabric Mom had used for the leaves downstairs. Fairy lights hung over the head of her bed. That was lucky, since the bedroom light had never worked. The closet door had a lock on it, and the key usually poked out of that. But not that day. Tricky mother. Unfortunately, we hadn’t added lock picking to our Focus Pocus training program. Not yet, anyway.
The bedside cabinet looked full of possibilities. A silk scarf covered its chipped corners, and I could see an old phone book taking the place of a missing leg. Leaning my shoulder hard against the cabinet, I eased the book from underneath. Its pages were soft and worn, and the date was from when I was two years old. The first third of the pages were missing. Mom had torn them out to make the practice folded fairies that were pressed between the rest of the pages. A few envelopes slipped out and landed on the floor, but I couldn’t tell which part of the book they’d been hidden in.
I stuffed them back inside, hoping it wouldn’t matter, and hurried to the “O” listings in the middle of the book. Calliope was small, and I knew I was the only kid with albinism in town. I would have noticed a whole family who looked like me. That meant the O’Malley family most likely came from Densdale. There were hundreds of O’Malleys listed in the city, but Mom hadn’t underlined or highlighted any of them. I could call every O’Malley in the book, but the numbers probably belonged to other people by now. Even if I found the right O’Malleys, what would I say? “Do you know a man who might have had a daughter with a slightly eccentric fairy impersonator about twelve years ago?”
The whole plan reeked of failure.
I almost had the book back in place when the door swung open.
My head jerked from shock and smacked right into the side of the cabinet with a crack. The cabinet wobbled on its loose leg, and the tub of glittery fairy dust Mom dipped her wand in every morning slipped off the top and spilled all over me.
Grandma cackled and snorted, pointing at me with one hand and holding her belly with the other. “You look the very image of your mother.”
Sputtering and choking on the sparkles, I brushed myself off and shoved the phone book back under the cabinet. As it slid in, I heard it connect with something, and a large mason jar decorated in cutouts and glitter rolled out the other side. Grandma frowned, picked it up before I could get a better look, and put it on the dresser. I’d have to wonder about that later. Right then, I had bigger problems.
Most of the glitter was still inside the container, but enough had spilled to be pretty obvious.
“Mom will kill me,” I whined.
Grandma wiped a giggle-tear away from the side of her nose. “Naw. She’ll be glad she’s finally won you over to Team Fairy.”
I straightened up. “She did not! Thanks to fairies, I have the stupidest name in history.”
Grandma licked her hankie and wiped some of the sparkles off my nose. Fairy names might have been annoying, but I preferred glitter to granny spit on a hankie. “Gross, Grandma!”
She kept right on wiping, moving to my cheeks. “How about you tell me what you were doing in here with the old phone book?”
“Would you believe I was trying to find a satellite-deflector salesperson?”
Grandma shrugged. “Yes. But I’m not sure why you’d bother when you have someone around as handy with a screwdriver as I am.”
I had to move the conversation on to safer subjects. “By the way, Mrs. Cuthbert stopped me outside to tell me off. She says we’re klepto…kepto…She was very insulting.”
“Kleptomaniacs, are we? Ha.” Grandma snorted. “That’s practically a compliment, coming from her. Come with me, Sparkles. It’s time we taught that lizard-tongued, interfering old biddy a lesson.”
* * *
• • •
“Here, hold this.” Grandma crawled out from under the gigantic camellia bush and passed me the end of the garden hose. I held it between two fingers to keep from touching bugs and dirt. Dusting off her knees, Grandma glanced around to make sure no one could see us.
Crouching down, she hurried across the lawn and waved for me to follow. For a second, I thought she was going to do a Focus Pocus ninja roll behind a bush, but she didn’t stop until she reached the fence. I got there a few seconds later, dragging the superlong hose behind me. Grinning, Grandma took it from me, wiped off the nozzle on the end, and twisted it to the setting she wanted. Snorting a little from keeping her giggles quiet, she found a knothole in the wood that was the right size, and she poked the nozzle through.
“Grandma, are you sure this is—”
She put her grubby finger on my lips. “Trust me, little accomplice.”
Once it was all set up, we sat together on the back steps in the late-afternoon sunshine.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the next party?” I asked, hoping the reminder would send her inside in a panic, far away from Mrs. Cuthbert.
“Nope. It was canceled. We’re done for the day.”
Grandma was so focused she didn’t even look at me as I slapped at the little flying bugs that tickled my ankles. Maybe she wouldn’t notice if I hurried back inside to investigate that mason jar in Mom’s room.
Mrs. Cuthbert’s back door slammed. Her muttering and cussing were loud enough to hear even over the birds squabbling for spots in the shadiest trees.
The smile on Grandma’s face made my stomach knot up from nerves. With one hand over her mouth to hold in the chuckles, she tiptoed down the back steps to the tap perched on the side of the house. Counting down from ten, she marked off the numbers with her fingers before twisting the knob around a few times as fast as she could.
All I could do was watch in horror as Grandma’s plan came together.
The hose was set to spray, and the heavy mist made a rainbow that hung over the whole of Mrs. Cuthbert’s backyard. “My sheets!” she screamed.
“I thought you didn’t have any left!” Grandma shouted.
I wanted to run inside, but my feet were glued to the ground.
“Ooh, it’s cold, it’s cold, turn it off!” Mrs. Cuthbert hollered. Her shrieks reminded me of the argument she’d had with Mom that morning, right before she accused our roof of grand theft laundry.
“Now that they’re wet, they’ll be too heavy to blow away tonight. You’re welcome!” Grandma was on the top step now, stretching to watch Mrs. Cuth
bert run for her back door. But it didn’t matter to me what that horrible old woman did anymore, not after she’d upset Mom. She could call Officer Bugden or the FBI or the CIA for all I cared.
“I’ll fix you, Shirley Cogsworth!” Mrs. Cuthbert hollered from just inside her door.
Grandma held her stomach and kept right on cackling. She took a deep, shaky breath and grinned at me. “Oh, quit looking so worried, Sparkles. There’s nothing like a good feud to liven up a neighborhood.”
She mistook my smug face for worry.
* * *
• • •
Mom arrived home just as we headed inside. Grandma chortled to herself and wiped giggle-tears out of her eyes. Any other day, Mom would have pestered her to find out what was so funny. That day, though, she moaned about being tired and went upstairs to run herself a bath. For her, baths were a major event requiring smelly candles and glittery bath bombs. Honestly, sometimes my mother looked like a Christmas decoration or a vampire, she sparkled so much.
I followed her upstairs, carrying the brush and dustpan so I could pretend to clean up the glitter I’d spilled on her floor if I got caught looking for the mason jar. Sitting on my bed, doing my best to look innocent, I waited while she got her bath things and padded down the hallway to the bathroom. Once the smell of flowers drifted out from under the bathroom door, I knew it was safe.
Sneaking into Mom’s room twice in one day was right up there with the naughtiest things I’d ever done to her. I couldn’t decide if that made me feel bad or adventurous. A bit of both, I decided.
Except it turned out to be neither.
For the very first time in my whole life, ever, my mother had locked her door. I checked it four or five times to be sure, rattling the handle and giving the door a bit of a kick in case it had gotten stuck. Who knew she even had a key for that rusty old lock?
I was stumped.
I crept down the stairs and into the computer room for an email check before bed. The little blue envelope appeared with a ding. Had Nickel finally had a chance to search for my family on his dad’s computer?
Breathing hard, I clicked on the message.
I think I found one of the families. There was an article about their albino kid in the newspaper stories online. I found their address in Dad’s database. It’s 56 Market Street in Densdale. You owe me, big-time.
Now I had to figure out how to get to Densdale. Again.
By the time I arrived for English on Monday morning, I still hadn’t figured out how to get to Densdale. Public transport didn’t exist in Calliope, unless you counted old Mr. Bones and his bicycle-powered rickshaw. He was cheap—only a dollar for him to drive you anywhere you liked—but it would take an awful long time to get to Densdale by rickshaw.
“How are we enjoying the play?” Mrs. Gilbert asked, leaning on the edge of her desk and slapping her knees with the book.
Sarah Michaels made a swoony sound and hugged her copy to her chest. She was born to love fairies. In fact, she looked more like one than my mom did, without even trying. She was teeny tiny, with thin little hands, a pointed chin, and enormous eyes. “It’s so amazing!”
The rest of us concentrated on making ourselves small to avoid Mrs. Gilbert’s calling on us to read a passage. I sank lower in my seat and squinted my eyes almost closed.
“Excellent. I knew I could count on my favorite class to have good taste,” she said. “You will all be pleased to hear that on Saturday afternoon, I’m taking anyone who is interested to see a matinee performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that’s playing at the Centurion Theater in Densdale. I know, I know, Densdale. I feel just as bad about it as you do. But this is a perfect opportunity to see the play the way Shakespeare intended.” She clapped her hands together in excitement.
Nickel spun around in his seat. His eyes bulged until I thought he might burst some important vein. I widened mine back, although I had no idea what we were trying to say to each other.
He slapped his forehead and hissed at me, “Densdale, duh!”
Suddenly, Shakespeare didn’t seem so bad.
* * *
• • •
Grandma smelled like apples and cinnamon, which had to be a good sign for dinner. There hadn’t been any parties for the day, which meant Mom might be in a helpful mood. I doubted that would make much difference, though. If she didn’t want me studying A Midsummer Night’s Dream, my chances of getting permission to see an actual performance of it were tiny.
Mom crossed her arms and lifted her eyebrows. “Your teacher is taking you to a play about fairies and you actually want to go? On a Saturday?”
That was better than a flat-out no.
I gave her my most honest smile. It kind of hurt my face. I’d practiced a whole speech about how I wanted to give fairies a chance because she loved them so much, but it sounded pretty ridiculous, even in my head. Instead, I said, “Yeah. I’m curious.”
Mom turned away from me, chewing on a thumbnail, which would for sure bug her later, since she wanted to grow her nails. Somehow, it seemed weird that she hadn’t said no yet. I almost wished she would and get it over with. Almost.
Without saying another word, she scrawled her signature at the bottom of the permission slip, handed it to me, and walked upstairs.
It didn’t feel like much of a win.
* * *
• • •
At school the next day, all anyone wanted to talk about was the satellite.
In science, Mr. Hicks spoke about it like it was the thrill of a lifetime. “Of course, the probability that the satellite will hit anywhere but the ocean is slim at best.”
At best? At worst, maybe.
“Even if it did make landfall, it’s unlikely it’d land in our country, much less our state or near any of us.”
Joe Minciello’s hand shot up. “What sort of damage could it do? Like, will things explode? Giant waves? Dust clouds and stuff?”
Dust clouds? Explosions? I shuddered so hard my pencil rattled on my desk.
Mr. Hicks sat on his desk at the front of the class and rubbed his hands together like Nickel did before eating his favorite burger. “No, no. Nothing that dramatic.”
I let some air out.
“I mean, sure, if it landed in a lake, it might make a small wave, I suppose, but not enough to cause any damage. No. We’d only need to worry if it landed in a built-up area. That could cause some major damage or even loss of life.”
I held my arm in the air and waved my hand around.
“Robyn?”
“What would it do to an actual house if it hit one? A wooden one, for example?”
“There wouldn’t be much left, I imagine. But there’s no need to worry. Besides, imagine how cool it’d be to find a piece of the satellite somewhere. I’d give anything for that.”
For a teacher, Mr. Hicks was no help at all. The satellite could destroy a house; he’d said so. A house just like our house. With us in it.
Maybe if I found Dad, he’d let Grandma, Mom, and me stay at his place till the satellite crisis was over.
* * *
• • •
That evening, I took A Midsummer Night’s Dream and my notebook up into Robyn HQ. My notebook had a few more entries in it by then. I had the possible O’Malley address and a plan to meet them. Once we were together, they would tell me how to find my dad, and everything else would fall into place.
Shivering even though it was warm outside, I slammed my notebook closed and opened A Midsummer Night’s Dream. For once, it seemed like a good distraction. Everyone else would get to watch the performance on Saturday, but Nickel and I would sneak out to find the O’Malleys as soon as the curtain went up. Either I figured out the play on my own, or I would end up looking stupider than Dameon Swenson when Mrs. Gilbert discussed it on Monday.
A crow sat in the ho
le where my headquarters’ wall used to be. It cocked its head to the side, listening while I read the words aloud. “ ‘How now, spirit! Whither wander you?’ ”
The crow looked quite impressed and let out a caw of approval.
“But what does it mean?” I asked.
The crow didn’t know or wasn’t telling. It hopped around a bit before settling down again to watch. Such a willing audience deserved a show. I got up on my knees and waved one arm in the air.
“ ‘How now, spirit! Whither’ ”—wave, wave—“ ‘wander you?’ ”
The crow cawed again and flapped its wings. I dipped into a low bow, which was what you did when asked for an encore. It made me feel smarter, saying the words out loud, even if I wasn’t sure yet what they meant.
“ ‘The king doth keep his revels here tonight. Take heed the queen come not within his sight.’ ” I looked at the bird. “Do you understand this stuff, crow?” The crow bobbed up and down a bit, which must have been the bird’s version of a nod.
“Shakespeare, you win this round,” I muttered. The crow let out an offended caw and flapped away.
I closed the book, tucked it into the back of my jeans, and scurried down the ladder. More bits of the rope were fraying. At that rate, Robyn HQ might kill me before the satellite had a chance.
* * *
• • •
Right after the news headlines, they played a story about the satellite.
“NASA now predicts XR-26 is most likely to land somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere, with a fifty percent chance of making landfall.”
They should have talked to me. My prediction was way more accurate than 50 percent. Heck, I could give them our address and permission for a news crew to film it live.
I got up and hugged Mom and Grandma good night. “I’m tired,” I lied.
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