“You talk to her about everything,” Cam continued. “You told her when Chase Corrigan watched our last YouTube video.”
Rosie blushed. “So what? I like to tell her about my fans.”
“That fan is the cutest guy in seventh grade,” Cam said.
Henry shuddered. “Official HenRoCam request to change the subject.”
“What I’m trying to say is if you told her about your dad’s movie in Richmond, she’d understand why you want to invite him to Glimmer Creek,” Cam said.
“She might even help you,” Henry added.
Rosie shook her head, remembering Mama’s refusal to even consider calling her father. “She won’t. Trust me. I had to get in touch with him myself, and he’s going to e-mail back.”
“We just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Henry said, blowing out a breath.
How was meeting her father going to hurt her unless … unless Henry and Cam thought Michael wasn’t going to show up. But he had to show up. If he didn’t, she’d maybe never meet him. Rosie twisted the zipper on her jacket, suddenly unable to look at either of them.
A breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby bush, sending them bristling and crackling against each other. The sound of laughter drifted to them from the direction of Stratford Middle School while Rosie stared at the ground.
“Rosie, it will be okay,” Cam said all of a sudden.
“Will it?” Rosie asked. Awful tears hovered at the back of her eyelids.
“If your dad doesn’t reply to your e-mail, we’ll contact the film set,” Cam said.
“I can research the number for you,” Henry chimed in.
“And I’ll call it,” Cam said. “I’m very persuasive.”
Rosie exhaled. The tears stopped pricking her eyes. “I guess we could tell them his house in California got burglarized. That way we know he’ll call back.”
“I don’t know about lying,” Henry warned.
“We can probably say his daughter is trying to get in touch with him,” Cam said.
“Or we could do that,” Rosie said. “Once he gets my message, I know he’ll come.”
“Me too,” Henry said emphatically.
Rosie looked to Cam, waiting for her to agree too.
Cam squeezed the hat in her hands. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“But?” Rosie could hear the question in Cam’s voice.
“But you don’t have to make the documentary to invite your father to the festival,” Cam said. “It’s going to take a lot of work.”
“I want to make the documentary. Besides, he sent me a card saying he promised to come see my movie,” Rosie said.
Cam cleared her throat. “It’s just, the whole school goes to the festival, so they’ll all see the documentary too. You don’t want to … embarrass yourself, especially since it’s about the Miracles.”
“What does that mean?” Rosie’s arms stiffened at her sides. “Do you think my films are embarrassing?”
“She doesn’t think that,” Henry rushed to say at the same time Cam said, “I didn’t say that.”
“You know I think your films are great,” Cam said gently. “What I meant was not everyone at school believes in the Miracles.”
“But we do,” Rosie said.
Cam’s eyes slid away. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s a—well, if there’s a reasonable explanation for them. There’s no actual proof.”
Rosie reared back, her knees buckling. What was Cam talking about? Her not believing in the Miracles was crazy!
“There’s plenty of proof,” Rosie said, her hands flying around her sides “How else do you explain Beth Moore? She was in a fire eleven years ago with her brother and should have died but for the Miracle of the firefighters getting her out right before the ceiling collapsed. Since then she’s never cold and doesn’t even own a coat. She dropped off cookies at the town hall yesterday, and they were still warm because she set them beside herself in the car.”
“Maybe Mrs. Moore has a higher body temperature than other people,” Cam said.
“But we’ve always believed in the Miracles,” Rosie replied, her chest growing tighter and tighter. “Remember how many times we wished for a Miracle by throwing pennies into the Fishing Well, or standing on one foot at the exact spot where the creek ended? And then there was that time we spent a whole month turning around three times on the beach right as the sun set because your dad heard that might work.”
“Yeah, and it didn’t work. None of it did,” Cam said, sounding irritated. “Besides, we did that stuff when we were little kids. It’s different now.”
“Not to me,” Rosie whispered.
Cam tilted her head. “Look, the Miracles are sort of like the train treasure. It’s fun to think about, but we all know they’re probably fake.”
“I disagree,” Henry said matter-of-factly.
Rosie didn’t understand. How could Cam think the Miracles were like the train treasure? They were nothing alike. The Miracles were real.
“All you have to do is look around. The Miracles don’t make sense. My grandma could have used one last year when she fell and broke her hip. But she didn’t get one. She was a really good person,” Cam said.
Cam’s grandma had gone into a coma after her fall last year and died a few days later. It was the only time Rosie had ever seen Cam cry.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Henry said.
Cam shot him a skeptical look. “Didn’t you want a Miracle when Miss Betty got sick?”
“I hoped for one, sure,” Henry said.
“And she didn’t get one. Doesn’t that make you a little doubtful?” Cam asked.
Henry’s blue eyes crinkled. “Just because my mama didn’t get a Miracle doesn’t mean I gave up on them.”
Rosie’s heart was suddenly pounding, and words burst out of her like a faucet turned up too high. “There’s only one Miracle a year. Not everyone can get one, not even people who deserve it like your grandma or Miss Betty. You know that’s true.”
“What I know is there’s no explanation for who gets a Miracle or why. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe the people we think are getting Miracles are only lucky, and that’s all,” Cam said.
“No way. It’s more than luck,” Rosie said. Her voice was shaking now. “I can tell you about every Miracle—all the details—and I bet that would convince you they’re real.”
“You don’t have to get upset,” Cam said, sighing. “See, I knew you would react this way. That’s why I never said anything before.”
“I’m not upset!” Rosie nearly shouted. But she was breathing hard, and her lungs had constricted. “In fact, I plan to figure out what causes the Miracles in my documentary.”
Henry shook his head. “But there’s no accounting for Miracles and—”
“I’m going to account for them, and I’m going to prove they’re real. I’ve got fifteen days until the festival. You’ll see.” Rosie glared at Cam, waiting for her to disagree.
Cam only shrugged. “We should get to school. The bell is about to ring.”
Henry nodded, and they started off down the sidewalk. Rosie was a step behind, her mind already racing. Here was another reason why she had to make her documentary, to find out what caused the Miracles and prove they weren’t only coincidence or good luck. She had to show Cam the Miracles were real. And once she did, Cam would have to believe … and Rosie would have her best friend back.
CHAPTER NINE
It took Rosie a few days to set up her documentary interview with Mrs. Grant. Cam had agreed to help with the film even with all her doubts. It was a good thing too because the filming wasn’t going quite as smoothly as Rosie planned. She’d interviewed three Miracled people so far and couldn’t find a single common reason for why they’d gotten Miracled. Rosie was sure it would only take more time, but the festival was eleven days away so she didn’t have a lot of that.
Rosie zoomed in on Mrs. Grant’s soft, wrinkled face and her unnaturally bright blue eyes
with her camcorder lens. Mayor Grant had already left for the town meeting, and the house was quiet except for the occasional gong of the grandfather clock. The heavy satin curtains were drawn, and the brass lamps on either side of the pink flowered couch cast halos around the porcelain cat figurines that crowded every available surface. Somehow, despite the dimness of the room, Mrs. Grant’s eyes beamed out of the camera lens like blue lasers. Everyone swore they got bluer the night her cataracts were miraculously cured.
“Henry, you’ve got the voice recorder ready?” Rosie asked.
Henry held it up and fumbled it through his fingers. The recorder slammed into the ground. “Oh man, I’m sorry.” He scrambled along the cream carpet, stumbling forward.
Cam dropped to her knees and plucked the recorder off the floor. “Red light is still blinking. It’s okay.” She eyed Henry for several seconds before pulling him to his feet. “Will you excuse us for a minute,” she said to Mrs. Grant, and dragged Henry and Rosie into the hallway.
One hand on her hip, Cam gestured to Henry. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
For the first time that evening, Rosie took a good look at Henry. His face was pale, and there were dark smudges underneath his eyes. He looked like an extra in a zombie movie.
“Nothing,” Henry said.
Cam narrowed her eyes.
“Fine, I’m a little tired,” Henry said.
“Are you sure that’s all?” Cam asked.
Henry stared at the top of Mrs. Grant’s foyer table, not answering.
Cam opened her mouth, but Rosie cut her off. “He said he’s okay, and we need to get started with the interview.”
Cam hesitated before nodding once, still frowning at Henry. “I’ll handle the recorder.”
They headed back into the living room. Rosie hit the record button and sharpened the image of Mrs. Grant before asking her first question. “Ever since the Miracle, how good is your vision?”
Mrs. Grant smiled. “It’s perfect, better than twenty-twenty. Why, I can see a speck of dust across the room, which is so useful when it comes to housekeeping.”
“That is handy,” Rosie said. It was not quite the exciting answer she’d hoped for though. “What else do you use your better-than-perfect vision for? Maybe give us an example of something that helps mankind.”
“Well … ” Mrs. Grant considered this. “I’ve helped animals. Does that count? There was this one time our cat, Princess, got out at night and I was able to see her hiding down the street in the bushes.”
In moments like these, Rosie wished she were more like John Ford, the director of Stagecoach and countless other old Westerns, who was infamous for yelling at his actors until they did what he wanted.
“Ask her to go over her schedule the day before the Miracle,” Henry whispered.
Rosie shot him a grateful look before turning back to Mrs. Grant. “Why don’t we run through everything you did the day before your Miracle? Maybe that will help us figure out what caused it.”
“Let me see …” Mrs. Grant looked up at the ceiling. “I’m sure I went to the grocery store. I do that most days, and I must have done some laundry. I fed Princess. I believe I had a Garden Club meeting.”
“But did you notice a strange feeling or something? Anything that would explain why you got a Miracle?” Cam asked impatiently.
“I’m not sure. Y’all know there’s no accounting for Miracles, and as far as I can recall, it was a normal day like any other.”
Cam raised her eyebrows and looked sideways at Rosie as if to say, See? I told you. Rosie remembered how Cam said the Miracled people were “only lucky.” Rosie gripped the camcorder tighter. She would prove otherwise.
“Think back really carefully. Take your time,” Rosie said in a soothing tone.
Cam blew out a frustrated breath.
“Hmmm, let me think … ” Mrs. Grant’s voice trailed off and then she sat up. “Actually, something unusual did happen. Mayor Grant and I got a call shortly before midnight. It was a wrong number from Mrs. Birdsall. She lived a few streets away and was quite elderly at the time. She’s since passed. You would have loved her. Sweet woman, real—”
“I’m sure she was great. And what happened next?” Rosie interrupted. Keeping Mrs. Grant on track was turning out to be tougher than long division.
“Well, Mrs. Birdsall hung up on me once she realized she had the wrong number, but I could tell something was wrong. I decided to check in on her. Good thing too because she’d taken a bad tumble down the stairs. Anyway, it was late and dark and my cataracts were terrible at the time so I could hardly see anything, but I still insisted on taking a shortcut. Wouldn’t you know? I tripped right off the side of Mr. Gooch’s yard and into the creek. I got to Mrs. Birdsall’s house soaked clean through.” Mrs. Grant’s eyes took on a faraway look. “It’s funny though. I did always wonder … ”
“Yes?” Rosie asked, leaning forward.
Mrs. Grant shook her head. “It’s silly. But I suppose I did wonder if the water had something to do with my cataracts getting cured. I remember wiping water out of my eyes, and I swear things looked clearer right then and there. I ignored it until I woke up the next morning and my cataracts were gone.”
It took Rosie another hour to end the interview. Mrs. Grant kept talking about her sudden inspiration for wanting to start a cat rescue organization named after Princess.
“That interview needs a lot of editing,” Cam said as they stepped outside onto a darkened Magnolia Street.
“No kidding,” Rosie huffed.
“I’m going home to research more about cataracts,” Henry said. “I noticed a black dot in my vision yesterday. You don’t think that’s a symptom, do you?”
Cam bugged out her eyes and stuck her tongue out. “Can you see this?”
Henry ignored Cam and turned to Rosie. “What did you think about Mrs. Grant’s story of falling in the creek? Could the water have caused her Miracle?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cam said. “If the creek caused Miracles, everyone in town would have gotten one by now.”
“Maybe it was a special time of night or a certain day or a specific part of the creek. It’s worth looking into,” Rosie said, but she couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. She didn’t remember anyone else falling in the water before their Miracle.
None of the interviews she’d done so far had proven a thing. Solving this mystery was starting to feel impossible, almost as impossible as getting her father to Glimmer Creek. She checked her e-mail every morning and after school every day and before bed every night, but Michael still hadn’t responded. Five days and counting. She clutched her camcorder bag, nails digging into the strap. Maybe he would never e-mail back.
Cam glanced down at her watch and clapped a hand to her forehead. “Dang it! It’s already seven thirty. We’ve missed half the town meeting.”
“So?” Rosie asked.
“I told you I needed to be on time. I’m helping with the doughnut fund-raiser for Student Council. I’m supposed to talk about the different flavors,” Cam said.
Rosie clenched her jaw. Cam had mentioned the doughnut fund-raiser no less than ten times since yesterday. The fund-raiser wasn’t something just anyone could sign up for. You had to get invited to help by one of the eighth graders on the Student Council. Rosie didn’t blame Cam for being excited. It did look pretty fun—selling doughnuts with a group of the cutest guys in school outside Hardaway Market. But Cam didn’t have to talk about it every five minutes.
“I’m sure someone else can talk about the flavors,” Rosie said.
“But Leila asked me to do it,” Cam said, drumming her fingers against her leg.
“They always save announcements till the end. I bet we can still make it,” Henry added.
Though they ran all the way there, Rosie, Cam, and Henry burst through the double doors of the Glimmer Creek Community Center right as Leila and four of her friends finished up their announcement. Cam’s head drooped, and she heave
d out a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” Rosie whispered.
Cam shook her head and leaned against the wall, staring straight ahead. Rosie flinched at the disappointed look on Cam’s face, though she couldn’t help wondering why a fund-raiser announcement seemed more important to Cam than helping Rosie.
The community center was crammed full of people, same as every town meeting. Mama called it sardines in a can, and it felt that way now. The din of the room rose as Leila sat down. Cam, Henry, and Rosie stood against the back wall. Despite the crowd, Cam managed to put a few feet between herself and Rosie.
“Are there any more announcements?” Mayor Grant asked from the front podium.
Marvin Blandstone’s hand shot into the air before he leapt to his feet. “I’ve got an important announcement. When you go outside this evening, I want you to notice the particular brightness of the moon. There’s a reason for that. I’ve been reading on the interwebs all week and the moon is … not real.” Mr. Blandstone’s face was turning purple, and he was waving his hands around in a frantic circle.
Cam cleared her throat and looked sideways at Rosie. Rosie rolled her eyes, and a corner of Cam’s mouth tipped up in a smile. Talking without really talking, that was something Cam and Rosie had perfected. Rosie grinned back, her legs loosening, and she felt instantly better.
“I was shocked too,” Mr. Blandstone continued. “But there’s a high probability the moon is a hologram projected by an unknown source here on earth. I am no longer willing to sit by—”
“Thank you, Mr. Blandstone,” Mayor Grant interrupted.
Mr. Willis stood up from the second row. He grabbed the bowler hat off his head. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to talk to you about a new exhibit at the Museum of Extraordinary Artifacts. The mayor has been gracious enough to allow me to peruse Lonnie Garrett’s journal, which was found down in the Fishing Well with his—his—”
“His dead body,” Arthur Blue called out.
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