We Hold These Truths

by Andrew Clements

  Ben went on, “So . . . what did Wally say to you?”

  Robert looked down and shrugged. “Just a bunch of garbage. He said I should team up with him—can you believe that? He said Lyman didn’t really trust him. And he said—” Gerritt stopped, and then looked Ben straight in the eye again. “He . . . he said Lyman doesn’t really trust him—the same way that you and Jill don’t really trust me.”

  Ben’s mouth dropped open. “He said that? What a creep! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! I mean . . . you know how crazy that is, right?”

  “Oh . . . yeah—of course!” said Gerritt. “Completely nuts!”

  But Ben heard the pause, a tiny fraction of a second. Because Wally’s attack had hit a weak spot.

  Ben didn’t break eye contact. “Listen, Robert. That is total junk. I mean, you’re . . . you’re like my brother—really. And if it wasn’t for you? Me and Jill—we’d be sunk most of the time! And I also heard what you yelled at Wally, and you were right—that idiot doesn’t know anything!”

  Robert smiled a little. “Your brother, huh?”

  “Yeah,” said Ben, “who I would trust with my life—my smarter, grumpier, incredibly annoying little brother!”

  Gerritt laughed and acted like he was going to whack Ben’s arm again, but held up at the last second.

  “Hey, monkey boys!”

  It was Jill, yelling at them from the front corner of the school and waving Robert’s book bag. “You gonna hang around outside all day or what?”

  Gerritt took off after her, and Ben followed. When they rounded the corner, Jill was gone and Robert’s backpack was sitting on the steps by the front door. They both started to dig for their hall passes, but Mrs. Hendon waved from the office window and buzzed them in just as the first entry bell clanged.

  Ben followed Gerritt into the front hall, and immediately their mood changed. It was time to get back to business.

  Ugh.

  It felt at least ten degrees hotter inside the school. He wanted to turn around and go right back out the door. But this building was the battlefield, and they were just going to have to deal with the heat.

  Ben pointed to his right. “I’m heading for homeroom—you going that way?”

  “Yeah,” Robert said, “I’ve got to take a book to the library.”

  They started walking, and Ben could tell that the tension between them was gone now. It felt good.

  Just past the nurse’s office, Ben stopped and stared up at the old map of colonial Edgeport. Robert stopped too.

  After about ten seconds, Gerritt said, “Nice try, Pratt, but there are no stars on that thing. I gotta get to the library or I’ll be late for homeroom.” He walked away, but Ben stayed put.

  Gerritt had guessed right—Ben was looking for stars. This seemed as good a place as any to start solving the final clue. And he stood there until the homeroom warning bell ran, studying every square inch of the large drawing.

  But Robert had been correct—annoyingly correct. There wasn’t a single star to be seen.

  So . . . does being that smart mean he can actually see that much faster?

  Ben shrugged. Nothing about Gerritt surprised him anymore.

  Trudging past the library and then turning south, Ben realized that he’d have a view of the demolition tractor from the windows of the art room. Not a happy thought, so he aimed his mind back to the problem at hand.

  After one still star, horizons afar. . . .

  The heat, the humidity, and the feeling that time was running out—it was a bad combination. This was their last full day of school, they had one clue left to solve, and even if they solved it and found that final safeguard, there was no way to know if it would be enough to save the school.

  And the harbor.

  And the town.

  Ben had studied some of history’s great battles, and the winning side usually had plenty of resources, capable leaders, and a strong plan of attack.

  Resources?

  Yes, they had good communications, loads of money, and a full team of intelligence agents and allies—inside and outside the school.

  Capable leaders?

  Yes . . . mostly. He and Jill and Gerritt had proven that they could solve problems and react quickly to changing conditions.

  A strong plan of attack?

  No. Not today.

  And that was the problem.

  Because wandering around a big old building, looking for something about a star? That wasn’t the kind of plan that would win a battle.

  Really, it wasn’t a plan at all.

  CHAPTER 15

  Tug-of-War

  Ben didn’t look out the south-facing windows during homeroom. But all the other kids did.

  “Cool! Check out the jaws on that thing!”

  “I bet it’s gonna rip this place down in ten minutes!”

  “Yeah, me an’ Tommy climbed all over it last night—even inside the control cab!”

  “Seriously, that thing rules!”

  All the tall windows in the art room were wide open, but the heat was still awful. At eight o’clock it was already close to eighty-five degrees—probably even hotter up on the second and third floors.

  A text buzzed his phone . . . from Gerritt, and it had also been sent to Jill:

  After one still star . . . that might be the north star, right?

  It was a good idea . . . smart, as usual. Not that it was going to make the search any easier. But Ben replied to both Gerritt and Jill.

  Yeah, good point.

  Anybody spotted L or W?

  Jill replied:

  L n W in auditorium—putting up risers for concert tonite

  BTW, I gave a new phone to old #5—now #9.

  Then Gerritt added:

  Also BTW, I txtd a joke to W on old #5 phone, then blocked all future calls from him, which everybody should do—go to Settings, Block Contact—spread the word!

  Gerritt texted a joke to Wally? Ben couldn’t resist.

  What was the joke?

  Gerritt wrote:

  It went back and forth, me first—

  Knock, knock.

  Who’s there?

  Wally.

  Wally who?

  Wally who ain’t so bright!

  —L8r

  Ben smiled as he put his phone away. Texting with Gerritt was a lot more fun than being in the same room with him.

  The bell clanged for morning announcements, and after a fourth grader led the Pledge, Mr. Telmer took over on the intercom, all business.

  “This is an important piece of news, so please pay careful attention. Because of the extreme heat and humidity in the weather forecast, I have instructed the staff to move all regular classes outdoors onto the school grounds today. Lunches will be in the cafeteria as usual, and we’ll follow the normal bell schedule. I’m sure this is going to cause some problems, but it still seems like the best plan under these circumstances. Also, the school nurse is reminding all of us to drink plenty of water, to keep out of direct sunlight, and to avoid extra exercise. Since the auditorium has air conditioning, the after-school rehearsal for tonight’s concert will go ahead as planned, and so will the concert. Thank you, and please have a safe and happy next-to-last day of school.”

  For half a second, Ben thought, Yay! Total goof-off day!

  Then he remembered.

  He and Jill and Robert really needed to be inside—it was now or never.

  His phone buzzed—a text from Jill.

  I’m on it

  Huh?

  But before he could reply to her, Ms. Wilton clapped her hands twice and said, “Listen up—all of my first-period art kids, come to the back of the room.”

  Three minutes later, as Ms. Wilton was loading him up with an armful of sketch pads to carry outside, Ben was surprised to see Jill walk in. She came straight to the art teacher and handed her a note.

  Ms. Wilton read it, then reached over and took the stack of paper away from Ben.

  “Sorry,
” she said, “you have to go work in the library.”

  By the time they were out in the hallway, Ben had put it together.

  “You’ve got Hinman for homeroom!”

  “Correct-o-matic, Mr. Pratt. And her note just asked the art lady if you could go work on a special project this period.”

  “Gerritt?”

  “Same deal, except Mrs. Burmeister wanted him to stay and sit outside under a tree and actually work on math problems. But he won that argument.”

  Gerritt won an argument with the Mathmeister?

  Ben was impressed.

  Walking through the empty hallway with Jill, turning the corner toward the library, and then following her over to the alcove on the east wall—everything felt so familiar, so right. This was where they’d found the codicil hidden under the bench . . . and there was the silver chronometer in its glass case on the wall, both hands pointing straight down—five bells. Ben couldn’t believe that had happened less than a month ago . . . one month!

  Time had been flying, zooming by incredibly fast!

  He sat down on the bench and suddenly felt a little dizzy. He gripped the edge of the table in front of him with both hands.

  That feeling he’d had lying on the grass yesterday afternoon, that feeling of now? It slammed into his head again, much stronger this time, a total certainty that NOW was so completely important.

  At the same moment, he got a strong feeling that this particular now would never, ever come again.

  Which wasn’t really a sad feeling—it made him feel . . . free.

  Yeah, free, because . . .

  “Benjamin . . .” Jill was looking into his face, concerned.

  “What . . . what’s the matter?” he asked.

  That’s what he said out loud.

  But he thought, Have her eyes always been blue like that?

  She said, “You had a really weird look on your face—are you okay?”

  He smiled and felt a blush start to creep up his neck. “Yeah . . . I’m totally okay.”

  And as the sounds came out of his mouth, he realized they just might be the truest words he had ever spoken.

  But before he had a chance to enjoy the moment, Robert thumped his backpack onto the table and said, “Move over, Pratt, and prepare to be amazed.”

  They both looked at him.

  Robert said, “Here’s a crucial question: Who do you think is the smartest, the best informed, the brightest, the sharpest person in the whole school—other than me, I mean. Think hard, sir and madam. Because I think we have been missing out on a key ingredient, a vital ally and advisor, and this is a situation we need to fix. Immediately. Can you figure it out—the next-smartest individual in the whole school?”

  Ben grinned. “You mean Lyman, right?”

  That got him a dirty look.

  “Guess again, wise guy.”

  But Ben didn’t have to guess. He just looked at Jill.

  From the expression on her face, it was clear that she knew, and all he had to do was follow her eyes.

  Then he knew too.

  And he remembered what every teacher since second grade had told him every time he had to do a book report, every time he had to finish a project, every time he needed to figure something out: If you get stuck, you can always ask the librarian for help.

  Ben said, “Gerritt, I’m going to say this out loud only this one time, so you’d better enjoy it: You are a total genius!”

  Gerritt smiled. “Yeah, I know. Let’s go!”

  Jill didn’t move.

  She frowned and said, “Um . . . I mean, I agree that Mrs. Sinclair’s smart and everything, and she’s been here at the school a long time—she might know some stuff that could help. But have you seen the plans for the library at the new school? It’s pretty amazing, and I think she’s really looking forward to the change. I’m not sure if we should tell her everything, unless we have to.”

  Robert shrugged. “Suit yourself—just an idea I had.”

  It was plain he was only pretending not to care.

  Then with a flash of anger, he added, “And, as usual, you agree with her—right, Pratt?”

  Ben almost lost it.

  First of all, what about the talk they’d had less than half an hour ago, about trusting each other, about being like brothers? Had he forgotten that?

  And secondly, he’d been in this spot too many times. Ben wanted to shout at Robert—really, at both of them: Why does everything have to turn into a stupid tug-of-war—and how come I always end up feeling like the rope?

  And he thought, No, I am not doing this anymore!

  Then, just as quickly, Ben knew that he did have to do this.

  He did have to keep the peace, and keep everyone working together, and keep the whole effort moving forward. That was his job.

  He took a deep breath and said, “You’re both right. We do need all the help we can get, and Mrs. Sinclair might have some ideas—but she also might have strong feelings about moving on to the new school. So let’s try Jill’s way first—hold back the full story and see if we can get good information anyway.”

  Ben looked at each of them. “Okay?”

  Neither liked his answer much, but Ben didn’t care. Making them happy wasn’t his job. His job was to try to save the school. And the harbor. And the town.

  They each gave him a reluctant nod.

  “Good. And, Jill, since it’s your idea to start off cautiously, you do the talking.”

  “Fine,” said Gerritt. “I’ll just wait here.” He pulled out his iPad and flipped open the cover.

  Again, Ben nearly snapped. But he didn’t.

  “Sounds good, Gerritt—thanks.”

  And for that kind word, Robert gave him another incredibly annoying shrug.

  But Ben didn’t react. He got up and followed Jill toward the librarian’s desk.

  CHAPTER 16

  The View from Above

  Ben stood beside Jill at the front desk of the library.

  So . . . was Jill feeling the same pressure he was? Because he felt like they really needed to show Gerritt that she could get something useful out of the librarian without telling her about the Keepers. Even though he’d meant that compliment about Gerritt being a total genius, and even though he truly liked and respected him, somebody still had to show the guy that he wasn’t the absolute king of the universe . . . right?

  Mrs. Sinclair looked up at them and smiled.

  “May I help you with something?”

  Jill said, “Well, I know this is kind of random, but can you think of anything around the school that has to do with stars?”

  The librarian nodded. “There are quite a few books on . . .”

  Jill shook her head. “No, I’m looking for something that might be part of the school building itself, like a carving on a bookcase or a door somewhere . . . or maybe a design you saw somewhere, something shaped like a star on the floor, or a wall . . . a ceiling somewhere . . . even on a doorknob. . . .”

  Jill’s voice trailed off, and Ben saw her start to blush, saw her realize that Mrs. Sinclair must be thinking how crazy she sounded.

  But if the librarian was thinking that, she didn’t show it.

  “Hmm . . . let me think . . . something to do with stars. . . . No, I can’t really picture anything like that. Can you be a little more specific?”

  “Well, if there was something somewhere, it would have to be really old, something as old as Captain Oakes himself, something . . . about a star.”

  Again Jill looked embarrassed, but a thought lit up the librarian’s face.

  “Oh! I think I have something for you—this way!”

  She turned left and walked briskly toward the east wall of library, then stopped just to the left of the alcove—very close to where Gerritt was sitting. He was still staring at his iPad, pretending not to notice them.

  Mrs. Sinclair stopped and pointed. “There!”

  Jill looked confused, and did Ben too. She was pointing at the
big unabridged dictionary. It was lying open in front of her on its own sturdy little stand.

  “The dictionary?” said Jill. “I don’t see what—”

  “No, not the book.” Mrs. Sinclair said, and she quickly picked it up and set it on a shelf to the right. The dictionary had completely covered the thick glass top of a display case.

  “See that?” she said, pointing into the case. “It’s a navigation instrument called a sextant, and it was used by Captain Oakes. There aren’t any star shapes here, or at least I don’t think there are. But that telescope tube on top? I believe that was aimed at a star or sometimes at a planet. And after sighting the star, a navigator could adjust the tool and then read information from it to figure out a ship’s location.”

  Two girls came into the library, each with a big stack of books. Mrs. Sinclair glanced at them and said, “I have to get back to the desk, but I hope this is useful.”

  Jill smiled and said, “Thanks—it might be just what we need.”

  Ben was pretty sure it wasn’t. Still, the thing was interesting—and beautifully made. It was solid brass with hardly a speck of tarnish, nestled inside a wooden box lined with purple cloth. He had seen modern sextants on display at the Clearwater Sailing Club, but even the newer ones were like antiques now. They weren’t used much for navigation or location-fixing anymore—not since radio waves and satellite signals had solved those problems.

  Jill grabbed his wrist, and the suddenness gave him a jolt.

  She pointed, and whispered, “Read!”

  Ben spotted the inscription. It was on a brass panel attached inside the lid of the box.

  SEXTANT MADE BY JESSE RAMSDEN,

  LONDON, 1763

  WITH THIS INSTRUMENT AND ONE STILL STAR,

  I SAFELY GUIDED MY SHIP

  ACROSS THE ATLANTIC OCEAN SIXTEEN TIMES.

  ONCE KEPT UNDER LOCK AND KEY IN MY CABIN,

  NOW THAT I HAVE COME HOME FROM THE SEA,

  IT RESTS HERE AS A REMINDER TO EACH CHILD:

  SET A TRUE COURSE,

  AND THEN CLIMB ALOFT AND KEEP A SHARP LOOKOUT.

  DUNCAN OAKES, APRIL 12, 1791

  One still star—the same words from the last clue! No way could that be a coincidence!