by Will Taylor
“Mama, Lyric and Caleb’s daughter is seventeen years old and studying theoretical mathematics at MIT!” Helene yelled. “She is not this young, she does not have an American accent, and she is not standing here in this room!” She turned and grabbed me by the shoulders. “You, child, how did you get here? How how how?”
“Hey!” I said, pulling myself free. Grown-ups or not, these two were not going to treat me like a toddler. “My name is Abby, not child. And I got here through . . .”
I hesitated. How much should I tell them? Antonia had never asked, so she didn’t know I’d gotten to the island by following in Captain Emily’s footsteps. They would understand the loop just fine, but the part I couldn’t explain to them was the key. Not without saying where I got it and spilling the beans on the whole pillow fort situation. Who knew how this Helene lady would react to that? Given how messy things were getting, it was probably safer keeping my facts vague.
“I got here through a door,” I said. “My best friend and I opened this old door in the treehouse at our summer camp, and I fell through it. I ended up stuck under this boxy piece of furniture, and then I went through some sort of panel and was suddenly standing in the sun on that big stump.” I waved a hand overhead, then looked at Antonia. I couldn’t help myself. “Just like I’d grown there.”
Antonia seized her daughter’s arm, and the two women stood faced, united in shock.
“And . . . and where is your summer camp located?” asked Helene.
“On Orcas Island. That’s on the west coast of the US, kinda near the Canadian border.”
“That proves it!” Helene gasped. “Mama, if she got in through that door, and the other castaway got in through the wardrobe . . . One outsider finding their way here might have been an accident, but two in three days cannot be coincidence. Something has happened out in the world.”
Hang on. The other castaway? Someone else had arrived here like me?
Antonia was looking from Helene to me and back again, her eyes as wide as Ariadne’s floofy hat. It must have been a real shock to discover the person she’d just made homemade Cheerios with and allowed to wander around her home was actually a total outsider.
And speaking of Ariadne, my first island friend picked that moment to bounce into sight around the end of the counter, spot the open door, and bobble toward it, clucking happily. The three of us watched her pass. I had a sudden urge to follow on after her and leave all this chaos behind. I mean, yay for more people, but my goal was to get home, and this whole situation was starting to feel like one of Maggie’s more ridiculous adventure games.
“There will have to be a meeting, dear,” Antonia said, yanking me back into the moment. “Bring some of the others up tonight, and we will talk.”
Helene was shaking her head. “No, this calls for more than a meeting. This will require a party.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“It cannot be that serious. Nothing has really changed.”
“Everything has changed!”
“Well, I won’t let it!”
My head was pinging back and forth like I was watching a badminton match.
“Mama, hush,” said Helene. “I’m bringing the others up whether you like it or not. I expect you and Abby”—she showed off her pointing skills again—“to be at the lagoon in thirty minutes. We will find out what these outsiders know, determine just how they came here, and decide what to do about it, as a group.”
She scooped up her cleaning gear, gave her mother and me a curt nod, and marched back through the door and out of sight.
Antonia stood watching the empty entryway, her eyebrows pinched together, apparently going through some feelings.
“So,” I said, after one long moment became several. It looked like I was getting out of all that dusting and cleaning, which was cool, but I really needed some proper answers. “So, everyone who used to live up here, they’re still around? In this Island Underneath place?”
Antonia nodded vaguely. “The ones who left built a new home there. I haven’t visited since Helene moved down too, leaving the Palace behind.” She paused. “And me along with it.”
I didn’t know quite what to say to that. Antonia gave her head a little shake and turned to face me, her eyes sharp and bright again.
“And you knew, Abigail,” she said. “When you told Helene how you arrived, you knew you’d gone through the Last Door, and appeared under the sofa in Versailles, and taken the hidden panel back to the Island Stump. You must have known, after hearing Captain Emily’s story from me. Why didn’t you say so?”
Antonia was putting the pieces together fast. “That’s . . . sort of complicated,” I said.
Antonia grunted and walked back into the Palace, waving a hand for me to follow. We stopped in one of the bedrooms beside a large dresser covered in ceramic tigers.
“It’s simply impossible,” she said. “When Helene informed me about the other castaway, I was shocked, but it made some degree of sense. Then you arriving . . . through that door . . . there’s much more going on than you’re telling me. But it will have to wait.” Antonia yanked open the top dresser drawer, revealing piles of silk shirts, scarves, and blouses. “Right now, we’ve got to find you something to wear to this party.”
Twenty minutes later we were climbing back through the shady coolness of the rocks, past the dozing chickens, and off under the hot sun toward the lagoon. Antonia hadn’t asked me any more questions while we got ready, but she’d also refused to answer any of mine, and I was still trying to understand exactly what sort of party we were heading to.
I mean, there were our outfits, for a start. Antonia had accessorized her already fancy ensemble with a silver sequined cape and white feather hat that made her look more than a little like Ariadne. I was wearing a fitted red velvet jacket over my Camp Cantaloupe T-shirt, a necklace made of giant pink silk roses, and an eighties-style electric green headband Antonia said had once belonged to an Italian duchess. On top of that we were both carrying the most incredible inflatable pool chairs—an old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub for Antonia, and a pink-and-gold teacup and saucer set for me.
“Hey, question,” I said as we walked along. “Is this a, you know, birthday-style party we’re going to, or—”
“It’s a serious party,” Antonia said. “You should remember from the story. Captain Emily and her crew had parties whenever they needed to make big decisions or form important plans. We in the modern crew carry on that tradition.” She glanced back over her silver-sequined shoulder, her feather hat floofing wildly in the wind off the sea. “Dignity and tradition are the most important things.”
“Oh,” I said. “Cool.”
We rounded a clump of tall bushes covered in blue and purple flowers, and there was the Little Lagoon again.
And it was packed.
At least fifty people were floating around on inflatable chairs, rafts, pizza slices, unicorns, cactuses, dragons, even a moose. All of them had on fancy hats, fake wings, capes, bow ties, and crowns. And all of them were belting out what could only be an old-timey pirate sea chantey.
Two wooden rafts were bobbing in the middle of everything, one with a group playing instruments—whistles, a toy xylophone, a tuba—and the other with a bar setup, where two of the crew were pouring out drinks with little paper umbrellas and passing them around to all the other partiers.
It was about as different from the quiet, sleepy lagoon I’d paddled my feet in just a few hours before as it could be.
There was a cheer as Antonia and I reached the shore. Antonia raised a hand and nodded in acknowledgment, which might have looked super regal if she hadn’t been wearing that hat. People were looking my way and talking excitedly to each other. I distinctly heard the phrase “Castaway Number Two!” Some of them waved, and I waved back. This was almost like walking into the Hub last summer.
“Has anyone seen my daughter?” Antonia called over the singing.
A woman in a T. rex costu
me cupped her hands around her mouth. “Over there!” She pointed along the curve of the shore. “Fetching Castaway Number One!”
Antonia and I looked together. Helene was walking toward us, and a man was gaping around behind her. The sunlight bounced off his balding head, white feather boa, and well-worn sweatshirt.
I squinted, my heart kicking up a beat. No. Wait. Was that—?
The man caught sight of me and stopped dead.
I yelled, and the man did the same, and I dropped my floaty and raced for his open arms. I could have cried with relief.
Castaway Number One . . . was Maggie’s uncle Joe.
Thirteen
Maggie
My first morning wake-up call at Camp Cantaloupe came way too early. Loudspeakers shocked eveyone awake blaring military-style trumpet music, then a voice crackled in, ordering us all to “Rise and shine and shine and rise and shine and shine and shiiiiine!” Seriously.
There was a chorus of groans and squeaking bunk springs as the kids around me sat up, yawning. I waited for someone to ask where Abby was, but no one seemed to notice until our cabin counselor clomped in, called for our attention, and grumpily told everyone what had happened the night before.
“You tried to get lost on purpose?” Charlene said, right in front of everyone. “And you broke the Shipwreck Treehouse? What in the world were you thinking?!”
The counselor cut in before I could reply, saying I was in enough trouble already, that Abby would be found soon, and that we all needed to get ready for roll call.
Charlene cornered me while I was tying my shoes, her Safety Monitor sash and Litter Patrol badge looming over my head.
“I can’t believe you talked Abby into doing that,” she hissed. “All you’ve done is ruin everything! And now”—she pointed at our counselor—“I’m supposed to be your buddy for the rest of camp! Do you have any idea how inconvenient that is for me?”
I opened my mouth.
“No, you don’t know,” Charlene continued. “I had plans for this summer too, you know! Big plans! Important plans! And I’ll tell you one thing: if I miss out on them because I’m stuck keeping you out of trouble, I will never, ever, ever forgive you.”
She whirled away and stood tapping her toe as the others filed out of the cabin, then headed for the field, letting me limp after her, my hip and ankle still throbbing from my fall. Ugh. This was going to be a rough, rough day.
I was so down I couldn’t even bring myself to come up with a witty reply when they called “Hetzger, Maggie!” at roll call, and I just answered “Here,” like everyone else. No one but Abby would understand what a bad sign that was.
It got worse when Director Haggis told all the rest of camp what had happened, shouting into his megaphone about how “This incident entirely justifies my new safety campaign!” The stares and grumbles Charlene had gotten the day before were nothing compared to what I was getting now.
Breakfast in the screaming mess hall was awful, especially since Charlene, who was taking her buddy duty very seriously, sat right beside me but refused to say a word. It was almost a relief when Director Haggis summoned me to his office, telling Charlene she could stay and finish her food.
Director Haggis and I took our positions across the desk from each other, just like the night before. The little woodchuck clock read a quarter past nine. The camp director looked very tired.
“How are you?” he said. I blinked, surprised he had asked.
“Okay, I guess. My ankle feels the same. And my hip hurts. And I miss Abby.”
“And we still haven’t found her.” Director Haggis rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We’ve just alerted the local police, and they’re on their way to help us search the woods. We’re not going overboard yet, since you’ve told us she set off deliberately, and with plenty of provisions, but the situation is still very serious. Are you certain you have no idea where she is? Even what direction she might have gone?”
I shook my head. And I was telling the truth. I had no idea where Abby was at all.
And . . . hey, what if she was in real, actual danger? What if the trapdoor had led to a long-lost nuclear submarine, and Abby was miles below the sea, fighting off giant squid attacks? Or what if it led to a secret celebrities-only ski resort on top of a mountain, but she’d fallen down as soon as she went through and was lying in a crevasse with a broken leg while big-time movie stars skied by overhead?
I felt sick. Abby might be all alone and scared, maybe even injured, and here I was feeling sorry for myself safe at camp. I had to get to the Hub tonight. Plan Patchwork had to work. I had to get her back.
“Well, it’s a shame you don’t have any ideas,” Director Haggis continued. “I’m going to have to call Abby Hernandez’s parent or guardian now, Miss Hetzger, and let them know what’s happened. And since you two seem to be so close, and you know more of the—ahem—reasoning behind the events of last night, I’ve asked you here in case they need more explanation than I can provide.”
Wait, what? Director Haggis wanted me to talk to Alex? Did he even know Alex was out of town on his honeymoon? Did he know Abby’s brothers were the only ones home? Maybe he didn’t. A plan began clicking together lightning fast in my brain.
“I’d like that, sir,” I said, doing my best to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Do you think . . .” I had to be careful not to overdo this part. “Do you think I could talk to Abby’s dad first? It could be less of a shock coming from me. From you, it would sound all official, and that might scare him.”
Director Haggis considered me over his desk for a long moment, then nodded. “That will be acceptable. But I’ll need to speak to him after you’re done. There are legal questions to consider here, you know, and I have to look out for the wefare of the camp itself.”
I nodded back, and he handed me the phone on his desk. I dialed.
The phone rang once, twice. . . . “Hullo?” said a sleepy voice. I almost grinned, and caught myself just in time. It was Matt. Or Mark, maybe. Either way, it was one of Abby’s brothers, and it was the first friendly voice I’d heard since she’d disappeared.
“Good morning, Mr. Hernandez,” I said, being sure to keep my tone on the edge of mournful. “This is Maggie Hetzger.”
“Maggie! Hi, it’s Matt!” My stomach filled with a happy sort of glow. Both the twins were awesome, but Matt was my, um, very favorite. “Why are you calling?” he asked. “Aren’t you at summer camp?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I have some news, Mr. Hernandez,” I said. Director Haggis was watching me closely.
“Huh? Why are you calling me that, Maggie? You know Dad’s away on his huh-nee-moooon!”
I almost snorted like Abby. “The thing is, Mr. Hernandez,” I said, pressing on, “Abby and I made some poor decisions and decided to try and get lost in the woods last night. On purpose. It was so we could be rescued by the friendly ghost moose they always talk about here.”
Matt’s voice became serious. “Maggie, what? Is everything okay? Why are you acting like this?”
“Oh, no, not really. I hurt my ankle a little, but the staff are taking very good care of me,” I continued, with a glance at the director. “Only I’m sorry to tell you Abby hasn’t come back from the woods yet, and we can’t find her.”
“What?”
“She had a backpack of supplies with her,” I said quickly. “And she wasn’t going far. And this is an island, so she must be around somewhere. But the director thought we should let you know.”
“Hey, Maggie, hey, hey, hey. I need you to tell me exactly what’s going on here.”
“Yes, they’ve got everyone out looking for her, including the local police. And you know how good Abby is at hiding when she wants to. I am one hundred percent certain she’s okay. After all, she is FORT-ified with courage and planning.” I put a definite emphasis on the key word there. This wasn’t technically a pillow fort matter, but I could at least let Matt know it was related. Then he’d understand why I couldn’t speak
freely.
Matt was silent for a few seconds.
“Does this have anything to do with the pillow fort stuff from last summer?” he said finally. “Is that what this is?”
“YES,” I said, nodding. “I feel the same. Abby certainly does know her way around the camp terrain after exploring it so thoroughly last year. And the staff are taking advantage of this CUSHION of time to resolve this on their own.”
Director Haggis waved a hand and pointed at the phone, then himself. I nodded.
“So it’s pillow forts again,” said Matt. “And Abby’s okay? Do you need us to do anything? Should we build some forts here?”
“No, I think everything will be fine without that, Mr. Hernandez. Director Haggis would like to speak to you now, since YOU are Abby’s DAD. I’m sure she’s fine and will be back soon, and we’ll carry on having a wonderful time at this well-run and very safe camp.”
There was a longish pause, long enough for me to become aware of the shouts and screaming from my fellow campers enjoying the start of their summer. Then Matt blew out a breath. “Okay, Maggie. Okay. You’re her best friend and I know you’d never let anything happen to my sister. I completely trust you.”
It took every ounce of focus in my body not to break into the world’s biggest smile as I handed the phone back across the desk. My cheeks hurt from the effort.
Director Haggis spoke to Matt, who was apparently doing a decent job impersonating his dad, for only a few more minutes. There were lots of reassurances, and promises to keep in touch, and in the end it sounded like Matt was saying he was on his way, but might not make it to the island until late that night at the soonest.
I really hoped he’d worked out that he shouldn’t come at all. Matt was the best, but the last thing I needed was him wandering around Camp Cantaloupe pretending to be his own father. He’d be way too, um, distracting. And with the entire rescue mission depending on me, that was the last thing I needed.
At last Director Haggis put the phone down and sat back in his chair. “Well,” he said. “Thank you with your help with that. Mr. Hernandez seems like quite a calm and reasonable man, for a parent.” He shook his head, his mustache fluttering. “I still can’t understand why you two purposely set out to get lost. And you didn’t even succeed, did you? Well, your friend did. You only succeeded in destroying an irreplaceable piece of camp history.”
