“Seriously?”
Harriet swooped her arm across the empty library. “It isn’t exactly bustling in here, Abby. They thought we didn’t need two librarians.”
I suddenly missed Josiah. I almost had an urge to go pick up Abraham Lincoln: A History of America’s Greatest Leader.
Instead, I found a fantasy book I’d read a million times and curled up in my favorite beanbag chair by the huge window. Thunderstorm outside, just me and Harriet inside, and a book about a princess, a quest, and spaceships—yeah. It felt right, that instant click you get when you’re doing exactly what you want to be doing. There were no money problems in this particular galaxy.
Whenever I read fantasy, I made sure not to let it influence Planet Pirates too much. It might seem stupid, fine, but I was still holding on to some kind of weird hope that one day we’d get discovered and Planet Pirates would be huge. We’d make it big, me and Blair, and we could tour the country. Our stories, of Captain Moonbeard and Princess Stardust, would be read by millions of people and they’d make movies out of them, like Star Wars, where people would wait in line at midnight. So I didn’t want to accidentally plagiarize, or even make things too similar. I was trying to be original.
I had shown Sophie some of our drawings once and she had gotten all excited, saying we needed to mail them off to a fancy publisher. I couldn’t help it—I had started daydreaming. Spending most of my life writing alongside Blair sounded like a pretty good plan. So, sure, sometimes I thought about what it would be like to slide our creation into an envelope and mail it to New York. To get a phone call saying we were going to be famous authors and Marvel wanted to make Planet Pirates into a movie.
It was dumb. I knew that. But you can’t help your head from dreaming. Wishes aren’t a faucet you can just turn off.
Anyway, we’d probably never work on Planet Pirates again. Blair couldn’t draw when her hands were so shaky.
I stayed in the library for a while—one hour, two hours, three hours—until Mom texted me that they were on their way back from visiting Blair and that she wanted me home when they got there. I checked out the book and a few others, waving goodbye to Harriet as I left.
When Mom and Dad arrived, I could tell that there’d been an Issue. My mom’s ponytail was all frazzled and my dad’s jaw was clenched. Jade had to leave for the movie theater. Dad went to check how the new door at Eagle’s Nest was holding up and Mom practically fell onto the couch.
“We need food,” said Mom. “Pizza or Chinese?”
“Pizza,” I said. How’s Blair? It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t ask it. I wanted to pretend they’d been somewhere else all day. Or maybe visiting Blair at the Joffrey, not Harvest Hills.
She pulled out her phone to order pizza from the delivery app. “What did you do today?”
“Nothing. Library.” How’s Blair? How’s Blair? How’s Blair?
“Pepperoni or sausage? Both?”
“Whatever, Mom. I don’t care,” I snapped.
“Geez, Abby, cut me some slack. I’m just trying to feed you here. I had a long, crappy day. Go easy on me.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Mom typed for a minute more, then set the phone down and put a hand over her eyes. We sat in silence.
“We’re trying to figure out a transition plan,” she said. “For when Blair comes home. What she’ll do all year. She was supposed to be at—well, college. Or something.” She was supposed to be at the Joffrey. We had all thought so. We thought we’d be picking out hotels in New York City, not figuring out transition plans.
“Is she going to live here?”
“Of course,” said Mom. “Of course. This is her home. But there are so many things to be considered. Therapy. Breaking habits. What she’ll do for work . . . if she can work. She can’t sit around here all day. She’ll go crazy.”
“Well, she’ll have ballet,” I said. “That’ll fill a lot of her time. Right?”
Mom took her hand off her eyes and stared at me like I had just suggested she take up unicorn training. “Abby. Blair’s done with ballet.”
Done? That was like saying the Earth was done spinning. Blair was made to dance.
Destiny, she’d said, placing her feet in her arch stretcher that looked like a torture device, not even wincing. It’s my destiny.
“We’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry,” said Mom. “We’ve got this. Hey. You okay?”
I stood up and yawned. “Tired.”
“Go lie down until the pizza’s here. This weather makes everyone sleepy.”
The rain didn’t let up. Every day there was more and more, leaving Dad running around patching leaks and Mom trying to find things for tourists to do inside, like the Moose Junction History Museum. Woohoo, come on in and see the largest musky ever caught in Fishtrap Lake! The gloves that might have belonged to the first settler who stumbled upon Musky River! Not exactly earth-shattering stuff, but Dad always said Mom could sell honey to bees. The only people who were happy were the fishermen, who insisted pike always bit more when it rained.
I went to the library most days, working my way through the fantasy series and gossiping with Harriet. I read and read and read; it was too cloudy to even use my telescope.
But I also kept scrolling through Sophie’s and Lex’s Instagram feeds. I couldn’t stop. Scroll. The two of them in rain jackets, standing in a puddle and laughing. Scroll. A bunch of girls from school, lying in sleeping bags and sticking their tongues out. Scroll. Sophie and Lex sharing a bucket of popcorn at the movie theater, where Jade said she’d seen them a few times. Those guys couldn’t do anything without making sure everyone knew how much fun they were having. Scroll.
Later that week, I was helping Harriet put together a display for the library on books about space. As the eclipse got closer and closer, you could feel the energy in the air. The town was starting to get packed, even with the rain. A couple of national news stations had already arrived, ready to see the eclipse in all its glory. Harriet and I pulled books on everything from space fantasy to Carl Sagan to my very own Katherine Johnson. I put out Goodnight Moon and Number the Stars and the Twilight series, too.
I was standing back to admire our handiwork when I heard the door open behind me. I couldn’t believe who I saw.
It was Dr. Leo Lacamoire himself, in a thick green raincoat with the hood up. It looked kind of ridiculous, to see such a stuffy guy in a raincoat with his hood pulled up, as if a hurricane was fast approaching and it was his job to report it.
“Hi there,” said Harriet. “Can I help you find something today?”
Dr. Lacamoire stared at me as if he was sure he knew me from somewhere, but wasn’t sure where.
“Hi, Dr. Lacamoire. It’s me—Abby McCourt?” I reminded him. “I came over about the raccoon!”
He shook his head. “Yes! Yes. Of course. Hello.”
We all stood there awkwardly. He glanced around, not moving.
“Um . . . sir? Can I help you find something?” Harriet repeated. “Something to cozy up with on this rainy day? Weatherman’s finally predicting clear skies for tomorrow; thank goodness.”
“No.” He blinked. “Actually—what am I saying? Yes. I’m looking for archives of the local newspaper.”
Harriet shook her head. “We don’t have a newspaper in Moose Junction. Not much happens here. Waukegan County has a website, though, and they used to have a paper. Waukegan Weekly. All of the issues are archived online. I can give you the library’s login if you’d like, and you can peruse on there.”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.” That accent again, and words like lovely. He was about as out of place in Moose Junction as a vegetarian. I mean, no offense to plant eaters, but when you live in a town where people mainly come to kill things and eat them, you just sort of stick out. We consider jerky a food group.
“I’ll get it for you,” said Harriet, walking to her computer.
“Nice display,” Dr. Lacamoire said, nodding toward
the books. He picked up the one on Katherine Johnson and flipped through it.
“I did my oral report on her last year,” I said. “She’s kinda my hero.”
He cracked a smile. “Really? Not Sally Ride? First woman in space, you know.”
“Valentina Tereshkova was the first woman in space,” I said, shaking my head. “Sally Ride was just American.”
He laughed, in kind of a weird way—like a seal barking. “Well, you Americans usually claim everything you do as first, don’t you?”
“Besides,” I said. “Sally Ride couldn’t have made it up there if Katherine Johnson hadn’t done the math.”
“But you want to sit behind a desk when you could be exploring the stars?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
Sure. I was perfectly content behind a desk.
Most of the time.
“I can be up for adventure,” I said. “But Katherine Johnson found the answers. She was like . . . a detective. She could find anything.”
Dr. Lacamoire just looked at me, as if he were making some kind of decision in that very second. I just wasn’t sure, standing there in the Moose Junction library, what exactly it was. I didn’t know that Dr. Leo Lacamoire was looking for something, desperate to find it, on a quest of his very own—
No. I didn’t know any of that, not then. All I knew was that this guy was quite possibly out of his mind.
“Anything,” he repeated.
That anything said a million things.
“Well, I should—I should get going,” I said, inching toward the door.
“See you later, Abby,” said Harriet, handing Dr. Lacamoire an index card with a login code on it. “Stay dry.”
I ducked out the door and ran home, both because Jade had stolen the only umbrella we had and because I had the creepy-crawly feeling that the mysterious astronomer was watching me go.
That night, as Dr. Leo Lacamoire sat on the computer and pulled up archives, digging for a single photograph in a mountain of history, looking for things that were long ago lost, I helped Dad make dinner. I was just starting to set the table when the doorbell rang.
“Got it,” yelled Mom, emerging from upstairs. “Man, that smells good, you two.”
“Fried chicken is a gift from the Lord,” said Dad, washing his hands. “We’re unworthy.” When Mom cooked, everything was perfectly measured: a teaspoon of this, half a cup of that. She wouldn’t dare make dinner without a cookbook splayed open on the counter. Dad liked to crank up the Beatles and do dashes and sprinkles and handfuls; most of the time, we didn’t even use recipes. Blair hated it. She’d ask him how much butter was in something and he’d say “a chunk.”
Mom pulled open the door. Standing there, absolutely drenched, was Simone.
“Oh, gosh! Get in here, out of the rain,” said Mom as Simone stepped in, shivering.
“Thank you. I’m sorry to intrude. Looks like you’re about to eat,” said Simone.
“Not a problem,” Mom assured her. “Is there something I can help you with? Usually we ask guests to call the office if there’s an issue. . . .” Mom had a cell phone that got office calls when nobody was manning the station.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I would have. But I actually came to talk to your daughter,” she said, nodding toward me. “Abby, right?”
Mom and Dad turned to me, surprised.
“My boss—Dr. Lacamoire? I know you’ve met, but not sure if you knew—he’s pretty well known in his field. He’s considered an expert in our solar system. He teaches at MIT.”
MIT! The Massachusetts Institute of Technology was my dream of dreams. I couldn’t imagine spending my entire day learning about the stars. It was pretty far away, but like I said earlier—the heart hopes. You can’t stop it.
Whenever I felt a jolt of hope, though, I tried to stamp it back down. I’d seen what hope did to people. I’d seen Blair and the Joffrey collide. I’d seen beautiful things turn so ugly. Hope was Paris Forrester, a girl from elementary school who would smile sweetly so all the teachers liked her before making fun of them behind their backs. Hope looked like the hero of the story but it was usually the villain.
“Well, he’d heard that Abby had an interest in astronomy,” said Simone. “Said he ran into you at the library? He was wondering if she’d like to join us for dinner tomorrow night. Whole family is invited, of course. Not to brag, but I can cook a mean lasagna. Do you like Italian? We’d love to have you.”
I remembered all those telescopes in his lookout.
“Yes!” I said instantly. “Can we?”
“That’s very kind of Dr. Lacamoire,” said Mom. “We would be honored.”
“I also wanted to thank you for dealing with the raccoon issue so quickly. I know I came off a bit intense. Working for a scientist is something else,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to make more work for you.”
“No worries at all. Nobody wants an animal sneaking through their door at night. But dinner would be great,” Dad said. “I actually have an interest in astronomy myself. Taught Abby everything she knows,” he said, tugging on my ponytail.
“Great. Seven o’clock okay for you?” asked Simone. I nodded.
“I’ll see you all tomorrow, then,” she said. “I should get back.”
As Simone ran out into the rain, Mom turned and stared at me. “Wow! That’s pretty exciting, Abby. How generous of him.”
I nodded again, and tried to calm the storm of thoughts running through my head. I tried to tie down that anticipation, that hope that was trying to fly like a bird. That wish for Dr. Leo Lacamoire and that lookout of telescopes to be my Summer Adventure, no matter how quirky he seemed. I didn’t know when, and I didn’t know how, but I wanted to be back in that lookout with those telescopes. Goodbye, Katherine Johnson; hello, Sally Ride. I wanted to observe the galaxy and see something beautiful—something other than pine trees and sisters who were sick.
But I clipped hope’s wings. People say hope like it’s a good thing, but they’re kidding themselves. Hope is the monster that hides under your bed. It’s the flame that burns down the house while you’re sleeping.
5
LAST APRIL
Twelve years old
Sixteen weeks before Simone showed up on our doorstep and invited me to dinner, Dr. Leo Lacamoire was in a deep hole. He was lying on his couch, unable to do anything worthwhile. He hadn’t yet moved on to the action part of his plan; he was still in the never-ending sorrow part. He was eating a lot of fake orange snack foods—the foods of depression: Cheetos, Cheez-Its, cheddar-flavored potato chips. Foods you eat when you just don’t care anymore.
It was the beginning of spring, and Waukegan County High was getting ready for senior prom. Blair was homeschooled and didn’t do many of the typical high school things. Jade did enough for both of them. Blair was too busy for football games and homecoming parades and prom. She had a career she was preparing for. Her only friends were her dance mates, and she talked about them more like colleagues than soul sisters. They weren’t exactly having sleepovers or doing BuzzFeed quizzes together. The only thing they probably shared was mutual judgment of each other for things like bending your knees during arabesques.
But Caleb Evers had asked her to the dance with a dozen red roses, and even my sister couldn’t say no to that.
It was called homeschooling, but it wasn’t like Mom sat Blair down and taught her precalculus or anything. Blair would just Skype with some woman named Sasha in Madison and go through tons of workbooks on her own. Mostly, she danced, even though after the Joffrey Incident, we weren’t sure what her next steps were. She wouldn’t be going to New York in the fall, like we’d all been planning. However, her coach, Aleksander, had enrolled her in a competition in July that could put her in front of some company eyes.
Mom hated Aleksander. I was surprised she didn’t have a dartboard somewhere in the house with his picture pinned to it. She purposely wrote Blair’s checks out to Alexander instead, her one small act of rebellion.
I cheered silently every time she did it. I wasn’t a fan of Aleksander, either; he was loud and kind of mean. He thought Blair didn’t live up to her potential.
Things were bad. The Joffrey Incident had made them worse. We didn’t know how bad, but if you stepped into our house, you could feel that everyone was tiptoeing around silently hoping everything would get better soon. Blair had started going to a small group for girls with “anxiety issues” on Tuesday nights. You’re too stressed, I’d heard Mom say as they argued down in the kitchen one night. It will help. But I wasn’t so sure it did. Blair hated it, coming home in a terrible mood and slamming her bedroom door so loud it made Obi jump. Every single mealtime was some kind of argument about ingredients and portion sizes and whether or not Mom had bought the low-calorie orange juice. One morning, Blair had woken up to find her scale gone, and she shrieked so loudly I thought the pine needles would fall from the trees. Mom and Dad hadn’t fessed up to it, but I found it later that day, shoved at the bottom of the garbage can, broken into a million pieces. Every day was a new war.
On a Tuesday night when Blair was gone, the doorbell rang, and I was the only one home to answer it. Standing there was Caleb Evers, who—look, I’ll just say it. If you weren’t a little bit in love with Caleb Evers, you were blind. He was tall and muscley, but not in a weird protein-shake way, with brown hair that flopped in his eyes a little bit, especially when he played drums. He probably helped little old ladies cross the street in his free time. Basically, he belonged in a movie. Definitely leading man material.
Caleb was in love with Blair, and that meant so much to me. Because it was getting harder and harder lately to see why Blair was so special. Memories of when she was my best friend were slipping away. The old, fearless Blair was being replaced with a crying, scared mess. Spending time with someone else who loved her reminded me. People who remembered that spark of life she brought into a room, and people who knew how kind and silly and adventurous she could be—those were the people I wanted her surrounded by. Not Aleksander and his critical glare, always measuring the arch of her feet and the height of her jump.
What Happens Next Page 4
