What Happens Next

by Claire Swinarski

  “Back to the seasons of my youth!” Blair and I shrieked. Jade rolled her eyes, but she was grinning.

  “I recall a box of rags that someone gaaaaave us,” sang Mom, snapping her fingers.

  “And how my mama put those rags to use!”

  I had seen a documentary about Dolly Parton once. Mom made me watch it with her, but I actually kind of liked it. She was from Locust Ridge, a town not much smaller than Moose Junction. Even when she was little, everyone knew she was special. They were just waiting for the day she’d make it big.

  She was a blond-haired, long-nailed, southern-drawled version of my sister, really. Blair was too good for Moose Junction, Wisconsin. She would take off one day, leaving us all behind, and charge into some unknown future where people would throw flowers at her feet and beg for her autograph. Something about that made me feel queasy. Mom and Dad were just so proud to be Blair’s parents, beaming as everyone praised her and framing the reviews from Coppélia. Jade acted like she didn’t care at all. But I felt nervous. If Blair left, which she obviously would one day, who would we be, if not her family? Who was I, Abigail Leigh McCourt, if not Blair’s little sister?

  Just as I thought that, Blair threw her arm around me and gave me a loud, ice-cream-filled kiss on the cheek. I shrieked and ripped away. Who was I if not Blair’s little sister? Maybe I would never have to find out.

  13

  AUGUST, PRESENT DAY

  Twelve years old

  The next morning, I swung by the library to see if Harriet had gotten the new Starkeeper book yet. I had barely passed the reference desk when I saw him—Caleb Evers, dropping a couple of books into the return slot.

  I froze, but he looked up and saw me. We just kind of stared at each other for a second, until he awkwardly raised a hand.

  “Hey,” he said.

  My grand plan of evaporating into thin air didn’t seem to be working.

  “Hey,” I said. I pointed at the book he was returning, A Gardener’s Guide to Herbs. “New hobby?”

  He chuckled. “Just running some errands for my mom. Sucking up before I head to La Crosse.” That’s where he was headed to college. One thousand, one hundred and four miles, I’d heard him tell Blair once as they sat on our back porch. La Crosse to New York. Not so far. She hadn’t responded.

  “Soon, right?”

  “Soon,” he said. “A couple of weeks. I’m going to miss this place.”

  “I’d think you couldn’t wait to leave,” I said. Then I felt stupid. Sure, Blair was gone, but his parents were here. His friends. His life. It’s not like he was all alone.

  He gave a half smile. “I should head out.”

  “See ya,” I said, turning around.

  “Um. Abby? Actually . . .”

  I stopped.

  He looked at his shoes. “How’s Blair doing?”

  I felt like we’d been through something, me and Caleb. We’d both loved someone fiercely and let them slip through our fingers.

  But I wished she understood, in her room at Harvest Hills, that this thing? It wasn’t just about her. She may have been the star ballerina, but we were all her backup dancers, perfecting our turns and memorizing our choreography. Anna Rexia had dug her claws into all of us.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I haven’t gone to see her.”

  “You haven’t?” He was surprised. “But . . . you guys are so close.”

  That photo flashed in my mind: me, Blair, and Jade on Halloween. The Sanderson sisters. Are close. Were close.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That would probably be really hard. To go see her someplace she doesn’t belong.”

  I nodded. He understood.

  “Maybe you could write her a letter or something,” he said.

  “Maybe. Mom said she’s doing pretty good. She’ll be home really soon, actually.”

  “That’s . . . that’s good. I—” He inhaled. “Just tell her I said hi. Whenever you see her. Okay?”

  “You could visit her, I bet,” I said lamely. “If you called first.”

  He smiled that Caleb Evers smile, the one that should be in movies. But it didn’t meet his eyes.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. But you tell her hi for me.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “I’ll see you around, Abby.”

  I wanted to ask him if he remembered the popcorn from the movies and the fun we’d had. But he turned and walked away.

  I was about to kneel down and grab the first Starkeeper off the shelf, thinking a little reread could tide me over if Harriet hadn’t ordered the new release yet, when a big blue eye peered at me from the other side of the shelf.

  “Leo!” I said. “You practically gave me a heart attack.”

  “Abigail! What a surprise,” he said loudly before lowering his voice to a whisper. “How was the mission? Successful?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’ll ask, but—no, I just like the library! That’s why I’m here! God. You have got to chill,” I said, shaking my head.

  Leo cleared his throat and beckoned toward Harriet, who was shelving some picture books.

  His expression commanded: Go.

  Crap. Now I was stuck.

  I walked over to her quickly, anxious to get this over with.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hi, Abby. How’s it going?”

  I looked her straight in the face and asked if there was a time capsule buried outside, showing her the article Leo had found. Clearly confused, she nodded slowly.

  “You’re not thinking of doing anything foolish, are you, Abby?” she said. “Something you shouldn’t?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s for a summer school project. The history of Moose Junction.” But she didn’t believe me, I could tell. And she shouldn’t have. But I would get ahold of Joanna Creech, even if I got in trouble first.

  “Okay. Well. You let me know if you need help,” she said. “Didn’t know you had summer school this year.”

  “It’s online,” I lied. Apparently, some mystery class that involved metal detectors and history projects. “By the way, do you have the new Starkeeper book yet? It came out last weekend.”

  “I’m sorry, Abby, but I can’t order any more books this year. You may have to wait until your birthday.”

  Great. Not only did I have to lie to the face of one of the only friends I had left, but I wouldn’t even get a new book to escape into?

  I hurried back to Leo, giving him a look that clearly said, Happy?

  “Relax. I wasn’t here to check up on you. By the way, the nonfiction section of this library is abysmal. I’m doing research for my latest book, and I can’t find anything that isn’t about different types of tree bark.”

  I glared at him. You don’t insult the Moose Junction Library in front of me. “Harriet can only buy a few books a year. She has to be very selective. Besides, if you’re looking for books on space, why are you over here in fiction?”

  He smiled. “Well. I’ve been busted. I’m really here to find the latest Elaine Luther mystery. But I’m all turned around.”

  “You read mysteries?” Something about that surprised me.

  “Do I detect a hint of judgment? Mysteries are an art form, Abigail. Not like this space-magic garbage you young kids always want to read.”

  Okay, that made me mad. “For your information, science fiction isn’t garbage. It’s the combination of imagination and the growing world around us.” Okay, I had stolen that from Harriet after hearing her snap at someone who had once insulted the genre.

  He snorted. “Really? All I see are lovestruck teenagers on spaceships.”

  “Then you aren’t looking hard enough.” I knelt down and found the first Starkeeper book. “Here,” I said after getting back up and handing it to him. “Everyone knows you can’t just browse shelves at eye level. The best books hide on the bottom.”

  “Is that so,” he said flatly. But he was smiling.

  “Yes. If you’re go
ing to read sci-fi, do it right.”

  He took the book and held it for a minute, just looking at it.

  “I knew someone once who loved these books,” he said kind of sadly. “I’ve never read them.”

  “That’s what libraries are for,” I told him. “It’s not too late.”

  “No,” he said absentmindedly, “I suppose it never is.”

  School was starting in only a couple of weeks, which meant plenty of things: fewer tourists, a long, lonely bus ride, and boots instead of flip-flops. But it also meant a trip to Target . . . usually. Mom and Dad hadn’t spent a lot of money this summer. Even though the eclipse was going to bring in “the big bucks,” as Joe from Hank’s Hardware said, I think Blair’s hospital place was costing even more. It had something to do with insurance. The phone rang with a Madison number about once a week, and Mom would roll her eyes and groan insurance before talking angrily to someone for an hour. Plus we were getting bills in the mail, but like half of them were wrong and Mom would have to call the Madison guy again.

  So basically, Blair, after costing a billion dollars to do ballet, was now costing a billion dollars to not do ballet. And that meant fewer trips to the Ice Shanty, no movies unless Jade could give us coupons, and the Cheerios that aren’t really Cheerios.

  So when Mom asked if I wanted to do our Target trip the next day, I was pretty excited. The nearest Target was close to two hours away, in Washport. We could have gone to the Walmart in Waukegan or ordered stuff online, but we only went to Target—or Tarjay, as my mom called it—once a year. Even Jade came. It was a big deal; we could get pretzel bites and Icees from the café and buy basically any school supplies we wanted, plus some new clothes. My jeans from last year were too short, and I was already pretty high on the Dork-O-Meter: I didn’t need high-water jeans to seal my fate. I could see on Instagram that everyone was wearing cool sneakers instead of flats, which everyone had worn last year. I liked back-to-school shopping, which made me think that I belonged on the Dork-O-Meter after all. But that fresh-notebook smell: I was helpless. Give me some new #2 pencils and I was in heaven.

  I was surprised when Jade didn’t even complain about going, since almost every second of her summer that she wasn’t working had been spent with her friends. Jade wouldn’t invite me within thirty feet of her coven (Mr. Linn taught us that a coven meant a group of witches, something I found pretty accurate), but since it was thunderstorming out, I guess she didn’t mind spending most of her day in a car with Mom and me. Dad stayed behind to check some new eclipse viewers into their cabins.

  When you go to Target all the time, you can probably just pop in, grab what you want, and pop out. But we had a routine. A Target plan, if you will. Always start in cosmetics, make your way to movies and music, check out the seasonal area, where the school supplies currently were, and then head over into the clothing department before swinging down the home decor aisle. It was an art form.

  “We need to see if they have this new series I’m reading,” I said. “Harriet said the library couldn’t order the new one because she was already over her book limit. I’ll spend my own money on it.”

  Mom sighed. “That library. You need to prepare yourself, Abigail. I’m not sure how much longer it’s going to be around.”

  “Why?” asked Jade, picking up a glittery black nail polish that Mom grabbed out of her hands and put back on the shelf.

  Nail polish brought a million flashes of Blair to my mind. She’d use clear nail polish to fix runs in her tights. It was also the only color Aleksander allowed on her fingers. She went through a bottle a week.

  “Jade Marie, I love you, but black nails?” Mom asked, pulling me out of my memory and back down to earth. “Don’t turn into one of those emo kids on me. I have enough to deal with.” Turning back to me, she continued, “The town’s funding has been hit hard. The library isn’t a big tourist attraction.”

  I shook my head so hard my ponytail whipped my cheeks. “They can’t close the library!”

  “Well, it’s obviously not up to me, sweet pea. Your dad has a town selectman council meeting tonight where they’re making the final decision. I just wanted to warn you.”

  I groaned. Mom got my love of the library about as much as she got my love of space.

  “You should spend more time hanging out with actual kids instead of a librarian, anyway,” said Jade, picking up another shade of dark polish. “What about navy?”

  “Fine. One. You want a color, Abigail?”

  But I couldn’t pay attention to things like nail polish when the only place I really felt at home these days was in danger of closing. And what about Harriet? Where would she go? What if I never saw her again and the last thing I ever did was lie to her?

  I could feel a lump rising in my throat, and let’s just say I did not want to be the weirdo crying at Target. But seriously? First Blair, and now this?

  “Oh, Abigail. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that right now. I didn’t mean to ruin our trip.” Mom bit her lip. “I’ll buy you that book, okay?”

  “It’s not—” I shook my head. How could I explain it wasn’t one book? It was all the books. It was past and current and future books, books that gave me hours away from my current, stupid life. Books that were there when nothing else was.

  “Isn’t that Sophie and Lex?” asked Jade. My head snapped up.

  What were the odds? I mean, really. We were close to two hours away from home. Not exactly light-years, but still. Yet there they were, looking at the hair products, giggling at something.

  “What a surprise! Go say hi,” said Mom.

  Crap. I either had to stand there and awkwardly explain to my mom and sister that I didn’t really have any friends for a reason I still hadn’t figured out, or go over to my two “best friends” who hadn’t so much as texted me all summer and were apparently having a Target bestie day. Like, would you rather have Kylo Ren or Voldemort standing in front of you?

  I walked over to them cautiously, trying to keep my voice down so Mom and Jade couldn’t hear.

  “Um. Hey.”

  They saw me and froze. Lex even dropped the bottle she was holding and had to quickly bend down and get it, and when she did that, she knocked a whole bunch of shampoos off the shelf.

  “Hi, Abby,” said Sophie, biting her lip. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with Mom and Jade,” I said.

  “The Tarjay extravaganza,” said Sophie, smiling, not in a mean way. Of course she knew we did this every year. She’d even come with us before.

  “What have you guys been up to?” I asked nervously.

  They looked at each other and then back at me. I willed for a lightning bolt to strike.

  “Not much,” said Sophie simply.

  “Come on,” said Lex, tugging on her elbow. “We should go. My mom’s waiting for us at Starbucks.”

  “Bye, Abby,” said Sophie.

  “Bye,” chirped Lex. They hurried away as if I had some kind of disease they were afraid of catching. I resisted the urge to check my teeth or sniff my armpits. I mean, seriously?

  The rest of the trip I was in a bad mood, the kind of mood that hangs over you like a cloud and makes everyone around you grumpy, too. Jade and Mom fought over what kind of pens she needed for school, if she could buy a tank top that was kind of see-through, and whether or not a sixteen-year-old should be drinking coffee. I just picked out the bare minimum amount of notebooks and threw the first pair of jeans I saw into the cart without even trying them on. I felt bad for my mom. One daughter didn’t eat, one daughter argued over everything, and one daughter was a loser freak liar with no friends. She’d played the genetics lottery and lost.

  As we drove home, Mom turned on the radio. “Coat of Many Colors” came on, but we didn’t sing along. Not a single word.

  14

  JUNE, THREE YEARS AGO

  Nine years old

  Three years and two months before that ill-fated Tarjay trip, Dr. Leo Lacamoire was
beginning his summer class at MIT, an in-depth study of gamma-ray bursts. He was deciding on the title of his next book and whether he should have red or white wine at lunch. Those were the concerns of Dr. Leo Lacamoire, PhD, back then.

  Blair had just begun Coppélia rehearsals. It was one of her first leading roles. Jade had discovered the art of texting on her shiny new cell phone, falling off the face of the earth. Sophie and Lex were my best friends, and we had just finished fourth grade.

  I was lying on the dock with Blair, something that was becoming more and more uncommon. Even then, she was stretching, pulling her toes over her head in a way that didn’t seem human. I was nine years old and wanted to go swimming, not lie there. But my sister had just sprayed something in her hair to give it beach waves or whatever and said she couldn’t go in the water, so I had a book, like always. I’m sorry, but what’s with girls not wanting to get their hair wet? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. It was eighty billion degrees, too hot to sprawl out on a towel.

  Where was Jade? Who knew. She was thirteen, a teenager, now, with a gaggle of friends and no time for her sisters. She’d said she might come later, but she probably wouldn’t. She had become tight with some girls from school, and they were clearly a lot more fun than her own family.

  “How’s your book?” asked Blair, waving as a boat of fishermen puttered by.

  I shook my head. “Blah, blah, magic, blah, blah, love, blah blah, time travel. Boring.”

  She laughed and pulled out her sketchbook.

  “What are you working on?” I asked her. Blair was amazing at drawing. Better than she was at dance, even, but then—I hadn’t seen her in Coppélia yet.

  “Fan art,” she said, showing me a picture of Padmé Amidala with a smirk on her face. “Don’t you ever just wish Anakin had stayed good, and they could have had their twins and lived happily ever after?”

  “Um, no. Then we wouldn’t have Star Wars.” I flipped through her sketchbook. Pictures of Padmé, Katniss, Black Widow, Hermione and Ron, Aria from Pretty Little Liars, which Mom said I couldn’t watch but I sometimes did with Blair anyway. Some of real people—Misty Copeland, her idol. Mom, laughing. Aleksander, a scowl on his face. And then, over and over again, a character I didn’t recognize.