by Will Taylor
“I mean what are we going to say when he gets here? Are we telling him everything? Are we letting him in on our discovery?”
“Ooh, right!” I said.
“I’m not sure we should. What if he goes all grown-up on us and tries to take control of the forts?”
I shook my head. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“Good. I guess we should probably just tell him, then? He’ll want to know how we got up here, and it’s not like we have a cover story.”
We turned back to the water just as Uncle Joe pulled the boat up onto the rocks. I expected him to be surprised, maybe even shocked, but as we ran to meet him, he shouted something I never thought I would hear come out of his mouth.
“Not one word, either of you! Not one single beluga-bawling word about it!”
“Hi— You—huh?” I said. “Not one word about what?”
“Anything!” said Uncle Joe, putting his hands on his hips. “I don’t want to know a whale-burping thing about anything at all!”
Abby looked at me in alarm.
“But . . . ,” I said, “aren’t you wondering how we got up—”
“LALALA!” cried Uncle Joe, shoving his fingers in his ears.
It took both of us putting our hands over our mouths to get him to stop la-la-ing and explain himself.
“Okay,” he said, eyeing us carefully. “Maggie. And Abby, I’m guessing?” Abby nodded. “Good. That’s good. Nice to meet you. I’m Joe. Now, are you two clear on why I don’t want you to say anything just yet?”
We shook our heads.
Uncle Joe ran a hand over his face. “All right. Maggie, you know from my postcards that I’ve been up here all on my own for three months. And apart from a few day trips into town for supplies, I’ve spent most of that time sitting by myself, in a boat, watching the clouds and listening to the underwater microphones. Take a moment to imagine that for me.” He spread his arms wide, and Abby and I looked around at the sky and rocks and waves.
“And now imagine that two young people, who you know should definitely be back in Seattle, have suddenly appeared in front of you here beside your remote Alaskan bay. What would you think?”
We looked at each other.
“You’d think you were hallucinating, that’s what,” Uncle Joe answered for us. “You’d think you were hallucinating and actually having a conversation with a flock of seagulls or a pile of rocks or something, and that’s just not a good use of time. So you would hope, against all your scientific training, that you weren’t hallucinating and these young people actually were there, which would mean some kind of magic was involved—”
“Actually, we’re not calling it magic,” I cut in, “because—”
“WHICH MEANS,” said Uncle Joe, shouting over me, “that I don’t want to hear a single word about it!”
Our shock must have shown on our faces, because he spoke more gently as he went on.
“Listen, kids. Maggie, Abby. I may be a grown-up now, but I’ve read a ton of books in my time, and I know how these things go. The moment the kids in stories tell the grown-ups about the magic they’ve discovered is always the moment things start to go seriously wrong. I’m guessing you’ve probably done some very hard work and been brave and smart and you want to tell me all about it, but the only way I’m willing to let you stay here is if you agree to act like you being here is completely and totally normal. Can you do that for me?”
There was a huge, windy silence. I had no idea what to say, but Abby tugged her fancy new braid out from under her hat, put her hands on her hips, and smiled.
“So, Joe,” she said. “What are we having for lunch?”
Six
After a lunch of canned soup and crackers, which was pretty much all Uncle Joe had for food, came “Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Whales,” an Uncle Joe afternoon lecture. I listened from the folding table while Abby followed Uncle Joe around the cabin, hanging on to his every word as he gushed about the pictures covering the walls.
“Ooh, and this one here,” said Uncle Joe, tapping a photo next to the fridge, “is Bertha. She’s a fighter. See that massive lateral scar on her tail? She probably got that in a fight with an orca when she was young. And this photo shows a bubble net, a sort of ring of bubbles humpbacks make underwater to confuse fish and trap them in a small space so they can eat them. Whales also slap the surface of the water to send down sound waves to freak the fish out. You really should see a whale calf try to slap the water sometime—it’s the cutest thing in the whole world.”
I smiled. I felt good. I was on an adventure, I was warm and full, and it looked like the combination of cold Alaskan air and my dorky-sweet uncle had finally driven Camp Cantaloupe clear out of Abby’s mind. At this rate, I’d be able to steer us back to our regularly scheduled programming in no time.
Abby came over to the table and sat down across from me. “I just realized something funny,” she whispered. Uncle Joe was still chatting away.
“What?”
“You and your uncle have been, like, your own tiny club of zany people living by themselves in cabins all summer. Isn’t that hilarious?”
Ugh. So much for hanging on Uncle Joe’s every word.
“First off,” I whispered back, “you are exactly as zany as me, Miss I-made-my-best-friend-a-scarf-in-the-middle-of-July.”
“Hey, you made one too!”
“Second, my fort wasn’t a cabin”—I pulled out my extra-strength air quotes—“until you came home and decided to turn it into one.”
“Okay, fair. But you totally agreed to it.”
“And third, where have you been living all summer? Oh, that’s right: a cabin!”
“Well, yeah,” Abby said. “That’s my point. You’re supposed to live in a cabin at camp. It’s kinda weird when you’re on your own.”
“And this big guy,” said Uncle Joe, waving at a column of glossy pictures beside the front door, “is our grand finale. His name is Orpheus. He’s the whole reason I’m out here.”
Abby looked up, her braid swinging. “Orpheus? That guy from the old Greek legends?” I stared at her. She shrugged. “One of the counselors at camp read us some of the stories.”
“That’s wonderful,” Uncle Joe said. “Do you know the story, Maggie?”
“Nope.” Whee, I was all on my own again.
“Orpheus was a singer,” explained Uncle Joe. “An amazing singer. The best. He was so good, he almost managed to sing the love of his life back from the dead. And I think Orpheus the whale is doing something just as incredible.”
“You think he’s singing dead whales back to life?” asked Abby.
“Ha! No, nothing like that, but I think he’s what I call a rogue singer.”
“And what’s a rogue singer?” I asked, figuring I might as well keep being the one who didn’t know anything.
Uncle Joe plonked down on the back of the sofa. “Well, with humpbacks it’s the adult males who do the singing, and they usually sing more or less the same song that changes slowly over time. We’ve got lots of recordings of different whales singing over the years, and we think we basically understand what most songs are all about. But based on some clues I’ve come across in my research, I think that during summer feeding time, which is right now, one or two very rare whales leave the group to sing a one-hundred-percent different song all by themselves. Orpheus definitely keeps wandering off on his own, and I want to be the first scientist to get a recording of this other song. If there is one.
“I’m basically the only whale researcher on the planet who believes any of this, though. All my colleagues think I’m totally weird, but I can live with that.”
“You, um, might not have much choice,” I said, gesturing around at the walls.
Uncle Joe threw a pillow at me.
“Stop!” Abby and I shouted, leaping to our feet.
Uncle Joe was sitting right beside the blanket and pillow that made up the link. If he moved one more pill
ow or even leaned the wrong way, he would see the gap. Or worse, fall straight through, destroying the link and leaving us stranded up here for good.
Uncle Joe froze like a fish in a bubble net.
“What do we do?” I hissed at Abby, forgetting I was annoyed. This was a crisis.
“We’ve got to build something more secure,” Abby whispered back. I nodded.
“So, um, hey, Uncle Joe,” I said in my best casual voice. “I’m not saying anything in particular here, but this might be a good time for you to go be, you know, somewhere else for a while.”
Uncle Joe’s eyebrows went up, then down, then back up again. “Okay . . .”
“How about you go for a walk on the beach?” suggested Abby. “You can look for wildlife or something. Maybe you’ll see a moose!” She nudged my leg under the table.
Ugh, she was thinking of that ghost moose again. What, did she expect to see it prancing around Uncle Joe’s cabin up here on the edge of the Arctic Circle? We were already having a bigger adventure than anything Camp Cantaloupe could possibly offer. Why couldn’t she just let it go already?
“All right, I’ll do that,” said Uncle Joe. “But sorry, Abby, there aren’t any moose up here this time of year. How, uh, how long should my wildlife walk be . . . ?”
“Fifteen minutes should do it,” I said.
“I’ll just change my sweater.”
The moment Uncle Joe trooped out into the cold Alaska afternoon, Abby and I leaped into action, tearing apart the sofa to build a proper fort around the link, with a door and blanket roof and everything. It wasn’t the most beautiful pillow fort the world had ever seen, but it would have to do.
Uncle Joe gave the fort a long look when he came back in. “I’m doing my best not to think about what any of this means, kids,” he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it’s not easy. I’m guessing there are all sorts of rules I’m not supposed to break or things I’m not supposed to do, right? No, don’t answer that—you’ll probably say too much.” He chewed his lip. “Okay, here’s the deal: I won’t mess with this fort so long as you two promise to announce your presence whenever you, uh, swing by.”
“Like, knock on the floor or something?” I said.
“That’ll work,” said Uncle Joe. “But make sure to knock loudly, just in case I’m in the bath.”
Abby raised her hand. “Is it saying too much if I mention you should think up a name for your fort?”
Uncle Joe flinched. “Well, it’s too late now if it is.” He eyed the heap of pillows and blankets, then smiled. “At least that’s easy.” He went over to the desk, scribbled something on a piece of paper, and held it up.
“Fort Orpheus,” read Abby. “I like it.”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
Uncle Joe beamed.
The three of us hung out for the rest of the afternoon, talking about sciency science and whales and Alaska and watching the sun shine down on the waves. Uncle Joe was telling me about the scientists who had stayed in the cabin before him and all the random gear they’d left behind, when Abby, who had run home to feed Samson, came bursting back out of the fort.
“Hey, Joe, cover your ears for a minute, will you?” she said.
Uncle Joe squeezed his eyes shut, put his fingers in his ears, and started humming.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“We’ve gotta go,” said Abby. “My dad says dinner’s almost ready.”
“Do we have to?” I wasn’t ready to leave Alaska.
“Obviously. He thinks we’re there anyway. And you know how he is about people being on time for meals. Besides, Tamal’s eating with us tonight, remember?”
“Fine,” I said, dragging myself out of my chair. “What are we having?”
Abby shrugged. “Smelled like lasagna.”
“Ooh, nice!”
I looked over at Uncle Joe, sitting there with his ears plugged and his eyes scrunched tight. He’d probably love some homemade lasagna after his weeks of soup and crackers and not much else. It was a shame he wasn’t coming with us, really.
I bopped him on the arm, and he took his fingers out of his ears.
“We’re, uh, we’re . . . going in the fort now,” I said. “There’s a chance we’ll be . . . making lasagna. Do you want some if we end up having extra?”
Uncle Joe struggled with himself for a moment, then nodded.
“Thanks, Maggie. That’s thoughtful of you. I am getting pretty sick of soup. Though what I really miss up here is fresh green things. You wouldn’t believe how much you can crave fruits and vegetables until you can’t get them.”
“I don’t know about those,” said Abby, “but we can definitely bring you lasagna. We’ll set it outside the fort—”
“So you don’t have to bother trying to fit in there with us,” I finished.
Uncle Joe smiled. “Perfect,” he said. “I’m glad you two kindred spirits are back together. You make a great team.”
Abby threw an arm around my shoulder, catching me by surprise. “Oh, we’re better than great, Joe,” she said, squeezing. “We’re the beluga-bawling best!”
My heart went all splashy. You could have knocked me over with a bubble net.
Five minutes later Abby and I and our freshly washed hands were sitting down to big plates of lasagna and green beans with Alex, the twins, and Tamal, who turned out to be short, muscly, and adorably shy.
“So, what kind of trouble did you two end up getting into today?” asked Alex, passing me a dish and a serving spoon.
Abby and I broke into identical grins.
“That good, huh?” laughed Matt.
“Oh, no. No, it was a pretty normal day,” Abby said airily. “You know, for us.”
I kicked her foot under the table, then looked at the dish I was holding.
I looked down at my plate.
“Um, sorry,” I said. “What am I supposed to do with this, exactly?”
Mark dropped his knife with a clatter. Alex looked shocked.
“You mean you’ve never put guacamole on your lasagna?”
“You poor thing!” said Matt.
“Abby!” said Mark, turning to his sister. “You never told her? And you call yourself a friend.”
“That is enough out of all of you,” Abby said, waving her fork. “Mags, just put it on your lasagna. It’s the best thing ever, promise.”
I did as she said and passed the bowl to Tamal, who leaned in.
“Thank you so much for asking,” he whispered. “I didn’t know what to do with it either.” We clinked forks in solidarity.
“So it was just a normal day, then?” said Alex. “Well, I’ll bet anything you two will make up for it with an epic time at Camp Pillow Fort tomorrow.”
“Oh, wow,” I said around a mouthful of guacamole and lasagna.
“See?!” said Abby and Mark together. I nodded.
“That is incredible,” I said when I could speak again. “What do you call it? Guacasagna? Lasagnole?”
“Ew,” said Mark. Abby snorted.
“We just call it good,” said Alex.
“You really should come over for dinner more often, Maggie,” Matt said. He reached past me for the salt, his arm muscles moving under his sleeve. “You’ve been missing out.”
My stomach lurched like I’d just gone backward through the link to Uncle Joe’s. Yup, I definitely had been.
After dinner Abby and I cleverly volunteered to wash the dishes so we could stash a secret container of leftovers in the back of the fridge, then piled into the living room with the others for back-to-back superhero movies.
When everyone started yawning, Tamal said good night, going around the room awkwardly shaking hands. “Your pillow fort–camp thing sounds fun,” he said when he got to me. “I hope you have some really magical adventures with it this summer.”
Abby started giggling and had to bury her face in a sofa pillow.
“Thank you,” I said, kicking Abby under the blanket. “I th
ink we might.”
We all said good night again. Then the twins started another movie while Alex walked Tamal to his car, and Abby and I headed for bed.
“Are you staying over, Maggie?” asked Alex, poking his head around the bathroom door as Abby and I brushed our teeth.
“Does lasagna taste amazing with guacamole?” I mumbled around my toothbrush.
“Okay, I have absolutely no idea what you just said,” said Alex, “but it sounded like yes. Sleep well, you two. Don’t stay up too late.”
Abby and I waited until the coast was clear, then launched a covert pajama-ops mission to retrieve the leftover lasagna from the fridge and deliver it to Fort Orpheus. It went off without a hitch, and after a quick stop on the way back to officially add Uncle Joe’s fort to our map, we returned, triumphant, to Abby’s bedroom.
“Man, what a day!” Abby said, bounding into bed.
I switched off the overhead light and settled into my spot in the entrance to Fort Comfy, the lamp glowing behind me. Another night or two and this would become routine.
“So,” said Abby, crossing her arms behind her head, “Matt’s getting pretty strong, isn’t he?”
Warning! Warning! Cover blown! “Is he?” I said. “I guess. I mean—why would I know?”
Abby’s smile definitely qualified as a smirk. “Just thought I maybe saw you looking during dinner tonight is all.”
I lobbed Creepy Frog at her. She caught him one-handed and tucked him behind her pillow.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Night, Mags. Sweet dreams.”
“G’night, you complete menace.”
I flicked off the lamp and stretched out, smiling. Abby was right: it had been a day. I mean, Alaska! Alaska-Alaska-Alaska! That bay was seriously the most perfect place ever. A whole big playground of land and water with only one friendly grown-up in it. One friendly grown-up who specifically refused to find out what we were up to. It couldn’t have been more perfect if I’d dreamed it up myself.
And it changed everything. Fort McForterson, Fort Comfy, and Fort Orpheus: that was our summer now. Sleepovers at Abby’s, mornings in our forts, afternoons in Alaska escaping the heat, dinner with the twins, and all the very best games ever. Abby would come around. She’d realize soon that there was no point hanging on to her camp obsession when what we had was so much better. And I hadn’t even gotten started yet. I was going to plan and direct and organize and make this the greatest summer vacation in history, just for her.
