by Will Taylor
“You’re absolutely sure it was this one?”
“Positive. You’d remember if it happened to you.”
She sat back, chewing her lip. “Mags, I’m sorry. I mean, without any proof, and it’s so much like one of your— Just—I don’t know.” Her eyes flicked to my face, then away. “I’m, uh, gonna go brush my teeth.” She headed back to her fort.
I slumped against the side of the sofa. New Abby was out in full force.
I was deciding the best way to tell her exactly how moose headed she was being when there was a shout from Fort Comfy.
“Look!” Abby yelled, bursting back through the link. “Look-look-look-look!” She held out a large silver envelope. “It’s got my name on it! I swear, this was not there when we crawled through a second ago.”
“What’s inside?” I asked.
Abby pulled out a square of heavy paper and scanned it, her eyes going so wide she looked like a cartoon character.
“Well?” I demanded. “What’s it say?!”
“It says, ‘Dear Abby Hernandez, Maggie Hetzger is telling the truth. Signed, The Council of NAFAFA.’”
There was a very satisfying silence.
“But how,” Abby said, shaking the envelope, “how did they get this in my fort?”
“No idea.” I was having the hardest time not grinning from ear to ear. It was a nice feeling being right. “But Noriko did say they’d help if I had trouble convincing you. This must be their way of doing it.”
“Unbelievable.” Abby stared down at the note, then looked up. “Wait—so does that mean they can hear everything we’re saying?”
“It looks like it. They told me they ‘monitor all linked-fort activity.’ But it’s probably way too late to worry about that now.”
“This is just so bizarre. I mean, this changes everything.”
“You have no idea.”
“Will you tell me the whole thing again, Mags? From the start? I want to make sure I really understand what’s going on. I promise I’ll pay attention this time.”
“Oh, thanks so much,” I said. “Okay . . .”
I repeated the story, making sure to include every tiny detail, and Abby listened closely.
“So there was a piece of the First Sofa in that quilt I used to make your scarf?” she said when I finished. “That is so cool. I basically started this whole thing!”
“Well, the fact that I built a pillow fort might have helped some.”
“But it took my scarf to make the fort link.”
“By our powers combined, then.”
“And so now we have three days to pull off a good deed or it’s all over?”
“Yup.”
“No problem!” Abby slapped the note against her palm. “Getting in will be easy. I mean, it’s us, and then we’ll have so many more people to hang out with. It’ll be just like back at camp!”
My happiness at finally convincing her I was telling the truth vanished with a pop.
Whoa. My whole reason for joining NAFAFA was so we could save our links and get access to all those new ones for better-than-ever games. Games that needed a Maggie and an Abby, and no one else. Sure, I would have to go to Council meetings sometimes, and there was probably some sort of newsletter I’d have to read, but I could manage all that and still have the time of my life with my best friend.
Only it sounded like Abby wanted to join NAFAFA so she could hang out with new kids, just like she did at Camp Cantaloupe. That meant the sooner we did our good deed and joined, the sooner she could dive into that kid-packed maze on the floor of the Hub. It was completely unfair. I’d only just gotten Abby back! I wasn’t ready to start sharing her again. Why couldn’t things just be the way they used to be?
Good thing I still had three whole days to think of a solution.
“So hey, let’s do this!” said Abby. “I’m guessing you were up all night and have, like, seventeen good deeds planned out already, right?”
I blinked. She was right. Old Maggie would have had this mission drawn up, scripted, and set to music by now; but I hadn’t even thought once about the good-deed part of the quest.
“Let’s brainstorm ideas together,” I said, playing for time. “We’ve got days to work with here. There’s no rush.”
“Oh, no,” said Abby, “I think we should get it—” But she cut off as a loud knocking came through from Fort Comfy. “Oh, whale poop!” Abby said, her wide eyes mirroring mine. We dove back through the link.
“There you are,” said Alex as we scrambled out into Abby’s bedroom. “What took you so long? I’ve been knocking for half a minute.”
“Uhh,” I said.
“Umm,” said Abby.
“Well, never mind,” said Alex. “Maggie, your mom called.”
“Who?” I said, still slightly panicked.
Alex smiled. “Your mom. The lady who lives next door. She’d like you to come home after breakfast. She wants to check in about a few things before she leaves for work.”
“Oh, okay.” I was surprised—it wasn’t like my mom to call and check on me. Then I remembered she hadn’t actually seen me in almost two days.
Abby and I got dressed while Alex made scrambled eggs and orange juice, and after helping with the dishes we headed over to my place.
My mom was folding laundry at the dining-room table.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said, flapping out a pair of jeans as we came in. “You forgot to leave a note last night.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I was only next door.”
“I know—that’s why I called you there. Hi, Abby. Nice braid.”
“Thanks, Ms. Hetzger!”
“How was your time at camp?”
“It was great!” said Abby. “I wish Maggie could have gone.”
I took advantage of the moment to give my mom a pointed look, but she had a towel tucked under her chin and didn’t see.
“Glad to hear it,” she said. “Maggie, I’m leaving for work pretty soon here. I picked up groceries last night, so there’s plenty of food in the fridge. Make sure you eat a salad or something healthy for lunch, okay?”
“Okay. Will you be around later?” I asked. It was great having all this parent-free time to spend with Abby, but I didn’t mind my mom being around sometimes.
My mom shook her head. “We’re stretched thin on staffing this week, so I’m covering shifts where I can.” She noticed my expression. “I’m sorry, but you know I can’t always be around just because you want me to be. Remember, you’re almost in middle school now, and I’m proud of how mature and responsible you are at taking care of yourself and our home. And speaking of, I need you to give the whole house a good clean this afternoon.”
I failed to suppress a groan.
“Hey, no need for that,” said my mom. “We talked about this. Chores are a part of life.” She glanced at her wrist. “See? I’m giving up taking a shower so I can get our laundry folded before I head back out to work. I don’t think asking you to take a few hours out of your vacation to tidy up is too much to ask.” She began tugging at a tangle of T-shirts.
“Ms. Hetzger?” said Abby, raising her hand. “We can do it.”
“What?” my mom and I said together.
“We can fold the rest of the laundry,” said Abby. “That way you’ll have time for a shower.”
My mom stared at her; then her face relaxed into a surprised smile. “Thank you, Abby,” she said. “I’ll take you up on that. Pants creased at the seams, please, and socks folded, not rolled.” She headed for the hall, then stopped in the doorway and turned back. “By the way, do you two have a radio or something hidden in that pillow fort?”
“Um, no,” I said, with half a glance at Abby. Why was my mom asking questions about the fort?
“I could have sworn I heard noises and talking in there after I hung up the phone with Alex.”
“Weird,” I said, now looking everywhere but at Abby. I picked up a dishcloth and started folding. “You must have imagined it. There’s nothing in t
here that makes sounds.”
My mom leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, I didn’t see anything when I went in, but I thought I’d ask.”
My head shot up. “You went in my pillow fort?”
“I’ve been in there before,” she said. “It’s not exactly private property, is it? Although, speaking of private property, it was nice to not see any of my things hidden in there this time.”
“But—but you can’t just—” I spluttered.
“I think today is actually the perfect time to take it down, as long as you’re cleaning the house. You haven’t even been in there since Abby got home, and I’d like to have the living room back to normal.”
My mouth was opening and closing like a fish, but no words were coming out.
“We can’t take it down for a bit, Ms. Hetzger,” said Abby quickly. “See, we built one at my place, too, and we’re playing this, uh, summer camp game with them, since Maggie couldn’t go to the real one.”
“Oh.” My mom looked like she wanted to argue, but her eyes flicked to me. The reminder of the Camp Cantaloupe paperwork mix-up seemed to be holding her back. “Well, all right. But take that fort down soon, okay?”
“Just don’t go in there again,” I blurted out. Really, I had enough to deal with without her getting involved.
My mom looked a little hurt. “Hey, I’m the parent here, Maggie.” She glanced at her watch. “And I’m about to set a record for world’s shortest shower.” Her footsteps thudded down the hall as Abby and I turned to the mountain of laundry.
“Why did you say we would fold all this?” I asked, launching my dish towel back into the heap.
For some reason Abby was grinning. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “We’re doing a good deed! We should be on the lookout for good deeds all the time from now on. Oh, and you’re welcome by the way for saving your fort.”
I looked over the table. “A good deed? Really? This seems more like a favor to me. I don’t know if non-fort-related laundry counts.”
“Only one way to find out,” said Abby, shrugging.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Just warn me next time you’re gonna go all thoughtful and helpful, all right? You made me look selfish in front of my mom.”
Abby snort-laughed. “You were kinda doing okay at that on your own.”
I threw a pair of folded socks at her.
Ten minutes later my mom flew by and out the door, and ten minutes after that we had all the laundry folded and stacked into neat piles.
“Good deed!” said Abby, raising both arms over her head. She looked around the room. “Do you think they heard me?”
“How would I know?” I grumbled. The day wasn’t exactly going my way. Why was everybody else trying to run things?
“Better safe than sorry,” said Abby. She went over to the fort and stuck her head in the entrance. “Good deed!” she yelled again. “Laundry folded so Maggie’s mom could shower before work. Good deed!”
I gave her a look as she came back in.
“Oh, stop being Grumpy Mags,” said Abby, poking me on the shoulder. “It doesn’t suit you. Now, what’s next? More good deeds, or cleaning first?”
“We should probably clean,” I said reluctantly. “Then let’s go hang out with Uncle Joe. We can brainstorm good-deed ideas up there.”
“Ooh, good call,” said Abby. “Maybe Joe can—” She stopped. Her eyes went out of focus. She spun and looked at the fort, then back at me. “Mags!” she said, slapping at my arm. “Mags-Mags-Mags-Mags!”
“What? Ow! Why do you do that? I’m right here!”
“I’ve got it! Another good deed! One we can do right now!”
“Great,” I said, fending her off. “What?”
“Greens.”
“Greens?”
“Greens!”
“Are you speaking in code right now?”
“No, I mean greens! Like vegetables. And fruit, too, I guess. But greens! For your uncle Joe. Remember how he said he was craving fresh stuff because he couldn’t get any up in Alaska?”
“Yeah . . .”
“So let’s make him a big salad for lunch and bring it to him! Your mom said she got plenty of groceries.”
“You want to bring a salad,” I said slowly, “for lunch, to Alaska. That’s your good deed idea.”
“Totally!” Abby said. She sighed at the look on my face. “Admit it, Grumpy McGrumperton, it’s great!”
I shook my head, but my mouth twitched into a smile. There was no way it would work, but it was better than cleaning, and it would give me more time to figure out how to keep the links without losing Abby to all these new kids.
“Fine,” I said. “But you’re carrying it up through that spinny-whirly link.”
“Deal!” said Abby. She looped her arm through mine and steered me into the kitchen. “Come on, time to make the most epic salad the world has ever seen!”
Twelve
“Knock, knock,” I called as we crawled out of Fort Orpheus an hour later. “Hello? Uncle Joe?”
No reply. It looked like he wasn’t in.
“He’s probably out on the water,” Abby said. “Sweet, that’ll make this more of a surprise.”
We brought our thoughtful good-deed salad into the kitchen and went to look out the windows. Things had changed up in Alaska. Instead of a shiny blue sky, a solid bank of gray clouds loomed from one side of the horizon to the other. It was bright and warm in the cabin, but for some reason the sight of that sky made me shiver.
“Look, there he is,” said Abby, pointing down to the water’s edge. She squinted, then grabbed my arm. “Hey, I think he’s hurt!”
I looked where she was pointing. Uncle Joe was limping slowly over the rocks, headed our way.
We threw on coats from the closet and ran to meet him.
Outside, the wind was blowing hard, making little whitecaps ripple over the waves. Maybe a storm was coming. Thank goodness we’d shown up when we had. It hadn’t really occurred to me before how very, very alone Uncle Joe was up here.
He caught sight of us racing toward him and raised a hand, smiling.
“Here comes the cavalry,” he called as we approached. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I think I’m okay.”
Abby and I pressed around him, offering hands and asking what had happened. He rested an arm on my shoulder, steadying himself as we inched back to the cabin.
“Just a twisted ankle,” he said. “I slipped getting out of the boat and went down like a giraffe on ice. Probably looked pretty funny, to tell you the truth.”
“It’s not funny at all!” I insisted. “What if you were really hurt? What if the boat rolled over and crushed your foot? What if you broke your leg and got pulled into the water by the tide? You need to be more careful!”
Uncle Joe grinned. “You sound just like your mom. She hasn’t stopped worrying about me since the day I was born.”
I stumbled on a loose rock, almost pulling him over. I sounded like my mom? Huh. That was new.
Back in the cabin Abby and I examined Uncle Joe’s ankle, decided we had no idea what we were looking at, and settled for tucking him into bed while we heated up soup to go with the salad.
“Dude, we are doing good deeds galore,” whispered Abby, arranging crackers on a paper plate. “Sprained-ankle rescue? Good deed! Thoughtful salad bringing? Good deed! We’ll be in the club in no time.”
“We still haven’t shown him the salad,” I reminded her. “He might just close his eyes and put his fingers in his ears again.”
But luckily Uncle Joe didn’t start la-la-ing when we shouted “Surprise!” and brought the salad out of the kitchen. He plowed his way through three helpings plus two bowls of soup, and announced that all the fresh greens were making his ankle feel better already. I made up a batch of double-strength cocoa for dessert, Abby cleared away the dishes, and as heavy raindrops started lashing at the windows, Uncle Joe pulled a blanket over himself and fell fast asleep.
With the cabin to ours
elves and the whole afternoon stretching ahead, Abby and I resupplied on cocoa, settled in, and got to work brainstorming a backup list of more outstanding good deeds. Just to be prepared. Just in case.
“Will you show me what we’ve got?” I asked an hour or two later from the arm of the sofa. Abby, sprawled on her back in the entrance to Fort Orpheus, heaved her pad of paper at me. I caught it and read:
Ideas for more good deeds:
Cook surprise romantic dinner for Dad and Tamal
Help Joe with his sciency-science research (details to be determined)
Tune up the twins’ bikes for them
Fill house with flowers as surprise for Maggie’s mom
Find a cat friend for Samson
Surprise wash Caitlin’s ice cream truck
Other
I smiled to myself. It wasn’t much to show for an afternoon’s work, but that was fine by me. I hadn’t been trying all that hard. The rain was hammering against the windowpanes, the cabin was warm and cozy, and I was just enjoying hanging out with Abby, making plans.
“Okay, so hey,” said Abby, running a finger down the list. “These are good, but I see problems with some of them.”
“Like what?”
“Like does either of us know how to cook a surprise romantic dinner?”
“Maybe?” I said. I wasn’t exactly a top chef, but I was used to eating by myself and could throw together a meal if I had to.
“Well, I definitely can’t,” said Abby. “And my dad loves cooking, and he’s particular about his kitchen. Everything has to be in a certain place or he gets really frustrated. You know how he never lets us put the dishes away when we help wash them? He’d probably be in there with us the whole time, fussing.”
“So not really such a good deed, then?”
“Probably not,” said Abby. She crossed off the first idea. “Next problem: Can you think of anything we could do, today, that would actually help Joe with his research?”
I thought. We could carry his equipment, maybe, or steer the boat, or organize his recordings, but he could do any of that himself once his foot was better. And if bringing him greens and doing our best to fix his ankle didn’t turn out to be enough, I was pretty certain none of that other stuff would be either.
