by Wendy Mass
“Well, one time you came over and we all had a tea party.”
Livy stops chewing. “I brought my invisible friend over to your house for a tea party?”
Sarah shakes her head. “No, it was only the three of us. You said yours wouldn’t want to get dressed up and pretend to drink from little cups.”
I have to smile. Livy always looked out for me.
“Though I bet he’d look pretty cute in a tutu,” Livy says rather loudly. Clearly she knows I’m eavesdropping.
“If you say so,” Sarah says, then adds, “I haven’t thought about Philippa in years.”
“What happened to her? At the end, I mean.”
I know Livy’s face so well that even though her back is to me I know she’s holding her breath right now. This is it! This is when I find out how I’ll get home! I press my eye right up to the crack and hold my breath, too.
Sarah shrugs. “I got bored of pretending to see her, I guess.”
“Oh,” Livy says. It’s a sad oh. Sarah’s invisible friend wasn’t real. Not in the same way I’m real. I feel foolish and slump down to the floor. Unfortunately I land squarely on the mast of the pirate ship and then jump back up with Legos sticking where Legos shouldn’t stick. I must have made a noise, because both girls turn to face the closet.
Livy jumps up. “Thanks for coming today, it was fun. I’m still kinda jet-lagged though, so I think I’m gonna take a nap.”
“Okay,” Sarah says, standing up from the rug.
Livy looks all around the room and grabs one of those creepy dolls. “Do you want to borrow Abigail? I’m sure my mom won’t mind.”
“No thanks,” Sarah says. And I think she’s finally going to leave, because one hand is on the doorknob, but then she says, “Do you want to hang out later?”
“I can’t,” Livy says. “I’m making a cake with my grandmother now that the baby is out of the house.”
Then they leave to walk downstairs and I come out of my closet and sit on the edge of the bed. Only crumbs are left on the cookie tray.
Why am I not surprised?
Livy comes back in and closes the door and flops on the bed. “I think you need a larger chicken suit. That one’s like, five times too small for you now.” Before I can argue that no one taught me proper laundry techniques, she reaches under the pillow and pulls out a cookie. “Saved you one.”
I lean past the cookie and reach around and hug her bony shoulders.
“You smell clean, but what was that for?” she asks when I finally let go.
“For the cookie. For not making me go to a tea party. For tape-recording stories for me to listen to even though I never got them.”
“Guess you saw the dancing,” she says.
“You’ve got some good moves.”
She smiles. “I do, don’t I?”
“You don’t need to feel bad about leaving me in the closet,” I blurt out, then take a bite of the cookie. I chomp and talk and crumbs fly out as I try to explain how I was never alone because I had my imagination to keep me company.
Man, this cookie tastes good!
When I finally run out of words, she says, “Didn’t anyone tell you not to talk with your mouth full? All I heard between crunches was something about you exploring your inner Bob.”
I swallow my last bite. “That’s pretty much the gist of it.”
“You have a Lego stuck to your leg,” she says, reaching over to pluck it off. “You really didn’t get tired of building that same ship over and over?”
I smile. “In between I’d make whatever word I was reading in the dictionary. The aardvark was my first. I was particularly proud of that one.”
She tilts her head at me. “How many different objects can you make from one pirate ship?”
“Exactly three thousand and nine. So far.”
She nods, clearly impressed. It is impressive.
“So it was a ship but also all those other things.”
“Yes.”
She tosses the Lego piece back into the closet and grabs her shoes.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“We are going to search the farm for that time capsule Sarah talked about. One thing can be lots of other things, right? So a time capsule can also be a clue. Who knows what I put in there. It could take a while to find it, so bring a flashlight.”
My spirits rise and rise. We’re going on an adventure! “We don’t need to bring one,” I tell her with a grin.
“Why not?”
“Because I know exactly where you buried it.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LIVY
I distract Gran by asking for a snack while Bob slips out the back door. We’re supposed to meet under the farthest tree in the yard, near our Sylvester rock. I find him relaxing against the tree trunk with his eyes closed and his legs straight out in front of him.
“You look happy,” I tell him. I hand him half a slice of banana bread and kneel beside the rock to get to work, feeling around its edges. It’s a big rock. How are we going to get under this thing? How could I have hidden something under it when I was five?
“I am happy,” Bob says cheerfully. “We’re together, aren’t we? We’re outside! And we’re looking for clues. We’re going to find my mother. Like you said, my large family! So I won’t be lonely when you leave again.” He smiles into the sun. “Plus, I have banana bread! It’s like a banana, with bread!”
I glance at him as I try to scrape the dirt out from under one side of the rock. It gets under my nails and up my nose. “Don’t get your hopes up, okay, Bob?”
He blinks at me. “Why not? Old Livy never told me not to get my hopes up.”
“I’m just … being careful. Of your feelings. Okay? We don’t know for sure that we’ll find anything here.”
“Oh, we will,” Bob says. “We will find whatever the old Livy hid underneath the Sylvester rock! For me, her invisible friend.”
Bob is one hundred percent sure that the old Livy hid the invisible-friend time capsule under the Sylvester rock. He says that for the last two days she was at Gran’s, Old Livy got a “certain look” on her face whenever we got near this rock.
“That’s how you know?” I asked him. “My expression? Five years ago?”
Bob nodded. “Oh yes. Whenever we came close to this rock, Old Livy’s face said, ‘I’ve got a secret.’ It was loud and clear.”
I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s worth a try. We have to start looking somewhere. And I have to admit that Bob is pretty good at reading faces. Especially mine.
So I’m scratching the hard-packed dirt away from the sides of the rock, trying to find any gaps where I might have hidden something. Now I’m pretty much coated in dirt-dust. I sneeze.
I look over at Bob. His eyes are closed.
“Hey! Why are you just sitting there?”
“I’m not just sitting here! I’m feeling the sun on my face. And I’m also being careful of you.”
I sit back on my heels and try to slap some of the dirt off my hands. It makes a big dust cloud that makes me sneeze again. “Careful of me? What are you talking about?”
He gets a patient look on his face. I’m pretty good at reading Bob’s face, too, I realize. “I am being careful of your fingers, Livy. You are playing very near the rock, and I don’t want to drop it on you when I pick it up.” He smiles and closes his eyes again. “Just tell me when you’re done playing in the dirt. I’m not in a hurry. I’m just enjoying the outdoors.”
I stand up. “Bob, I’m not playing, I’m working. And we can’t ‘pick up’ this rock. This rock is huge. First, we’re going to dig out some of the dirt underneath and then we’ll both get on one side and we’ll try to tilt—”
I stop talking.
Bob has picked up the rock and is holding it over his head. “Where should I put it?” he asks. “If you’re done playing?”
Speechless, I point to the tree he was leaning against, and he carefully props the rock against the tree tr
unk.
“Bob,” I say. “You’re—strong.”
He nods. “Yes.”
“How did you—Look!” Because there is something lying in a little dug-out place in the dirt, almost exactly where I had just been digging. There must have been a little hollow spot under one edge of the rock. But five years later, it’s packed hard with dirt.
“You were right, Bob!” I brush the dirt off the top of whatever it is and pick it up. It’s a glass jar, sealed with a metal lid.
Bob doesn’t even look surprised. He just gently puts the Sylvester rock back into place, as casually as Superman would.
I try the lid, but it won’t turn.
Bob takes the jar from me, but says, “Let’s open it at Gran’s, after you wash your hands. This is Old Livy’s treasure, and I don’t want to get it dirty.”
Bob does his best chicken walk all the way back to the house. It doesn’t seem to matter that chickens can’t really hold things.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BOB
Gran is on the phone in the den and we slip right past her and up the stairs. Her voice is crackly and high-pitchy, which means she’s talking to the bank again.
After I supervise her handwashing, Livy gets to work twisting off the lid. She grunts. She groans. I try to keep still but it is not easy. Finally she lowers her arms. “This is on good! I must have been stronger when I was five.”
“You were different strong,” I tell her, holding out my palm. She places the jar in my hand and I only have to twist the tiniest bit and the lid pops off.
“I’m sure you loosened it up,” I tell her, handing it back.
“Uh-huh.” She peeks in, then turns it over. It takes a few forceful shakes before three things fall out onto the bed—two pieces of black licorice and a rolled-up photograph of Old Livy sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf in this very room, reading a book upside down. The book is upside down, that is. Livy herself is right side up.
And that’s it. I look at her and she looks at me.
“I’d have thought a time capsule would contain more stuff,” I say, grabbing a piece of the licorice.
“You’re not really gonna eat that, right? It’s five years old!”
I pop it in my mouth. “Stale licorice is better than no licorice any day.” Livy’s hand darts out and grabs the second piece before I can get it.
“Let’s make sure you survive the first one,” she says, sticking it in her pocket. She picks up the photograph.
“Why would I have put this one picture in there?” she wonders out loud. I’m kind of insulted there’s nothing about me in the jar. Would it have been so hard to put in a feather from my chicken suit?
She picks up the photo, then flips it over. “Hey, Bob. Look! Something’s glued onto the back.” She peels it off and holds it up with a grin. “It’s a feather from your chicken suit!”
I smile sheepishly, ashamed of myself. Of course Livy wouldn’t have left me out. I take the feather and stick it onto one of the many bare spots on my belly. It’s in much better condition than all the rest.
“The picture is pretty cute,” I tell her, looking closer. Old Livy is obviously pretending to read the oversized book. It looks like a cool book, with lots of colorful pictures on both covers. I twist my head until I can read the title. “Fairy and Folk Tales from A to Z.” It’s like my dictionary! A to Z! I don’t think I know any fairy or folk tales, but Livy does, or at least her mother does.
Livy studies the picture, too. Suddenly she grabs my arm. “Bob! Who does that look like on the cover?” She stabs her finger at the picture.
“What do you mean?” I turn it so the book cover is facing the right way and try to identify the objects from the cover. “Is that a mermaid?”
“Yes,” she says impatiently. “It’s a mermaid on a rock, a three-headed lion, a lumberjack, a fairy, and you!”
“Me!” I grab the photo back. The only drawing on the cover I don’t recognize as one of those other things is some kind of short green creature with one eyebrow. Okay, I see why she’d think I bear a slight resemblance to the creature in the drawing, but no. I shake my head. “I think you just insulted the character in the book. He’s much more handsome than me.”
“Bob,” she says. “You look EXACTLY like this guy.” She pushes me out the door of the bedroom and into the bathroom and makes me face the mirror. I take a step back. I’ve never really looked at myself before! I turn this way and that, admiring my reflection from all angles.
“I’m not half bad!”
I keep preening because it’s making her laugh. Then she stops. “Seriously, though. This book must tell us what you are. It’s been here all along! C’mon!” She races back to her room and I hurry after. The phone rings and I hear Gran answer it downstairs. Maybe the bank is calling back.
“It’s got to be here somewhere,” Livy is saying, pulling books off the shelves with both hands.
It’s not on the shelves.
“Maybe it’s under the bed,” she says. She throws back the covers and ducks down and spreads her arms out like she’s swimming.
It’s not under the bed.
“Where else could it be?” she asks, throwing up her hands.
I think about it, and it hits me that I know exactly where it is! “Livy, the book is at—”
But before I can tell her that Sarah took it after Livy went back home last time, Gran shouts upstairs. “Livy! Please come down right away. I need you!” She sounds more urgent than I’ve ever heard her, even more worked up than the time a woman from the bank came all the way to the house.
Livy looks torn, but only for a second. She says, “I’ll be right back—keep looking.” I open my mouth, but she’s already flying down the stairs. I sit on the bed and wait. That’s where I am when the front door slams and Gran’s car drives away. With Livy in it!
Well that stinks.
I move to the top of the stairs and listen to all the silence, my chest tight and my head swimmy. This is a familiar feeling. I call it the Feeling of Livy Leaving Suddenly Without Telling Me When or If She’s Coming Back. I know this feeling well.
I stand up from the stairs. Livy’s not gone for good. I know that this time. No more feeling sorry for myself and waiting. I have a book with a strikingly handsome green creature on the cover to find, and there’s no time to waste.
I straighten my head comb and use the tape on the desk in the corner of the kitchen to secure a few feathers that are hanging loose. I grab two pickles and a loaf of bread, eat one pickle and two slices of bread with butter. Then I continue my rushing out.
I am a not-zombie fake chicken on a mission!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LIVY
Sarah’s restaurant is full of worried people and worried voices. A man and a woman stand together over a table, sketching and labeling maps on paper tablecloths: Everett’s Paddock, the bush behind Callen’s Place, Horse Paddock East, Horse Paddock West. And underneath they’re writing people’s names. I look around for Sarah, her mom or her grandpa, but they aren’t here. I don’t know anyone here. I squeeze the pawn in my hand and tell myself, Bob. Don’t forget Bob.
I didn’t even have a chance to tell him where we were going. When I ran downstairs, Gran was hanging up her yellow kitchen phone.
She said, “Get your shoes on, honey.”
“I’m wearing them,” I said, pointing to my sandals.
“No—your sneakers.”
By the time I found them, Gran was already out the door, and I had to run to catch up.
“Danny is missing,” she told me, starting the car. “He never came home for lunch. Don’t worry yet—” She tried to give me a quick smile. “He does this from time to time. But the town is organizing a search.”
* * *
Gran and I are at the restaurant to help. “This is Sarah’s aunt Diedre,” Gran says quickly. “And her husband, Malcolm.” She turns to them. “What can we do?”
Diedre scans the paper. “You ok
ay with walking the northeast quadrant of the bush behind Callen’s Place?” She points to one of her sketches. “From the sheep fence up to the road? I know it’s a lot, but there’s so much ground to cover.”
“Of course,” Gran says. “We’ll go right now.”
Malcolm presses a little paper bag into Gran’s hand and another one into mine. “The restaurant’s telephone number is in there in case you have something to tell us, and some snacks and water. It’s hot. Don’t forget to hydrate.”
Gran nods and feels for my hand without looking at me, and then we are out the door and into the sunlight again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BOB
I peck and side-step my way down the dirt road that leads from Gran’s farmhouse to Sarah’s farmhouse next door. If her grandpa is home with the little boy it will be harder to sneak in, but I have fooled them before, so my confidence is high. Well, high-ish.
Three cars and a tractor pass me on the road and I cough from the dirt their wheels send up. I leap into the tall, brown grass on the side of the road each time I hear one coming. Now I am dirty and scratched up by the pointy grass. I do not look my best.
I’ve never been this far from the house before. It’s scary but kind of exciting, too. I’m like the great explorers of the old days, setting out on new adventures, discovering faraway lands.
Except I can still see Livy’s bedroom window from here.
I must say, I have excellent eyesight.
I peck and side-step a few more minutes, but it’s slow going this way. I decide to run because chickens can run. I am not even out of breath when I reach the farmhouse. Not to brag, it’s just a fact. I am learning all sorts of things about myself on this journey already!
The farmhouse is bigger than Gran’s, but the wood is painted a lime green that I find a bit off-putting. Some of the grass in the front yard is scorched. They must have had a small fire. Gran’s always worrying about fires in the bush during a long drought like this one. I guess it can happen on farms, too. Scary. The house seems fine, though.
I crouch in the tall grass across the street, and with my really good vision I scope out the place. One should always scope out one’s surroundings before sneaking in. Gran watches a lot of detective shows, so I know a lot about stakeouts.
