The door swung open again and Jaclyn’s mom popped her head in. “And one last thing: When you take the cookies out, don’t forget to use an oven mitt.”
“I won’t!” Jaclyn said, exasperated.
After her parents finally left, Jaclyn hung up her apron. She looked at the clock. It was 3:57. She had three minutes until her friends were supposed to arrive. She decided she would get started on cleaning the rabbit cage. She went upstairs to her bedroom. Charles’s cage was placed neatly on top of her dresser so that Charles could look out the window. He liked looking out the window. He also liked munching on the wood chips that lined the floor of his cage, which Jaclyn didn’t understand, but she couldn’t very well ask him to stop.
For months, Jaclyn had begged her parents to let her get a rabbit. Finally, she wrote up a three-page contract detailing how she would take care of her new pet—feeding him twice a day, keeping his water bottle full, and cleaning his cage every week. In the end, her parents agreed.
Jaclyn lifted up the cage. “Oof, Charles, you get heavier every week. Better lay off the wood chips for a while.”
Charles looked up at her and wiggled his nose.
“You’re right. You’re adorable just the way you are!” She carried his cage down the stairs and put it on the kitchen counter. She dumped the old water down the drain. Then she put the dish towel over her arm like she was a server at a fancy restaurant.
“May I offer you some fresh water, sir?” she said.
Charles wiggled his nose.
“Coming right up.” She filled up the water bottle and screwed it back into the side of the cage. “Room temperature, just how you like it. Today’s special is weird brown rabbit food—”
Just then, the doorbell rang. Jaclyn opened it and saw Paige and Fatima on the doorstep.
Fatima eyed the dish towel draped on Jaclyn’s arm. “Were you pretending to run a fancy restaurant for your rabbit again?”
“No!” Jaclyn whipped the towel off and stuffed it in her back pocket.
“So what if she was?” said Paige. “Doesn’t Charles deserve the best?”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Jaclyn.
Paige took off her neon-yellow windbreaker and tossed it across the hall, where it landed perfectly on the coat rack. “Who’s ready to science?”
“I’m not sure you can use science as a verb,” Fatima quipped.
Jaclyn looked at the clock again. “It’s 4:02. You’re late.”
“Don’t blame me,” said Fatima. “We were riding our bikes over and Paige saw a group of ninth graders playing pickup basketball in the park. She wanted to see if she could score on them.”
“Did you?” Jaclyn asked Paige.
“Twice!”
“Come on,” Jaclyn said. “I’ve got everything set up in the garage.” She hoisted Charles’s cage and led the girls to the garage. Inside was a giant model of a volcano that reached halfway to the ceiling. Jaclyn wasn’t going to settle for a project that would just go straight into the trash after getting a participation award. She wasn’t going to show up with a plant growing under a blacklight or a tooth decaying in a soda bottle. She was going to go above and beyond. Which is why she’d decided to build an exact replica of Mount Vesuvius, the deadly Italian volcano that erupted in the year 79 CE and destroyed the city of Pompeii.
“Whoa!” Paige shouted. Her jaw dropped. She looked like the Pompeians had just before they met their demise.
Fatima shook her head. “Jaclyn, I thought we were supposed to make this together.”
“We are! But I did a little extra work yesterday after I finished my homework before my piano lesson—”
“A little extra?” Fatima said, arching her eyebrow.
“Okay, fine. I papier-mâchéed the entire volcano, constructed the tiny town out of toothpicks, and double-checked the calculations to make sure it’s all to scale. But we still have to paint all the people running away from the lava.”
“Cool!” said Paige. She grabbed a paintbrush and smiled. “I bet I could outrun lava.”
Fatima and Paige got to work painting the small figurines at the base of the volcano, while Jaclyn set up her home chemistry set to make the lava. She had created the recipe herself in order to concoct an eruption that would mimic the exact magnitude of Mount Vesuvius. She used the dropper to measure out a precise formula of vinegar, dish soap, and food dye. Then she added a few of her own special ingredients.
She held up the beaker of red liquid. “All set. Now, all we need to do is combine it with the baking soda and—kaboom! How’s the town coming?”
“I still have to paint ten more faces,” said Fatima, as she painted a screaming mouth onto one of the figurines.
“I’m just painting cool hats on all my people,” said Paige.
Jaclyn figured she could use this extra time to clean out Charles’s cage. She opened it up and started scooping all the old, soggy wood chips into a garbage bag.
“These people are so tiny,” Fatima exclaimed in frustration.
“They’re exactly to scale,” said Jaclyn.
“Why are we putting all this work into a science fair that no one is even going to win?”
Paige stopped what she was doing. “What do you mean no one is going to win?”
“There hasn’t been a winner for the past five years. Not since Miss Carver became principal,” said Fatima. “Nothing is ever good enough for her.”
“Which is exactly why we have to submit the greatest science project of all time,” Jaclyn said, wiping down the floor of Charles’s cage with a paper towel.
Fatima let out a huff. “No matter how amazing this project turns out, there’s no way we’re going to win the science fair. No one will.”
“Maybe they should call it the science unfair,” said Paige.
Fatima laughed. “Everything about that Miss Carver is unfair. She’s the meanest principal ever! And you know I’m not exaggerating. Journalists never exaggerate.”
Unfortunately for all the students at Fog Island Middle School, Fatima wasn’t exaggerating.
She continued, “One time, she saw me accidentally throw a plastic bottle in the trash can instead of the recycling bin. She made me climb in after it—and then she closed the lid on me!”
Paige nodded. “One time we were losing a basketball game. Coach was yelling at us. Then Miss Carver came over and started yelling at Coach. It was the first time I’d ever seen a grown-up cry. Plus, she wouldn’t let me join the football team. She wouldn’t even let me try out. She just assumed I wouldn’t be good enough to play on the boys’ team and that I would embarrass the school.”
“I wish Mrs. Goodman was still the principal. I hear she was awesome,” said Fatima.
“My sister talked about her all the time,” said Jaclyn.
Before Miss Carver took over, the principal of Fog Island Middle School had been Greta Goodman. This was during the time that Melanie went to the school, and she always said how kind and encouraging Mrs. Goodman was. Mrs. Goodman believed that all children had the potential to be great if they were treated with respect.
Jaclyn put down her cleaning supplies and found Melanie’s old yearbook stacked on a dusty shelf in the back of the garage. She flipped through the pages until she found a picture of Mrs. Goodman handing Melanie a blue ribbon. “Look.”
Fatima and Paige gathered around her. Fatima pointed at Mrs. Goodman, who had rosy cheeks, curly red hair, and a smiling face. “She looks like the opposite of Miss Carver.”
“What’s the blue ribbon for?” asked Paige.
“The science fair,” said Jaclyn. “Melanie was the last person to win it.”
“Well, yeah, because Mrs. Goodman was the judge,” said Fatima. “Now that Miss Carver is the judge, nothing will ever be good enough.”
“Plus, she smells like vinegar,” said Paige.
“Excellent point,” said Fatima.
“The science fair is next week. We just have to stay on her good side until then,” said Jaclyn.
“She doesn’t have any good sides!” said Fatima. “They’re all bad sides!”
“Well, we at least have to try.” Jaclyn slammed the yearbook shut. “Is the town finished?”
“I’m done,” said Fatima.
“I’m just putting a basketball in this guy’s hand,” said Paige.
“Hmm, that’s not historically accurate. But I’ll let it slide.” Jaclyn climbed up onto a stepstool, carrying the lava mixture and a tablespoon of baking soda. “Ready to commence test eruption.”
“Wait—you’re going to set it off now?” said Paige. “We just spent all that time painting the people.”
“Not to worry. The lava is water soluble. One quick spray-down and it’ll be good as new. Now, stand back.” She poured the baking soda into the volcano, and then added in the lava. She hopped down from the stepstool.
“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two—”
Before she could get to “one,” a frothy red mixture bubbled up from the volcano and cascaded down the sides without any sign of stopping. In fact, the eruption just seemed to be getting bigger. There was a gurgling sound, and the volcano belched up a blob of lava that soared out of the garage and landed in the driveway.
“Whoa,” said Jaclyn. “That’s not supposed to happen.”
Just then, she heard a muffled beeping sound.
“What is that?” she said.
“It’s coming from the kitchen,” said Fatima.
Paige cocked her head. “That’s funny, I heard that same sound when my little brother melted all his action figures over the stove.” She turned to Jaclyn. “Are you melting all your action figures over the stove?”
Then it dawned on Jaclyn what she was hearing. The fire alarm. She gasped. “Grandma Hyde’s Chocolate Delights!”
Jaclyn sprinted into the house. The kitchen was filled with smoke. Jaclyn put on an oven mitt, flung open the oven door, pulled out the cookie sheet, and threw the whole smoking tray into the sink. Paige ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, flapping a dish towel to clear the air.
Ever the journalist, Fatima pulled out her phone and took a picture. “Wow, you two look just like all the figurines we just painted.”
Jaclyn turned on the cold water, drenching the charred cookies. “They’re ruined.”
Paige patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Jaclyn. You’ve got all that lava in the garage. Why not make a lava cake?”
“That’s not what a lava cake is, Paige,” said Fatima.
“I can’t believe I burned the cookies,” Jaclyn wailed. “What am I going to do about Darcy’s birthday?”
“Just go to the store and buy more cookie dough,” said Fatima.
Jaclyn looked at her like she was speaking a different language. “Are you crazy? I’ve made Chocolate Delights from scratch for every person’s birthday since first grade. I can’t switch to store-bought now. This is a disaster.”
“No, this is a disaster,” said Paige, standing at the door to the garage.
“What do you mean?” Jaclyn ran over to her. Mount Vesuvius had erupted everywhere. The whole garage was overflowing with foamy red suds that oozed out into the driveway.
“It looks like someone got murdered with bubble bath in here,” said Paige.
“I must have made the lava formula too strong,” said Jaclyn.
“That’s the understatement of the century,” said Fatima.
Jaclyn sloshed across the soaking-wet floor. The lava had splattered everywhere. It had coated Dad’s power tools and soaked the stacks of books and papers on the shelves. It was even on the ceiling.
“How am I going to clean this up?” Jaclyn put her head in her hands. “This day could not get any worse.”
Then she saw something that made her forget all about the volcano wreckage and the smoldering cookies in the sink. In the chaos, she had left the door of Charles’s cage open. And now, Charles was gone.
Chapter Three
Stay Away from Cedar Street
“Charles?! Charles?!” Jaclyn shouted.
She, Paige, and Fatima ran frantically around the front yard looking for the rabbit. A thick fog hung in the air, and a biting wind whipped up the dried leaves that lay scattered across the ground. The girls searched in the bushes and under the front porch. Paige even looked under the doormat.
Jaclyn tugged at her hair. “How could I leave the cage open? You never leave the cage open. That’s the number one rule of owning a rabbit!”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” Paige said. “Let me get a better view.” She climbed up the birch tree in the middle of the yard.
“Any sign of him?” said Fatima.
Paige scanned the area. “No . . . But there are a couple of squirrels up here. Do you want a pet squirrel, Jaclyn?”
“No! I want Charles!” Jaclyn wailed.
Jaclyn hadn’t been this frazzled since last spring, when she forgot to wear green to school on Saint Patrick’s Day. Fatima grabbed Jaclyn by the shoulders. “Breathe, Jaclyn. Breathe.”
“I don’t have time to breathe!” Jaclyn protested. “If my parents come home and find out that I lost Charles, they’ll disown me.”
“No, they won’t.”
“Well then, I’ll disown myself!”
“Jaclyn, you’re overreacting.”
“No, you’re underreacting!”
“Hey, look!” By now, Paige had climbed down from the tree and was pointing across the street. “Is that one of Charles’s wood chips?”
Sure enough, on the pavement next to the storm drain was a thin shaving of yellow wood. Jaclyn’s eyes grew wide. They all darted across the street, then crouched down and peered into the storm drain.
“Charles! Are you down there?” Jaclyn shouted, her voice echoing off the sewer walls. “Why did I get such a quiet pet?”
Fatima leaned closer to the storm drain and squinted into the darkness. “I can’t see anything . . .” She pushed herself up. “Ugh! But I can smell everything.”
“What if he’s trapped down there? He can’t swim!”
“How do you know? Maybe he can swim,” said Paige.
Fatima sighed. “Paige, I love your optimism, but let’s be honest. He probably can’t swim.”
Paige narrowed her eyes and stared down the street through the fog. “Is that him?”
All the way at the end of the block, Charles was hopping along the sidewalk. Had it not been for his brown spots, he would have vanished into the fog altogether.
Jaclyn’s face lit up. “Nice job, Paige. You’ve got eagle eyes!”
“Don’t you mean rabbit eyes?” said Paige, confused.
The girls ran after Charles as fast as they could, but he hopped down the street even faster. They passed a row of houses and had almost caught up to him when he suddenly turned and hopped in another direction. The wrong direction. The worst direction he could have turned.
Jaclyn gasped. “He went down Cedar Street!”
Jaclyn had never been down Cedar Street. None of them had. Cedar Street was a dead end, empty except for one house that every kid on Fog Island avoided at all costs—Enfield Manor. It was an abandoned estate where a mad scientist named Cornelius Enfield used to live. The warnings had been whispered down through generations of Fog Island kids, from older siblings to younger siblings, from middle schoolers to elementary schoolers, from babysitters to babysitees. The message was clear as could be: Stay away from Cedar Street.
Fatima put her hands on her hips. “It can’t really be that bad. It’s just a street with a big empty house at the end!”
“The dead end!” said Paige, biting her fingernails.
Jaclyn took a deep breath. “Fatima’s right. It’s just a dumb street. My parents will be home any minute. We have to find Charles.”
“Then it’s decided,” said Fatima, nudging Jaclyn forward. “Let’s go.”
The girls turned the corner onto Cedar Street. Paige lagged a step behind. Even though she was the tallest, stron
gest, and definitely the fastest of the three of them, she was also the most easily spooked. She was very superstitious. Once she accidentally broke a mirror and spent three weeks gluing it back together. She even carried a rabbit’s foot key chain for good luck, but she couldn’t very well use it now—that just felt wrong.
“There he is,” said Jaclyn, pointing just up ahead.
They ran down the street, which was lined on both sides with moss-covered trees and overgrown weeds. They found Charles sitting in front of Enfield Manor’s wrought-iron gate. He was wiggling his nose, completely oblivious to the fact that he was planted in front of the scariest house on the island. Three stories high, with walls of dark-gray brick and a pitched roof of black shale, the house seemed like the kind of place that would attract a lightning bolt in a thunderstorm. The windows were shuttered and the shutters were locked, except for one on the ground floor that creaked back and forth in the wind. A stone path led from the gate to the front door. At the base of the front steps were two unlit gas lanterns.
Jaclyn held out her hands to stop Paige and Fatima from getting any closer. “Be careful,” she said softly. “We can’t scare him. The last thing I want is for him to run through that gate.”
The girls nodded in agreement.
Jaclyn got down on one knee and held out her hands like she was making an offering to a saint. “Come here, Charles,” she said in her sweetest voice. “Come here, buddy.”
Except for his nose, Charles didn’t move.
Fatima decided to take a more logical approach. “Charles, think this through. What does this house have to offer that Jaclyn’s doesn’t? There are no wood chips. I bet there isn’t even any running water. So let’s end this silly game of chase, and you march your fuzzy little butt right back over here.”
Charles didn’t budge.
“Guys, don’t be ridiculous. He can’t understand you!” said Paige. “I got this.” She pulled her wrists up to her shoulders and balled up her fists like little bunny paws. Then she wiggled her nose and started hopping up and down. As the all-time leading rebounder on the Fog Island Middle School basketball team, Paige could really hop.
Jaclyn looked at Paige like she was crazy. “What are you doing?”
Jaclyn Hyde Page 2
