Danny’s mouth is hanging open. He says, “A chicken in a well?”
Bob breaks into a smile and starts jumping up and down. He turns and actually tries to hug the well. “Oh, Livy! Do you think so? Do you really—”
He stops. He freezes.
I freeze.
Danny freezes.
Because there is a kind of rumbling coming from inside the well.
“What’s that noise?” Danny whispers. Before I know it, he’s standing behind me, peeking out from under my arm, at the well. “It’s talking,” Danny says into my side.
“It’s all right,” I tell him. I don’t want Danny to get scared. But it doesn’t feel completely all right. The well is talking. Not in a voice. It’s talking with the ground. It’s talking with the rocks. It’s talking with the trees. It’s talking with the birds and the bugs.
It isn’t using any words. But with the rocks, and the ground, and the trees, and the birds and the bugs, the well is asking a question:
???
???
???
And then everything starts to move. Still holding the book, I squish Danny against me with one arm and grab Bob’s hand on the other side. It feels soft and dry.
And—strong. He’s squeezing my hand pretty hard.
We’re all looking at the well. More vibrating earth. More shouting trees and birds and bugs.
????
I’m scared. Is the whole town shaking? And right then I have the weirdest thought: Where is my baby sister? Is she safe? I remember she’s far away, with Mom. Safe somewhere.
The well wall begins to shake. Danny’s arms go around my waist. And then Bob lets my hand go and takes a step toward the well. “Bob!” I yell, reaching for him. “What are you doing? You’ve got to hold on to something!”
Bob staggers toward the well, first one foot, then the other. He holds his arms up in the air. It’s like when the baby wants up.
Something starts coming out of the well. An arm, green like Bob’s, but bigger. And then another one.
“Livy!” Bob shouts. “Livy, it’s my—”
Then something is in front of us, blotting out the afternoon light. Someone.
Someone whose green skin looks wet. Someone whose eyes are just barely open. Like it has been sleeping for a long time. Or crying.
The ground stops shaking. Which is better.
Then the someone puts both arms out, and Bob leaps into them.
“It’s my MOM!” Bob shouts at me from her arms. “My MOM, Livy!”
She cuddles Bob up to her face, and he puts his arms around her neck.
Danny lets go of me. “Oh no you don’t!” I catch his hand. He pulls, reaching for the little box on the ground. Then, with his free hand, he holds the box up to Bob and his mom.
“Oh, thank you!” Bob says, plucking the cupcake from the box. “Pink!”
“It’s for HER,” Danny says. “It’s a present. She has to take it. So that it can rain again.”
But Bob is already eating the cupcake.
“I made it for her! So that we can keep the farm!” Danny says, starting to cry. He turns to me, and his face is crumpled. “Like in the story.”
I haven’t had a chance to actually read the story, but I already know that Bob’s mom doesn’t care about cupcakes. Bob’s mom cares about Bob.
She puts Bob down very carefully and comes over to me, peering down into my face. (Bob stays put, still eating the cupcake.) She’s like a very tall version of Bob, but wet and earth-smelling.
“Hello,” I tell her, pretending my legs aren’t shaking. “I’m very happy to meet you.”
She looks like she’s waiting for something. Maybe she does want a cupcake. I mean, Bob sure loves them.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t have any cupcakes.”
She bends toward me, waiting.
“I don’t know what you…” Then I have an idea. I begin to pull everything out of my pockets. “All I have is this.” And I hold my hands out, palms up, showing her.
One plastic whistle.
One ripped granola bar wrapper.
One five-year-old piece of licorice.
One black pawn.
I look over at Bob, who’s still smacking away. How can he eat at a time like this?
“Livy!” he says between bites. “I am remembering so many things! This is my mother! And this is my well! We have many wells. And they are everywhere!” Then he pauses, cupcake gripped tightly, pink icing all over his nose, and says, “Livy. We are important.”
“Bob,” I say, “could you maybe tell your mom that I don’t have any cupcakes?” Because she’s staring at me like I have something she wants.
“She doesn’t want a cupcake!” Bob says, smiling. “She is saying thank you, Livy—she is thanking you for keeping me safe, and for bringing me home.”
Then he makes a sound. It’s a sound I have never heard from Bob before, not so different from a magpie’s warble.
Still looking at me, she makes the same sound.
He makes the sound again. Then he looks sad. “My mom has been waiting for me for a long time, Livy. She says she has missed me even more than I missed her. I have had you, Livy. And Gran Nicholas. And my dictionary. And my Lego pirates. But she missed me very much.”
My hands are still out in front of me with all the things from my pockets because I’m afraid to move. I don’t want to be afraid of Bob’s mom, but I am.
“Give her the licorice!” Danny whispers from behind me.
Bob’s mom opens her eyes wide, and I see that they are brown, just like Bob’s. They’re all kinds of brown, like a tree trunk. I stretch out my open hand so that she can take the licorice. Finally, she reaches out with two long fingers. But she doesn’t take the licorice. She takes my black pawn.
Her fingers wrap around it, and I can’t see it anymore.
Bob’s mom makes a light sound, like wind in the trees, almost a kind of sigh, and then she turns away. She grabs Bob so that he’s resting in the crook of one arm. She steps up to the well wall.
Wait. She’s not taking him home right now, is she? They’re just—going away? Is Bob about to disappear? I’ve been so worried about finding Bob’s family that I never for even one second thought about what it would feel like when he left.
It feels horrible.
“Wait!” I yell at Bob’s mom’s back. “Wait a minute! We didn’t get to—”
And she hops into the well.
“Good-bye, Livy!” Bob calls, his words echoing up to us. “Good-bye, my friend! Thank you! I love you, Livy!”
They’re gone.
I want to tell Bob that I love him, too.
Everything gets very quiet. And then there’s a great big boom.
“Thunder!” Danny is jumping up and down, shouting. “Thunder! Finally!” He stops and looks at me. “Everything’s going to be okay now!”
Fat, warm raindrops begin falling all around us.
“We did it!” Danny shouts.
The rain is falling heavy and fast. It feels like the air is mostly water. And then, somehow, it rains even harder.
I stand there and let it soak me.
Danny laughs. “You’re really wet!” Then he looks serious and says, “But I’m sorry about your chicken.”
My Bob. I feel tears start, and I let them come. The rain will hide them.
“We’ve got to get you home,” I tell Danny.
* * *
Danny and I have been walking back along the creek bed for less than a minute when two long whistles pierce the sound of the downpour. Gran! I blow my whistle back to let her know that I’m okay. Danny and I don’t try to talk as we make our way to her through the trees. I pay attention to where I walk, the way Gran taught me. It takes me a while to realize I’m squeezing something in one hand. I uncurl my fingers.
One ripped granola bar wrapper.
One piece of licorice.
One plastic whistle.
Wasn’t there—something els
e?
“What was—the other thing?” I shout to Danny through the rain, holding out my hand to show him.
“What?” he shouts back.
“The other thing in my pocket. The thing she took.”
“The thing who took? Who’s she?”
I hesitate. I don’t know.
“The thing I lost.” Because I think I lost something. “The black—something.”
He stops. “Should we look for it?” Danny is a good kid. Maybe Beth Ann will turn out like him.
But the rain is pounding everything. Whatever it was, I know we’ll never find it. And anyway, I don’t even know what to look for.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BOB
I am home. My home is smelly, wet, and dark. It is also cozy and warm and perfect, and now that I’m back, I remember all the parts of my story.
My mom is here, and my dad, and my two older sisters—Beth and Ann. And lots of grandparents and cousins! We well dwellers don’t live inside the actual wells, more like in between them, in long tunnels and caves with nooks and crannies for playing or resting or thinking. We are tied to the earth and the sky, and even though sometimes people bring us treats, they really don’t have to. We would bring the rain anyway. It’s what we do.
Except when one of us goes missing. This almost never happens, because we are never supposed to leave the wells.
Like, ever.
What happens when one of us gets too close to the surface of a well because we smell cake and then hear a small plop, followed by a big plop?
1. As soon as we climb out and dry off, we forget where we came from, forget how to make rain, and forget how to get home.
2. Our families can’t find us and get very, very sad. Our underground tunnels go everywhere, which means that we could pop up anywhere. Well, anywhere there are wells. My mom searched for me in Istanbul and Singapore, in Finland, Tokyo, and all thirty-eight Springfields in America. She couldn’t go far from the wells, though, because of the drying/forgetting thing. She would never have found me in Gran’s closet.
3. Without rain, the land soon dries out, the crops don’t grow, the animals don’t have anything to graze on, the reservoirs don’t get filled, and farmers like Gran and her neighbors can’t pay their bills anymore.
Basically, it stinks all around.
BUT, once you return to the well, your family is so overjoyed to see you again that they make it pour down rain. In a few days, water will fill the creeks and reservoirs, and rainbows will fill the skies. The grass will get green and the animals will eat and farmers will grow crops again and life will be grand.
Life is grand below, too, because I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. Except—and this is a big one—EXCEPT I’ve left behind a very smart and brave friend who doesn’t remember all the smart and brave things she did because someone’s mom (okay, mine) acted all scary and took her pawn away. I don’t know how my mom knew that the pawn was the key to Livy remembering me, but she did.
Mom’s not really scary, not with me anyway. After she found me she told me a story. She said when she’d been looking for me at the Tokyo well, she’d overheard a man telling his son about waku waku, another word that won’t be in the Ws in my Australian/English dictionary.
She said waku waku is a way of describing the thrill you feel at moving toward something that you’re excited about, something that makes you feel the most alive out of anything. She said she knew exactly what the man meant, but didn’t have a word for it—waku waku is what kept her moving toward me, until I finally got close enough to a well that she found me. Leaning against Gran’s well that time with Danny was like a beacon drawing her closer, then touching the old well with the wonky tree led her right to me.
Being a well dweller, and having a friend like Livy, are what make me feel most alive. I can feel the rightness of it all the way to my bones. Now I just need to tell her.
So I wait until the middle of the night. I draw my family a picture showing them that I will return soon so they won’t worry. Then I put my chicken suit on and hoist a bucketful of water onto my shoulder. When I get back, I will teach my family how to read, so they can learn about things like buckets and I can leave notes with real words. I’m a pretty bad artist.
I climb out of the well and have to climb right back in because it turns out all wells look the same from below. It takes me six tries to find Livy’s yard, but I did get to see some cool parts of the world. I’ll have to make sure to return to that Hawaii place soon. It looked very green.
Seems I didn’t have to worry about keeping myself wet, because the sky over Gran’s farm is still pouring down rain. I let the rain soak me through and through, then pour out the bucket and take it with me anyway.
I am so excited as I near the house that I don’t even bother with the chicken walk. The smell of freshly baked cake hits me as I slowly push open the back door. It takes supreme willpower to walk by the half-eaten chocolate deliciousness as I pass by it.
On second thought, they probably wouldn’t miss a bite or two. I put down the fork after four. I should probably work on this willpower issue.
The lights are out, but I can hear Gran on the phone in her room. She is laughing and saying, “I know, isn’t it wonderful? I love the ping-ping-ping on the roof. I could listen to it all night. In fact, I plan to!” I put my hand on the wall outside her room and send a silent thank-you for housing me all those years.
Then I pass her half-open door without a sound and enter Livy’s bedroom. My feet pull me toward the closet, and I have to remind myself that it’s no longer where I belong. But then I go anyway. I stick the Lego pirate ship and my dictionary and the tutu in the bucket.
The dictionary is to share with everyone. The tutu is for my sisters. The pirate ship is for me. It reminds me of what Livy said, about how one thing can be lots of other things. All it takes is a little imagination.
Now I know that people are like that, too. Livy’s not just Old Livy or New Livy, she’s every age she’s ever been, and sometimes they get jumbled, but they’re all in there. All the Bobs are in me, too. All the things I choose to put in my head are what make me, me. I plan to choose wisely.
I am much smarter since I’ve returned to the wells!
I turn toward Livy now, sleeping soundly with Rufus in her arms. It’s the only time I’ve seen her pay any real attention to him on this trip.
I try not to laugh at the dab of blue paint still on her nose. She also has a smear of chocolate on her cheek. Who needs a bath now!
Then I notice something sticking out from under her pillow. It’s the corner of a book. I can read only a little bit of the title—to Z—but I know exactly what it is. It’s the book with my story in it.
I want to wake her and ask her about it. I want to play chess and solve more mysteries with her. I want to thank her. She protected me, the way a pawn protects the king. Livy got me across the board, and all the way home.
But I let her sleep. I only lift Rufus carefully from her grasp and place the chipped pawn inside the pocket of his tiny overalls. It fits perfectly. Mom had wrapped it up in a cloth and stuck it in a drawer, but I took it out and put a rock in there instead. I learned that from Livy’s trick with the pillows in her bed! I hope it will be many years before Mom realizes my deception.
I pat Rufus on the head one last time. It might not work. Maybe Livy will leave him with Gran and won’t ever find the pawn. But I hope Livy finds it, and I hope she takes it when she goes back to the other side of the world.
“Keep moving toward what makes you feel most alive, Livy,” I whisper. “See you in five years.” I tiptoe back to the door, but then remember something really important and tiptoe back to whisper one last thing.
“Bring licorice.”
THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK.
The Friends who made
BOB
possible are:
JEAN FEIWEL, Publisher
LIZ SZABLA, As
sociate Publisher
RICH DEAS, Senior Creative Director
HOLLY WEST, Editor
ANNA ROBERTO, Editor
CHRISTINE BARCELLONA, Editor
KAT BRZOZOWSKI, Editor
ALEXEI ESIKOFF, Senior Managing Editor
KIM WAYMER, Senior Production Manager
ANNA POON, Assistant Editor
EMILY SETTLE, Assistant Editor
APRIL WARD, Art Director
MELINDA ACKELL, Copy Chief
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OUR BOOKS ARE FRIENDS FOR LIFE.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Wendy Mass is the New York Times bestselling author of The Candymakers series and many other novels for young readers, including the Schneider Family Book Award-winner A Mango-Shaped Space, Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life (which was made into a feature film), Every Soul a Star, Pi in the Sky, the Twice Upon a Time series, and the Willow Falls series that began with 11 Birthdays. She and her family live in New Jersey. You can sign up for email updates here.
Rebecca Stead is the New York Times-bestselling author of When You Reach Me, winner of the Newbery Medal; Liar & Spy; FirstLight; and Goodbye Stranger. Her work has been also been awarded the Boston Globe/Horn Book Award for Fiction and the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award. She lives in New York City with her family and their lazy but beautiful cat. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four