“I haven’t decided when I’ll tell him,” Cory said. “Maybe tonight. Maybe later.”
I wanted to shove Cory. To smash him down into the ground so he could lie there and feel the dirt under him and be up close to every fallen pine needle and feel scared. But I didn’t do that. I watched him go.
“How close are you now?” I asked Leo when Cory couldn’t hear us anymore. “To having enough money?”
“Not close enough,” he said. “And I’ve only got a week before my dad’s deadline to have the money for the plane ticket.”
“We can do it,” I said. “We can’t quit now.”
“Once Cory tells Gary it’s all over.”
“We’re being blackmailed by a Hellfart,” I said. I hoped it would make Leo laugh.
Leo didn’t laugh.
He also didn’t cry. Which it looked for a minute like he might do. I knew that feeling. Hold your mouth tight, tell your heart not to hurt, tell your brain not to think about what might happen next.
29.
It was a busy night because the festival was winding down for the summer and everyone wanted to see the plays before they closed. Every time I saw Cory, I felt my heart sink. Had he told Gary yet? At the end of the night, when we went out and unlocked our bikes, Leo said, “We don’t have to meet up in the morning. No one signed up for the tour tomorrow. The only person who called today was Cory.”
Everything was going wrong. “It’s okay. People will call again. It’s only one day.”
“The only way I can make the deadline is if the tour keeps doing as well as it has,” Leo said. “Every day.”
“I could lend you some money,” I said. “Really.”
“No,” Leo said. “I couldn’t take that from you.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“You would have had all the money if you’d done the tour by yourself,” I pointed out.
“I wouldn’t have made as much money without you,” Leo said.
“I don’t even know what I’m saving for yet.”
“But you’re saving for something.”
When Leo said that, I realized it was true. It hadn’t been before. But it was now.
A season ski pass? A plane ticket?
I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted yet, but things had changed. Now I could at least imagine things I might want.
You’re stupid, something inside me said. Hoping for something doesn’t mean you’ll get to have it. There are no guarantees.
Shut up, I told that voice. I’m turning right past you to another page. You’re right but today I don’t care.
30.
“No running today?” Mom asked when I came downstairs the next morning. She was sitting at the table with a pile of lesson plans for the new school year. Everything was coming to an end.
I’m sure I looked blank for a second before I caught on. Oh. Right. Running. What I supposedly did in the mornings.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t hear my alarm.”
“Well, you’ve been every other day.” Mom put her hand on my head as she set a bowl on the table in front of me and reached for the cereal. “What would you like? Cheerios with bananas?”
I nodded. The sun shone through the window. I couldn’t believe how long I’d slept in.
“I’m so proud of you this summer, Cedar,” Mom said. “Running in the mornings. Working so hard at the Summerlost Festival. Volunteering at the Summerlost Festival.” She brought over a plate of sliced bananas and the milk and cereal and sat down across from me. “And taking care of Miles for me too. Except for that slipup with the soap opera, you’ve been amazing with him. I really appreciate it.”
I picked up the plate and started to slide the bananas into my cereal. I felt guilty. I’d lied to her about the tour, and Miles and I hadn’t actually stopped watching Times of Our Seasons.
My mother beamed.
I ate my cereal.
With all the guilt, and with everything going on with Leo and Cory and the tour, you wouldn’t think that I would care that the milk was perfectly cold and the bananas not too ripe, but I did. It felt nice to have something be exactly right.
31.
When I got to the costume shop, Meg was having a meeting. All of the employees stood gathered around her worktable. Emily and a nice guy whose name was Nate moved over so I could see Meg, since I was shorter than everyone else.
“Today’s a big day,” Meg said. “We’re starting to dress the mannequins up in the Costume Hall.”
“Some of us are,” said Emily, sounding grumpy. “Some of us have to stay down here and mend the costumes for tonight’s show.”
Meg caught sight of me. “Cedar, you can carry the pieces of the costumes up and down,” she said. “You’ve got the youngest legs.”
The first thing Meg gave me to carry upstairs was a black-and-gold-embroidered doublet. It was heavy. When we got up to the Costume Hall, she showed me the display cases. Each one contained a plaque (saying who wore the costume in which play), and a faceless male or female mannequin waiting to be dressed.
It was disturbing.
“Here’s where we are,” Meg said. “Eric Potter, Henry VIII.”
“He was short,” I said, looking at the outfit.
“And a terrible actor, by all reports,” Meg said. “They didn’t have a lot of options in those first years when they were getting started. But the real Henry VIII was also fat so that, at least, was authentic.” She gave the mannequin a pat on the back. “Old Eric Potter did his best for the festival.”
She hung the doublet on the portable clothes rack next to her. It had a bunch of items with ERIC POTTER: HENRY VIII tags on them. “You can head downstairs now for more pieces,” Meg said. “Unless you’d like to help me dress Henry.”
“No thank you,” I told her.
All day long I ferried up the clothes and accessories to Meg and the others and gathered the things they needed. The last thing I brought up was a Titania robe from a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It shimmered green and purple and blue and gold. I couldn’t stop touching the fabric, even though I knew they’d just cleaned it.
Meg draped the robe over the mannequin and stood back to look it over. “I’ve always loved this one,” she said. “I helped make it during my first year at the festival.”
I looked at the plaque. The actress who’d worn the dress was named Philippa Page. Not Lisette Chamberlain. But I was still curious. “Did you know her?”
“Yes,” Meg said. “She was a fine actor. Very reserved when she wasn’t onstage, though, so I didn’t know her well. I always felt a bit sorry for her because she came along at the same time Lisette did.”
“And everyone loved Lisette,” I said. “Right? Because she was a great actress, and she was from Iron Creek.” I felt reckless talking about Lisette with Meg, especially because of the tour situation, but what did I have to lose? And what if I could find out something amazing, something that even Leo didn’t know, and then I could tell it to him? Would that make him feel better? Or worse?
“Not everyone loved Lisette,” Meg said. “But most people did. I did. She was one of my best friends.”
I had so many questions. So who didn’t love Lisette? What was she like? How well did you know her? Did she tell you secrets? Did you see her the night she died?
I didn’t know which one to ask.
“She and I became friends the first summer I was here,” Meg said. She didn’t sound sad talking about her friend. She sounded happy. Remembering. “I was an assistant in the costume shop. We were doing a full dress rehearsal, and I was in the audience watching and keeping an eye on the costumes—what fit right, and how they looked under the lights. They had to take a break to fix a trapdoor and I went up to adjust someone’s costume, and Lisette said something under her breath that m
ade me laugh so hard I got tears in my eyes. No one else seemed to get the joke. She noticed. After that we spent a lot of time together. We were almost the same age and we both had big dreams.”
“Was her dream to go to Hollywood?”
Meg nodded.
“Was yours?”
“No,” Meg said. “I wanted to get hired as one of the costume experts at a big museum somewhere.”
But she was still here in Iron Creek. She did have the Costume Hall, though, which was kind of like a museum.
Did she like it when Lisette came back? Or did it remind Meg that she’d never left?
I didn’t ask that of course. But I realized something I should have thought of a long time ago. No wonder Leo liked Lisette so much. She was a kid from Iron Creek who had big dreams. And she made them happen.
32.
I dumped out a pile of straws and pipe cleaners on the table at home and got out some Elmer’s Glue and construction paper. It was a good thing my mom hadn’t really looked in the craft box she’d put together for us when we first moved to Iron Creek. There were an awful lot of supplies left.
“What are you doing?” Miles asked. “It’s time to go to Leo’s.”
“I’m going to need to talk to Leo for a while after we watch Times of Our Seasons,” I said. “So I’m leaving Mom a note in case she comes back while we’re still gone. And I’m leaving this. I want it to look like we were doing crafts.”
“What were we making?” Miles asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Miles picked up a straw. “In kindergarten we cut up the straws and put string through them and made necklaces. Do we have any string?”
“Good idea,” I said. I got out some string and scissors. We chopped up the straws and threaded string through them. Miles needed a haircut. His straight dark hair hung in his eyes and he pushed it away as he bent over to tie the ends of his necklace together. “There,” he said. “Done.”
“Nice,” I said. “Thanks.” The two of us had been a good team lately. If being a good team meant that we excelled at tricking our mom and eating a lot of candy and playing a lot of board games. I reached over and took the necklace he’d made from him. “Can I wear it?”
“Sure,” he said, sounding surprised. I pulled it over my head. I could barely get it on, and it was shorter than I expected it to be, more like a choker than a long necklace.
“Your head’s huge,” Miles said.
“I know.” Ben had had a big head too. You couldn’t really tell from looking at us, but when we wanted to wear hats, we always had to find them in the adult section. “It’s a sign of my giant brain.”
“Not necessarily,” Miles said. “Dinosaurs had huge heads and tiny brains.”
“Not necessarily,” I said back. “I heard once that some of them had a second brain, like in their tails.”
“That’s a myth,” Miles said. “But are you trying to tell me that you have a brain in your butt?”
“Maybe.” I shook my butt at him.
Miles clapped his hands over his eyes. “That’s disgusting.”
We left the other necklace and the supplies out on the counter, arranged theatrically.
“Do you think Mom will fall for it?” I asked Miles as we closed the blue door behind us and started toward Leo’s. I walked fast. We’d taken longer than I’d meant to with our craft.
“Probably,” Miles said. His mood seemed to have changed. He wasn’t looking at me. He stared down at the sidewalk, a frown on his face. His flip-flops snick-snacked on the pavement extra loud.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you only bring me places so you don’t get in trouble?”
“No,” I said. “I like hanging out with you. Which is good because I have to do it all the time.” I shoved into him.
He didn’t shove back.
“What about Leo?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you like him?”
“He’s my friend,” I said.
“Do you like like him?” Miles asked.
“No.”
“He probably wishes I’d stay home instead of hang around you guys.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “Leo likes you.”
And then I realized that Leo was also Miles’s best friend in Iron Creek. And that Miles was feeling left out.
“I’m just going to go home when Times of Our Seasons is done,” Miles said. “Then you and Leo can talk in private.”
“I need you to stay with me so Mom doesn’t get mad,” I said. “Please.”
“What do you have to talk with him about?”
“Just something.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I do, but I don’t want you to get in trouble. Please, Miles. I’ll play Life with you later, as many games as you want. Or Clue.”
For a minute I thought he was going to turn around and leave. Not even watch Times of Our Seasons. Then I saw him take a deep breath and do that thing. You see grown-ups do it all the time. They’re about to lose their patience or get mad and then instead they take a deep breath and do not lose their patience and do not scream.
It’s a weird thing to see a little kid do. I used to see Ben do it and it tore me up.
It made me feel awful to see Miles do it.
“How about,” Miles said, “you eat two Fireballs at the same time.”
I wanted to hug him but we were almost to Leo’s and so I didn’t. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
Leo opened the door before we could knock. “Hi,” I said. Miles hurried past Leo and pounded down the basement stairs. So he was still mad.
“Have you heard anything new?” Leo asked.
“No,” I said. “I guess Cory hasn’t told anyone yet.”
“So you think we should go to work today like usual?”
“Yeah. What else can we do?” I shrugged. “Has anyone called about tomorrow’s tour?”
Leo nodded. “Two people. I had to tell them that the tour was temporarily on hold. They weren’t very happy.” Leo slumped against the door frame and rubbed one of his eyes. “I’ve got to try and make some money. I knocked on all the doors in the neighborhood but no one needs me to mow their lawn.” He paused. “What about Miles? Does he need a babysitter?”
I hoped my brother hadn’t heard Leo’s question. That would make Miles feel even worse if he thought Leo saw him as a kid to be babysat.
“No,” I said. “What if I lend you the money? Not give it to you. You could pay me back later.”
Leo shook his head.
“Can you ask Zach or Jeremy?”
“No way,” Leo said.
“Let’s watch the show,” I said. “Maybe we’ll think of something.”
When Leo and I went downstairs, Miles was sitting in a chair instead of on the couch where the three of us usually sat together. He didn’t turn to look at us. The straw necklace scratched at my collarbone.
“Here we go,” Leo said as he turned on the television. “Maybe today will be the day.”
But I knew somehow that today would not be the day.
Harley was in her box, just like she’d been all summer long.
It felt extra claustrophobic to me. It was so dark in the coffin. The camera showed us the bruises on her hands from banging on the lid. And even though she was still beautiful, her makeup looked different now. They were trying to make her seem tired.
“I feel like she’s going to die in there,” I said. “They’re never going to let her out.”
“They will,” Miles said.
The doorbell rang upstairs right as the show was ending.
I heard one of Leo’s brothers walking to answer it.
Then he came to the top of the stairs. “Cedar,” Jeremy said. “It’s your mom.”
U
h-oh.
Leo shot a look at me and we both stood up. Miles dove for the remote control and turned off Times of Our Seasons.
“What do you think happened?” Leo asked.
“I told her we’d be here,” I said. “In a note. She must have decided to come over.”
I didn’t want to go upstairs, but even more I didn’t want my mom at Leo’s house. It felt weird. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, but even more awkward.
When I came up the stairs my mom was waiting right by the front door. “Cedar,” she said. “Are you all right?”
I could tell she had just gotten back from the gym and she looked worried and mad.
“Mom,” I said. “Yes. I’m fine. Hi. We can come home now. Let me go get Miles.”
“I got your note,” my mom said. “And there was also a message waiting for me from Daniel Alexander.”
Daniel Alexander? Not Gary?
This was very bad.
I heard Leo draw in his breath behind me.
Cory. That loser. He wanted to get us in as much trouble as he could. So he went straight to Daniel Alexander instead of telling Gary. We should have known.
“He said it was regarding my daughter, Cedar, and not to worry, that everything was fine,” my mom said, “but that he did need me to call him back at my convenience. I tried calling but he didn’t pick up. Why is Daniel Alexander calling me about you?”
Right then the door to the garage opened and Leo’s dad came in. “Leo Bishop!” he hollered. “I need to talk to you.” Then he saw us and stopped. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dale Bishop.”
“I’m Shannon Lee,” Mom said. “I’m sorry to bother you. I came to pick up Cedar and Miles. They’ve been hanging out here with Leo.”
“Of course,” Mr. Bishop said. Then he looked at Leo. “Daniel Alexander just called me at work.” It was the first time I’d seen Leo’s dad up close.
I looked over at Leo. He swallowed.
Leo’s dad was mad but in a dad way, not a scary way. He looked exactly like Zach, only older.
I wasn’t scared for Leo. But I was sad for him.