Chapter One Summer in East Evansburg, and a sun like a hot white eye glared down at the cracked and shriveling earth. It hadn''t rained in weeks. Months. The April showers had come on time, but May was dry as dust, and June brought in a thick, sticky heat that refused to go away. The sun parched the new leaves as they opened, and made them curl up like caterpillars on their twigs. July came, but the rain didn''t. Families'' wells went dry, so they had to truck in water, and the sticky air lay like a hot puddle in houses and never seemed to go, no matter how often they opened and shut the windows. The only people who enjoyed the heat were kids and the makers of creemees.
And even for kids, riding bikes around town started to lose its appeal, with the sun glaring down. Swimming holes were mobbed every weekend. The East Evansburg swimming hole was on Lethe Creek. A cold green place in the stream where the water slipped under a covered bridge. Little kids liked to play on the rocks there. On really hot days, parents set up their chairs right in the water, dipping their feet and calling to their neighbors. On a Saturday in late August, the heat lay on people''s necks like a hand. Parents in chairs kept soaking their T-shirts and wearing them wet against the white-eyeball sun.
Kids chased dogs into and out of the water. People shouted and people laughed. Six parents sat with their chairs arranged in a tight circle, right in the water, so their bare feet stayed wet. Three of them were moms, and three were dads. They weren''t laughing. "Coco won''t talk to me," one said. Her blond hair was plaited down her back, and she wore a plaid shirt over her swimsuit, to protect her skin from the sun. Coco was her daughter.
"But something''s wrong. I just know it." The man next to her had dark, sad eyes. He took her hand but didn''t say anything. He''d had a daughter named Olivia, but she was dead. She''d died in a boating accident on Lake Champlain. Just that May. A few months ago.
Sometimes he dreamed that she wasn''t dead. Sometimes he dreamed that she was looking for him. But he knew those were just dreams. She was dead. He loved Coco, though. Loved her almost as much as the daughter he''d lost. "Brian won''t talk to us either," Brian''s mom said. Her swimsuit was orange, her expression serious.
"It''s just--darn it--" another dad said. He had glasses and threw his head back when he drank his ginger ale. His son''s name was Philip Greenblatt. "Something''s wrong, but they won''t trust us with it! They just say, ''No, everything''s fine, Dad, I''m going to Brian''s for a sleepover.'' Or wherever. But they''re all jumping at shadows. I know Phil isn''t sleeping." Coco''s mom said, "Coco cries in her sleep sometimes.
She''s been having nightmares. I--she used to talk to me all the time, but now it really is like she doesn''t trust me anymore." She rolled her drink between her hands without drinking it. The sun beat down on all of them. "I''m worried," Brian''s mom said. "We''re all worried," put in her husband. "Especially since those two kids disappeared," Brian''s mom went on. She lifted her hair off her neck.
"Parents have a right to be worried, don''t they? What were their names? Ruth and Tim? Just snatched right out of the Rutland fairgrounds. Awful." They all exchanged dark looks. Behind them, most of the kids of Evansburg were splashing and yelling in the water. Phil''s mother said, "I have half a mind to keep Phil and Mikey home. When the fair comes here this year." "Or at least keep a close eye," Coco''s mom said. Brian''s mom said impatiently, "But whatever''s bothering the kids--it started before this summer.
It started with that field trip last October. Doctor says Brian''s fine, but ." "Maybe we should keep the kids apart?" Coco''s mom said. The rest of the parents turned to look at her. She went on, haltingly. "If-- Do you think they--that they--I mean, they''re all good kids, don''t get me wrong. And I know they''re best friends. I was so glad to see Coco making friends when we first moved.
But maybe they-I mean-sometimes it seems like they''ve built up this imaginary world together. No grown-ups allowed. And it--scares them, somehow? Coco was never a very imaginative kid--she liked books about flowers and insects, for God''s sake--and now she wakes up in the night screaming." Hesitant nods all around the circle. Brian''s mom said, "I hate to say it, Zelda, but you might be right. I can''t think what else to do, not unless they tell us-- something . We don''t have to be obvious about it, you know? Just keep the kids close to home until school starts. And maybe if anyone does pry it out of their kid, for God''s sake, text everyone else.
I hate , I hate not knowing what to do." "We all do," Zelda said. *** "What do we even do now?" Brian Battersby demanded of his two friends. He wanted to pace in frustration, but the three of them were clustered above the swimming hole, on a small rock ledge right under the trestles of the East Evansburg Bridge. There wasn''t room to pace. His friends, Coco and Phil, were sitting with their backs against the struts of the bridge, their feet dangling. Above them was the shadowy span of the old covered bridge. The water below threw up white glimmers of light that speckled their hands and faces.
Instead of pacing, Brian stood restlessly, shifting from foot to foot. He was wearing green swimming trunks, his nose and shoulders striped pale with sunscreen. His expression, usually easygoing, was one of built-up frustration, his dark eyes narrowed. If it were a different summer, he''d be in the water, laughing, dunking, joking with a crowd of friends. But not this summer. The bridge vibrated now and again when a truck or car passed overhead. The shrieks of six kids on a dragon floatie soared up from the creek under the bridge. It was a beautiful spot.
Cool. Quiet. The water was icy and clear, and the struts of the bridge half hid the three of them from the crowd at the swimming hole. This ledge had been the favorite sitting spot of a girl named Olivia Adler. But Ollie wasn''t there. Ollie was gone. Brian glared down at the water. His friend Coco Zintner said, "For Ollie? We can''t do anything but wait.
You know that, Brian." Coco wore a purple swimsuit. Pinkish blond hair straggled damp over her neck, and her eyes were the same light blue as the August sky. The remains of sparkly polish spotted her bitten fingernails. Brian said, "I know. I hate it, though." "We all do," Phil Greenblatt said. He had a freckled snub nose and boy-band brown hair that fell into his eyes.
Brian sank back down on the ledge beside his friends. "Why''d Ollie do it?" he whispered. "She didn''t ask us--she didn''t ask us to help her or to try another way. She just--did it. Left us. Chose to leave us ." Coco said, "Don''t be mad at her. She did it to save her dad.
Just like I would have done for my mom, or you for your parents. Maybe she should have talked to us, but Mr. Adler was dying , right there. She didn''t have time." "She should have trusted us," Brian said. He was mad at Ollie. He missed her and he was mad at her. Was that strange? "She didn''t want us to stop her," Phil said.
"We''d have found another way," Brian insisted. Neither of his friends said anything. None of them knew if that was true. "We''ll get her back," Coco said instead, encouragingly. Coco was an optimist. "Remember what the letter said? You have one chance to win her back. Well, we''re going to win, that''s all. We''ll get her back.
" Brian said, "But how ? She''s been gone for months. Yeah, maybe the smiling man offered us a chance, but he''s tricky. We don''t know what that chance looks like. Maybe we missed our chance. Ollie''s dad doesn''t even remember what happened. No one remembers but us! Sometimes I think--that she really is gone." His friends didn''t answer. There was nothing to say.
It was a conversation they''d had at least a hundred times. Brian leaned back against the cool stone of the rock face above the ledge and shut his eyes. Abruptly, Coco said, "I dreamed about her last night." Both boys looked at her. Coco went on hesitantly, "She was trying to tell me something, but I couldn''t figure out what it was. And then someone--someone I couldn''t see--dragged her away. I woke up--I think I was screaming. Mom was there.
She looked worried." All three of them turned to look at their parents, sitting in chairs in the creek. The grown-ups seemed to be staring back at them: Brian''s parents and Phil''s, and Coco''s mom, and Mr. Adler, Ollie''s dad. Mr. Adler wore the expression of puzzled sorrow that never left his face in those days. It made Brian hurt inside. All the kids glanced hurriedly away again.
"Our parents look like they''re plotting," Phil said. Brian shook his head. "Can you blame them? We''re acting certifiably weird. Have been for months. We need to chill them out somehow. Or my mom''s going to keep me at home doing chores until school starts just so she can keep an eye on me." The other two nodded, and they lapsed into silence. When Ollie first disappeared, they''d made all sorts of plans.
Met up every day. Schemed, collected food, made emergency adventure packs. But nothing had happened. Now they were just w.