The Book of Dares for Lost Friends (16 page)

Which “heights”? What was “devotion”? What kind of “star”? What kind of “gift”? Val felt like she didn't know anything anymore. She had to be pretty ignorant, really, if she didn't know how to talk to her friend.

Lunchtime was almost over. The members of the Poetry Club had uncharacteristically been outside and were now heading back to school. Helena was leading the way, as usual. Tina was looking at the world from the corner of her eye. Gillian was clomping along in her big boots. Olivia greeted Val first with her beautiful smile. “Look, it's Val.”

“With furrowed brow.” Today Helena had added one bit of color to her black ensemble. The pop tab had been joined by a red button.

“Expressions should have an expiration date. Nobody furrows anymore.” Tina smoothed her bangs to cover up her own forehead.

“Would you accept a corduroy brow?” Gillian said.

“What's a Star Tamer?” Val interrupted their game.

The poets pondered this for only the briefest of seconds.

“An astronomer.” As usual, Helena was first with a response.

“A circus performer.” Olivia clapped her hands with delight.

“A gossip columnist,” Tina said.

Val shook her head. “It must be something else.”

“Why do you want to know?” Helena said.

“Context is crucial,” Gillian said.

“He lives up in the heights,” Val said.

“Washington Heights?” Olivia said.

“Wuthering Heights?” Helena said.

“Please, no more Brontë sisters,” Tina said.

“Am I allowed to mention their evil father, who paid hardly any attention to his brilliant daughters?” Helena said.

“No!” the other poets shouted.

But Val said, “Yes,” and pumped her fist.

“You figured out who the Star Tamer is?” Helena said.

“Is the answer symbolic?” Gillian said.

“Metaphoric?” Olivia said.

“Acronymic?” Tina said.

Val couldn't tell them it was Lanora's father.

*   *   *

But how would Val find him? She had only met Mr. Nuland three times—four, if you counted the day she and Lanora had seen him steering a woman in high heels to a fancy brunch spot on Columbus Avenue.

“Well, well,” Lanora had said, “my father's got an antidote to my mom.”

“What's that?” Val had asked.

“A cure.”

Val hadn't understood how one person could be a cure for another. She suspected Lanora had gotten the word wrong. Lanora sometimes did. She claimed that was the price you paid for using power words. But now Val knew what Lanora meant. Probably Lanora had hoped the A Team would be an antidote for Val.

After the divorce, Mr. Nuland rarely came to the Upper West Side. He usually sent a car to whisk Lanora across town to what she called an “edifying event.”

Val hoped her parents knew where he worked.

After dinner that night, Drew asked her several times if anybody at her school had been saved from a wicked spell that day. When she said there weren't any superheroes at M.S. 10, he threatened to go to her school to get the job done.

He raced around the apartment, collecting the shower curtain, the dustpan, Mom's hairbrush, a spray bottle of window cleaner, a copper colander, and Val's shin guards.

“That's enough. If you really have superpowers, you shouldn't need any more stuff,” Mom said.

“Yes, I do. I still need the you-know-what that you-know-who has,” Drew hissed at Val.

The clock cuckooed. Luckily it was Drew's bedtime.

“Good night, little brother,” Val said.

Drew growled as their parents escorted him into his bedroom.

While they were saying good night to him, Val sat on the sofa with her homework notebook on her lap. She tried to plan what she was going to say. It was hard. She wished she had a soccer ball. Talking to people was easier when she kicked something at them. Could she throw a pillow at her dad and say, “Think fast, where's Mr. Nuland's office?”

Val heard the little tinkle of chimes that somehow had come to represent rain falling on the ground to help dreams blossom.

Dad said, “Good night, Drew.”

The door shut and her parents came into the living room.

“Look!” Dad did a double take. “A sixth grade girl is sitting in our living room. Doesn't she realize she should choose to be anyplace in the world where her parents won't be?”

Mom smiled at Val. “Care for a sandwich, sweetie?”

“Yes, please,” Val said.

“Ham on rye?” Dad said.

“Then you'd be in the middle,” Mom said.

“Ha ha,” Dad said.

Her parents sat on either side of her. Val leaned her head back. Not so very long ago, her head used to sink into the soft cushions. But she had grown. Now her head clunked against the hard wall.

“Panini?” Mom said.

Val nodded.

Her parents pressed in tighter. They were warm and solid against her.

“Did you say what kind of sandwich you were?” Dad said.

“Jam,” Val said.

“Ah. And why would that be?” Dad said.

Val remembered again how painful it was to be face-to-face with Lanora and have nothing to say. And if Lanora went away, Val would never have the chance to make things right.

“Do people really go to reform school?” Val said.

“You can't send me. I refuse to go,” Dad said.

Val sighed.

Mom sighed, too. “Are you worrying about Lanora?”

“Oh, gosh, I'm an idiot,” Dad said.

Mom leaned over to pat his knee. Then she squeezed Val's shoulders.

“Adjusting to middle school isn't easy. Lanora will be okay. She just needs the support of a little counseling. Emma's having trouble with the insurance, but I know that Tom will pay out of pocket.”

“He can afford it,” Dad said.

“What does he do?” Val tried to sound casual, even though this was exactly what she needed to know.

“He picks up piles of money and moves them to a new place where they can become bigger piles of money.” Mom demonstrated with the magazines on the coffee table.

“It's more complicated than that,” Dad said.

“Oh, right. I forgot the part where he takes some off the pile each time he moves it.” She took one of the magazines and stuck it under her arm.

“But where?” Val said.

“The piles are in things called derivatives. Don't ask me to explain because I can't.” Mom raised her hands helplessly.

“No, I mean, where does Mr. Nuland work?”

 

Twenty-seven

The Internet told Val that Geld Inc. had its offices at 500 Park Avenue. The Internet showed Val which block the building was on, which subway to use to get there, with two alternate routes, and how long it would take. The Internet even warned her that there was a seventy percent chance of an afternoon shower. Yes, the Internet had told Val everything she needed to know except the most important thing. How was she going to get the chance to speak to Mr. Nuland?

When Val came up from the subway tunnel, the streets of Midtown Manhattan glistened with moisture. The top of the building was hidden by the cloud that had so recently shed its rain. The building's glass walls had no cracks or chinks. The only opening was on the ground level. A revolving door was spitting out whatever people had dared to enter.

In this world Mr. Nuland wasn't Lanora's father, he was chief executive officer. And even if she did get in to see him, what would she say? That Lanora had buried her lilac butterfly at the Bower. That Mau had taken the butterfly to an antiquities shop. That Val had met a strange kid there who read from
The Book of Dares
. And because that passage mentioned a Star Tamer's gift, Val had come to collect it.

Yeah, right.

Tasman might have known something better to say, but he wasn't there. Val was supposed to meet him later on the steps of the Natural History Museum—after she had gotten the gift from the Star Tamer.

Val watched three more people get spit out of the revolving door. She clenched and unclenched her fists. There was always a moment before each soccer game when time stopped. The players were lined up across the field. They stared at their opponents. Bigger. Older. Meaner. The goal itself seemed such a long way away. They waited to be hurled into the frenzy of action that would decide their fate. Then the whistle blew. The ball was kicked. There was no more time to question or prepare. The game had begun. Val ran across the street and stepped into the open segment of the revolving door.

The door moved without any help from her. Trying to walk at its pace made her stumble as she entered the lobby. If she had been at school or at home, someone would have laughed. Here, no one did. Two men wearing black uniforms flicked their eyes at her. That quick glance was all they needed to see that she didn't belong.

Well, she didn't.

The lobby itself was three stories tall. A grand fireball was suspended from the ceiling.

“Star Tamer,” she whispered. She couldn't wait to tell Tasman that she had guessed right.

Two walls of elevators were at the rear of the lobby, behind a barricade guarded by more men in green uniforms. Val watched a woman show a card to one of them. The man did something hidden behind a gleaming black counter. Magically the arms of the barricade parted and the woman passed through. Val considered the cards she had. Her school ID, her subway card, her library card, and the jack of diamonds. She doubted that any of them would work, even though Drew promised her the jack's magic powers would help her find money on the sidewalk. Still, she was digging through her backpack, looking for her cards, when one of the uniformed men stood over her. “Can I help you?”

Val thought of the clerk at that QXR clothing store. Val knew this man didn't want to help her, either—unless he could help her go away.

She stood up as tall as she could. “I would like to see Mr. Nuland of Geld Inc. Please,” she added firmly.

She tried to be the model of a well-brought-up young lady. But the lobby's lights exposed the truth. Her shoes still had traces of mud from the last soccer match. Her shirt had grass stains her mom couldn't get out. And her right elbow had a big scab from when she dove to save the ball. That had been futile, too.

“Do you have an appointment?” the man said.

“No,” Val admitted. But she didn't give up. “Can I make one?”

“I'm not Mr. Nuland's secretary.”

“Can I see Mr. Nuland's secretary?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Val didn't even ask if she could make one. She knew what the answer would be.

The man had been inching Val back toward the revolving door. When she felt the air whoosh behind her, she knew she was on the verge of being pushed out. She tried to dig her feet into the polished marble floor. If only she were wearing her cleats. If only she weren't the shortest and the youngest person in the building.

“I'll be back!” she shouted to the captured star.

The revolving door sucked her into one of its compartments. It carried her for a short distance and then cast her back out into the street.

*   *   *

Tasman wasn't waiting for Val outside the museum. Val sat down on the steps next to the base of the big statue of Teddy Roosevelt riding a horse. She felt tired and discouraged. All she could do was pick at the dried mud on her shoe and hope he would get there soon.

Finally he came running up. He had on snow boots instead of the old slippers. He skidded across the pavement and tried to catch his breath. He looked so upset, she asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said as he fell onto the step next to her. “Actually I shouldn't say that. Something did happen. Something always happens. Even if the world didn't spin anymore, that ‘nothing' would actually cause a series of catastrophic somethings. Collisions. Oceans sloshing. Earthquakes. The toppling of the Captain's books. But more importantly, did you succeed in your quest?”

Val shook her head. “I couldn't even get in to see him.”

“Ah. The Star Tamer dwells in an impenetrable fortress. We should have anticipated that. It's only the weak who are defenseless.”

“The guard asked if I had an appointment.”

“That's what they always say. The clock and the calendar are how they keep their distance. Never fear. Even a Star Tamer must leave his fortress eventually. And when he does, we will pounce.” Tasman jumped, but he didn't make a very good cat. He landed awkwardly on the steps. Val grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.

She could feel how tense he was, even through the fabric of his shirt. Touching him made her tense, too. So she let go.

“Thank you for saving me,” he said.

Val sighed. If only it were that easy to save Lanora. She glanced across the street at the tall buildings on the far side of Central Park. The rays of the setting sun made some of the windows glow, as if they belonged to the realm of the Star Tamer. “We'll never get the things we need to make her whole,” Val whispered.

“I'm surprised at you. Such sentiments from our heroine. Do I need to hurl clichés at you?”

“No,” she said.

“It's always darkest before the dawn. If there's a will, there's a way.”

“Stop.” She threatened him with her fist.

He ran down the steps, calling back to her. “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

She chased him all the way around the side of the museum. She finally tackled him on the grass, not far from the dog run. “Where did you get those chirpy slogans?”

“Haven't you ever been in a social worker's office?”

“Have you?” Val leaned on her elbow to study his face.

Tasman stood up and looked down at her. “I had an amazing insight. You are a girl.” He offered his hand to pull her up.

She slapped it out of the way and jumped to her feet.