Connect the Stars (14 page)

In the silence, Daphne gazed at the base of the hoodoo. Slowly she picked up a giant rock, so huge she could hardly lift it, and as we watched, she started to run. Not very fast. Her rock was as big as a bathroom sink. Nobody quite understood what she was up to. Faster and faster Daphne staggered with her stone, and finally, after it was too late, I realized what she wanted to do. With a shout like an Olympic hammer thrower, she spun around once and let her stone go. It crashed into the delicate, fragile base of the old man hoodoo, knocked a rock chip loose, and slowly, very slowly, the hoodoo began to topple.

For a second, I must've thought I could hold it up, because I ran toward the falling stone. Audrey did the same thing. But we were too late. The hoodoo had been doomed
the second Daphne picked up that rock. Audrey and I had to leap back to keep from being crushed. As he fell, the worried old man began disintegrating, and when he hit the ground, he shattered into so many pieces, it was like he'd never existed. He was nothing but dust in the dust.

“What does he see now, Memory Boy?” sneered Daphne, and she shouldered her pack and marched away toward camp.

I felt like I was the one she'd just toppled with a rock.

Nobody said anything. We just gazed at the fragments that used to be the old man hoodoo, and then we began wandering back to camp in ones and twos, completely silent.

All except for Randolph, who hurried to catch up to Daphne. Maybe he wanted to give her a high five.

After a while, our group managed to collect itself as we hiked through the brush and the ocotillo, and once we'd walked silently for half a mile, Kate said, “What's Jare going to do when she gets back? I mean, he'll see the missing hoodoo, and who else would have knocked it down but Daphne?”

“He'll call her names. Take her tent away,” said Audrey.

“Make her carry a railroad spike,” I suggested.

“Fifteen railroad spikes,” said Kate. “And a crosstie.”

“For about a hundred miles,” I added.

“Scream,” said Louis, grimacing at the thought. “Definitely scream.”

“It's not going to be pretty,” said Kate. “In fact, it'll probably be horrible.”

“As horrible as what
she
did to the hoodoo?” I asked.

“Not that horrible,” said Kate.

But as we all straggled back into camp, Jare didn't do any of the things we'd predicted, at least not right away. In a very quiet voice, he asked a few questions. “Would you knock over a gravestone, Daphne? Would you dump garbage in a church? Would you spray paint the
Mona Lisa
's face? Would you set the Declaration of Independence on fire?”

Out of the corner of my eye, as I watched her smiling stonily at the ground, I glimpsed an expression on Daphne's face that made me think yes, she might actually find one or two of those activities enjoyable, now that he'd mentioned them.

And then a tear leaked out of Jare's eye. He wiped it away with his sleeve. This was unnerving. Another one formed and ran down Jare's cheek. I shuddered. Watching Jare cry was a thousand times worse than listening to him scream.

Audrey, Kate, Louis, Enod, Kevin, and I looked at each other. Who knew he cared so much about this place?

Jare finally got hold of himself and smeared away his tears with his fists, leaving muddy streaks on his face. He took a deep breath, and after that, he got mad.

“You,” he barked at Daphne, “don't know when to quit!”

“And you,” she said sweetly, smiling at him like he was three and had just said something incredibly silly, “don't know
anything
.”

“This is public land,” hollered Jare. He pointed to the gap on the horizon where the old man used to stand. “That hoodoo belonged to everybody. You didn't have the right!”

“It would've fallen down sooner or later,” yawned Daphne.

“It took the forces of nature millions of years to create that hoodoo!” cried Jare. “It took you a second to destroy it!”

“Daphne one,” Daphne laughed, doing a victory dance in the dirt, “nature zero!”

“Just keep laughing,” Jare snarled. “What if you'd knocked it down on somebody, and broken a leg or fractured a skull, or worse?”

Daphne pretended to think this over. Then she shrugged. “I give up,” she said. “What?”

Jare seemed to have run out of ideas for getting through
to her. He stared at her silently, seething. Then he said, “For one thing, this place would be crawling with sheriffs and rangers, and our timeline would be off by a day, or more—” Then Jare stopped talking again.

“That's right, Jare,” said Daphne patronizingly. “It's probably time to stick a cork in it.”

“This is why,” whispered Jare, staring furiously at her.

“This is why what, Jare?” asked Daphne brightly.

“This is why,” said Jare, “your dad didn't want you.”

“What?” gasped Daphne, all her cockiness gone.

“I said—this is why your dad left!” Jare shouted.

Daphne's hand moved so fast I hardly saw it, but I sure did hear the sound of the slap.

“Charming,” Jare muttered at her back as she disappeared into her tent. And without another word, he slipped into his own tent, tossed the air mattress out over his shoulder, and zipped the flap. We didn't see him anymore that night, so all we had for dinner was a squashed box of saltines Edie had hoarded in her pack.

“Jare went a little too far tonight,” commented Kevin.

“Got that right!” bellowed Randolph, and stomped away to sit by Daphne's tent.

We split the crackers fourteen ways, since Daphne never came back out and Randolph crouched by her door,
panting in the heat like he was her faithful Irish setter, until we all got in our tents and fell asleep.

Even Louis fell asleep that night,
especially
Louis, because despite everything that had happened, when darkness fell, he floated atop a cushion of air.

El Viaje a la Confianza

THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN JARE blasted his usual pleasant, person-screaming-bloody-murder-over-the-sound-of-tearing-sheet-metal wake-up music, Daphne did not come out of her tent. I noticed she was missing right away. I'm sure everyone noticed. Daphne's absence was so conspicuous—no stomping, glaring, growling—that it was almost a
presence
, a nice one, like the smell of baking bread or an unexpected snowfall during a heat wave. But I guess because we were all so busy enjoying the presence of her absence, no one pointed it out for at least twenty minutes. Even Randolph didn't mention it, just darted wary but questioning glances at her tent. And like the rest of us, he stayed as far away from that tent as possible. When any of us had to walk by it, we left a margin of at least ten feet, as if there were
an invisible fence around it that might shock us if we got too close.

Despite the fact that Randolph was a gargantuan jerk, once again I felt a little sorry for him. Daphne was his best friend at camp (at least, I'm sure
he
thought so), and even he was uneasy around her. In fact, without her there, he seemed uneasy, period. Sure, he did some blustering, but you could tell his heart wasn't in it, and it was obvious that Randolph was a born henchman, lost without someone bigger and meaner to attach himself to. Randolph was the remora; Daphne was the shark.

Finally, when Daphne's tent was the only one still standing, Randolph said, “Someone's gotta wake up Daphne. Jare'll be here any minute, and she'll get in trouble if she's not packed up.”

We all looked at Randolph expectantly. Since he was the only one who cared whether or not Daphne got in trouble, obviously he was the one to wake her up.

“Go for it,” I said, and I swear he blushed.

“But . . . shouldn't a girl do it? I mean, what if, uh, you know, she's in the middle of, uh, you know, dressing?” he said.

“He's turning the color of a
Pyrocephalus rubinus
,” said Aaron under his breath.

“Yeah, Aaron, just what I was about to say,” I whispered back sarcastically.

He grinned. “Vermilion flycatcher.”

I gave him a look.

“Those red birds we see all the time,” he said.

“Ah,” I said. “Yep. He sure is.”

Kate walked up to Randolph until she was standing a couple of feet away from him.
Within smacking distance,
I thought with satisfaction, as Randolph leaned away from her.

“What?” he said.

“You wouldn't have to unzip her tent,” said Kate.

“Yes, I would,” said Randolph belligerently.

“No. You could just go to the flap and yell her name.”

Randolph rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, like that'll work.”

“Actually, it probably would. Your voice tends to . . . carry,” said Cyrus, using the tone of a person who got yelled at by Randolph at least five times a day.

Randolph stared at the tent, swallowed hard, and started walking toward it like he was sneaking up on a sleeping rhino, but just before he got there, a voice boomed out, “What pathetic, hopeless, godforsaken loser has yet to break down and pack up her tent?” so loudly that Randolph nearly jumped out of his skin. We all turned and stared at
Jare. He loomed huge, a wall of rage. His nostrils flared like a crazed bull's.

Because asking a question you already know the answer to is its own kind of lie, even before it totally registered that Jare had just said “
her
tent,” I knew he'd already figured out whose tent it was. The guy just couldn't resist putting on a big, scary, name-calling show, a
loud
, big, scary, name-calling show. When I noticed Louis, standing in the back of the group, looking completely miserable, his shoulders bunched up, his hands cupped around his ears to muffle Jare's stupid bellow, I wanted to tell Jare that people who shouted when everyone was listening anyway were pathetic, hopeless, godforsaken losers too. But of course, I didn't.

“Name!” he barked. “I need a name, people!”

No one said anything. Nothing happened at all, which struck me as odd because this was the perfect time for Daphne to unzip her tent, climb out, yawn, and stretch, all the while smirking (because if anyone could yawn and smirk at the same time, it was Daphne), and gaze coolly into Jare's bugged-out-with-rage eyeballs, as if she just did not care. But it didn't happen. Her tent stood, zipped up and mute and indifferent, like a person keeping a secret. For the first time, I got the shiver-up-my-spine feeling that Daphne might not be inside that tent at all.

Finally Kate shrugged and said, “Daphne.”

Jare scanned the group with his scalding gaze. Then he hissed, through gritted teeth, “Get her.”

Everyone looked at Randolph, whose eyes grew big as silver dollars. He shook his head.
Henchman,
I thought.
Remora. Coward.

Because no one moved, I sighed, walked over to Daphne's tent, and yanked up the zipper. Inside: nothing. No backpack, no sleeping bag, no Daphne. Even though, in general, I was a firm believer in the philosophy that no Daphne was always better than Daphne, another shiver ran through me. As I gazed into the empty space where she was supposed to be, Daphne seemed more than missing. She seemed truly and utterly
gone
.

I flashed to the evening before: Daphne's slap; the cold, hard rage in Jare's eyes. Slowly I turned around to look at Jare.

“Let's get this show on the road,” roared Jare, smacking his hands together. “Who's on breakfast duty?”

People shuffled their feet, glanced nervously at Jare and at each other, but no one made a single move to get the show on the road.

“She's gone,” I said, thinking maybe he hadn't seen that the tent was empty.

It could have been the morning sun playing tricks, but I
swear that just for a second, I saw Jare smile. Then he said, “Whatever. I'm not worried about it.”

Everyone else probably thought he didn't mean it, that he was just acting tough, playing it cool, lying to cover up embarrassment or anger or concern. But I saw right away that he was telling the truth. His honesty was as stark and clear and unmistakable as the mountains behind him. A fourteen-year-old camper under his care—if you could call it “care”—had vanished overnight into the thin, dry desert air, and Jare
wasn't worried
, not even a little. As I considered why this might be true, icy fear ran up my spine, and for the third time that morning, I shivered.

Louis and I had dish duty. It wasn't an easy job for Louis for a lot of reasons—the smell of the creosote leaves, the texture of the creosote leaves, the sound of the creosote leaves against the aluminum bowls, the gluiness of the oatmeal. But he did it anyway. While we scrubbed away at not sixteen but
fifteen
bowls and spoons, we discussed the Daphne situation. It had been nearly an hour since we'd discovered her gone.

“And who knows what time she left last night?” I said. “She may have been gone for as long as eight hours at this point. And not that I miss her or anything, but wouldn't a normal camp director be doing something? Looking for her himself? Setting up a search party? Something?”

“Maybe he called the ranger station? He's been in his tent awhile. According to the camp brochure, there's no cell service here, but he must have some way to communicate with the outside world, right? A satellite telephone, maybe?”

“Maybe, but I doubt he used it.”

“Are you
sure
he wasn't lying?”

That morning, in a rushed breakfast conversation, I'd filled Louis and Kate in on my unsuperpower. Louis had said, “Cool!” but Kate had said, “Yeah, cool, but I can also see how it could have a big downside,” and if we'd had time, I might have hugged her for understanding that. Instead I went on to tell them that I knew Jare was telling the truth when he said he wasn't worried about Daphne.

“Absolutely sure. I am never wrong about lying. Ever. And believe me, there are definitely times when I wish I were.”

“You think the reason he's not worried about her disappearing is that he's the one who disappeared her?” asked Louis.

“I don't want to think that, but she did send him into a rage and then slapped him across the face.”

Louis winced, probably imagining what it would feel like to be slapped. A minute or two later, he set down the bowl he was scrubbing and said in a pained voice, “Okay,
now my brain is going a mile a minute, thinking up all these terrible things he might have done.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault. You had to tell us. And most of the things I'm thinking are ridiculous, way worse than anything that could really happen.”

“Probably so. Even if he were involved, it could have been an accident. Maybe he didn't mean to hurt her.”

Louis nodded, then blurted out, “I mean, one of the scenarios in my head involves a swarm of specially trained, genetically modified killer bees, which is crazy, right?”

I smiled. “Right. I think we can rule that one out.”

A few seconds later, he said, “Vicious javelinas? Drone bombers? Telekinesis?”

“Not a chance.” I sighed. “Try not to worry, Louis. We'll just keep an eye on Jare and wait to see what happens next. I could be wrong about the whole thing.”

Louis nodded and picked up the bowl. A minute later, he dropped it again.

“There could be a totally reasonable explanation for why he's not worried, right?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Well, maybe someone should just ask him, so we can all stop imagining Jare sneaking rabid jackrabbits into Daphne's tent in the dead of night.”

I hesitated. I really wasn't up for a chat with Jare, but Louis's eyes were dilated with terror.

“Okay, I'll go,” I said.

Louis swiveled his head in my direction, hope dawning on his face. But then it faded.

“No,” he said resolutely. “You can't. What if he did do something awful to Daphne? He might go all homicidal maniac on you if you ask him any questions. You're right; we'll just keep an eye on him for now.”

“Okay,” I said. “Look, we're almost finished here. Why don't you go sit under that tree and relax? We don't want you overbreathing or anything. I'll put this stuff away.”

Louis nodded and shambled unsteadily in the direction of a nearby cottonwood, which is why when, after I'd finished cleaning up and gone to check on him, I was surprised to find him gone. Kate was collecting firewood nearby.

“Have you seen Louis?” I asked her.

“A few minutes ago, he was sitting on that rock over there, doing the breathing thing with his finger on his nose. He said he was fine, and after a while, he walked that way.” Kate pointed. “I figured he needed some time alone. This Daphne thing has freaked him out.”

I looked in the direction she'd pointed.

“There's nothing really over there,” I said.

“Except Jare's tent,” said Aaron.

I stared at him and then sat down hard on the same rock Louis had been sitting on. “Oh, no.”

“What?” asked Kate.

Quickly I told them about my plate-scrubbing conversation with Louis.

“He went to ask Jare himself,” said Aaron. “Wow.”

“Wow is right,” said Kate, wide-eyed. “Louis, taking the bull by the horns. Bearding the lion in his den. Where does that phrase even come from? Do lions have beards?”

She and I looked at Aaron, who immediately got the expression he always got when he was rifling through his memory. Then he shrugged.

“Well?” I asked.

“Lions have manes,” said Aaron.

Kate and I said, “Thanks, Aaron,” in exactly the same sarcastic tone at exactly the same time.

“But the point is,” said Aaron, “that Louis is being insanely brave.”

Louis was being brave, and Aaron was figuring out the point. I smiled. “Yes, he is,” I agreed.

“I just hope Jare doesn't start screaming at Louis,” said Kate. “You know how he can't stand loud noises.”

In a few minutes, during which no screams of any kind issued from the direction of Jare's tent, Louis was back. He didn't look traumatized. In fact, he looked pretty proud of
himself, and that was a very nice sight to see.

“So maybe it's not so bad after all,” he said excitedly, sitting down on the ground next to us, without even scrupulously checking it for scorpions or pointy rocks or whatever it was he usually checked for first. The instant he was settled, the story poured out of him. “I started by asking Jare if he wanted me to take down Daphne's tent, and he said no, and I said why, and he said because he figures she's just trying to throw off our schedule or scare everyone because she's mad at him and that she's probably nearby, just sitting someplace, laughing her head off, and he thinks it's just a matter of time before she gets hungry or thirsty or bored and comes moseying on back, and then she can take down her own darn tent.”

We sat for a moment, letting this sink in.

“Oh,” I said. “So you think that's why he wasn't worried?”

“It seems plausible,” said Aaron.

“All of that sounds like something Daphne would do,” said Kate.

I had to admit it did. Privately, I still wasn't totally ruling out that Jare had had something to do with Daphne's disappearance. Maybe he hadn't murdered her, but he could have killed her by accident in a fit of rage. Or maybe he'd been trying to scare her, teach her a lesson, and she'd
gotten lost, or something else had gone wrong. But there didn't seem to be any point in bringing up these possibilities right then, and, honestly, looking at the relief on Louis's face, I just didn't have the heart.

“Louis,” said Kate, “you went to talk to Jare all by yourself, even though he might have screamed at you. That took guts.”

“Not really,” said Louis. “I know my brain. It wouldn't have stopped, ever. It would have thought up horrible things Jare might have done to Daphne, each one scarier than the one before, until it had terrified me into a coma. I had to do something.”