“Hey…” I sit cross-legged on the rug at Ester’s feet. This gets me a sloppy wet kiss from Top.

“It’s my fault.” Ester sniffles. “I needed to…They have to let me rebuild. They will, won’t they? I didn’t bring extra index cards. I’m so stupid. It’s all my fault.”

I don’t follow everything she’s saying. Sometimes when Ester talks, you just have to go along for the ride and enjoy the scenery. But one thing I do understand.

“None of this is your fault, Ester.”

“It is. I’m a Harding.”

I would give her a hug right now, but she isn’t like Nelinha. Unexpected physical contact with anyone other than Top, especially when she’s feeling upset, makes her uncomfortable. Exceptions are hugs she asks for and the occasional tackle in combat training.

“Just because your family started the school…” I falter. I realize for the first time that our fourth great-grandfathers knew each other. Their meeting set in motion everything now affecting our lives. It’s enough to give me vertigo. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

As usual, her frizzy hair makes her look like she recently stuck her finger in a light socket. Her pink blouse accentuates her strawberries-and-milk complexion. Nelinha has advised her many times to wear another color—dark blue or green—but Ester likes pink. The fact that Ester is stubborn about that makes me appreciate her even more.

“I did know,” she says miserably. “And I know what’s going to happen to you.”

One moment, I feel like I’m holding up my friend. The next, I feel like she’s dangling me off a cliff.

My mind races. I’m dying to yell WHAT DO YOU MEAN? and pull the information out of her. But I don’t want to make things worse.

“Tell me about it?” I suggest.

Ester wipes her nose. The gilded title of the book in her lap reads The Mysterious Island. Of course we would have a copy on board. I wonder if it’s a first edition signed by Captain Nemo. Prince Dakkar. Fourth Great-Grandpa. I don’t even know what to call him.

“Harding and Pencroft,” she starts. “Nemo asked them to safeguard his legacy.”

I nod. I’d learned as much from Hewett. I just have to wait and see where Ester takes me on this ride.

“Since Nemo couldn’t destroy the Nautilus,” she continues, “he wanted Harding and Pencroft to make sure no one discovered its final resting place until the time was right.”

“Why couldn’t he destroy his sub?” I ask, though the very question seems wrong. It’s like asking why Botticelli didn’t burn The Birth of Venus before he died.

Ester traces her finger over the gold lettering on the book’s cover. “I don’t know. The best Nemo could do was sink the Nautilus under that island. He knew Aronnax and Land were searching for him. He was alone, dying. I guess he had no choice. He decided to trust Harding and Pencroft with his secrets and his treasure.”

Nemo, I think. Harding and Pencroft.