“Tests are really different than trees,” Cora says. She doesn’t take her hands off her hips.

“Probably,” I agree.

She dramatically slides one arm out in front of her. “So show me.”

I’m about to argue some more, to tell her that I’m not sure we have to climb it to find the wormhole, but the more I look at The Eyeball, the more it calls to me.

The gray sky overhead cracks open and a sliver of sunlight streams down. It bounces right off The Eyeball. My legs turn to Jell-O and my heart thuds inside my chest, hammering against my rib cage.

“Do you see that?” Cora says, pointing right at the speck of light. “Is that the start of the wormhole?”

A shiver creeps up my spine. “Maybe,” I whisper, scared that if I speak too loud, whatever it is will go away—that magical shimmering.

I take one more big gulp of the fresh air and then jump up and grab a low branch. I swing myself up to the next one and bend over and extend my hand to Cora. I bounce on the branch to make sure it’s sturdy. It gives a little, but I can tell it will hold me.

“Wow,” Cora says, gripping my hand. “You’re good at this.”

I offer her a sheepish smile. I want to say something smart, something that will impress her more, but I know the best thing I can do is get us up to The Eyeball.

I climb to the next branch and then turn around to offer her my hand. We move higher and higher like this—I climb and then I pull her up. Eventually we make it high enough that I can reach out and touch the bumpy surface of The Eyeball.

The pale watery sunlight is still glinting off it. I push my fingers into the bark, searching for a hidden nook. A key. Anything that will open up the wormhole. Twisting my wrist, I pretend to grab the brass doorknob that I’ve been imagining.

Cora perches beside me and lets out loud, uneven exhales. She’s stiff and holding tightly on to the branch and staring down with wide eyes at the forest floor.

“It’s okay,” I say.

“I know,” she says, but I can hear a swallow of hesitation in her voice.

We sit there quietly for a moment. I keep staring at The Eyeball, hoping that something miraculous is just going to happen. I hope for it so hard that I can feel every muscle inside of me straining, reaching out to the giant oak tree, begging it to reveal the wormhole that I know it holds.

“So,” Cora says. “We should probably start the visualization.”

“The visualization. Right.”

Cora’s lips pull into a straight line. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s real science, Quinn. I read about it. The visualization is a key part.”

I nod. I trust her, but still. It feels like the wormhole door should just open. I reach out and knock on The Eyeball. My heart sinks when nothing happens.