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Back The Year the Maps Changed Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Map
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. Acknowledgments
  74. About the Author
  75. About the Publisher

I had to cover my mouth with both my hands when Luca said that, to stop from crying out—and then I had to squeeze my eyes tight against the tears when I heard a cry rip out of Luca’s throat, a cry he couldn’t keep in.

And then Pop was pushing off from the counter, laying a hand on Luca’s shoulder and squeezing it. “Take it from someone who’s been to hell and back more than once: talking lightens the load—not by much, but enough so you can at least breathe again.” And then he just held Luca a little bit longer, his heaving shoulders making Pop’s hand move up and down.

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45

Sugar Thieves

I can hardly remember that last week of August. And trying to is like catching a dream after you’ve just woken up, when you can already feel it slipping away.

One day stands out, though, because it’s when Sam and I saw the sugar thieves for the first time.

It was the weekend, and Pop had given us money to bike down to the shops on Ocean Beach Road and buy some bread and milk. He still wasn’t driving, Anika had stayed in bed, and Luca was working odd hours. He hadn’t been back to the haven since Drumlin.

Sam and I were putting the groceries in our baskets and were about to snap our helmets back on when we saw Merjeme and Arta on the other side of the street.

I elbowed Sam, and we both stood there and stared as the two of them were joined by a few more haven kids.

“What are they doing?” Sam asked.

Merjeme, Arta, and their friends had stopped right beside Mr. McMillan’s Pram Stop café, all of them on rented bicycles from Mac’s. As we watched them, Merjeme and a boy about her age hopped off their bikes while two of their friends kept hold of them and waited.

Merjeme and the boy crept toward the Pram Stop and then ducked into a crab walk once they got to the big front windows, so nobody inside could see them.

It was a cool August day, with the sky a constant gray and looking like it might break into rain clouds at any minute. Mr. McMillan had set up his steel outdoor furniture, but all his customers were sitting indoors just to be safe.

As we watched, Merjeme and her friend crab-walked past the windows—the boy went to the glass front door and peered in, then he waved at Merjeme.

We watched her creep toward the tables, until—

“Is that allowed?” Sam said.

“I guess it’s not technically stealing, if they’re free?” I replied.