I shrugged. They had my phone number. If they had wanted to hang out with me this summer, they could have.

“Simone came by,” I said. “From Eagle’s Nest? That raccoon chewed a hole through the door.”

“Oh man. You gotta be kidding me.” He groaned. “I’ll go fix it. I need to call Mom and have her pick up some extra plywood first. I hope she’s still in town. Can you run down there and tell them I’ll be there as soon as Mom gets back?”

Go to Eagle’s Nest?

And talk to Dr. Leo Lacamoire?

My heart jumped.

There was something about our newest resort guest that seemed big. Momentous, Mr. Linn would have said, like John Glenn orbiting the Earth for the first time. Some shift happening in the summer that I couldn’t quite place my finger on. Dr. Leo Lacamoire was not an ordinary visitor, and even though I didn’t know it just yet, I knew that it was going to be . . . significant. Sort of like when you see somebody at the airport or the mall and you can’t stop staring at them even though you’re not sure why. That was how I felt about him.

I know, I know. A + B = C. Sure. But passion, adventure—you can say you don’t want those things. You can watch them destroy a person and ruin a summer. That doesn’t mean they don’t hide under your bed sometimes, waiting for you to notice them.

“I’ll go right now,” I said.

I walked over to Eagle’s Nest and knocked carefully on the front door. I could hear music coming from inside, but not the type of music that bugs Dad—loud rap or country played at full volume that messes with the peace of the woods—but classical, like the kind Blair would dance to.

The hole in the door wasn’t so big, but raccoons can stuff themselves through spaces smaller than you’d think.

“Hello?” I called out tentatively.

I don’t know what made me step inside, but I did. I had been in all our cabins a million times, but Eagle’s Nest was by far our nicest. It looked barely lived in, though, besides the cereal box on the counter and the slightly messed-up blanket folded on the couch. It was less of a “cabin” and more of a rustic-chic house that was way nicer than ours. It had a huge spiral staircase in the middle of the first floor leading up to the lookout, a round room with huge windows. It was where I had seen Dr. Leo Lacamoire the night before, peering out onto the lake.

“Hello?” I called out again. Nobody answered, but I could hear the classical music. It was coming from above me.

I took the stairs slowly, realizing that this wasn’t just any classical music. This was something Blair had danced to at a recital once. I remembered it because, at the end, she had some super tricky turn that she’d practiced over and over. That music was practically tattooed onto my brain. The farther I climbed up the steps, the noisier it got. Violins, trumpets, and piano cascaded across the house in a swirl of sound that made me think of guys in poofy wigs. It gave me goose bumps. Loud, clashing, and dramatic. Passion. Destiny. The sort of sound that sped up your heart.