“The economy could use a boost. At least a high five,” Dad said. “That’s all.”

I crossed my fingers. “Here’s hoping.”

“Wish upon one of your stars or something,” Dad said. “Hey, we’re going to see Blair tomorrow . . . are you coming?”

I shook my head. My ponytail whipped my cheeks.

“Abby . . .”

I’m terrible at team sports. I scraped by with a C in art last year because my shooting star sculpture looked more like a rock. Mrs. Schroeder winced in choir when I tried out for a solo, even though she tried to deny it. My skills are limited, okay? If it doesn’t involve a telescope or a comic book, I’m hopeless. But one thing I am very good at: avoidance. I could gold medal in it. I hurried out of the office, leaving Dad and his calculator and his mention of my sister behind me like dust.

4

AUGUST, PRESENT DAY

Twelve years old

The next day, the clouds rolled in. When it storms in the Northwoods, the rain waits and waits and waits before dropping a downpour on you that lasts for what seems like ages. I felt bad for the tourists who came with swimsuits and fishing poles. But I didn’t mind when it rained in the summer. It was kind of a nice break from feeling like you had to constantly be doing something fun and outdoorsy. Like, I live on a resort. Most people’s vacation is just my life. And sometimes it gets tiring.

So when it rains, I usually head to the library.

“Hey, Harriet,” I said, ducking in out of the crazy weather. I dropped my umbrella behind her desk. She barely looked up from a tattered paperback. Harriet was black, supersmart, and . . . bigger. Some of the other kids in town made fun of her, but she couldn’t have cared less. She was too busy reading every single book in the library and giving me the best ones when she was done. She was probably my favorite person in all of Moose Junction.

“Hey, Abby,” she said. “You good today?”

“I’m good,” I assured her. If you didn’t know what you wanted to read, Harriet could find it. She was the master at getting books in the hands of people who’d love them. Even Sophie, who didn’t like anything without a vampire. She was a lot better than Josiah, the college kid who helped out in the summer and pushed old history books on anyone who walked through the door. You’d come in looking for a cozy mystery and leave with The Life and Times of John Adams, Extended Edition.

I didn’t usually need a lot of help, though. I was pretty much a Professional Library Browser. I knew all the tricks, like getting on your knees to see what was on the bottom shelf—the best stuff always got ignored down there—and giving a book the tried and true two-paragraph test.