Blair. The Joffrey. All those disappointed looks, all those questions about New York? She shouldn’t have let herself dream. She shouldn’t have—

“Guys!” hissed Simone. “I’ve got something!”

We dashed to the side corner of the property where Simone was standing. She waved us over hurriedly. Her detector was going nuts.

“We’ve got it,” said Leo excitedly. “This has to be the capsule!”

Simone grinned. “Finally.”

“Why don’t we just dig it up now and be done with it?” said Leo. “We’re so close.” He squatted down and held a hand to the grass, as if he could reach through the Earth and snatch up his telescope. More than the telescope. He was desperate to find—

No! We aren’t there yet. We’re at the part of the story where he’s frantic and fraught over the Star-Gazer Twelve. Where I’m making promises I’m not sure I can keep.

“We can’t,” I said. “Too risky.” As if to prove my point, a lone car rumbled by. We all jumped about a foot.

“Soon,” said Simone, putting her hand on Leo’s shoulder. “You’ll have it back soon. Right, Abby?”

I swallowed. To dig up that time capsule would be a lie—to Harriet, to all the people who had buried it.

But I could save Blair. Or, at least, Joanna Creech could. There wouldn’t be any pretending. We could send Anna Rexia away for good, waving as she drove down the street and out of our lives.

I nodded.

“Soon.”

10

AUGUST, TWO YEARS AGO

Ten years old

Two years before we set out with metal detectors to find hidden things, Dr. Leo Lacamoire was on a mission to repair something that had been broken. He wasn’t looking for a telescope; he was looking for a person, and he was desperate to find her. Two years ago, the Star-Gazer Twelve was safe underground, but he did not know that yet.

Two years ago, I didn’t know who Dr. Leo Lacamoire was. I was about to enter the sixth grade. Middle school, where you didn’t get recess and had to switch classrooms for different subjects. Sophie, Lex, and I had decorated our binders with lyrics we liked and photographs of the three of us. Lex had a picture of Harry Styles without his shirt on glued to her science one, which my mom would never let me do.

Blair was going to be a junior in high school, but she didn’t want to go. She wanted to be tutored.

“Aleksander says that it’s time I start taking my career seriously. If I want to do ballet as a profession, I can’t be wasting my time learning about geometry,” Blair complained.

We were at dinner, eating baked chicken. We’d all been trying to eat healthier since Mom had seen some documentary about the horror of trans fats. The night before, Dad had snuck the three of us out to get milkshakes, making us swear up and down we wouldn’t tell her. Blair wouldn’t order one, though; she said junk food slowed her down at ballet. She thought it was why she didn’t get the lead in Swan Lake this year even though she had done so well in Coppélia. The girl who had gotten the part Blair wanted was so skinny you could have broken her in half. I didn’t think it was pretty at all, but when I told Blair that, she just rolled her eyes, which made her look like Jade. Blair was always asking Mom if she could help cook, now—I heard them arguing about butter and whether or not Greek yogurt could really match up to sour cream.