“First of all, it’s a telescope, not a lost puppy. Second of all, we can’t dig it up! Are you crazy? It’s a time capsule. It’s supposed to stay buried,” said Jade. “We’d probably go to jail or something.”

Blair shrugged, turning around.

Then she made some chicken noises. The sisterly kiss of death.

Jade threw a pillow at her, bawking right back, and that’s when I knew—we were digging up that time capsule.

That night was the perfect time to do it. Mom and Dad were going into Washport with some friends, and we had rented a movie and ordered pizza. Blair was thirteen, old enough to babysit us. We waved goodbye, promising to lock the doors, knowing they wouldn’t be home till late. They didn’t go out often, but when they did, they made the most of it.

We all rode our bikes to the library. It was the most exhilarating thing I had ever felt. It was pitch-black outside, and we were in thick sweatshirts. I was practically shaking I was so nervous, but Blair and Jade were just laughing. They weren’t nervous at all. They would have walked through fire and dared it to burn them. They were made for voyages.

When we got there, we dug up the time capsule. Harriet had told us right where it was, and Blair had brought a shovel from the garage. She did most of the digging—she was so strong from ballet back then, when food meant fuel and muscle and endurance—while Jade cleared away rocks and dirt. I kept a lookout. When the shovel hit the case, we realized how big it was—that sinking realization Simone and Leo had had, that this box was not a shoebox but a heavy metal thing that five strong townspeople had had to lower into the ground in 2000. Jade had been the one who reached down and simply yanked the top off. That’s when we saw it—there was the telescope, in its heavy black case. We opened it up and just stared at it.

“Holy crap,” Blair breathed. “This is awesome. I can’t wait to try it out.”

“Try it out? I thought we were just looking at it,” I said.

She laughed. “No way! This thing is ours now. No one will ever know. Besides Harriet. It’s our secret.” A secret, like a pact—like a promise that would tie us together. Blair and Jade and me. The three of us braided together over this amazing thing we had discovered.

We did take it home, but we couldn’t even figure out how to put it together. It didn’t matter—the fun part had been discovering it, and reburying the time capsule. Nobody even noticed the lump of dirt, and if they had, they wouldn’t have cared. It was Moose Junction. I’d explained that to Dr. Leo Lacamoire and Simone, but they didn’t get it. People here saw a lump of dirt, they assumed it was just a lump of dirt.

I kept the Star-Gazer Twelve under my bed. Blair probably forgot about it. I was almost positive Jade had. Even I forgot about it most days. But once in a while, I would lug it out and run my hand over it. I never did figure out how to put the parts together, and besides, I couldn’t risk Mom and Dad bursting in and noticing a telescope that definitely wasn’t mine. Instead, I would just admire it, in its weather-protectant case that had kept it safe all these years. I would remember a time when everything was perfect.