All the unpacking made Eleanor think of something she hadn’t thought of before. It was this: She couldn’t take all her clothes and toys to the tree house. She would have to leave a lot of things behind. She made a list of all the things she wouldn’t need:
Studying the list, she saw a problem. She didn’t want to leave very many things behind. And even more important, she didn’t want to leave any people behind. She didn’t want to move away from her family—not even Alicia.
She crumpled up the paper. So what if she couldn’t decide what stuff to leave behind right now? There were still a lot of plans to make. She could decide what to take and what to leave behind later. Maybe—oh! maybe she could come back to visit after she moved to the tree house? Sure, she could do that. And she could change her clothes here when the clothes she was wearing got dirty. Maybe every two weeks or so. And she could pick up a toy or book if she needed it. So really, she didn’t need to pack hardly anything.
She hummed. Problem solved.
That night just before supper, Owen thumped on the ceiling three times, and she ran upstairs. “I made an improvement to the pulley!” he said.
Michael was bouncing on his bottom bunk. “I thought of it,” he said. “Owen, tell her I thought of it.”
Owen said, “Michael thought of it. But I made it.”
Eleanor looked at the pulley. The spaceship was still there. Now, under the spaceship hung a string, and clipped to the string was a little basket with a lid. “In case we want to send anything bigger than a note,” said Owen.
Eleanor frowned. “The Millennium Falcon can’t jump into hyperspace with a basket.”
“True,” said Owen. “So when they jump, we’ll need to take the basket off. It’ll be part of the orders to the crew. Eject storage unit. Execute jump!”
Eleanor considered. That sounded like something Han Solo might really say. Eject storage unit. Execute jump! “Okay,” she said. But then she thought, okay wasn’t enough. A basket was a big deal. They could send anything back and forth now—anything small enough to fit in a basket, anyway. She could think of so many things—books and toys and art projects and so many other little things that she could send Owen and he could send her. At least until she moved back to her real home. “This is great!” she said.
Owen grinned.
That night after supper, Owen sent down five brownies that his dad had made. They were wrapped in a cloth napkin and were still warm. There was a note that said, Enjoy, everyone! so Eleanor had to share them.
Eleanor sent the napkin back. She also sent a friendship bracelet for Owen. She had braided it months ago, but she didn’t have anyone to give it to then. And now she did. She wrote, “Enjoy, Owen!” on the note she taped to the bracelet. And she also wrote Friendship brasslet with an arrow, in case he didn’t know what it was.
Then Owen sent a note that said Thank you and good night, and Eleanor sent a note that said Thank you too and good night too because she had forgotten to say thank you for the brownies before.
Eleanor went to bed, thinking how much fun it was to live underneath someone who had a pulley attached to their curtain rod.
And feeling a little sad that she would be moving away.
Chapter 10 Owen
Owen, meanwhile, had a good day. Eleanor had sent a note postponing the plan (NO HUNGRY FISH TODAY), and he and Dad and Michael went swimming, even though Lake Harriet was still cold. And then he and Michael improved the pulley (he did the work, even though Michael had the idea), and they saw Eleanor again. And there were brownies.
But Eleanor was still planning to leave.
The next morning when Owen woke up, he heard Michael eating breakfast with Dad. He stretched his toes and arms as far as they would go and listened to all the morning sounds. The side window—the one with the screen—let him hear the birds singing and the squirrels chattering. The leaves rustled. In the kitchen, Michael was telling Dad about a big ferocious monster at the zoo, and Dad was saying it sounded like maybe a sea otter and they could look it up after breakfast.
Owen got up. Dad said, “Good morning. Quiet morning.” Which meant that Mom had just gotten home from work and needed to sleep. Dad said, “We’ll have reading time right after breakfast.”
Dad poured Owen’s cereal, and Owen said a silent prayer. (Thank you for Eleanor because she is fun! And please make Michael stop kicking me.) As he was eating, Owen said, “Can I play with Eleanor today?”
“Me too!” said Michael.
“She’s my friend, not yours,” said Owen.
Owen’s dad took a sip of coffee and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked tired. “Friends,” he said, “are for sharing. I believe you can all play together.” Then before Owen could argue, he added, “She seems nice.”
“She is,” said Owen. “And she knows how to make pulleys, but she doesn’t know how to fence, so we’re going to teach each other lots of stuff.”
“I bet she doesn’t know how to spit with aiming,” said Michael. “I bet I could teach her.”
“Nope,” said Dad. “Nope nope nope. Think of something else.”
Michael thought, mouth full of cereal.
“Owen,” Dad said, “do you and Eleanor have any plans for that pulley? Something top secret?” He grinned.
“Um . . . just notes,” said Owen. “Maybe in code, if we figure out a code we like.” He wanted to say, “The goldfish is hungry means she’s planning to run away.” But he didn’t say it. He looked down at his cereal bowl.
