“Let’s play something else,” said Abby, flipping through the books stacked along one wall. I stopped, my mouth hanging open. “Something with more people,” Abby went on. “I’ve gotten really used to having lots of people around. Or at least let’s do something more— OH!” Her head snapped up. “We can do camp! We can start a summer camp game!”
I stared at her. “But you’re finally back from camp. . . .”
“And this way I don’t have to be! I’ll teach you all the songs and the official camp dance and we can find other kids to join and yes! Project!” She was using even more exclamation marks than she had in her postcards. She whapped me with the tassels on her scarf. “So, this fort or cave or whatever will be your cabin now, yeah? That means it needs a real cabin name. What do you want to call it?”
Oof. Abby was moving way too fast. Way too fast without me, and I’d only just gotten her back. If I have gotten her back, said a suspicious voice in my head. Maybe this New Abby was some sort of robot clone. Was that a hidden seam running along the side of her jaw . . . ? No, no, I couldn’t start thinking that way. Old Abby was under there somewhere. It just might take a little time to bring her all the way home.
And hey, at least she was enthusiastic. I could play along for now, and we could start the summer over with Abby’s camp theme, and once things got rolling I’d be able to step in and take the reins just like always.
“Um, I dunno. I guess I could call it Fort . . . Mc . . . Forterson?”
New Abby snorted. “Cute. Okay, then, let’s go make my cabin-fort! It’ll have to go in my bedroom, but I bet my dad will totally let us tear apart the sofa in the garage. And I can tell you all my camp stories while we build it!” She unfolded her extra-long limbs and stretched, knocking over one of the wall pillows and exposing the row of wooden chair legs behind it.
“Whoops!” she said, repairing the damage as the bedsheet roof sagged alarmingly. “Sorry. Let’s get out of here before I totally destroy your cabin. It’s probably too early to have a supervillain wrecking your base and spoiling all your plans.”
Ahh, that sounded like Old Abby.
“Does that mean you’re volunteering when we need one?” I asked, reaching out and tweaking her fancy new braid.
Abby’s eyes narrowed, and she grinned her new grin. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Two
Loud pop music blared from the kitchen as we walked through Abby’s back door, and the tightness in my chest eased as the familiar warm smells of the Hernandezes’ place rolled over me.
“Dad,” Abby called. “I brought Maggie over!” She turned to me. “Okay, seriously, it is so weird to be home.”
Abby’s dad bounded out of the kitchen, a giant bowl of corn and peppers balanced in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.
“Maggie! So good to see you again!”
“Hey, Alex,” I said. “You too.” Alex and I were on first-name terms. He was Dad to Abby and her twin brothers, and Mr. Hernandez to his art students up at the high school, but he had always been Alex to me.
“I’ve spotted you perched majestically up on your roof a few times this summer,” Alex said, stirring wildly. “You were drenched in the light of the setting sun like a Pre-Raphaelite muse. Looked like fun! But aren’t you just so incredibly glad to have Abby home?”
“Totally!”
“Of course you are. And did you hear how much she loved camp? I’m so glad she went. You have to go back with her next year. She can show you around and introduce you to all the other kids!” A burst of corn and pepper chunks escaped the bowl and scattered decoratively over the floor. “I put your bags in your room for you, by the way, Abby,” Alex went on. “I knew you wouldn’t want to waste one second before reuniting with your best friend.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said Abby. “Hey, can we take the cushions off the garage sofa and build a fort in my bedroom?”
“Sure! Sounds like an amazing project! Whatever you do, don’t let me interfere. Can you stay for dinner, Maggie? We’re having a feast in honor of Abby’s homecoming.”
“Absolutely, thanks,” I said.
“Victory! I’d better get back in there, then.” He danced into the kitchen, and loud singing started up a moment later.
I turned to Abby. “I think I missed your family more than I missed you,” I said. She whapped me on the arm.
“Come on,” she said. “Pillow time, and then I have so many camp stories to tell you.”
We waded into the cheerful mess of Abby’s house, stepping past laundry baskets, stacks of books, construction-paper animal heads, newspapers, soccer blankets over mismatched chairs, cat toys, random shoes, and all the other comfortable clutter of a family that was actually, well, home most of the time.
“Did your brothers miss you?” I asked as we headed down the hall, but before Abby could answer, a teenage boy bounded out of a doorway to our left, followed by another, and she was lifted right off her feet.
“Hey, Matt! Who’s this stranger wandering around our house?” said the first boy.
“Ooh, I don’t know, Mark,” said Matt, a perfect copy of his twin except for the bike accident scar curving down his cheek. “She looks a bit like that girl we used to know. What was her name . . . Abby? Only this girl’s made of muscle and she’s ten feet tall. Where’s Abby, you burly stranger? What have you done with her?”
“It’s me, you goons,” said Abby, laughing as she fought her way free. I smiled. There was Old Abby.
“Hey, now here’s
