“Thanks, Dad.’”
“Why’s it say Fort Comfy on it?”
“Because it’s a cabin-fort,” Abby said. “Maggie has one too, and we’ll be at Camp Pillow Fort for the rest of the summer.”
“The rest of the summer, huh?” said Alex. He leaned on the doorframe, his arms crossed over his Impressionist Water Lilies apron. “And we only just got you back today. I hope we’ll still get to see you two while you’re attending Camp Pillow Fort.”
“You will,” I said. “We’ll stop by to say hi sometimes.”
“Glad to hear it. But for now, dinner will be ready in five—nope, now it’s four minutes. Are you finished unpacking, Abby?”
Abby yanked a final bundle out of the suitcase on her bed and flipped the lid shut.
“Yes!” she said, raising both hands above her head. “Victory! Done before dinner.”
“Then I’ll see you girls, and your freshly washed hands, at the table in three and a half minutes,” said Alex, and he left.
“That’s just enough time for you to open this,” Abby said, tossing the final bundle at me. I unrolled it. It was a mustard-yellow Camp Cantaloupe T-shirt, with the name of the camp in red letters over half a cantaloupe and the outline of Orcas Island.
“Hey, thanks,” I said, running a hand over the logo and trying to figure out if I felt happy or sad. “Now I can look like someone who went to summer camp.” I turned the shirt around. On the back was a picture of the same goofy-looking moose from Abby’s postcard, with the words Cantaloupe Cantaloupe, Moose Moose Moose in a half circle around it.
“What’s this all about?” I asked, holding it up. After all those boring stories, this looked like it might actually be interesting. This had secret code written all over it.
“Seriously?” said Abby. “Did I not tell you about the moose? I am such a terrible friend. That’s, like, the heart and soul of Camp Cantaloupe. Okay, so apparently years and years ago—”
But the story had to wait, as Alex called out a two-minute warning and we were off, racing Abby’s brothers down the hall to dinner.
We ate out on the patio next to the twins’ broken bike “art installation.” We had grilled pork, corn salsa, red cabbage coleslaw, and sandwiches made of Rice Krispies treats and peach ice cream for dessert. Abby couldn’t stop talking about how good the food was after six weeks of the mess hall, and her dad and brothers pestered her for all the best camp stories, so lucky me, I got to hear them a second time.
Moths came out and fluttered around the table, and the sky had faded from pink to gold to indigo before dinner wound down.
“Can Maggie stay the night, Dad?” asked Abby, scraping up the last bit of salsa with Rice Krispies treat crumbs.
“Sure, if your mom says it’s okay, Maggie,” said Alex.
“She won’t be home until late,” I said. “But I can run over and leave her a note.”
I helped Abby and her brothers clear the table, then went back through the gap in the fence to my dark, empty house. It felt extra dark and empty after Abby’s. I grabbed my toothbrush and pajamas and scribbled a note at the kitchen counter.
Mom, Abby’s home. I’m asking permission to spend the night at her place. Yes, her dad is there. Yes, I said thank you. Yes, I’m bringing my toothbrush. I’ll probably be hanging out with Abby all day tomorrow, too. Have a good night/day at work.
Outside I could hear the birds finishing their nighttime songs, but inside the only sound was my footsteps as I turned off the lights one by one on my way to the door.
“Good night, fort formerly known as Gromit’s Room,” I called as I passed the living room and Fort McForterson. “I’m sleeping at Abby’s tonight, but I still love you and I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I turned off the last light and put a hand on the front doorknob.
There was a soft rustle behind me.
I stopped.
Everything was still.
“Hello?” I said into the darkness.
Silence. One cold finger danced down the back of my neck.
I must have been imagining things. Probably just my shoes squeaking on the floor. No way was it a knife-wielding zombie counterspy, or a giant northwestern shadow leech. No way. I turned and reached for the door again.
A soft, distinct thump sounded from the living room.
I spun around as cold fear leaped out of the dark and wrapped around me like a blanket. All my senses snapped into high gear.
I wasn’t alone.
What should I do? For real? I wasn’t making up adventures here. There was someone in the house with me. And it sounded like they were in my fort. I stood frozen by the door, staring into the darkness, my eyes so wide they hurt.
Okay, what would my mom do? She was always good in a crisis. What had she said on the phone earlier? Deep, slow breath, you’ll be fine.
I forced myself to take a breath and let it out silently. I took another, and a warming spark of irritation appeared along with it.
Why should I be the one scared? This was my house, wasn’t it? And even if someone—or something, said an unhelpful voice in the back my head—was lurking inside my pillow fort, I was eleven and a half years old, and I had a lifetime of experience dealing with crisis and danger.
Okay fine, maybe that had been mostly imaginary, but I still had plenty of practice. This wasn’t all that different from the time last winter when Abby was being held captive in a ski lodge in the Alps and I had to take on a room full of elite werewolf guards single-handed. A big show of confidence saved the day there; maybe it would work again.
I darted across the room in four quick steps and flicked on the overhead light.
“Who’s there? You’re surrounded. Show yourself!”
Nothing. No movement, no sound from the fort.
“Fine,” I said, ignoring my painfully thudding heart. Deep,
