19

Leila examined the lacquer box, holding it in two hands. The warmth of the wood was a great contrast to the cheerful, wintry skating scene painted on the top. It was so vivid and lifelike, Leila could practically hear the ringing of bells.

Actually, she was hearing the ringing of bells. Someone was at the door.

She set the box on her desk. The warmth of the wood made her curious about what Auntie Flora kept in there, but the thick brass hasp held tight. In its center was a small round keypad with buttons labeled 1 through 6.

She would have to investigate later.

“Leila, Rachel’s here!” her mother called.

Leila turned toward the door, checking her phone once more for a message from Corey. None. She thought about his grandmother. In Leila’s memory, she was still dead. That had not changed.

But maybe it would. There was still a chance that Corey would pull off a rescue. Leila wished she knew more history, like exactly how long it took for the buildings to collapse and how soon the survivors started to run away.

She ran out toward the front door, just as it swung open and Rachel bounded in.

“What’s up?” Leila asked.

Rachel staggered past her and clomped into Leila’s bedroom, flopping on the bed. “I am so trashed from that party!”

“The Diet Cokes were killer,” Leila said, following her in.

“I mean the dancing!” As Rachel kicked off her shoes, she spotted Leila’s new discovery. “Nice lacquer box!”

“It’s my aunt’s.”

“My dad brought one home from Moscow once,” Rachel said. “Anything inside it?”

Leila shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t open it.”

Rachel fiddled with the lock, pressing random numbers. She glanced up with a mischievous smile. “Do we want to know?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“We can crack this. It’s only six numbers. That means only six factorial choices, which would be . . .” Rachel thought a moment. “Seven hundred twenty possible combinations, assuming the combo itself has six numbers.”

“I hate math geeks,” Leila said.

“I know, especially if they’re hot. And funny.” Rachel sighed. “I guess I would hate me, too.”

Leila threw a pillow at her. Rachel fell back on the bed, giggling and kicking her feet in the air. Leila noticed a crisscrossing of scratches on her left ankle. “What happened to you?”

Rachel grimaced. “Catsquatch attacked. Can you believe it? I think it was offended by your Catwoman costume. I had to explain I wasn’t you. You know, to cats, all humans look alike.”

“Ha ha,” Leila said.

A waft of buttery blueberry pancake smell sighed into the room, and Rachel jumped off the bed. “Gee, Leila,” she said in a loud voice, “we better go help your mom make breakfast!”

“Nice try for points, kid, but they’re done!” Leila’s mom called back. “Come and get ’em!”

Rachel winked at Leila and ran out of the room. Leila checked the phone one more time. Nothing from Corey.

Taking a deep breath, she put it in her pocket and followed her friend.

Catsquatch, aka Jabba the Cat, was waiting outside when the two girls left. As the door opened it sprang to its feet and bared its teeth.

Rachel screamed, unhooking her backpack and waving it at the little beast. “Back! Back! Away, violent beast!”

“Rrrrrrrr,” said Catsquatch.

“Maybe if you were nice to it, it wouldn’t attack you.” Leila smiled at the white cat. “Awww, don’t pay attention to Rachel. She loves kitty cats.”

“This isn’t a kitty,” Rachel murmured. “It’s a monster.”

Catsquatch shot Rachel a glance, bared its teeth, and looked longingly at Leila.

“Did you see that?” Rachel cried out. “It understood me!”

Leila had to admit that did freak her out. But animals could be very intuitive. “Let’s just go.”

They went left and walked up Central Park West. Rachel began reciting her lines to the play they were rehearsing, Into the Woods. It wasn’t until they’d crossed Ninety-Seventh Street that Leila felt something touch the back of her left shoe.

She spun around.

Inches behind her, Catsquatch sat back on its haunches.

“This. Can’t. Be. Happening,” Rachel muttered.

But the white cat was ignoring her, staring straight up at Leila. It raised its right paw. “I think it wants a handshake,” Leila said.

“Go for it if you want,” Rachel said. “Be BFFs! Start dating. But don’t be late for rehearsal. I’m out of here.”

As she turned to go, the cat slapped its paw firmly down on the sidewalk.

Then it repeated the same motion. And again. And again.

The whole time its eyes never left Leila’s. There was something human about them, almost familiar. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Leila whispered.

Catsquatch’s head went up and down, like a nod. It hissed, and Leila could swear it was saying yessssss.

Just as before, it lifted its paw and slapped it down—only this time, thrice.

“Four . . .” Leila said. “And three . . . ? What are you telling me?”

“Leila—come on!” Rachel shouted from up the block.

Now Catsquatch tapped five times.

And two.

“Four. Three. Five. Two,” Leila said.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s communicating with us!”

“Auuugggggh! See you there, and don’t blame me if they fire you!”

But Leila’s eyes were fixed on the cat. “So, four, three, five, two? That’s what you’re trying to tell me? And you want me to figure out what that means? Like, maybe a combination to something?”

Catsquatch held its head high. Although Leila knew it wasn’t possible, it looked like the cat was smiling.