Caddie lies in the sun. Her body is shiny like the foil landing strip on Tezorene, the molten planet where there is no garbage. Everything can be pushed to its center, melted, and reused. All food is served piping hot. The magnificent structure includes a factory for spaceships made of shells and acorns.
Cooper sings the national anthem of this great orb and its kind Tezornaut people. “O Tezorene, where no one’s mean . . .” He holds the red bucket at the shallow shore of the lake.
“Cooper,” Caddie says.
He cringes at the first sound, the extra-hard C of his name. Caddie wants to tell him something. Something he knows will singe his feelings. But he doesn’t turn around.
“I know there’s no planet called Tezorene,” he says. “I just made it up.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
Cooper freezes. His heart beats hot. Hotter than the sun on Tezorene. He waits for Caddie to speak. But he doesn’t want to know what he has done wrong. He is trying hard to be good. So hard his brain hurts with trying.
Cooper steps back from the shore. From a hilltop on Tezorene, he squints at a different galaxy. A sun pierces the ozone, burns through the atmosphere, and shines through the treetops to a beach. The otherworldly sun shines on a boy named Cooper who holds a red bucket full of water and shivers. The boy named Cooper is an alien being. No one understands the message he brings to helpless Earthlings.
“About the other night,” Caddie says. “At the fireworks.”
Cooper pours the bucket of water across the lands of Tezorene so his feet will not burn. The sand mounds slide low, like liquid lava, and melt into the earth. “Did I embarrass you one more time?”
Caddie laughs. “Yes, you did. But it’s okay. This time, anyway. Todd’s cute, but he’s not my type.”
“I tried to warn you, my lady,” Cooper says.
“I guess. If you want to call it that. But, Cooper?”
The sand grows hotter beneath Cooper’s feet. Tezorene is shifting on its axis. Don’t tell Mom. Don’t tell Mom. Don’t tell Mom. “I didn’t tell Mom,” he says.
“That’s good because that’s what I’m trying to tell you. You need to mind your own business.”
Cooper is braced for more. Braced for catastrophe. And shame. “What else?” his heart beats like the fireworks. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk.
“Nothing,” she says. “That’s enough. For now.”
Cooper’s heart breathes. “Okay,” he says. He hurries to the lapping shore for more water. “O, Tezorene, Tezorene . . .”
A black dot on the horizon grows out of the water like time-lapsed photography. Egg, larva, bug. Bigger, blacker, bobbing. Cooper sets down the bucket. Cups his hand to his brow. “What’s that?”
Caddie sits up in the sun. Evens out her beach towel. Tugs at her bathing suit and looks across the lake, squinting. “Maybe it’s the Loch Ness Monster.”
Cooper thinks of The Grinner. Of the smashed castle. Of Amicus the Great. Of Caddie’s white eyes in the dark. “It could be,” he says when he returns to Tezorene with a bucket of water. “You said he lives on the lake.”
First Caddie says, “What?” and then she says, “Cooper! How did you know Todd lives on the lake?” She lies back down with a big harrumph. “You were listening, weren’t you? I knew it. See what I mean? You have to mind your own business. For a lot of reasons.”
Cooper watches the growing bug cross the lake. Bigger and blacker. A boat maybe. Zooming toward them. Who is it? Who would be coming to their cabin? What would they want? He stomps his right foot one, two, three times. Stomps his left foot, one, two . . .
“Don’t, Cooper. You’ve been doing so well.”
“But I don’t know who it is.”
“That’s because we don’t know who anybody is up here. We might as well be the last people left on Earth.” Caddie rolls to her back.
“What if we are?” Cooper says.
“Cooper!”
The black orb persists, bigger yet. A fancy fishing boat guided so carefully, so slowly, it barely leaves a wake. The boat hums smoothly, makes a beeline for the dock. A tall boy with dark hair mans the steering wheel, standing up. “I think it’s the Earthling known as Mike,” Cooper says.
Caddie pops back up. “Are you sure?”
Cooper bows toward his sister. “Do not worry, my lady. He is the safe one. And he travels alone.”
“Cooper! What did I just say?”
“Ahoy!” Mike calls from the boat. The motor sputters. Shuts off in a cloud of exhaust. Mike leaps to the dock. Loops a rope around a stanchion like a pro. “Mind if I come ashore?”
“You already did,” Cooper says.
“Cooper, shh!” Caddie says. She pulls a T-shirt on over her swimsuit.
“Hi,” Mike says, stepping off the dock into the sand.
“Hi,” Caddie says.
“Ahoy,” Cooper says.
Mike carries something small in one hand, swings the other. “I brought you a present.”
“A gentleman with a gift for a lady,” Cooper says. He bows toward Mike. “I approve.”
“Cooper,” Caddie whispers, “I’m warning you.”
A pink wave, like fresh sunburn, sears Mike’s dotted cheeks. Stops at the black shadow beneath Mike’s right eye. Mike has a black eye. A battle scar. “No, it’s for you, Cooper. It’s a book.”
“For me?” Cooper stands taller.
Caddie strains to see the cover.
“I mean, you can read it too, Caddie, if you want.” He holds out a curled paperback book. Its cover is torn. “Have you read it?”
“The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” Cooper says. He reaches for the book. “No, but I have heard it is a good and famous book. How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“I have been wanting to read another work of classic literature.”
Mike’s lips try to form words, but nothing comes out. He looks at Caddie and then at his feet. He puts his hands in his pockets. Kicks at an acorn in the sand. “It’s my all-time favorite. I figured if we both like Dante, you’d like Mark Twain too.”
“Mark Twain is his nom de plume,” Cooper says. “His real name is Samuel Langhorne Clemens.”
“I know,” Mike says. He frowns before he smiles.
“We had to read it in school last year,” Caddie says. “I don’t know, Cooper. I think it might be too old for you.”
“It is not a very big book,” Cooper says.
“But it might have things you’re not ready to understand.”
“I can read anything you put in front of me.”
“Reading and understanding aren’t the same. Besides, times were different way back then, Coop. People treated people differently. Unfairly. And called them names.”
Names, Cooper thinks. Like “That Boy” and “Weirdo.” Times are the same now. He pulls his notebook from his pocket. Holds it against the book. Writes quickly.
People are like bugs. They start out small, grow bigger, and fly away.
They all look different until you look at them closely.
And then you can see they are mostly the same.
Mike is quiet. He kicks at the sand. “But it’s about friends too,” he says. “Unlikely friends. And their adventures.”
“I see that,” Cooper says. “It says so on the cover.”
“Next thing you know, you’ll want to build a raft and sail away.” Mike winks at him. Smiles. “That’s what I always wanted to do when I was your age.” Then Mike looks at Caddie. Caddie is picking at her flaking hot-pink nail polish. When she looks up, Mike looks away.
Cooper squeezes the book. Presses his toes into the sand. The last thing he will ever want to do is build a raft and sail away. He holds the book tight. Keeps it shut. He does not want to see the words. Does not want to read the words three times three in front of Mike.
Mike is waiting.
Caddie sighs, more bored than ever. “Say thank you, Cooper.”
“Thank you, Cooper.”
Mike laughs, but Caddie frowns. She does not like stupid jokes.
“Finish the book and I’ll take you fishing. I know all the best spots.” Mike turns to Caddie. “Maybe you’ll come too.”
Fishing? Not fishing. Never fishing. Ever. “Caddie doesn’t like to fish,” Cooper says.
“Cooper!”
Mike puts his hands on his hips. “You spend your summers on the lake and you don’t like to fish?”
“She’s a girl,” Cooper says.
Mike laughs. A short burst of a laugh.
Caddie kicks sand at Cooper. Suddenly a sandstorm swirls over Tezorene. “Ow!” Caddie yells. She blinks and stands up. Presses her fingers to her eye.
“Don’t rub it or you’ll abrade the cornea!” Cooper shouts.
“Cooper!” Caddie blinks wildly, then closes her sore eye again. She wraps her towel around her hips, hurries across the hot sand.
“It’s true! I read it in a book!” Cooper shouts up the hill. Caddie is silent except for small sticks snapping beneath her feet. “Ow,” she says again.
Cooper turns his back to Mike. But just for a second.
It is hard to mind your own business if you think you can be of help to someone.
“I better get back to work,” Mike says. He watches Caddie disappear over the top of the hill. Shrugs his shoulders. “I hope your eye’s okay!” he shouts.
Caddie doesn’t answer. Mike’s face is splotchy red again. As red as a bloodshot eye.
“Maybe she got sand in her ears too,” Cooper says.
Mike laughs again. Stops laughing. Pretends he didn’t laugh at all. He picks up a small rock, throws it at the lake. The rock touches down one, two, three times. Cooper picks up a rock. He curves his arm like Mike’s, swings the rock at the lake. It climbs high and falls. Drops straight to the bottom of the lake.
“You gotta hold your arm straight,” Mike says. “Throw the rock across the top of the lake. Skim it. Kind of like a jet ski.”
Cooper has never ridden a jet ski. He picks up another rock. Holds his arm straight. When he throws this rock into the air, it plops like a dropped fish.
“It has to be a flat rock if you want it to skip,” Mike says. “Look for a flat rock.”
Cooper looks at the ground. He doesn’t want to skip rocks anymore. He can’t make a rock skim the lake like a jet ski and he doesn’t want to practice in front of Mike. “Where do you work?” he asks.
“My dad’s bait shop on North Bay. By all the other shops. Where else?”
Where else? Where else? Where else? Cooper would like to ask Mike more important questions, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to talk to Mike. He thinks of the Tezornauts on Tezorene. Knows he is an alien being. Knows he would need an interpreter to communicate on their planet.
“See ya ’round,” Mike says.
“Okay,” Cooper says.
Mike walks down the dock to the boat. Yanks the rope from the stanchion.
“Hey, Mike!” Cooper yells. “Thanks for the book.”
“Sure, Cooper.” The motor starts quietly, with one smooth pull. Mike waves and turns the boat seaward.
“Hey, Mike!” Cooper yells one more time. “See ya ’round.”
Mike waves again, without looking. A ripple follows the stern, and Mike gets smaller and smaller until Mike and the ripple disappear and all that is left of Mike is The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in Cooper’s sweaty hands.
Cooper carries the book into the cabin. Into the kitchen, where he hears noises. Caddie holds her head under the pump, blinking and blinking and blinking. Water spills across her cheek, splashes on the counter. Splatters Cooper. “I think he likes you,” Cooper says.
“I think he likes you,” Caddie says.
“Me?”
Cooper hopes Mike does like him. Hopes that this is the most believable thing Caddie has ever said in her whole life.
Cooper fans the pages of his new good and famous book. He thinks of Mike’s red cheeks. And his black eye. He remembers the big stick, and Mike’s fight with The Grinner. And today, Mike’s shrugged shoulders. And sand in Caddie’s ears. Cooper and Mike have a private joke between them.
Sometimes you make friends when you least expect them.
By accident. Like getting sand in your eye.
Cooper isn’t sure about reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. He wishes the new good and famous book were a guidebook to how friends work.