Sparrows jumped in and out of starry forsythia tangles at the edge of the sidewalk. Purple crocuses poked out of the dark earth next to mailboxes all along the way home from school. The whole world was wide awake for spring. When I neared the corner of Broom and Laurel, I closed my eyes and tipped my face to the sun. I guess part of me hoped to find Nick, but he wasn’t there. It felt long, walking home alone from the empty corner for the third day in a row.
As I headed up our driveway, I heard Dad’s favorite oldies station blasting through the open window. The kitchen smelled like warm, gooey chocolate. A red plastic kayak just big enough for Zack sat on the kitchen table.
“Colorful snack,” I yelled over the music to Dad. “Got any paddles to go with that?”
Dad turned down the radio. “Everybody’s a comedian,” he said. He glanced behind me. I knew he was looking for Nick, but he recovered quickly. “Keep up those oh-so-funny jokes and you just might miss the real snack.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
“What real snack?” I tried to dodge around him, but he kept stepping in my way and holding out his arms to fend me off. I ducked under one arm, and he caught me in a headlock. I found myself face to face with a plate of his chocolate fudge. “Dad, you’re the best!” I put my arms around his waist and squeezed.
“I don’t know what got into me,” he laughed. “Must be the weather.”
Somebody knocked on the door. Had Nick smelled the fudge from across the street?
“Well, hello there,” Dad said. He pushed open the screen door.
It wasn’t Nick. I was half disappointed and half mystified when Summer walked in and stood in the middle of our kitchen. Her shoulders were scrunched up near her ears. She took in everything without moving her head. She looked the way I felt when I met all of her cats.
“You can come in, too,” Dad said. He was still holding the door open. The fat orange cat skittered past him and twined through Summer’s legs. I was glad to see Contact. I squatted next to Summer and scratched the cat between her silky ears. She purred.
“Dad, this is Summer,” I said. “Summer Crawford. She’s new in my class at school. And this”—I pointed to the cat— “is Contact.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dad said. “And you, too, Contact.” The big cat stretched and yawned like she’d been in our kitchen all of her life. Dad ran his hand along her back. “Well, I’d better go pick up Zack,” he said. “See you guys in a bit.”
Summer watched our car back down the driveway. She let out her held-in breath. “Who’s Zack?” she asked.
“My little brother,” I said, getting the plate of fudge. “He’s almost three.”
Summer eyed the plate suspiciously. “I thought your dad was some kind of health food nut,” she said. “So what’s that made out of, anyway?”
I grinned and handed her a piece. “Don’t ask, just eat,” I said. “Trust me.”
Summer took a piece and touched it with her tongue. Then she popped the whole thing in her mouth and chewed with her eyes closed. Contact leaped onto a chair and put her paws on the table. She leaned over and tested the red kayak in a few places with her nose. Then she climbed inside.
“Is this your brother’s?” Summer asked, pointing at the kayak.
“It’s probably a prop,” I told her. “My dad’s been shooting some photo layouts for Outdoor Fun magazine.”
“Your dad’s a photographer? Cool! Can I see some of his pictures?”
I took Summer on a photo tour. She laughed at the pictures of Mom’s soufflé disaster on the kitchen bulletin board. When she saw the framed picture of me holding Zack, she put her hand out as if to touch the tiny bundle in the picture that was my newborn brother. We moved on, and Contact padded after us into the living room. Summer stopped in front of a picture of my uncle standing in his apartment hallway. Francis the Evil peered around an open door in the background.
“Was this for a magazine, or do you actually know that cat?” Summer asked.
I looked at Francis, his eyes glowing in the photo like two pale lamps. “That’s Francis,” I said with a sigh. “He’s my uncle’s cat.”
“I’d watch out for Francis,” Summer said. “That cat’s up to no good. There’s something about him—the look in those eyes.” She shook her head in disgust. “He could give cats a bad reputation.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“I’m not kidding, Nadie.”
“Oh, believe me, I know,” I assured her.
“Who are these of?” Summer asked, moving to the opposite side of the room. She stood in front of an entire wall covered with black-and-white photos of me when I was really little. I thought maybe she didn’t recognize me since my hair used to be a lot lighter, and curly like Mom’s. There was a picture of me in a plastic swimming pool, me on the swings, me up to my elbows in finger paints, me eating my first birthday cake. And with me in every single photo—in the pool, on the swings, and covered with paint and cake—was my best friend, Nick.
“Who’s this?” Summer asked again.
“Me,” I said.
“And your buddy?” Summer prompted.
I stared at the picture of us on the swings. I could never be sure if it was a real memory or a memory I’d made from stories, but I knew the moment by heart. Nick and I were three, and we were singing. Even in the photo’s gray tones the sun gleamed on his red-gold hair.
“That’s a kid I used to play with,” I told her.
Summer looked at those photos for a long time. “Your dad’s a pretty good photographer,” she said.
“Kitty!” my brother shouted. He ran across the room, heading for Contact.
“Zack!” I warned. “Be careful!”
“Don’t worry.” Summer smiled. She sat down and pulled her cat closer. “This is Contact, not Francis, remember?”
The big orange cat lay down on her side. Zack put his hand on her head.
“She doesn’t run away, Nadie,” Zack said.
He was right. Contact didn’t move. Zack put his head down on the floor and stared into the cat’s green eyes. “Good kitty,” he said, stroking her fur. Contact put a soft paw on his shoulder.
Dad snapped a picture from the doorway. “That’s a keeper,” he said. “Hey, Zack? I’ve got to shoot some pictures of this kayak. Want to take a walk to the stream?”
“With the kitty?” Zack asked. He snuggled closer to Contact.
“I don’t know,” Dad said. “What do you say, Summer? Would you and Contact like to come with us?”
Summer nodded her head, a blush spreading across her pale skin. It dawned on me that Summer wasn’t used to being around my dad. Or any dad, maybe. Dad slung the strap of his tripod over his shoulder, then handed Summer a small bag full of lenses and supplies. “Oops—forgot one thing. Be right back,” he said. He pounded down the stairs to his studio.
We walked outside with Zack and Contact. Summer’s bicycle was parked at the side of our driveway.
“I came over to see that skating town you made,” Summer said. “Where is it?”
I couldn’t help glancing over at Nick’s house. I thought I saw a curtain move, but I couldn’t be sure. I pointed to the cul-de-sac. “It was over there,” I said. “But it washed away in the rain.” I sighed. Brambletown was gone, all right.
“And we’re off!” Dad came out, and the door slammed behind him. He led the way into the woods. When we got to the spot Dad wanted to use for his photos, he gave me the job of getting Zack into the kayak. Contact was my assistant. She sat patiently with Zack until we had to put the kayak into the cold, shallow stream. Then she hopped out and stalked off into the woods nearby.
Summer was Dad’s assistant. He asked her to hand him lenses and film while he worked. I noticed that at first she didn’t get very close to him. After a while, though, she was checking out the camera and looking through the viewfinder. She even snapped some pictures.
Zack climbed in and out of the kayak, splashing me every time. Pretty soon we were soaked. When Dad was done, I sat my brother on a boulder to dry out. The smooth rock felt warm from the sun, and Zack tapped his red sneakers together happily. Contact leaped up next to him.
“Don’t worry, Nadie,” my brother told me. “Contact is not Francis.”
“What does the kitty say?” I asked him.
“She says prrrrrr.” Zack blew air through his lips, making a slow-sounding raspberry.
I laughed. Summer was looking at us through the camera. Dad leaned in and looked over her shoulder. Contact put her front paws on Zack’s legs and touched her pink nose to his. I heard the camera click.
“That’s going to be the shot of the day, Summer,” Dad said.
Summer pushed her hair behind her ears and grinned.
“Time to pack it in, you soggy kids,” Dad told us. “Let’s make sure we have everything.”
“I have a hurt,” Zack said proudly. He pointed to a faint red scratch on his arm.
Summer produced a plastic bandage from her pocket. “I’ll fix you up, Zack,” she said. He slid down off the rock and hurried over to her. Contact followed.
Dad and I carried the gear through the woods, and Summer gave Zack a piggyback ride. Contact trotted along behind us. When we reached the cul-de-sac, it wasn’t empty anymore.
The streets of Brambletown had reappeared.