Pretty early the next morning, which was Saturday, Zack was pushing one of his toy trucks in the middle of the driveway when he saw Summer pedaling up the street. He ran to our kitchen door and almost went right through the screen in his hurry to try and get inside. He still hadn’t recovered from seeing Toby lick my face yesterday, even though the big black dog had wagged and fetched and tried to win him over all that afternoon.
“Toby stayed home today, Zack,” Summer called out to him. “But your old pal Contact’s here.”
“I like Contact!” Zack nodded. He toddled down the driveway and jumped into the kiddie trailer with the fat orange cat.
Nick and Summer picked up where they’d left off on the wooden frame for the bridge. Gordon was designing a slalom course. I started painting crates.
“Nadie?”
I looked up. Lacey and Max were straddling bikes at the edge of the cul-de-sac.
“Um, can we try your—your Brambletown?” Lacey asked.
I looked from her to Max and back again. It all started to make sense. I had to laugh. “Sure,” I told them. “Check it out. But wait,” I folded my arms and tried to look stern. “What really happened with that red money pouch?”
Lacey hung her head. “Max put it in my desk for me,” she admitted.
“I knew it,” I said.
“I thought no one was looking,” Max said. “She always forgets her lunch money. I bike to school, so sometimes after Lacey gets on the bus her mom comes over and gives the money to me. Anyway,”—he pointed to his and Lacey’s saddlebags—“ we dug around in my shed and found some stuff that might be good for the skate town.”
Lacey nodded. “Little plastic fences from an old flower garden. Max’s mom has lots of them.”
“Those are great,” I said. Lacey was rocking back and forth on her bike pedals. “Why not go for a ride first?” I waved them toward Brambletown. They raced each other around the painted roads for a few minutes. I smiled to myself and went back to painting crates.
Lacey turned out to be pretty handy with a can of spray paint, and she only said “eew” once, when she painted over a bunch of dried-out worms. Max designed a park in one corner, using the plastic garden fences. We worked until the sun dipped behind the trees ringing the cul-de-sac.
Zack poked his head out of the kiddie trailer. “Ride?” he asked.
“Last spin,” Summer told him.
Nick and I watched her pedal slowly around Brambletown. “Was this really ever just some empty cul-de-sac?” I asked him.
“Nah,” Nick said. “It was always Brambletown just waiting to happen.”
“Bye-bye, kitty,” Zack said. He climbed out of his seat and waved as Summer and the others went home.
“Hey, Zack,” Nick said. “What does a kitty say?”
“Huh, huh, huh.” Zack made a very quiet panting sound.
“Poor Contact. She must be tired out from working on Brambletown,” I said.
“Contact didn’t work, Nadie,” Zack said. “She sleeped.”
“She has the right idea,” Nick said with a yawn. “I’m beat.”
“Rest up,” I said. “I’ve got big plans for tomorrow.”
By lunchtime on Sunday, Summer, Gordon, Max, and Lacey were back. We filled in Max’s park with every bit of green paint we had left. Mom brought out a tray of almond butter and jam sandwiches and went back in to make lemonade. Dad dragged a couple of sawhorses across our street between our driveway and Nick’s so no cars could come near our town, not even to turn around. He carried out the extra pairs of skates from the sports photo shoot. Everybody took turns skating over the new bridge.
Dad snapped about a million pictures. “I’m going to switch cameras,” he said after a bit. “Be right back.”
One of the boys from Mrs. Novotny’s class skated up. He zoomed across Brambletown’s streets without a word. Then a fifth grader rode over, stopping his bike at the edge of the lot.
“Want to help?” I asked.
“Right,” he jeered. “Like I play dumb games with girls.” I watched him ride away. The boy from Mrs. Novotny’s class skated off after him. I pulled in a long breath and blew it out again. Too bad for them, I reminded myself.
I’d just started sketching some more plans when a shadow fell across my paper.
“How about if I join Brambletown?”
I put my pencil behind my ear and squinted up at Owen. He had this stricken look on his face like it was killing him to ask. All of his most disgusting and irritating moments flashed through my mind. I wanted to say no. I knew it was possible that he would wreck everything. Then, for some reason, Owen’s maggot poem popped into my head. A laugh sort of sneaked out of me and I coughed into my hand to cover it. What was it that Mr. Allen had said about everyone working on the Spark?
“If you can share ideas and work together,” I told Owen, “you can stay.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said, like he could care less. “I’ll tell you my ideas.”
“You have to listen, too,” I said.
“Nadie,” Zack called from the kiddie trailer. “I want a ride!” His timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
“You can start by listening to him.” I pointed at my brother. “He needs someone to pull him with the bike.”
“But—”
“If you want to help…” I let my words hang in the air and bent my head over my sketch again. I didn’t look up until I heard the screek skreek of Summer’s rickety bike. Owen zoomed around a curve and I heard Zack laugh inside the trailer. Owen laughed, too. The world is a funny place, I thought. I shook my head and went back to sketching the apartment house.
A few minutes later I heard Zack’s voice again. “No!” he yelled. He was climbing out of the kiddie trailer as fast as his short legs could climb.
Oh no! Why hadn’t I kept an eye on Owen? I dropped my paper and ran.