The house lights dimmed and the purple velvet curtains slid back. There was the flicker and clatter of an old-style movie reel—Ivy had loved that effect when Jacob showed it to her on his computer, which was a whole lot nicer than Aunt Connie’s—and then the title appeared in cursive: Heather Lake Investigates. Ivy grabbed Prairie’s hand and squeezed. There was her movie. Her clunky little movie, up on the screen.

• • •

They filled the sidewalk walking to the ice cream shop afterward: Ivy and Prairie and Jacob and Tate and Kelly; Mom and Dad Evers and Daniel and Grammy; Mrs. Grizzby and Beryl and Ms. Mackenzie and Ms. Mackenzie’s date, the man with big ears, whose named turned out to be Thomas.

Ivy pulled on Prairie’s arm to stop her for a second; everyone moved around them like water around rocks. “So you do really understand, right? Why I’m staying with Beryl?”

Prairie rolled her eyes. “Because you have a turret. Who can compete with a turret?”

“No—”

“No, I get it, I’m only teasing. I know you like town, and Ms. Mackenzie, and the film club and everything. I know you and Beryl get along, that she kind of—needs you, in a way. I mean, not needs—”

Ivy nodded. “She does, though. I mean, she doesn’t, but she does. We kind of match. I fit there. I matter—”

Prairie started to say something, but Ivy knew what it was going to be. “Not that I don’t matter to you guys, that’s not what I mean. But I can do things for Beryl, and, I don’t know—”

“I know,” Prairie broke in. “I do.”

Ivy puffed out her cheeks. She was glad they were back to understanding each other’s garbled, unfinished sentences.

Prairie pulled Ivy’s braid gently. “It’s okay. I mean, I miss you, I do. But I understand.”

“Thanks.” Ivy tried to put everything she felt into her eyes.

Prairie grinned. “You’re welcome. But they’re leaving us behind.” She grabbed Ivy’s arm to drag her along faster.

• • •

Beryl clanged her spoon against her sundae glass to get everyone’s attention once they were all sitting squeezed at one table in the ice cream shop’s front window. “To Ivy!” she said, when everyone was looking at her.

“To Ivy!” everyone cried.

Ivy bit her lip; her grin got bigger anyway. Her movie hadn’t placed or even won an honorable mention, but that didn’t matter. She felt like the queen of the world. She pushed back her chair and stood up. She cleared her throat and looked at each person for a second. Then she said, quietly, “I couldn’t have done it alone. So—to everyone.”

“What did she say?” Mrs. Grizzby asked, frowning.

“Shout it out, Ivy,” Grammy called.

Ivy took a deep breath. “To everyone!” she said, loud and clear.