Clay found Buzz standing by the fire pit under the dome, talking to the other Worms. Or rather, talking to the Worms, since Clay was no longer one of them. When Buzz saw Clay, he gave him the one-minute sign and kept lecturing as if he were teaching in an outdoor classroom.
One minute turned to ten as Buzz talked about lava and lava safety. While Clay waited impatiently, Buzz told the Worms about how lava is formed, how it erupts, and how it solidifies. He also told them how to walk around it (when you could) and over it (when you had to).
“Walk over lava? No prob,” joked Kwan. “I played ‘hot lava’ all the time when I was little.”
“Me too,” said Jonah. “But back then the lava was cracks in the sidewalk. Here the lava is… lava.”
“Lava is never just lava,” said Buzz. “It’s molten rock, yes, but it’s also liquid fire. It’s the blood of our planet.”
“That’s deep, man,” said Pablo.
“I don’t think it’s the blood,” said Kwan. “I think it’s the pus. It’s like volcanoes are zits, and when you squeeze them, lava comes out.”
“Nice image,” said Jonah. “Thanks for putting it in my mind.”
That night at sundown, the entire camp would be taking a lava walk together, Buzz told them. “Well, not all of you,” he said with a glance in Clay’s direction, that felt to Clay like a slap.
“It’s an annual tradition—a rite of passage for the newer campers, and a way of honoring this place for the older campers,” said Buzz. “It’s also the kickoff for your volcano overnight, which, as you know, starts first thing the next morning. Again, for most of you.”
Clay gritted his teeth. Why did Buzz have to keep harping on the fact that he was no longer part of the group?
“So no lava safety test?” Pablo asked.
“Think of the lava walk as your safety test—an unconventional one.” Buzz smiled. “You know those hot lava games you played when you were kids? Those aren’t just games. They build your imagination, your agility, your leadership ability, your trust in your peers. The same is true for a lava walk now. You will have to be mindful at all times tonight; otherwise you’ll burn your feet or worse.… Now scoot, all of you—
“So what can I do for you, Clay?” he asked formally, after the others had left.
“I found the book—it fell down behind my bunk,” Clay said. Which for all he knew was true. He held up the journal, but Buzz didn’t take it. “I know I messed up big-time, but is there any way—I mean, could you give me a second chance?”
Buzz looked him up and down, as if assessing his sincerity. Clay held his breath as he waited for the verdict.
“I’m glad you’re taking responsibility for your actions, but let’s take one thing at a time,” said Buzz neutrally. “First, go give the book back. The plane’s not leaving until the afternoon, anyway.”
“You want me to take it to the library?” said Clay, surprised. “That’s past the Wall of Trust!”
“You can cross any wall you like—you’re not a camper anymore,” Buzz reminded him. “But take Como with you. He needs a walk.”
With no need for subterfuge, Clay was free to take the most direct route, and he and Como made their way up the hill to the ruins in record time.
As they came in view of the library, however, Clay began to get nervous.
“What’s Uncle Ben going to do if he discovers that the journal no es Price’s?” he asked aloud, half to Como, half to himself. “Sí, sí, I’ll play dumb, like I don’t know what’s supposed to be written inside, but let’s face it: There’s a pretty good chance he won’t believe me anyway. And that guy has serious anger issues.”
Ignoring his human companion, Como continued walking toward the library. Clay rushed to catch up.
When they got there, the library looked more shut down and unassailable than ever. Clay looked upward, hoping to see Mira, but all the windows were dark. Clay didn’t want to aggravate the situation by breaking in for a second time, so he tried knocking on the front doors. Alas, nobody answered.
Next he tried the side door. But as soon as he started turning the dial on the lock, he could tell that the combination had been changed. It wasn’t PROSPERO any longer. It didn’t even start with P. The custodian had made sure that Clay wouldn’t be able to enter ever again.
“What are we supposed to do, leave the journal on the doorstep?” he muttered to the llama. “It could be days before he picks it up.”
There was a metal slot next to the front doors that Clay hadn’t noticed before. BOOK RETURN, it said, just like at a real public library, though most likely the slot had never been used. Clay held the journal in his hand for a second longer, feeling oddly reluctant to let go, then deposited it in the slot. He could hear it thud on the other side.
He was about to retrace his steps and return to camp, when Como abruptly turned in the other direction—the direction of the old barn. The llama stood still, his ears pointing straight ahead. Clay knew by now that forward ears meant the llama was listening to something he deemed unusual or dangerous.
A second later, Clay heard it: barking.
And then: banging.
Clay was almost as scared of facing the barking dog as he was of facing the custodian. Even so, he decided to investigate.
“I know, it sounds muy peligroso,” he said to Como. “But maybe the custodian is in there. Or maybe even Mira.”
The barking and banging got louder as they made their way through the bushes toward the barn. Cautiously, Clay pushed forward and peeked his head out of the bushes. The barn door was opening and closing over and over again in the wind. Inside, the dog barked madly in time to the banging door.
Suddenly, the wind stopped and the door stopped, and the barking stopped, too.
“Come on, let’s go see what’s going on,” said Clay, more confidently than he felt. “¡Ándale! ¡Vámonos!” He tugged on the llama’s leash, but the llama wouldn’t move.
Now his ears were flat back on his head, which roughly translated as You’re crazy if you think I’m going into that scary old barn, and if you keep pulling me, I’ll spit on you. Or however you say that in Spanish.
“Fine, you wait here,” said Clay, figuring it was best to keep the llama away from the other four-legged animal inside. He looped the llama’s leash around a tree branch and then, feeling very uneasy, he forced himself to walk over to the barn.
The door was barely hanging on to the old rusty hinges. It swung open with a touch.
Grrrr.
Before Clay could step inside, the dog jumped in front of him, growling. Clay jumped back. The dog stood barely a foot away, straining on his leash. Clay had no doubt that the dog would sink his teeth in Clay’s leg if he took another step.
“Hi there, nice doggy…”
It was a bulldog. Clay was almost certain he recognized the dog as Skipper’s drooling copilot. What was that dog’s name? Tattoo? No, that was the other one. Gillian? No, Gilligan. That was it. Of course, Skipper had jeered at him for thinking all dogs looked alike. Maybe he couldn’t trust his own judgment on the subject. Besides, why would the pilot have left his dog here in the barn, so far from camp?