Shirin’s room was a predictable explosion of colors and prints, with clothing and books scattered on every surface. Alma liked it. It was like Shirin in room form—messy and fun and full of energy.
Shirin cleared a space on the patchwork rug that covered much of her floor—cleared a space meaning she shoved everything into a big pile. Alma sat next to her. Hugo joined them a moment later, after staring around the room in undisguised shock.
“This,” he said, “should be declared a disaster zone.”
“So my parents say,” Shirin replied with a grin. “Now read us the Earth section of Quintessence, please.”
Hugo got out the book and sat gingerly on a corner of the rug. In his monotone voice, he read:
We come to Earth now.
Earth is the substance beneath our feet,
familiar and foundational on the surface.
Yet, farther in, farther below, down and down,
there are other Earths,
layers and layers, some shining and precious,
some hard and unyielding.
And those Elementals of Earth,
do they not share this disposition?
Are they not quarrelsome and guarded,
yet brave and determined?
Are they not unapproachable
until they have been approached?
Are they not loyal beyond measure
when loyalty has been won?
Hugo finished the passage but kept his gaze on the page. “This may sound ludicrous,” he said. “But this description sounds—perhaps—just slightly like Dustin.”
“Ugh, how does it sound like him?” Shirin said, covering her ears with her braids. “He’s the worst!”
Alma didn’t think it sounded like Dustin, and she didn’t want it to either. More and more, she had been thinking about how Shirin had led them to the water and how Hugo had been in charge of getting the wind. Those were their elements.
It was her turn now.
Alma wanted to find her element.
She didn’t want to say this out loud though. So she picked at the mirrored sequins in one of the rug patches and she said, “Maybe. The ‘quarrelsome and guarded’ part, I guess.”
Hugo shrugged and closed the book.
“Okay, Dustin is like earth,” Shirin agreed. “Like a big, mean, dumb rock. But more importantly, this sounds like the Deep Downs to me! What do you two think?”
“It does talk about going underground,” Alma said, glad to change the subject.
“A subterranean source makes the most sense,” Hugo agreed, his voice loud and rushed like he was eager to talk about something new too. “In fact, it’s the easiest explanation. I’d even go so far as to say it’s … elementary.” He paused and glanced from Alma to Shirin. “Get it?”
“Oh my goodness, Hugo,” Shirin said. Then she collapsed into giggles.
Shirin’s laughter always made Alma laugh too. Soon, like the night on Second Point Peak, even Hugo had joined in. Every time they stopped, Shirin would gasp out, “Elementary!” and they would start back up again.
“You know what we should do?” Shirin said, jumping to her feet. “We should actually do some stargazing! We are an Astronomy Club, aren’t we?”
Alma, her face hurting from smiling so hard, said, “That would be a great idea, Shirin. Except that it’s daytime.”
The three of them burst into laughter again. Alma couldn’t believe how good it felt to smile and mean it, to laugh and feel it, like sunshine bubbling out of her.
“Fascinating fact: there are things in the sky you can see in the daylight,” Hugo told them. “Not a lot, but some. I could show them to you.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “If you want me to, that is.”
“I’ll go find my telescope!” Shirin cried. “I bet my sister—ugh!—has it!”
She ran from the room. Hugo shrugged at Alma, and they followed in their friend’s wake.