Mr. and Mrs. Black began their morning in precisely the same manner each and every day. It could be tracked in doors closing, in kettles whistling, in the elevator jazz intro to Morning Edition on NPR. At thirteen, Sadie knew this soundtrack so well she could watch the movie of their morning from under her covers in bed. She no longer hovered at the kitchen table observing the clockwork staging of coffee, breakfast, and morning news. She pretended to sleep late—a privilege of having just graduated eighth grade—and the machinery of the household turned without her.
When the Foley track above went silent, Sadie peered out from under the covers. It was perpetually night in the windowless basement, and her phone-turned-flashlight glowed over the disarray of her bedroom until it passed over a pair of black shoes with one toe impatiently tapping away.
George sprang to life, flipping on the lights and tossing her a pair of cutoffs and her Ravenclaw T-shirt, which was almost too small. She recoiled from the fluorescent assault, covering her eyes. “Welcome to summer. Eighth grade—done! No school, no cross-country practice today, nothing but you and me!” he shouted.
“Good morning to you too,” she said, blinking. George rifled through her closet as she got dressed, tossing out maps, disguises, wands, potions, keys, and books. He had to dig quite far to find what he was looking for: her spy notebook and fedora. He held them up expectantly.
“Breakfast, George.”
He let out an elaborate sigh.
“Come on, then.”
They raced up the stairs from the basement into the empty house, their feet beating the carpeted steps as one.
“What do you want to do today?” Sadie asked. She glanced at the itinerary her parents had left her stuck under her lunch box: the plan she’d agreed to the night before. Everything she was going to do was already written down: breakfast, library, clean her room, dinner at seven. She wasn’t really free with her day scheduled down to the minute. She texted her parents that she was awake and having breakfast. Then she crossed “eat breakfast” off the list.
She was always being told she needed “structure.” The only place she was ever free was in her head.
George handed her a giant bag of store-brand Froot Loops to distract her. It was mostly empty and disintegrating. She poured a rainbow of rings and fairy dust into her bowl, doused it with too much milk, and carried it as cautiously as a circus performer to the living room.
“We could go to Moscow.”
“We’re going to the library.” It was on the itinerary.
“I know why you want to go there,” George teased. Sadie’s cereal balancing act tottered, but she recovered.
“We’ll also go to Moscow. It’s a long walk.”
“Good.”
Sadie sat carefully down on the couch, where she was Forbidden to Eat Anything on Pain of Death or, Worse, Confiscated Phone, as established in the bylaws set out by her mom. George vaulted the back of the couch and landed with a thump next to her, causing a tidal wave of milk to spill over her bowl. Sadie shot him a glare. He grinned sheepishly and turned on the TV. The tail end of Casablanca was playing, and Humphrey Bogart was putting Ingrid Bergman on the plane.
“ ‘If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life,’ ” George recited along with the TV.
Sadie tried to reply, but her mouth was full of cereal. George laughed and then she laughed and then cereal was everywhere.
It was the best way to start a summer day all alone.
Every summer day she could, Sadie walked to the library. She walked along precisely the same route, listening to exactly the same music. She knew every house and every tree, every crack in every sidewalk. By noon it would be too hot, so her routine began just after the morning movie on TV.
The weather and her long fantasies during these walks were the only elements that varied. Sometimes the movie she’d watched would creep into her mind, and she and George would be off swashbuckling, solving murders, or performing elaborate tap numbers. Sometimes she imagined her life as it might have been: running away with George, hopping a train to L.A. to become an actress, or conning her way onto a plane to become an Australian citizen, living free in the outback. She had been working on her accent since elementary school. When she arrived at the library, whatever she had dreamed up needed details, research. She pulled real paper encyclopedias out of the dusty land of exile in the back of the building. She dug up atlases and pored over travel books. And by midafternoon, she’d be settled in at a huge table with a novel in her lap and half the world laid out before her.
George didn’t sit with her in the library. Why would he, when there were pages and pages to explore? She followed him down into the depths of the catacombs of Paris, and to the top of the world’s highest mountains. She sat alone, though she was never truly alone. After all, she wasn’t really there.
So it came as a great surprise when, last summer, an intruder sat down across from her with a book, tethering her solidly in the library and distracting her with reality, much to George’s displeasure.
He was a little older than she was, with dark hair and brown eyes. He wore T-shirts of bands Sadie had never heard of. (Surreptitiously, she Googled them on her phone.) He read manga and Lord of the Rings and sometimes a music theory textbook feathered with sticky notes. He sat on a diagonal from her, with his legs stretched under the table to rest his dirty Converse high-tops on the chair next to hers. His legs barely made it. He had to slouch low, nearly sliding off the chair. It was as though he wanted her to see his shoes. Even when she looked down, he was in her peripheral vision.
All this Sadie observed with the precision of a spy. It drove George crazy. She couldn’t quite get away with the dark-haired boy around.
She knew that she had read too much into his choice of seats. It was a big table, after all. Maybe he was only sitting with her because he felt bad for her, all alone. Maybe he didn’t even realize he was sitting with her at all, so much as near her.
She’d seen him around town, but she’d ducked away. He wasn’t at her school, that was for sure. She didn’t know his name. Today, she wondered what he would read this summer, when she dared to imagine that he’d be there.
George coughed next to her. He was jealous of her treacherous thoughts. He’d been shut out, fading away.
“Are you going to be like this all summer?” he asked as she locked the front door. She shifted her backpack on her shoulder. George’s attaché case had all the important things, of course: ransom money, their guns, the keys to the Aston Martin. But the necessities of reality were heavy in her backpack. She had books to return, water to carry, a lunch box her mom had left her, house keys, phone. George never seemed burdened.
Once he had her attention, he bolted ahead, around the house to the backyard, to Old Charlotte. She chased him, sprinting, her heart pounding. As soon as she started running, her problems faded away. They always did. Laughing, she hopped into Old Charlotte and reached under the seat for The Tape. Even touching it sent relief coursing through her veins.
Most of the time, worries caroled across her mind, chanting and singing like a choir, their voices amplified as though in a perfect cathedral. She couldn’t escape the music in her mind, but she could replace it. When the Fab Four, as her mom called them, took their places on the stage in her head, there was no room for other voices. They silenced the real world and drew her into another one.
George readied himself as she closed the truck door. She slipped in her earbuds and her feet started their automatic march toward the library. The Beatles began to sing, and Sadie and George were back in the thick of a mission they’d paused, out of breath and on the run. The sun began to rise on Tverskaya Street in Moscow, footsteps echoed behind her, and the suburbs were gone.
When they reached the library, it was as though no time had passed since they’d left home. Daydreams were like that. Lifetimes passed in no time. But a bolt of disappointment shot through her and blew George away as she resurfaced: a lanky teenage boy stood staring at a white sign on the library door. Sadie could see that it said CLOSED in giant red Sharpie letters.
She turned away, trying not to cry from disappointment. There was always tomorrow. But she fell down a spiral of disorientation: she’d been so excited for the library, and now she’d have to go home, and—
“Hey!” shouted the boy behind her. She turned, red-eyed.
It was him. He had grown half a foot since she’d seen him last. He wore his hair longer and his face was mottled with acne, but his eyes were the same. Big brown doe eyes, perfect and kind.
“It’s closed?” Sadie asked, staring at the handwritten sign.
“The air-conditioning broke down.” They stood in silence shoulder to shoulder in the narrow entry. “I’m Henry,” he offered.
“Sadie.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. They usually had a table between them, a distance she hadn’t ever dared to cross.
Henry was drenched with sweat, like he’d been standing there a long time. “Well, this sucks. I guess I’ll go home,” Henry said. “Do you live close by? Do you want to come back to my house to cool off for a minute?”
Her heart started to race.
“It’s just a few blocks away,” he said. A bead of sweat fell from his dark hair onto the sidewalk, where it evaporated immediately.
“Sure,” Sadie said, though it felt like someone else was saying it. What was she doing? But Henry couldn’t tell how nervous she was, or he was being nice about it. He walked away and gestured to her. Sadie followed him out of the shade and into the blinding sun.
“This is my house,” Henry said as they passed over the threshold. The house had shingles in different colors and a tower with big stained glass windows. It was on Sadie’s way to the library, and sometimes there was strange music coming from the garage, so loud she could hear it over The Tape.
“We can get a drink inside and wait for my mom. She can give you a ride home,” Henry said. He fidgeted with the earbuds hanging from one ear. “I should warn you. She’s probably going to be weird. She teaches at the high school.”
Sadie peered around the living room. It reminded her of the Weasley house. Every wall was covered in photographs and pictures: some of Henry, others of painted figures Sadie vaguely recognized. She found kings, generals, and heroes among the minor triumphs of kindergarten graduation and soccer team victories. Half an encyclopedia seemed to be papering the walls.
“What does she teach?”
“History,” he muttered. Sadie’s heart thumped. “Honors history. She has kind of a reputation, so people know her.”
“Mrs. Vaughn?”
“Are you in high school?”
“I’m going to be in ninth grade. I just met her a few days ago for cross-country,” Sadie said. Henry tossed his bag on the couch and sat on the bench in front of the piano.
“Oh, good luck with that. She’s got kind of a reputation there too.”
Sadie glanced around. It was weird, seeing a teacher’s house. Kind of like looking at a teacher’s diary.
“I’m going to be in tenth,” Henry said. “Everyone says my mom is the best and the hardest, but I’m not in her class. Anyway. She might be weird.”
He absentmindedly played an arpeggio, then sprang up as though he’d forgotten something and reached for her bag. Sadie stepped away, hugging her backpack full of secrets to her chest.
“My mom can give you a ride home,” he said. “She’ll be here in a few minutes. Or do you want to call your parents to pick you up?”
“I really don’t need a ride,” Sadie said. “I can walk.” She backed into the door, startling herself.
“Oh, well, I thought…you know…we could hang out for a while. Since the library is closed.”
Her heart was pounding in the unfamiliar room. Details piled themselves up around her begging to be analyzed, so many they seemed like static on a television.
“We could watch TV,” Henry offered. At the sound of his voice her mind cleared. “I have a lot of cool anime DVDs. My dad is stationed in Okinawa. In Japan. I’ve been there.”
“Okay,” Sadie mumbled, but they didn’t move. What are you thinking! screamed part of her brain.
“Or we could go sit on the porch and read and have some snacks,” Henry said, trying again. Sadie didn’t say a word. She had lost herself in the massive undertaking of reading the unfamiliar room: an armchair threadbare on one side, a Christmas ornament from Tokyo still hanging in hundred-degree weather, a pile of dusty sheet music. These things were invisible to him—the details so familiar they had faded into the background—but as a visitor, she could see them.
“You play guitar?” she asked, realizing how long she’d been staring. She pointed to the guitar leaning in its stand next to the piano.
“Oh, yeah. Classical guitar. And I’m kind of trying to start a band. I play the piano too.”
Suddenly excited, he whirled around to face the keys. He plunked out the first few bars of “Blackbird,” and opened his mouth to sing, his fingers deep in the keys.
“Not that!” Sadie cried.
“What? Oh, I thought you liked the Beatles.”
“I do. I just…,” Sadie trailed off. “Wait, how did you know that?”
“Your tape player. Very vintage. I can hear it sometimes through your earbuds when you take them off. I thought you liked the Beatles.”
“I do. But I…”
But there was no way to explain to him why The Tape was special.
After a minute, Henry said, “Here, I’ll get us some water.” He vanished through a swinging door.
Free to observe, she lost herself in the walls and their mysterious pictures. She began to see George peeking out from the trenches, standing in the crowds.
Henry came back with a pink tray holding two giant glasses of water and a bowl of little mandarin oranges. He’d put a lemon wedge in each of the glasses, like they were in a restaurant.
“I wanted to make sure you had something to drink, because you can die of dehydration. That’s what my dad says.”
“I have water in my bag,” Sadie replied.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then they heard the sound of keys in the door.
“Hello!” Henry’s mom shouted, one arm wrapped around a yoga mat, the other wiggling the keys in the lock. She stopped, noticing the visitor.
“Mom, this is Sadie Black,” Henry said. He ran to the door and took her gym bag.
“Oh, I know all about Miss Sadie Black. She’s going to be quite the warrior this summer. Did you know, I went to WashU when your parents were there. They used to have a radio show. I wonder if they remember me.” His mom finally freed her keys from the lock and hung them by the door.
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Vaughn,” Sadie mumbled. She didn’t remember telling Henry her last name.
“And nice to see you, Miss Black. Please, call me Liz. You’re headed into ninth grade next year, right?”
“Yeah, she’s a year behind me.”
“I keep my eye on all the bright young eighth graders. I think I’ve even seen your name on my roster for class,” she said with a wink.
“The air-conditioning broke at the library so they didn’t open today, and I invited Sadie in for some water before she walks home. Or maybe we could give her a ride?”
“Sounds like a plan. It’s too hot to be walking today. You like to hang out at the library, Sadie?”
“Yes,” said Sadie hesitantly. Was that cool? Would Henry think she was sucking up to his mom?
“That’s how we know each other,” Henry added, beaming. “We’re always at the library, so we see each other a lot.”
“That’s awesome,” Mrs. Vaughn said. “Hey, how about we all go get some ice cream?”
“All right!” Henry shouted. Sadie didn’t say anything. Was she supposed to refuse? She wasn’t sure what would be the most polite. Anxiety climbed her spine, paralyzing her whole body.
“Sadie, do you want to call your parents and ask if it’s all right?”
“No. They don’t mind.”
“Are you sure? Why don’t you call. They might worry.”
Sadie saw that she had a text from her mom asking how her day was going. She slid it aside and dialed the house phone so she would be sure to reach the voice mail. She explained the situation to the dead silence and waited until it sounded like someone had answered, then said, “Okay,” and hung up. She could have called the shop. But what if they’d said no? She wasn’t supposed to deviate from the plan. She didn’t know why she did it. She knew her parents wouldn’t have been mad; they were always encouraging her to make friends. But keeping secrets came naturally to her, like an instinct.
“Great!” said Mrs. Vaughn. “Let us sally forth. It is not the ice cream we shall conquer, but ourselves!”
“Mom!” Henry groaned.
“Edmund Hillary,” Sadie said quietly. “He climbed Everest,” she explained to Henry. She and George had climbed Everest once. She felt a flutter of icy snow on her neck, a tingle of an adventure. She could see the flakes falling around them.
“A double cone for the lady,” Mrs. Vaughn said as they made their way outside. “You should know, my progeny: great men are made of great words.”
“Dad says great men are made of great deeds,” Henry countered.
“Those as well. But after their deeds, what is left but the stories we tell?”
Henry rolled his eyes and Sadie’s snow melted away.
Henry’s mom sat in the car while they stood in line. She pulled a book out of her Whole Foods tote bag. It was as big as the old dictionaries at the library. She put on her glasses and put her feet on the dashboard.
“This is great,” Henry said. “We never go out for ice cream.”
They walked up to the outdoor window of the whitewashed building in silence. Henry didn’t seem to notice how her stomach was full of butterflies—“Butterflies? Trite,” George whispered in her ear—or how the underarms of her Ravenclaw shirt were dark spots of sweat. He was bouncing on his toes, humming to himself. He almost looked nervous.
“What are you having?” asked the girl at the window when it was their turn.
“Small vanilla milk shake,” Sadie mumbled.
“You can get a big one if you want,” Henry said. “I have twenty dollars.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, really, it’s my treat.”
“Come on, guys,” the girl said, and they realized they were holding up the line. “What are you having?”
They ordered their ice cream and perched on the chain-link fence like birds. It was so hot, half the city was in this parking lot. Henry seemed focused on his ice cream, so Sadie let George consume her. He sat next to her, sullenly letting his cone drip onto the sidewalk. Sadie felt better with him sitting there, though.
“Are you okay?” Henry asked. George vanished.
“What?”
“You seemed kind of zoned out.”
“No, just thinking,” Sadie said.
“You can get heatstroke pretty easily. That’s what my dad says. He made me take all these survival and first-aid classes, so I know how to take care of you if you don’t feel well.”
He stared at his shoes. It was funny the way he started talking in facts, almost like Sadie did when she was nervous. It made him seem less scary, like a lost little kid.
“I’m okay. Thanks for the ice cream.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Of course,” Sadie replied.
“It’s just…you didn’t go to school with everyone until…”
“Yeah,” Sadie said. He knew about the accident, she realized. Of course he knew who she was.
“I’m sorry. For asking, I mean. If you don’t want to think about it—”
“My dad used to have this thing where he would tell me it was against the law for this place to serve kids under sixteen any size larger than a small,” she told him, smiling so he wouldn’t have to feel bad. “He bought me a large once after I was whining one day. Then he printed up a fake police ticket and mailed it to me, and I was like six so I thought it was real and I cried. He was really sorry.”
“That’s funny.”
“He also told me he needed to sign a release for me to drink coffee and submit it to the American Bureau of Bad Parenting. And then I found out the coffee I was drinking was decaf all along anyway.”
“Your dad sounds fun.”
Sadie nodded. He didn’t seem so uncomfortable anymore. She hated the look of pity she’d seen glinting in his eyes. It was an adult look.
“What’s your dad like?” she asked.
“He’s normal. My mom’s the weird one.”
“She seems nice.”
“Yeah? Let’s see how you feel at finals.”
Their conversation stalled. It was weird sitting there alone together. She never felt weird alone with George. She wondered what the right thing to say to Henry might be. But she didn’t know, so she didn’t say anything.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Henry said. He cleared his throat. “Can we hang out again tomorrow?”
“At the library?”
“Sure. Like always.”
“Sure. Unless you have other plans.”
“No, that is my plan,” Henry said. “I mean, you’re my plan.”
He seemed to realize what his mouth had said a moment too late to stop himself. He turned away and ran his fingers through his hair so it hid his face. Sadie turned away. She could hear her heart beating, or maybe it was his.
“So…cool?” he squeaked out. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Sadie said. “I’ll be there.”
They exchanged numbers, but they didn’t say anything else. All Sadie could think was I’ll see Henry tomorrow. Every step was toward Henry tomorrow. Every moment ticked toward a future and Henry. The promise of tomorrow glowed so bright, it outshone the joy of being with him today. They piled back into the car, sweaty and sticky, and Mrs. Vaughn put down her book and drove them to Sadie’s house. She knew where it was without Sadie having to tell her. Sadie wondered: what else did Mrs. Vaughn know?
Sadie struggled to unbuckle her seat belt as fast as she could, but Mrs. Vaughn turned around before she could escape.
“Are you signed up for any clubs yet?”
“Clubs?”
“Like, at school.”
“Mom. Jeez!”
“No, I don’t have a club,” Sadie said, finally freeing herself. She made a break for the door, managing to get out, but—
“Great! I’ll send your parents the forms for debate. You look like a talker to me.”
“I’m not.”
“I bet you are. The quiet ones always are. You just need a stage to shine on.”
“Mom. No. Drive.”
“Henry, stop being a pill. Sound good, Sadie?”
“Uh, sure,” Sadie said, creeping away.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you this summer and in my class next year, Sadie. And you know, if you ever need someone to talk to…”
“Thanks,” Sadie said. Henry was bright red as he shut the door. “Thanks for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow, Henry.”
Her parents were still at the shop when Sadie got through the front door. She locked herself in, like Mrs. Vaughn might chase her up the driveway. She quickly erased the message she’d left on the machine, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and ran out into the backyard, nearly tripping on her parents’ tools spread out on the unmowed grass around the truck. After the crash, her parents had taken a special interest in restoring Old Charlotte. They were determined to make her as good as new, and they’d gotten pretty far. On the outside, everything looked fine.
She climbed into Old Charlotte’s backseat, her heart pounding and her mind fleeing in a million directions. She cleared off the books she’d abandoned in the back and lay down with her feet on the window.
She played through the day over and over, and every time she did, it seemed a little brighter. She stood where she’d stood in his living room, stuttered out cleverer lines, tasted ice cream that was better than ice cream ever could be. After a few minutes, her mind calmed down, and she took out her Walkman and put The Tape into Old Charlotte’s tape player, coaxing the ignition into cooperation.
She stared at the stained felt ceiling. Had it been so wonderful? Or was he just being nice? It seemed so unlikely, that he’d be that nice. Why would he be that nice to her? The joyous circus of her mind started performing darker tricks—
“You know, I can play the piano too,” George said from the driver’s seat. He whisked them away to a deserted Moroccan bar. George cleared his throat and sat at the piano.
“I know,” Sadie said, watching him desperately fumble to find the notes to “As Time Goes By.” He gave up and slammed the lid.
“You like him,” he said, his hair hanging over his face.
“Does he like me?”
“Of course. Don’t be stupid. Can’t you see how nervous he is?” he snapped.
“I don’t think so.”
“We never go out for ice cream,” George mimicked cruelly.
“George!” Sadie snapped.
“Sorry,” he said, shocked at his own outburst. He continued quietly: “Do you like him more than me?”
“No. Different than you.”
George said nothing. He snapped his fingers and they were back in the truck. Sadie leaned in to the front seat. She put a hand on his shoulder.
“Will we still go on adventures?” George asked.
“Of course. Always.”
George held out his hand. Sadie shook it.
“Always,” George said, turning up the volume on the stereo.
The speakers let out a screech and they both jumped. The Tape had ground to a halt. It slid halfway out of the stereo and then stopped.
“What’s wrong with it?” Sadie asked.
“It’s stuck.”
“Oh no! George, can you fix it?”
George pushed buttons, tugged the cassette, applied all manner of witchcraft and wizardry, but Old Charlotte’s only response was to swallow the rest of the tape. It wouldn’t even play.
“At least it’s not completely gone,” Sadie said, holding the empty broken case in her hand.
“And we’ll never have to worry that we’ll lose it ever again. We’ll always know where it is,” George said brightly.
“But it…hurts,” Sadie said.
“So it does.”
“How can you just sit there smiling? Don’t you care at all?”
“Of course I do. The trick, Sadie, is not minding that it hurts. Things will be lost. People will leave you. You have to keep going. That’s life.”
Her heart felt strangled. “Will I ever lose you?” she asked timidly.
“No, darling. No. Of course not. Everything but me.”
But she was still crushed.
“Hey, I know. I’ll sing it to you.” George started singing softly. He knew The Tape just as well as she did. He passed his hand over the stereo, and it began playing along with him, every perfect note. Sadie lay down again in the backseat and listened, but it hurt to think about The Tape never coming back.
Sadie wanted so much not to hurt anymore that she made herself forget about The Tape. She closed her eyes tight and erased it from every summer, capsizing its memory and sinking it to the bottom of the black forgotten ocean. George stumbled over the lyrics and began humming, the music fading away. She closed her eyes and thought only of the good things that had happened that day. If she could only make herself forget the sadness, all that would be left was joy.