Not quite birds, as they were not quite flowers, mysterious and fascinating as are all indeterminate creatures.

~ELIZABETH GOUDGE~

The metal lid squeaks, and I let out the breath I’d been holding when I see a thick manila packet tied with string. I unwind the string, open the flap, and there’s a large official-looking envelope with the name of a Chuuk Island attorney’s office. A second, smaller envelope is inside with Tara Doucet written on the front.

I open the stamped and official envelope first.

The Last Will and Testament of Claire Theriot Chaisson. It’s dated from last year.

I don’t understand all the legal words, but I scan the lines and get most of it.

Grammy Claire gives everything she has to my mamma, Riley, and me. I’m not sure what everything is exactly, but a huge wave of relief fills up my chest. I picture good doctors for Mamma. Fixing our house. Dance lessons and college — and, well, everything again. Everything the Doucet Family Trust Fund has swallowed up over the last hundred and fifty years.

I wonder about the tree house, and I think about bringing Mamma here. Maybe she just needs to get away from our stuffy old house and lie on the beach. Get some sunshine, drink guava juice, and read a stack of books.

I’m so excited about the next letter from Grammy Claire that I rip the envelope a little.

My darling Tara,

Etiwa! Welcome to the islands of Chuuk. My home away from home — in a tree house, to boot! How do you like it? And isn’t the island stunningly beautiful? A taste of heaven, for sure. Or naangenu, as the people say.

I hope Eloni showed you the laboratory and the current metamorphosing chrysalis. Quite astonishing, isn’t it? Humbling to see God’s creatures in their dramatic finery. Almost a spiritual experience. You will notice that there are no Giant Pinks in the laboratory or in my home. There is a reason for this, which will be revealed later.

My eyes widen, thinking about the smashed Giant Pink. Was it dangerous? Poisonous? Was someone trying to save my life and Riley’s by getting rid of it?

Why doesn’t Grammy Claire just say? My mind is constantly churning with possibilities. I’m tired and my eyes burn. I know my grandmother was afraid, and she should have been if someone killed her. Even with all the secrecy, she wasn’t careful enough. But there’s no time for a good cry. I have to figure out what she wants me to do — and how to save the nipwisipwis.

You should still have one more key, and it unlocks the most dangerous location of all. I cannot even give you any clues because I’m afraid of who is watching you. I’m afraid of what they might already know, or that they might steal this letter from you, so I can’t take that chance. You will have to rely on your wits, your brains, your courage, and most of all, your good heart to find the final lock. You must do your best to save the nipwisipwis from those who will inflict experiments and certain death on them. My beautiful creatures are facing extinction. And if my research is stolen and there is free access to the nipwisipwis, no longer will the island’s butterflies fly free and help the native people as they have for centuries. They will be gone forever. They cannot be manufactured in laboratories and sold to the highest bidder — that will eventually kill them, too. They need the freedom of the island to truly live and grow and be what they were meant to be.

I read the words over and over again, looking for clues, and there is nothing. Nothing! My heart thumps hard and painful. My palms are sweaty even though it’s air-conditioned in the bank.

Don’t forget to enjoy the beauty of the island. I hope you brought lots of swimsuits and sunscreen!

And most of all, remember, my lovely Tara, I will be with you in the darkest hour. Always. I have not left you alone. Trust Riley. Show her this letter. Trust your mamma to do the right thing. I know she loves both you girls very much.

So … until we meet on the other side, know that you have all my love,

Your Grammy Claire

“Oh, Grammy Claire!” Her letters make me feel like I’m gonna break into pieces all over again. “I want you to watch me here — not there — wherever there is!”

“Miss Tara, may I help you?” It’s Mr. Masako, the bank manager. He probably heard me crying. “Are you all right in there? Can I call someone for you?”

I had wondered if there was a telephone at the tree house, and of course, there is. Grammy Claire and I used to call each other, but Mamma always had the number written down at home. I feel so stupid! I’m completely unprepared. Hurriedly, I fold the letter, tuck it back into its white envelope, and clutch the thick packet to my chest.

After I draw back the curtains, I show the bank manager the Last Will and Testament and try not to let my voice waver. “Can you tell me what all of it means? What property or houses my grandmother owned? How much money is in her bank accounts? And do you think I can get some so Riley and I can get around the island for the next week?”

I listen to my own desperate questions and cringe, knowing he won’t really give me access to Grammy Claire’s bank accounts — even if I am her heir. I’m sure there are piles of paperwork and attorney stuff to go through. And it’s all gotta be done by Mamma, not some twelve-year-old girl.

But I hate being dependent on Butler Reginald. Besides, he’s no longer technically employed by Grammy Claire and earning paychecks. I should have asked Mamma for some cash before I left, but I was in such a rush, I didn’t even think about it, although Mamma’s own bank account is probably empty, too.

Mr. Masako studies the will for several minutes, and then takes off his reading spectacles. “Please come with me, Miss Tara.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Is there an adult you can call? Your mother?”

I shake my head. “My mamma is back home. Riley’s here, but she’s at Grammy Claire’s house with a sprained ankle.”

He frowns. “I see. Please come into my office.”

As I pass Eloni, he says, “You okay, Tara?”

I nod, fiddling with my hair, trying not to stick a whole lump in my mouth. Trying not to straighten the crooked pictures and toppled magazines in the waiting room. “Be right back.”

I sit down in a green chair and Mr. Masako brings me a cup of water from one of those water dispenser machines. Tension rises in my throat. Bad news is coming.

“Miss Tara, I need to tell you that your grandmother actually drafted a new will. About a month before her trip to visit you.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, and I must admit that I was dismayed. Claire Chaisson always arranged her banking and legal business with our lawyers. And yet this time she went to a different firm.”

“Is that legal?”

Mr. Masako gives me a small smile. “Of course. A person can do whatever they like with their personal affairs. We were surprised, but these things happen.”

My ears are buzzing as I wonder if she changed banks because he truly is a suspect. “Do you know what’s in the new will?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a clue. Or why she would want to change it, since the will you have right here is obviously the correct path — that her next of kin inherit everything.”

A terrible pain settles in my stomach.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean your grandmother took you and your mother and sister out of the will. It could be that she merely added a few details, or wanted to make sure that anything new that had come up over the last year was included.”

I nod, trying to breathe. That had to explain it. Because of the nipwisipwis. There was a new will because of the secrets. The keys. My brain hurts just thinking about it.

“So who is the lawyer with the new will?” I ask. “Where can I get a copy?”

“It was drawn up at Kanador Attorneys-at-Law, which is only a few blocks from here. They’ll have a copy of it, but will probably request that you make an appointment. There is someone else you could ask. Which would be infinitely easier and faster.”

I sit up in my chair. “Who?”

“Mr. Reginald Godwin.”

That’s when I feel very stupid. Grammy Claire had told me he was her lawyer. He probably had worked for the Kanador law firm. He’d have the latest, real will! “What about her bank accounts?” I ask. “Is there any way to get twenty bucks or something?” If something happened — like Riley falling over one of the walkways — we couldn’t even hire a taxi to get us to the hospital or the airport if we needed to escape! I make a mental note to ask Riley if she’s got cash on her.

Mr. Masako looks down at the file of papers again. “I’m afraid that your grandmother cleaned out her accounts right before she left for the States.”

“But why didn’t she tell me in the last letter —” I stop, horrified that I mentioned the letters to someone besides Riley. I’m also in shock. Someone is lying to me. But who — and why? “So, um, what did Grammy Claire do with all her money?”

Mr. Masako gives me a sad smile. “I’m afraid I have no idea. Your grandmother didn’t confide in me. Our bank patrons usually don’t divulge their private business.”

A minute later, I stalk out of the bank. “I don’t understand any of this!” I burst out.

Reaching out a hand, Eloni stops me from running straight into the street. When he touches me, that peculiar tingle surges again in the pit of my stomach. “Professor Claire was in an unexpected car accident,” he says gently. “No time for warning you.”

I let out a shaky breath. “She set up everything — and then it all ends up being for nothing.” I’m suddenly homesick and afraid and I want my mamma to hold me and make everything better.

Tafko zooms up in the blue, crumpled taxi and leans over to roll the window down. He doesn’t even look at us as we climb in.

“What’s wrong with him?” I whisper to Eloni in the backseat.

Eloni whispers back, “He doesn’t like to come to the bank.”

“Why not?”

“He used to work here, but Mr. Masako fired him.”

I’m startled. “Why?”

“He never told me. Mr. Masako is a new manager. The old one moved to Pohnpei.”

Everyone I meet seems to have some sort of secret. Perhaps that’s why Grammy Claire told me to trust no one. I want to trust Eloni. I really do, but maybe I’m not being smart. Or I’m being taken in by his open charm and attention. And the nice feeling when he takes my hand.

Does Tafko’s firing from the bank have anything to do with Grammy Claire’s will? And what were he and Eloni doing right before Riley fell down the stairs?

My gut tightens as we head out of town on a completely different road. “Where are we going?”

Tafko doesn’t answer. He’s drumming his hands on the steering wheel and listening to music, earplugs in his ears, just like Riley.

Eloni rolls down his window as we bump along and swerve to avoid potholes. “Remember? We’re going to the nipwisipwis.”

Yes. And I want to see them so badly. “But I thought they were near Grammy Claire’s house.”

“This is a shortcut. We follow the beach roads.”

I sit back and try not to worry about, well, about everything. I feel the wind on my face, but the roads are terrible, bumpy, jolting. My teeth bang together whenever we hit a hole.

Tafko whistles to his music, but otherwise stays silent.

Suddenly, the little car spins on the slippery sand as we leap off the road onto the beach. “Hang on!” yells Eloni.

We bounce over flat, hard sand, tire marks zooming away behind us. Waves crash along the shore and I can taste salt on my tongue. Shades of blue and turquoise and white shimmer as far as I can see. It’s perfect.

Behind us, the island rises up like a volcano. Mountains, mounds of jungle and dark green forests, so dense anybody could be hiding just inside and I’d never know they were there.

The open beach becomes smaller and narrower as the shoreline dips and turns. Sunshine trips across the water, sending up bright sparkles of light, and towering palms heavy with coconuts hug the sand.

I’m breathless with the beauty.

Tafko slows as he maneuvers the car around a final curve. I feel a tug in my throat. We’re inside our very own little lagoon. It’s small and private and there’s not a soul in sight.

My stomach jumps with nerves as I glance at Tafko. Not a soul in sight means that if I were to disappear Riley would never know where to find me. Tafko is just quiet, I tell myself. He’s reserved, not Grammy Claire’s murderer. Madame See stole my money and is lurking somewhere on this island right now. I need to find out which hotel she’s staying at. She’s the only real clue I have. Somebody else could have sneaked into our house and killed the Giant Pink.

Which could mean Tafko. But he was here on the island.

My thoughts are making me crazy!

“We get out here,” Eloni says, reaching over to press the button on my seatbelt. “Too difficult to drive now.”

The sand sinks under my sandals. A boat is bobbing out on the whitecaps. Maybe I’m not so alone, even though this beach feels completely isolated. “Who’s out there?”

Eloni shades his eyes. “Another tour boat.”

I suppose I could create an SOS if I needed to. If I had matches. My white top might work if I ripped it into pieces. Hmm. White blouse against white sand. Maybe not.

Tafko stays with the car, strumming on his banjo as he sits on the sand. He gets up to grab a pad of paper from a backpack in the trunk and starts scribbling.

“He writes music, too,” Eloni says proudly. “For his girlfriend.”

“He’s romantic?” Maybe a guy with a girlfriend isn’t so bad. Tafko talks so little, I wonder what they ever discuss.

“Hey, Tafko,” Eloni calls. “We’ll walk back to Professor Claire’s house. Not that far from here.”

Tafko lifts a hand in salute, then scoops up his banjo and paper and jumps back into the taxi. The sound of the engine fades quickly across the sand and within moments all I can hear is the soft, rippling waves whispering as they break the shoreline.

I follow Eloni over a patch of black lava rock, stepping in and out of shallow tide pools, and then up over more rocks. The giant palms and mangroves bend over us like giants.

As we walk, Eloni says, “Tafko reminded me to tell you about our party for you.”

“A party for me?” I’m surprised and don’t know what to say. I didn’t think Tafko liked me. He seemed to be in a bad mood and would rather be somewhere else.

“We are having a feast for you and your sister. And Mr. Godwin. Tafko and my cousins are hunting tomorrow. They will catch a wild pig. My mother and aunts are going to cook much food.”

I bite my lips, thinking about Grammy Claire living here, being here on this very beach, talking Chuukese with Eloni’s grandfather. Teaching Eloni English. Working together. Eating dinner with them.

“Will you come?” Eloni asks. “Professor Claire was a part of my family. I was only eight when she came to live here.”

I realize that I never responded. I can’t help smiling at him. “Yes, I’ll come. Never ate wild pig before.”

“It’s the best meat on the island. Well, sea turtle is my favorite.”

I let out a laugh as we climb above the boulders and reach another flat, open space. The sand is still warm from the sun as I kneel and look down over the beach. The sounds of the waves seem as if the ocean is murmuring a secret.

Late afternoon comes on, and the sun begins to sink just a little.

“When the sun is at the horizon they will come.”

Terror grips me. “Who comes!?”

Eloni laughs and bumps his shoulder into mine. “The nipwisipwis.”

“Oh. You mean right here?”

He nods and gestures at the dark forest behind us. “They live in trees. And in the caves.”

“What caves?”

“The caves underneath us.”

I stare at him, surprised. “There are caves underneath us? Will the sand fall in?”

“Made of lava rock. Thousands of years old.” Eloni gives a laugh. “We have caves and sand and palm trees and boats. It’s an island. Like all the islands out there in the lagoon.”

A lone seagull circles overhead in the blue silence. “I think you’re teasing me.”

Eloni wiggles his eyebrows and just smiles.

I finally let out my breath and some of the tension inside eases. “I’m hot,” I admit. “Can we go swimming?”

Eloni nods as he squints at the sun. “We have an hour until we see the show.”

“What do you mean by a show?”

“Soon you will see,” he says mysteriously. In an instant, he’s scrambling back over the rocks, jumping through the tide pools, and running straight for the beach. I watch him pull off his shorts and T-shirt and throw them to the sand.

Copying him, I throw my skirt and blouse to the sand, too. It’s strange not to have blankets and water bottles and a picnic basket and books for a beach excursion. Strange not to see another single soul anywhere. Very strange to run into the blue, sparkling surf next to a boy I met only yesterday.

We splash each other and head farther into the sea until we’re up to our waists and the waves are coming faster. As we jump the waves, we start talking about our families and school and movies. The sand is pebbly and rough under my feet, but the water is deliciously warm, like a bath.

“Just need a bottle of bubbles,” I say, turning around to float on my back and stare at the clouds. I scoop at the water, trying to stay on top. Eloni swims effortlessly.

“You’re a good swimmer,” I tell him.

“The village elders throw babies in when they’re born. We learn to swim right away.”

“Are you serious? What keeps a baby from drowning?”

He grins at me, his dark eyes shining, and I know I’ve been had. “You are easy to fool, Miss Tara Doucet.”

My cheeks burn and I splash water at him. Eloni ducks under and comes back up again, shaking his head and flinging water like a dog.

I’m not usually the one teased. I’m the one everybody looks to for answers. I’m the one who tells everyone else how to do things and when to do them. I’m the Doucet Princess. But out here, I’m not anybody. I’m a stranger, just some no-name tourist. But really, deep in my heart, I just want to be Tara. I want people to like me. I want Eloni for my friend. I want my sister to like me. And my mamma to love me.

Tears fill my eyes and I pretend it’s the salt water. Or the sun.

“Hey,” Eloni says. “Let’s go dry off. They’re coming.”

He creates a final humongous splash, hitting the edge of his hand against the surface of the water, which sends a plume of spray into the air.

They’re coming. The words fill me with an intense thrill.

I run out of the sea, water dripping, clumps of sand crawling down my wet legs. We flop straight down on the hot sand to dry off, and I’m not even shy about Eloni seeing me in my swimsuit, all covered in a layer of sand.

“You will be an island girl,” he tells me. “The sand makes you sparkle.”

I try not to turn red as he keeps looking at me. “Maybe Grammy Claire gave me the tree house in her new will and I can come here whenever I want to.”

“You must be independently wealthy.”

I shake my head, a jolt of reality stabbing my chest. “Nope. Not anymore. My great-great-great-grandmothers were, but not me. Although I — I —” I stumble and stutter, and I’m a girl who never stutters. “I always pretended I was, back in Bayou Bridge.” I take a gulp. I’ve never admitted that to anybody before, not even my best friend, Alyson.

“Here it’s no matter,” Eloni says, digging his toes into the sand. “We all live the same. Fishing, boating, singing, dancing — and waiting for tourists. Here on Chuuk you can be one of us.”

Emotion tugs at me and I’m not sure what to say. “Thank you,” I finally whisper. “I mean, kinissow.”

Eloni claps his hands and I can tell he’s happy I remembered how to say that in Chuukese.

The sun feels good on my face and I comb my fingers through my hair as it dries. I notice that Eloni still has that same stick in his shorts pocket when we arrived our first day. He carries it with him constantly, in fact. At times, I see him whittling on it with a small knife.

I get up my nerve to ask. “What is that stick you have? Did you make it?”

He pulls it out of his pocket, holding it flat across his palms. It’s about six to eight inches long. A slender, dagger-shaped piece with carvings on each side. Eloni digs out a pocket knife and shows me how he carves the soft wood. “We carve our favorite things into it.” He points out the details of a fish with beautiful fins arched over a wave. Along the other side is an array of stars and constellations and a sliver of moon that is stunning.

“Do all Chuuk boys make these?”

“Yes. Every boy carves his stick different. We know which stick belongs to which boy. This is my first one to make so it’s smaller than the older boys like my brother, Tafko.”

“Do the sticks have a certain name?”

Eloni’s face turns a little red, and he keeps his eyes on his hands. “It’s called a love stick.”

A love stick. It sounds romantic.

“It’s a tradition.”

“Yours is beautiful,” I tell him, and I mean it. The craftsmanship is gorgeous. “What do you do with it after you’ve finished carving?”

Eloni brushes his finger across a new notch in the fin of his flying fish. “When a boy in the village wants a girl to know that he likes her or wants to court her, he pushes the stick into the bamboo wall of the girl’s hut at night when everyone is asleep.”

“Does the girl recognize whose stick it is when she sees it?”

“If she’s been watching. She feels the stick’s design and if she does not like the boy, she pushes the stick back out of the wall. But if she wants the boy, she pulls it through the wall toward her and keeps it.”

“That seems easy. Better than a phone call.”

Eloni grins at me. “Our carved sticks are our cell phones.”

I laugh and our eyes meet for a split second, then I look away, studying the waves, tasting salt on my lips, thinking of Grammy Claire right here on this very beach.

Not two seconds later, Eloni leaps up. “Miss Tara! They’re here, they’re here! The nipwisipwis!”

I jump to my feet and brush the sand off the back of my legs.

“There!” Eloni says as he points to the ledges of rock where the caves are hidden.

Seconds later, butterflies emerge from the tops of the trees. Hundreds of them, flapping crazily in the slanting sun. So many colors, so many wings! Lemon-yellow butterflies as bright as daisies! Soft, dusky orange ones. Pale blues; deep, dazzling purple; velvety black; chocolate brown.

I stand still as swarms of nipwisipwis fly straight toward us. I can’t move. I can hardly breathe. Within moments, thousands of them are over our heads, floating, shimmering, flitting, flapping, darting, skimming, dancing. They’re lighter than air, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in my whole life.

“Look,” I say, tugging Eloni’s arm. “There are green butterflies!”

I can tell he’s pleased that I’m so excited. “The green ones can hide in the forest,” he tells me. “No one knows they’re there!”

“These are the butterflies Grammy Claire has been studying all these years,” I say softly, stunned at the secrets she’s been keeping the last five years.

Eloni’s face is skyward as I sneak a peek at him. He stands as still as I do, as though seeing them for the first time, too. And yet, I know he’s been here dozens of times. Watching him, I can feel that he loves the butterflies as much as my Grammy Claire did.

Something tightens in my throat and I point, shaking. “Over there! Look — they’re coming up from under the ground!”

Giant Pink nipwisipwis are swarming up from the underground caves, spilling into the sunlight, streaming toward the sky.

“Run!” Eloni shouts, and I race after him over the sand, bounding up the rocks until I can see into the shadowy overhang that hides the grottos and caves.

Standing there on the ledge as the Giant Pinks fly up from their hidden, underground world, tears begin running down my face. A peculiar joy throbs inside my heart.

“There are no words to describe this,” I whisper, my eyes watering.

Eloni comes closer. “That’s the home of the Giant Pinks. Hundreds of them.”

“They’re gorgeous, Eloni. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

He nods, watching me. “Everyone who sees them the first time weeps with the beauty.”

Then Eloni holds out his hand to me and I stare at it, excited and afraid all at the same time. Finally, I clasp my palm to his, and he grips my fingers tight as we run back toward the ocean, leaping over the rocks and hitting the sand with our bare feet at the same time.

We run like maniacs. Back and forth across the beach. Splashing our toes in the warm, foamy surf as the Giant Pink nipwisipwis join the rest of the butterflies in a flickering swarm above our heads.

A tornado of colors and butterfly wings spins wildly around us. When I close my eyes, I feel the brush of their velvet softness, the vibration of magic as they circle and enfold me in their world.

And I hear music, too. Beautiful angel music filling my ears and mind and heart.

The underground nipwisipwis grotto is the first of Grammy Claire’s secret mysteries on the island of Chuuk. I know there’s more to come, and I’m both thrilled and terrified.