Chapter 24

The next two weeks were a busy time at Oak’s house: the construction workers finished the addition; Oak and her mom went shopping for window coverings and new furniture for the upstairs; Oak read Feline Teleportation cover to cover and then began reading it again from the first page.

Oak was fascinated by the compilation of stories about teleporting cats. According to Edith Phipps, PhD, it was usually children who noticed unusual feline activity. There was one story about a tortoiseshell cat in England who disappeared and reappeared in her family’s garden; the children insisted that she traveled through a portal, but their parents never believed them. And there were at least a dozen reports of cats staring off into the distance blankly, as if they were looking into a world their owners couldn’t see, and many examples of cats disappearing for months at a time and then reappearing, as if by magic, none the worse for the wear.

And Edith Phipps, PhD, had a strong opinion about Schrödinger’s cat. “Probably one of the most famous misunderstandings of scientific theories is that of Schrödinger’s cat,” she wrote near the end of chapter 1. “It’s a frequent misinterpretation of his theory that a cat in a box could be considered to be simultaneously alive and dead until the box is opened; his original notes include the words ‘here and not here,’ which can be understood to mean both in this dimension and absent, gone through a portal. Since scientists abhor that which they cannot prove, they overwhelmingly favor the ‘alive and not alive’ translation to the ‘here and not here’ interpretation of Schrödinger’s thought experiment.”

Oak had never even heard of Erwin Schrödinger before she read about him and his cat in Feline Teleportation, so this reference led her down an interesting rabbit hole of research into quantum physics. The world, it seemed, was full of things Oak knew nothing about.

Of course, she’d known that she didn’t know lots of stuff; after all, she was only eleven. How much could she have learned in just over a decade? But the discovery of Feline Teleportation, the book’s disappearance and reappearance, the strange experience of visiting Mort, and even the unexpected friendship with Alder, a boy she’d thought she hated, were causing her to reexamine everything she’d thought she knew.

What other secrets did the universe hold? If cats could portal hop and enemies could become friends, what else might be possible?

Two of the chapters were each just a single page: there was “Chapter Three: Training Your Teleportation-Gifted Feline,” which simply read: “You cannot train a cat to teleport. You cannot train a cat to do anything it has not independently decided to do on its own. Perhaps the book you are looking for is Canine Psychics, a History.”

And there was “Chapter Nine: Other Animals That Teleport,” which read: “There are no other animals that teleport. But opossums and other marsupial souls can inhabit certain pockets of time.”

This piece of information excited Oak so much that it set her to trembling, and she reported it in an eager whisper to Alder on the bus.

“That’s why Mort is there,” he said, eyes widening. “He’s a marsupial.”

“Yes,” said Oak. “Pockets.”

Pockets in space. Pockets in cats’ ears. Pockets on marsupials’ stomachs.

In some ways, Oak felt that her world was expanding like an accordion.

But in other ways, things felt . . . stuck. For one thing, she wished that Alder were a bit more interested in exploring the possibility of teleporting with the kittens. She’d tried to broach the subject several times, but although Alder was very interested in the concept of feline teleportation, he didn’t seem particularly interested in the execution of it.

“Execution” was a poor word choice, and one that Oak would definitely avoid using around Alder. He was such a worrywart, and much more of a homebody than Oak could ever be. His sense of adventure was happily contained in trying a new brand of chocolate chips in a cookie recipe.

And Oak missed her dad more and more. Originally, the plan had been for him to move down by the end of September, but various work-related issues had delayed this, and now his move date was “up in the air.”

Mom seemed oblivious to how much Oak missed her dad. Everything was working out just fine for her, Oak thought. She’d gotten the new job she wanted and the new house she wanted and the new upstairs bedroom she wanted. And when Oak complained one afternoon about how long it had been since she’d seen her dad, Mom just said, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” which was the dumbest thing Oak had ever heard.

Rather than say something back that she might regret later, Oak just turned on her heel and went to her room, shutting the door rather loudly, with enough of a bang to wake Walnut from his slumber on her pillow. He fluffed up, his claws poked out, and he hissed.

“Sorry, Walnut,” she sighed, and she shuffled in her socks across the room to pet him. But when her hand touched his fur, she felt a sudden jolt of static electricity, and both she and Walnut yelped with the shock of it.

Walnut leaped down from the bed and darted under it, retreating to a far corner.

“Oh!” said Oak, and she clambered down to the floor, lifting up the bed skirt to peer beneath. Walnut’s eyes glowed, two amber orbs. “Sorry, Nutters.” She touched the metal edge of the bed frame to make sure the static was gone and then reached way beneath the bed to scratch the kitten’s head. After a moment, he accepted her touch, began to purr, and came out from his hiding place.

When Oak woke the next morning, her eyes were so dry that she practically had to peel them open. Walnut was asleep on her head; she scooted him gently to the side and slipped from bed, stumbling to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Her mouth tasted dry and sticky, so she headed to the kitchen for a glass of juice.

Her mother was standing at the kitchen window, staring outside. Leaves whirled in the grass, and several large palm fronds were strewn around the yard too, from the tree across the street. Oak got some juice and joined her mother at the window.

“Sleep okay?” Mom asked.

Oak shook her head. “I had weird dreams.”

“The Santa Anas can do that,” Mom said.

“The Santa Anas?”

Oak’s mom gestured at the yard. “This weather,” she said. “It gets like this here in the fall. Hot, dry, strong winds. Fire season, some people call it.” She looked away from the window, to Oak. “You can wear shorts today if you want. It’ll be hot as summer outside.”

She was right; it was hot outside. When they left the house together—Mom to drive to the office, Oak to walk to the bus stop—Oak’s hair whipped into her eyes. Her mom laughed and said, “It’s days like this that make my haircut seem like an especially good idea!” She kissed Oak goodbye and got into her car. Oak watched her drive up the street before she turned to walk to the bus stop.

She stood on the corner and bent down to scratch her leg. The air was so dry. Her fingernails left long white marks where she’d scratched.

Here was Alder, coming up the block. His hair was a wild puff, blowing this way and that in the wind. He was walking slowly, his eyes scanning the street. It looked like he was saying something, but Oak couldn’t hear him over the sound of the wind in the trees.

When he got closer, she saw that his eyes were red and puffy.

“Alder? Are you all right?”

“Fern is missing.” Alder’s voice cracked. “Mom had to leave early for an appointment, and she must not have closed the door all the way. Or the wind blew it open. But Fern is gone!”

“Oh no,” said Oak. She looked up and down the streets: palm fronds and dry leaves, and parked cars, and nothing more.

The bus would be there any second. They had to act fast. Oak grabbed Alder’s arm. “Come on,” she said.

“Where are we going? What are doing?” said Alder.

“We’re going to find her,” Oak said.

Alder looked over his shoulder, up toward the corner. Oak could hear the bus’s familiar squeak as it pulled to a stop.

“Hurry,” said Oak, and she crouched behind a parked car. Alder crouched beside her.

They stayed perfectly still and waited. At last, the bus pulled away. Then the only sounds were the wind and their own breathing.

“Okay,” Oak said. “Let’s go.”

They dumped their backpacks in the front hall of Alder’s house.

“Let’s just check again, to make sure she’s not sleeping in a closet or something.”

“I checked everywhere,” Alder said.

“Just in case,” said Oak, and he nodded.

They looked in all the closets and cabinets and drawers; they even dumped out the yarn from the knitting basket. They looked behind the books on the shelves; they looked behind the curtain in the bathtub. They looked under Alder’s bed, and his mother’s. No Fern.

Then they went outside and scoured the yards, front and back. They peered under bushes and beneath the porch steps. “Fern!” they called. “Here, kitty! Fern!”

But even as they searched, Oak knew that Fern wasn’t there. She could feel it. The air was dry, electric, practically crackling. Walnut sat in the front window of Oak’s house and scratched at the glass like he knew what they were doing, like he wanted to help.

At last, Oak had to admit it. “Okay,” she said. “She’s not here.”

“I told you,” said Alder, and his voice was high-pitched with worry.

As much as Oak had wanted to try to teleport again, this wasn’t the way she wanted it to happen. With a missing kitten and Alder on the verge of tears. From his seat in the window, Walnut yowled.

“Maybe Fern just popped away for a little bit,” Oak suggested. “Maybe she’ll be back soon.”

“Maybe,” Alder said. “But what if she’s stuck, wherever she teleported to? What if there’s not enough energy, like in her . . . you know . . .”

“Henry’s pocket,” Oak said.

“Yes!” said Alder. “Her Henry’s pocket! What if there’s not enough energy stored up for a return trip home?” His eyes were wide and wet. “I have a bad feeling, Oak.”

Oak nodded, taking charge. “We’ll get her back,” she said. “There’s a chapter in the book about this. . . .”

She headed for her house, and Alder followed. When she opened her front door, Walnut tried to bolt. “Oh no, you don’t,” Oak said, blocking his path with her foot and then bending to scoop him up. “One missing kitty is plenty.” After they were inside, she closed the front door firmly behind them.

Alder went to the couch and slumped down glumly. Walnut rubbed against his leg as if to cheer him up.

It was strange to be home like this—in the middle of the morning, when she was supposed to be at school. She’d get in trouble, probably. But she’d think about that later. First, they had to find Fern.

Feline Teleportation was right where Oak had left it—tucked into her pillowcase. She grabbed it and went to join Alder on the couch. “Okay,” she said. And she turned to chapter 11—“CATASTROPHE! Your Teleporting Feline Is Lost. What to Do?”

“Sometimes,” the chapter began, “in spite of their best intentions and most independent attitudes, an intrepid traveler requires assistance. If you are very fortunate, and if the weather is particularly dry, and if you possess an item an auxiliary cat particularly loves, you may be able to convince that cat to lead you to the wayward traveler.”

What followed was a description of how to help a cat decide to teleport (“Remember,” read the book, “you can’t make a cat do anything”). Oak skimmed through the instructions as Alder sat beside her, reading over her shoulder but obviously too worried to really take anything in.

“Do you still have that ball of yarn that Walnut likes?”

“The green one? Yes,” said Alder.

“Good,” said Oak. “That’s his favorite. And it is especially dry outside. Because of the Santa Ana winds.”

Oak remembered petting Walnut the night before—the way his fur had stood on end, the shock of static electricity. Today was even drier. Oak’s thoughts felt as electric and wild as that spark.

She wondered. If the day was dry enough—if there was enough electricity in the air—maybe they really could help Walnut to catch it. To harness it. And, as on the day with the lightning storm, maybe they could create a strong enough current to hitch a ride with Walnut. Only this time, on purpose.

“It’s perfect weather for teleporting,” she said. “We’ll just have to hope Walnut knows where to take us.”

Alder nodded, tight-lipped and worried. “I’ll go get the green yarn,” he said.

“Don’t forget a wool sweater!” Oak called. “And your sneakers!”

The door clicked tight behind Alder, and Oak stood to rummage for the things she would need. Walnut seemed to understand what Oak was doing; he followed her, purring, through the house.

Oak found one of her dad’s wool sweaters hanging in the entry hall; she pulled it on and caught a whiff of his scent, the pine deodorant he wore, and it reminded her again of how much she missed him. “I’ll think about that later,” she said, half to herself, half to Walnut, and went looking for her thickest-soled shoes.

Then, dressed in rubber-soled shoes and an unseasonably warm wool sweater, kitten tucked under her arm, Oak headed for the stump of the walnut tree, where Alder waited for her, green yarn ball in hand.

“You’re sure this won’t hurt him?” asked Alder.

“Walnut won’t be the one getting the shock,” said Oak, doing her best to make her voice sound totally confident. “We will.”

“I still don’t get it,” Alder said, sounding slightly panicked. Doing her best to remain calm, Oak explained again.

“On days when the air is really dry, like today,” she began, “there’s more electricity in the air. And so we’re going to help Walnut harness it. Hopefully, when he teleports, he’ll be able to take us with him.”

Alder pulled at the neck of the sweater he was wearing. It was, Oak noticed, the one he’d been finishing for Beck. It was almost done, and Alder had even added a small pocket over the heart.

“I know it’s too hot for a sweater,” Oak said, “but wool is an excellent conductive material. Like fur.”

Alder nodded. He held the green yarn ball out to Walnut. “Hey, Nutters,” he said, and he sounded as if he was on the verge of tears, “if you can, help us find your sister, okay? Take us to her, wherever she is, so we can help her get home.”

Walnut sniffed the yarn, and then he rubbed his face against it and began to purr.

Oak made sure her rubber-soled shoes were comfortably steady on the dry wood stump and motioned for Alder to do the same. Then she began to pet Walnut, who rested one paw on the ball of yarn. He tilted his ears forward, as if he understood what Oak was trying to do. Did the pockets of Walnut’s ears spread open, just a bit, or did Oak imagine it?

Either way, Oak sensed that the time was right, and she stopped petting her kitten, extending her finger toward Alder, who reached his hand out in reply.

Just before their fingers touched, a blue spark leaped from their fingertips, arcing in a bow, connecting them, closing a circuit, and opening a door.