Chapter 27

When Alder gave Beck his finished sweater the next day in class, it was with the knowledge that the sweater had traveled to a different dimension. He liked the thought that knit into the sweater was that secret experience.

“Thanks, man,” Beck said when Alder handed it to him. Alder had folded it and tied it around with a ribbon that he’d found in a box in his dining room that contained a bunch of random wrapping stuff, like scissors and tape and gift tags.

He watched as Beck set the sweater on his desk, pulled the ribbon loose, and unfolded it. The blue yarn Alder had had at home was a near-perfect match to the yarn Beck’s grandmother had used. He was a little nervous about how Beck might respond to the orange pocket he’d knit and attached just above where Beck’s heart would be, but Beck grinned when he saw it.

“Orange was my grammy’s favorite color,” he said. “How’d you know?”

Alder shrugged. He hadn’t known, of course, but when he’d seen a small ball of orange yarn tucked into the bottom of the yarn basket at home, his hand had reached for it without his even thinking.

Energy can’t be created or destroyed, Mort had said. Maybe it was Beck’s grandmother’s energy that had pulled his hand toward the orange yarn.

Probably not. But maybe.

“Thanks, man,” Beck said again, and he shrugged out of his hoodie, right then and there, and pulled the sweater over his head. For a minute Alder worried that the neck hole might be too tight, but it turned out to be just fine.

“You’re welcome,” Alder said, and he turned to go back to his desk.

“Hey,” Beck called after him. “Want to sit with me and Marcus today at lunch?”

Slowly, Alder turned around. A month ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Heck, if he was being honest, this was exactly the sort of invitation he’d been daydreaming about. But now . . .

“I’ve got a better idea,” Alder said.

It was a tight fit, but they all managed to squeeze around the lunch table—Beck and Marcus, Oak and Alder, Miriam and Cynthia and the twins.

At first, it was awkward, and Alder worried he’d made a mistake, inviting Beck and Marcus to join him and the girls. Beck and Marcus sat side by side at the end of one bench, with Alder next to Marcus and Oak on his left; across from them sat the other kids. Alder couldn’t help but feel like he was the hinge connecting the pair of boys to his right to the rest of the table. It was a big responsibility, being a hinge.

But then Oak caught his eye, and she must have been able to see how uncomfortable he felt, because suddenly she pushed the contents of her lunch—two sliced-up oranges, a sandwich cut into quarters, a bag of potato chips, and three homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies—into the center of the table. “Let’s have a potluck,” she said, as if this were a thing they did all the time.

There was a moment of silence, and Alder wasn’t sure what anyone else thought of the idea. But then Beck said, “Cool!” and he pushed his lunch into the center too—a couple of slices of cold pizza, a peach, and a whole sleeve of Thin Mint cookies.

It was the sleeve of Thin Mints that started the cascade. Everyone wanted in on those, and soon Miriam and Cynthia had added their sandwiches to the mix (gluten-free turkey and peanut butter and jelly), along with Carmen and Cameron’s veggie slices and ranch dressing, tortilla chips and guacamole. Marcus was the last to push in his food, but he did it, and with a grin.

“You’re still eating egg salad every day?” Alder asked.

“It’s the best sandwich,” Marcus said with a shrug.

And just like that, things were okay between them.

They laughed and talked and shared the lot of it.

It was a disgusting mix of turkey and egg, of ranch dressing and Thin Mints.

It was the best lunch Alder had ever had.

He and Oak rode the bus home at the end of the day in happy silence. The world, Alder felt, seemed to make sense in a way it hadn’t since the school year began.

What Mr. Rivera had said was true, he decided. Everything was connected—language arts and math, kittens and portals, old friends and new friends, past and present. It was also true that things were complicated in ways Alder hadn’t known them to be, and it was true he didn’t understand all of it. But that was okay, he thought, settling comfortably back into the vinyl bus bench as they bounced along toward home. He didn’t need to know everything.

The world was full of twists and turns and magic and surprises, and that was okay. It was good.

“See ya, tree kids,” Faith called as Alder followed Oak down the steps.

“See ya, Faith,” they answered in unison.

Together, Oak and Alder walked down Rollingwood Drive. Neither of their mothers’ cars were in the driveways.

“Want to come over?” Alder asked.

“Sure,” said Oak. “I’ll grab Walnut and we’ll be over soon.”

Alder opened his front door and found the mail had arrived, pushed through the slot. He picked it up and set it in the basket next to the door, where mail was always set.

He heard the thump of Fern jumping down from her little bed in the front window, followed by her meow that he knew was her way of saying hello.

“Hey there, kitty,” he called, turning to pick her up, but before he did, the top letter caught his eye—it was addressed to him, Alder Madigan.

And the sender was Family Tree.

“Oh,” said Alder, pleased. “The DNA results arrived!”

Fern purred and wound between Alder’s feet, her orange fluffy tail wrapping around his calf. He’d get a snack, Alder decided, bending down to scratch Fern’s head, and then he’d open the letter. Maybe Oak had gotten her results too, and they could compare. That would be fun, he thought to himself as he kicked off his shoes and turned toward the kitchen.

It was at that moment, behind him, that his front door banged open so hard that it hit the wall. Fern yowled and dashed down the hallway, disappearing into Alder’s room. Oak filled the doorway, her energy electric, her hair a mess around her head. She wore, Alder noticed, a single shoe. And in one hand she clutched an envelope identical to Alder’s, except hers was torn open.

Her other hand clutched the test results.

“Alder,” she said, and the sound of her voice made all the hairs on his body stand on end. “We’re cousins.”