at the xaris in my hand and felt the hairs on my neck prickle. It barely weighed anything. And it didn’t have definite lines like a normal gemstone. As it shone in my hand, it was hard to tell where the xaris stopped and where my skin started.
“What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked.
I spun around, almost falling off the stool, then crouched low to regain my balance.
“Winnie,” I said. “Hey.”
I faced the bookshelf as Winnie’s flats slapped toward me. I grabbed the plastic baggie I’d brought, dropped the xaris inside, and shoved the baggie into my pocket.
“What are you doing?” Winnie asked.
“Just looking through some books,” I said, whirling around to meet her.
“What books?”
“Just regular books.” I stood on the stool again, stretching high to return the journal to the top shelf. Then I jumped to the ground and grabbed Mr. Whit’s stool—all without meeting Winnie’s gaze.
“Why have you been camped outside this door all morning?” she asked. “And what’s with your sudden interest in Mr. Whitaker’s books?”
“He’s letting me borrow one,” I said. “No big deal. I couldn’t find it, though. I’ll have to ask him later.”
I forced a smile and scooted the stool back in place, relieved to have the classroom look normal again.
Winnie followed after me. “You’re acting weird,” she said. “I have to step it up at school if I want to get into a good college.”
“So it’s official?” she asked, smiling. “You’re going to apply to UF?”
“I don’t know.” And I realized I didn’t.
~~~
As soon as I climbed into my car after school, I pulled the xaris out of the baggie and held it in my palm. It felt a little warm to the touch and blurred in my hand, like it was sinking into my skin. But when I lifted the xaris, my hand was unharmed.
I couldn’t believe I was holding light, actual light . It was so small and bright—and colorful. Bits of green weaved throughout the blue glimmers.
Where had xaris come from? I should have asked Mr. Whit about its origins. Maybe Ari would tell me. I would definitely see him soon. It was just a matter of time.
I dropped the xaris back into the baggie and sped home. In the kitchen, I saw a note on the counter from Gran. In her crisp handwriting, she reminded me that Grandpa had a conference in Chicago and that she was driving him to the airport. Sweet. I would have an empty house for a little while.
I bounded upstairs, opened my laptop, and began my search for Ari’s island. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much to go on—only the Shoemaker report that Mr. Whit had mentioned. I typed in “Rex Shoemaker,” “ Aletheia Island,” and all the other key words I’d just learned. The report came up instantly.
I blinked. All of my other searches had taken so much time and had still yielded nothing. This site hadn’t even come up.
After a quick survey, I saw that Shoemaker had made a study of finding Aletheia Island. He’d compiled sailors’ letters over the last few centuries, some reporting that an island had vanished near the Florida coast in the late 1700s. His report also included a map and modern latitude/longitude readings of likely island spots. One of the readings was close to Laney Pier, only a mile and a half out.
That was the spot. It had to be.
I reined in my excitement. This had been too easy. Way too easy. I read and re-read the list of coordinates, but my gaze kept landing on that one reading.
I settled back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. Maybe I’d lost it. Because I was seriously considering kayaking to those coordinates in the morning. Which was crazy. I knew I wasn’t supposed to believe some random list made by a guy with no credentials whatsoever.
Leaning forward, I searched for more information on Mr. Shoemaker, but the site was a simple one—it was just the letters, the map, and the list.
Seconds ticked by. I stared at the coordinates. If I kayaked
“What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked.
I spun around, almost falling off the stool, then crouched low to regain my balance.
“Winnie,” I said. “Hey.”
I faced the bookshelf as Winnie’s flats slapped toward me. I grabbed the plastic baggie I’d brought, dropped the xaris inside, and shoved the baggie into my pocket.
“What are you doing?” Winnie asked.
“Just looking through some books,” I said, whirling around to meet her.
“What books?”
“Just regular books.” I stood on the stool again, stretching high to return the journal to the top shelf. Then I jumped to the ground and grabbed Mr. Whit’s stool—all without meeting Winnie’s gaze.
“Why have you been camped outside this door all morning?” she asked. “And what’s with your sudden interest in Mr. Whitaker’s books?”
“He’s letting me borrow one,” I said. “No big deal. I couldn’t find it, though. I’ll have to ask him later.”
I forced a smile and scooted the stool back in place, relieved to have the classroom look normal again.
Winnie followed after me. “You’re acting weird,” she said. “I have to step it up at school if I want to get into a good college.”
“So it’s official?” she asked, smiling. “You’re going to apply to UF?”
“I don’t know.” And I realized I didn’t.
~~~
As soon as I climbed into my car after school, I pulled the xaris out of the baggie and held it in my palm. It felt a little warm to the touch and blurred in my hand, like it was sinking into my skin. But when I lifted the xaris, my hand was unharmed.
I couldn’t believe I was holding light, actual light . It was so small and bright—and colorful. Bits of green weaved throughout the blue glimmers.
Where had xaris come from? I should have asked Mr. Whit about its origins. Maybe Ari would tell me. I would definitely see him soon. It was just a matter of time.
I dropped the xaris back into the baggie and sped home. In the kitchen, I saw a note on the counter from Gran. In her crisp handwriting, she reminded me that Grandpa had a conference in Chicago and that she was driving him to the airport. Sweet. I would have an empty house for a little while.
I bounded upstairs, opened my laptop, and began my search for Ari’s island. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much to go on—only the Shoemaker report that Mr. Whit had mentioned. I typed in “Rex Shoemaker,” “ Aletheia Island,” and all the other key words I’d just learned. The report came up instantly.
I blinked. All of my other searches had taken so much time and had still yielded nothing. This site hadn’t even come up.
After a quick survey, I saw that Shoemaker had made a study of finding Aletheia Island. He’d compiled sailors’ letters over the last few centuries, some reporting that an island had vanished near the Florida coast in the late 1700s. His report also included a map and modern latitude/longitude readings of likely island spots. One of the readings was close to Laney Pier, only a mile and a half out.
That was the spot. It had to be.
I reined in my excitement. This had been too easy. Way too easy. I read and re-read the list of coordinates, but my gaze kept landing on that one reading.
I settled back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. Maybe I’d lost it. Because I was seriously considering kayaking to those coordinates in the morning. Which was crazy. I knew I wasn’t supposed to believe some random list made by a guy with no credentials whatsoever.
Leaning forward, I searched for more information on Mr. Shoemaker, but the site was a simple one—it was just the letters, the map, and the list.
Seconds ticked by. I stared at the coordinates. If I kayaked
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