The Exact Location of Home by Kate Messner Page A

dates are more spread out. Dad found caches in every season of the year—spring, summer, fall, and winter. I imagine him out in the woods freezing his butt off looking for some plastic container in the middle of February and it makes me laugh. It’s just like Dad to do something like that and refuse to give up.
    The cache finds are listed in chronological order. I scroll down and get to the last one just as Mom pops back into the room in her pajamas. “All right, off the computer,” she says.
    I quit the web browser and stand up. “I’m going to bed to read for a while.”
    â€œNot too late. You need to be up for school.” Mom sinks into the chair and opens the folder of paperwork I saw on her dresser earlier. Rudolph’s letter is right on top.
    I get in bed with
Popular Mechanics
, but I stare past it at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the snapshots in my brain right now.
    Rudolph’s letter in Mom’s folder.
    Mom’s checkbook with the dwindling balance.
    Dad’s last child support payment.
    And his last geocache. Both dated June of this year. The same month I was supposed to see Dad for a summer camping trip. And he didn’t make it.
    What happened in June?

Chapter Thirteen
    â€œThat must be when he moved in with her.” Gianna brushes her curls out of her face, but the wind keeps blowing them back. Walking to school along the lake is great some mornings, but today it’s just cold and bitter and gray.
    â€œWith
who
?” I kick some leaves that have blown against the curb.
    â€œWell, obviously I don’t know who exactly. But he must have moved in with someone, Zig. It makes sense.”
    â€œI think she’s probably right,” Ruby says quietly.
    â€œWhy wouldn’t he tell me?”
    â€œWell…” Gianna bites her lower lip, thinking. “Maybe she’s a lot younger. And maybe he told her that
he’s
really twenty-five, so he can’t possibly have a twelve-year-old kid, and that’s why he has to keep you a secret from her and her a secret from you.”
    Ruby picks up a chestnut and throws it at Gianna. “You’ve been watching too many soap operas with Nonna. Maybe he’s nervous about telling you, Zig. Or he might just be busy with work. Maybe he wants to wait until he can tell you in person.”
    â€œThat’s not good enough. I told you about the geocache log and the child support and stuff. It’s been three months. He couldn’t have called me or come to see me in three months?” I look at my watch. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
    Gianna hands me a horse chestnut as we start up the sidewalk to school. I whip it at the Ethan Allen Middle School sign and it makes a big loud
thwock
sound.
    â€œMr. Zigonski.” Mr. Frankenbush is standing next to the sign, his arms crossed over his chest, which is the size of a school cafeteria garbage can. “You’ll see me in myoffice immediately. We do not vandalize school property. And what if that had hit someone in the eye?”
    This day just keeps getting better and better.
    Â 
    I’m staring at the walls of a study carol on three sides of me, concrete evidence that I’m a delinquent. But it’s still hard to believe I’ve been assigned to in-school suspension room for the crime of pegging one biodegradable horse chestnut at a virtually indestructible wooden sign.
    â€œTake out your homework,” the monitor says.
    â€œI finished it at home over the weekend,” I tell her.
    â€œYeah, right,” she snorts. “No kid in here has even showed up with his work done. Take it out.”
    â€œOkay.” Instead, I take out the list of GPS coordinates I printed off before school this morning. The list from Dad’s profile page.
    â€œWhat’s that?” The monitor frowns, but she doesn’t get up from her coffee and
Skinny Gourmet
magazine.
    â€œScience,” I say. I