“Reading. Ms. Malik wants me to read a story in a book and answer ten questions about it. Complete sentences,” he said, then added, “Ugh.”
“A story and ten questions? That sounds like a lot,” Lucy said. That was more like fourth-grade-level homework than second. “The whole class had to do this? Or just the Eagles?”
Christopher was in the Eagles reading group. The Eagles were the best readers in the class, the students reading above grade level. Below the Eagles were the Hawks, and below the Hawks were the Owls. Even with such innocuous animal names, the kids picked up immediately that being an Eagle made you special and being an Owl made you an object of pity and scorn. She’d never been more relieved in her life than when she found out Christopher qualified for the Eagles group. Kids picked on him enough already for being in foster care.
“Um…just me,” he said as he stuck his fingers in his hair and shook it for no reason.
“Just you? Did you get in trouble or something?”
He put his fingers on his lower eyelids and pulled them down so he looked like a zombie. He was clearly very excited about something. Lucy extracted his hands from his face before his eyes dropped out of his sockets.
“What?” she said, holding his wrists.
“Ms. Malik said I’m reading even too good for the Eagles. She thought I might want to go higher.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”
He nodded rapidly, which he did in moments of high emotion.
Lucy grabbed his hands and did a little dance with him. Where was the ticker-tape parade when you needed it? Where were the balloons? How did parents not pass right out when kids came home from school with news like this? No, she definitely couldn’t tell him the bad news today, not when he was happier than she’d seen him in a long time.
“You are amazing,” she said. “You’re higher than an eagle. What flies higher than an eagle? Swans maybe? Geese? Wanna be a goose?”
“I do not want to be a goose,” he said.
She snapped her fingers twice when she got it. “A condor. You, Christopher Lamb,” she said, pointing at him, “are a condor. We’re changing your name. Christopher Condor. Good job, Mr. Condor.”
They high-fived.
“Okay, so what’s this story? And what are the questions?” she asked as he got out his book.
“The first story—‘A Day at the Beach.’ I’m supposed to learn the difference between…something articles.”
“Something articles? Let me see here.” Lucy opened to the page and found the story. It wasn’t a very exciting tale, but that was okay. He wasn’t ready for Chekhov yet. The instructions said Christopher was supposed to pay attention to when a and an were used as opposed to the.
“Oh, definite and indefinite articles,” Lucy said. “That’s easy. You’ll get those in no time. Ready?”
She pulled her chair closer to Christopher’s, but before they could start on the story, Theresa returned from her trip to the front office. She was reading something so intently on her phone that she bumped into one of the tables on the way back to her desk.
“Theresa?” Lucy said, trying to get her attention.
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Theresa said. She sat behind her desk and scrolled through something on her phone.
“You are the second person to ask me that today. What the heck is going on?” Lucy asked.
“A raven is a bird, right?” Christopher asked.
“It’s like a crow,” Lucy said, “but bigger. Is this some kind of meme going around online?”
Theresa finally looked up from her screen. “You all read those Clock Island books, right?”
Lucy’s heart jumped. She was suddenly terrified Jack Masterson had died. A long illness could explain why he’d quit writing the books. “What’s going on?”
“He’s doing some contest thing for his new book.”
Lucy looked at Christopher, who was staring back at her with astonished eyes.
“Lucy…” he whispered. “We wished for a new book.”
“Somebody heard our wish,” Lucy said, grinning.
She grabbed Christopher by the hand, and they ran over to Theresa.
“What’s the contest?” Lucy asked.
“You can’t enter it,” Theresa said. “So don’t get excited. It’s by invitation only, apparently.”
Lucy sat down on the floor, cross-legged, and pulled Christopher into her lap so he could see what she saw. The web page was a simple sky blue, and the riddle was written across the screen in an ornate black font. Why is a raven like a writing desk?
She scrolled down and read aloud to Christopher.
My Dear Readers,
I have written a new book—A Wish for Clock Island. There is but one copy in existence, and I plan to give it away to someone very brave, clever, and who knows how to make wishes. Some of my most courageous readers from long ago will be receiving a very special invitation today. You know who you are if you know my answer to this riddle: Why is a raven like a writing desk? Check your mailbox.
With Love from Clock Island,
The Mastermind
Lucy inhaled sharply.
“What’s wrong?” Christopher asked.
She didn’t answer at first. She was too shocked to speak.
You know who you are if you know my answer to this riddle.
“Lucy?” Christopher slid out of her lap and turned around. Theresa was oblivious.
“Christopher,” Lucy whispered. A smile spread across her face so wide it made her ears wiggle.
“What?” he whispered back.
“I know the answer.”
Chapter Five
“Come on,” Lucy said. She grabbed Christopher by the hand, and they ran through the halls.
“Where are we going?”
“Computer lab,” Lucy said. “My phone’s almost dead, and we need to research.”
They found the lab empty but for the presence of Mr. Gross, their poor technology teacher. Gross was not a surname anyone who worked with small children wanted or needed.
“We’re going to borrow a computer for a couple of minutes,” Lucy said to him as they rushed to the computer in the back corner of the room.
“All yours.” He was trying to set up a new color printer, and judging from the kid-friendly curses he uttered, he wasn’t having much luck with it.
As soon as Lucy sat down, she popped Christopher onto her knee again. That lasted all of one second before he jumped off and pulled a chair next to her. Sitting on her lap was fine in private, but not when grown men were around. She was too distracted to take it personally.
Quickly, Lucy typed in her staff credentials and password. She went straight to the Clock Island Facebook fan page, but there was nothing there she hadn’t seen on Theresa’s phone. Just Jack Masterson’s announcement and thousands upon thousands of comments from readers wanting to know more.
Lucy checked her messages inbox. College friends had inundated her with questions.
Did you see the Jack Masterson thing? That was from Jessie Conners, her senior year roommate. Didn’t you meet him once?
A former co-worker from the restaurant where Lucy used to wait tables wrote, Hey, you know Jack Masterson, right? Do you know why a raven’s like a writing desk?