"Zoë?" she said. "Are you up?"

  When there was no answer, Lucy sang into it: "Lullaby and good night, la, la, la, la, la, la, la." (She couldn't remember the rest of the words.)

  Lucy took her thumb off the SEND button and waited.

  The walkie-talkie jingled, and Zoë's voice came on: "I'm sleeping!"

  "Come on, get up!"

  "How much time do I have to get ready?"

  "Twenty minutes?"

  "Okay. Over and out."

  That's how spring break began and how spring break continued—at a breakneck pace. There was a sleepover at Zoë's and a sleepover at Lucy's. There were meetings at the Rossignol Bakery with Sam, Edna, Lisa, and Quote, and explorations along the side of the lake and up the bluff. Of course, Lucy got her mukluks. It took an entire day to drive to and from the Burnum mukluk store, and Lucy had to spend half a day admiring her new mukluks, talking ad nauseam about their superior comfort, and jumping in and out of every drippy snowbank to test them. Mrs. Rossignol scolded Lucy: "Don't blame me when you start sniffling!"

  Lucy didn't do one lick of homework over break, and she didn't touch a sponge, vacuum cleaner, dust rag, or any sort of cleaning powder, spray, tablet, or liquid. In fact, she refused to get down on her hands and knees for any reason. Lucy talked on the phone and ate Puddle Jumper Cafe pizza. She had made it. She had made it!

  The only thing that would have made spring break perfect was having that Amos Zebulon document safely in her possession. It was killing her! Zoë slugged her in the arm, telling her to buck up. "It's only two weeks," she said. Lucy calmed herself by keeping a tiny notebook in her back pocket for document-rescue plans and any other ideas that occurred to her.

  It was also during spring break that Lucy came downstairs one evening and found her dad sitting at the kitchen table. Lucy saw neat piles of credit-card bills, handwritten notes, letters, and postcards surrounding him. She watched him pick each piece of paper up and then mark something on a car atlas map of the United States. Lucy moved around the table to see what he was doing, and then realized it might be private. She backed away, but her dad saw her and said, "Go ahead," so Lucy leaned in for a look.

  The United States map had sprouted lots and lots of notes. Pink highlights followed the veins of highways, Post-it notes leafed the pink highways, and short notes like breakfast, 2 nights, and Rebecca Silver were connected by a single line to the highway, or daisy-petaled around the dot of a town.

  "I'm using the credit-card statements and the postmarks of letters to see where your mom has traveled," he said. "I've got where she's paid for gasoline, ate lunch, slept in hotels, and stayed with friends." Her dad picked up another bill.

  Lucy thought about the pile of letters spilling across the top of her dresser. Mostly, they remained unopened. Words, words, words—-finding my wings, the first time, spectacular, awe-inspiring, wonderful, beyond belief, blah, blah, and blah. A postcard for Lucy had arrived two days ago. One side showed a Louisiana bayou. The other side read: Lucy—please, honey, would you talk to me? I love you and I miss you. I know you're on spring break. Mom. If you want to talk to me you have to see me, Lucy thought.

  Lucy watched her dad work and realized that he seemed relaxed in a way she hadn't seen him for a while. Maybe it was the slope of his shoulders or the way he breathed, but he seemed focused, and . . . content.

  A strange thought found its way into Lucy's head: it seemed like her dad wanted to rewind time. She imagined time, from this moment, running backward: snowstorms sucking snowflakes off the ground and tucking them in foggy pleats, snowplows winding backward through the Turtle Rock streets leaving fresh-fallen snow in their wake, the carcasses of holiday turkeys and hams growing flesh on their platters, the Wiggins Hill fence unraveling (the sun setting in the east), and finally, finally, finally, "Wind that there's," someone would say.

  Lucy imagined her dad would stop time right there: it is an October 3rd afternoon. Snowflakes fall. A light-blue compact car drives away from a red house on Fifth Street, the music of Bach is playing on the car stereo. Only this time, Don Moon sits beside Josephine Moon.

  Without a word, Lucy rushed up the stairs. She sat on her bed and caught her breath. Lucy realized she hardly ever thought of how her dad felt, or thought of her parents as people who loved each other, choosing to be together before Lucy even existed. What she'd witnessed downstairs had little to do with her, and everything to do with her dad's feelings for her mom. And if old receipts were as close as her dad could get to his wife, well he'd take it. Lucy went to her dresser, piled the postcards and letters in her arms, and went back downstairs.

  She handed her dad the letters and stood by his side, leaning against him. Her dad put his arm around her. Then Lucy did something she never did—she climbed into his lap.

  "Aren't you getting a little big for this?" he said, though Lucy could tell he was pleased.

  "You're not strong enough?" Lucy countered.

  "We'll have to see, won't we?"

  And so the two of them began to work. With his arms around Lucy, they plotted the postmarks of her letters.

  When they finished that night, they ripped the map out of the car atlas and pinned it onto the kitchen wall to have a look at it. And then together, the two of them stood side by side, quietly thinking.

  All those places, Lucy thought. She put her finger on the pink-marker line and traced it. Lucy's mom had driven from Turtle Rock, Minnesota, into Wisconsin, then Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Montana, across the Canadian border into Alberta and British Columbia. Then into Washington, Oregon, down the coast of California— on and on she drove—Nevada, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma, Texas—until the last postcard from Louisiana. Her mom had let the screen door slam, stepped into a car, and had driven away from their little red house. She had driven wherever whims and clouds took a person. What was that like? Lucy couldn't fathom it.

  As her dad cleaned up, putting his bills and letters into a shoe box, Lucy noticed a police ticket. She picked it up and laughed.

  "Reckless driving, Dad? You? What were you thinking?" she said. The man drove slower than farm equipment. Lucy held the ticket up.

  Her dad squinted at it.

  "Oh, that's your mother's," he said. "Your mom apparently forced Miss Ilene Viola Wiggins's car into a ditch. Or at least that's what Miss Wiggins claims. Remember that snowstorm the night your mom left? The ticket's paid, so that's that."

  Miss Wiggins again? Lucy stood dumbfounded.

  "You're saying the night Mom left, she had something to do with Miss Ilene Viola Wiggins going into a ditch?"

  "Supposedly," said her dad. "Your mom said she remembered seeing Miss Wiggins driving her Cadillac, and that when she tried to pass, Miss Wiggins drag-raced her up the hill. All she knew was that she passed her. She says she didn't hit anyone. There's not a scratch on our car." He put the lid on the shoe box.

  Lucy handed the ticket over to her dad, said she was going to bed, and went upstairs.

  Lucy shut the door to her room, sat in her chair, and went through the details. Okay, on the night of the big October snowstorm, Miss Ilene Viola Wiggins claims she was run off the road by her mom. This is also the night the sledders are arrested on Wiggins Hill. Then later, Miss Wiggins's donation makes it possible for Gustafson's Wild Nature Gallery to turn her mom's studio into gallery space. So her mom is kicked out of the studio.

  Weird.

  Was it possible that Miss Wiggins had still been angry about whatever had happened on the road when she decided to make the donation to the gallery? Was the gift of the gallery an act of revenge in some way? Could Miss Wiggins be making Lucy's life harder? The thought shook Lucy a little. No way, she thought.

  But Lucy couldn't stop thinking about it.

  It was true that Lucy felt Miss Wiggins's presence everywhere—in the newspaper, at the gallery opening, on the back of The Tiny Tims flyers in Mrs. Mudd's car. Before this year, the only time Lucy had thought about Miss Wiggins had been when she was figuring out when to go sledding on Wiggins Hill!

  And it was true that Miss Wiggins probably didn't like Lucy much after all those "Free Wiggins Hill!" postcards arrived at her house signed with Lucy Moon's name. And there was that postcard Sam had left on Miss Wiggins's pillbox hat at the gallery opening. But Lucy had apologized.

  It was true Lucy was Josephine Moon's daughter. . . .

  But what was the connection between Lucy's troubles at school and Miss Wiggins?

  This was all a big coincidence. Since taking on the fight for Wiggins Hill, it was only natural that Lucy would notice Miss Wiggins's name more . . .

  ... or Mrs. Dreams was right. Lucy was becoming a conspiracy theorist!

  Lucy picked up her yellow walkie-talkie to call Zoë.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  What later became known as the "Easter Bonnet Incident," began with the Genie of The Big Six strolling into Turtle Rock Junior High the Monday after spring break wearing a straw hat with green-and-yellow silk flowers attached to the brim. Several of the boys gave her regal bows, or tipped imaginary fedoras as she stepped on by, climbing the steps to her third-floor locker in the southeast corner. The Genie was known for making statements with fashion, so it was not altogether unusual for her to appear wearing a hat with silk flowers. The surprising part was that the Genie did not leave the hat in her locker. The Genie wore her hat after the day's first bell rang.

  Several people witnessed the hat traveling on her head into the Genie's first class—math. According to others in the math class, the hat stayed on top of her head during the class, and many witnessed the flowers on the brim of the hat bobbing through the hallways on the way to the Genie's next class—band. The band teacher said nothing. (Though the trumpet section did try to blow the flowers off by aiming their gusty notes in the hat's direction.) During gym, the Genie removed her hat, but brought it into the gymnasium and set it prominently on a front bleacher. After gym, the hat was seen like a small island of spring on top of the sea of heads moving toward yet another class.

  To anyone who questioned her, the Genie said, "People should be able to wear hats in school if they want." Then she'd look the questioner in the eye and say, "In fact, I think we should all celebrate Easter with green-and-yellow Easter bonnets—don't you think? I think you should wear one tomorrow."

  The Genie did not mention Lucy Moon.

  All became clear, though, when the sixth-period study hall monitor asked the Genie to remove her hat. According to several firsthand witnesses, the Genie said, "This hat represents the oppression of hat wearers everywhere, and is a stylish reminder that Easter bonnets should be worn on Easter Sunday."

  Then she sat down.

  For a moment, everyone was silent, and then two or three people broke into applause; others started laughing. One person chanted: "Moonie! Moonie! Moonie!" The Genie curtsied.

  "Eugenie Sovil," said the study hall monitor, holding out his hand. "Your hat?"

  The Genie got up and gave the study hall monitor her hat. That was the end of the straw hat with green-and-yellow silk flowers.

  The next day, the Genie came to school wearing a green baseball cap with a yellow silk flower attached. And Didi—another third-floor, southeast-corner girl—came wearing a yellow bandanna around her head. The Genie made it to third period before giving up her hat, and Didi was seen without her bandanna after fifth period. According to eyewitnesses, both the Genie and Didi stood up and said the hat represented "the oppression of hat wearers everywhere," and each added their own tags about Easter bonnet fashion. It was said that, after this speech, the Genie was sent straight to the principal's office.

  The next day, five people came to school wearing hats; all of the hats were either green or yellow or both.

  The day after that, ten people were wearing green and yellow hats of various sorts, and the day after, there were twenty. The number of hats kept increasing until it seemed that every other head sported a hat in various sizes and shapes: bowler hats, plastic St. Patty's Day hats, felt hats, woven hats, baseball hats, knit hats, berets, and kerchiefs.

  Teachers' closets began to fill with hats collected from students. In addition, if a teacher asked for a hat, the student stood up and gave their reason for hat-wearing: "This hat represents the oppression of plastic molecules by forcing them to become plastic St. Patty's hats and toy barnyard animals." "This hat represents the oppression of triangle-headed people everywhere. . . ." (The speaker wore a tricornered hat.) "This hat represents the oppression of those who happily heap food on their head." (This was a hat made from a piece of foam shaped like a wedge of Swiss cheese.) Teachers could not stop the students from making statements.

  Eventually, the teachers sighed and tried to ignore the hats in their classroom. They had lessons to teach, and if they did not mention the hats, the class remained relatively calm. Teachers sent fewer people to the principal's office, and hats wobbled on the tops of students' heads in the hallway.

  Lucy Moon came back from spring break and watched the green-and-yellow hats paraded through the hallway. What was going on? Lucy understood how kids might grow bored with yanking her braids and scrawling graffiti across her locker. But to come back to school and find everyone engaged in a protest? Over Lucy's green-and-yellow hat? It made no sense—no sense at all.

  Zoë grew happier and happier as the week progressed. It seemed that every time Lucy saw Zoë, she was dancing—winging her arms out and skipping in circles. Unbeknownst to Mrs. Rossignol, Zoë had contributed the following hats to the junior high school collection: a green sombrero, a fish-shaped Minnesota Loves Walleyes hat, and a Green Bay Packers stocking cap (which Zoë said was left by a Wisconsin relation, and its presence so embarrassed the Rossignols, they couldn't throw it away on the off chance that the garbage man saw it and assumed).

  Lucy tried to figure it all out until Zoë finally said, "Hey, don't knock it—enjoy!"

  So Lucy decided to enjoy. She liked being on the outside (hatless) for once. Here was a protest that she, Lucy Moon, had nothing to do with (and everything to do with). No one could accuse her of organizing it. The idea certainly wasn't hers, and the very style of the protest wasn't anything that could have originated in Lucy's brain—an Easter bonnet protest? Brilliant! And who in their right mind would have expected anyone from The Big Six to do this? Lucy had to admit that there was more to the Genie than she'd originally thought. Various people, including Sam Shipman, promised to get Lucy's green-and-yellow hat back, but she didn't think much of it. To Lucy, the Easter Bonnet Incident was well worth one three-year-old, green-and-yellow hat.

  The Turtle Rock Times came out on Thursday, April 1st, and it was such a good read that folks thought that it must be an April Fools' issue. Not that the Turtle Rock Times had ever done a spoof of itself, and the paper that day included rather boring things like lists of speeding tickets issued, three or four "won't last long" ranch-style homes for sale, and yet another recipe for meatball goulash. (Though the news that Abbey Sable scored over 200 in junior bowling made everyone pause. Abbey Sable made bowling balls skid down lanes like deep-freezer hams.) Readers called each other to consult. "Oh, that funeral for Mary O'Hannigan was as real as can be—don't think someone made that up. Her obituary's right there in section two, page three." The suspicious minds then said: "Say, what if the newspaper planted fake stories with the boring ones?" And the loyalists replied: "They wouldn't do that. They are 50 nice at the Turtle Rock Times. But now that you mention it, there's that new reporter from St. Paul. . . ." In the end, readers decided that truth or fiction, the paper had never been such good reading, and the Turtle Rock Times took in twenty-three new subscriptions on April 2nd.

  The first too-good-to-be-true story was on the front page. "Girl Gang Cuts Wiggins Hill Fence," the headline blared. A gang of girls? In Turtle Rock, Minnesota? Oh, this was too much, said folks, chuckling, some putting the newspaper down on their laps so they could wipe their eyes. The article, continuing in all seriousness, said that the police had finally tracked down a group of female junior-high students who had admitted to cutting the fence. "We are discussing the situation with the owner of the fence, Miss Ilene Viola Wiggins," the police chief was quoted as saying. "This act is a potent example of the persuasive and pernicious power of peer pressure." (Many thought the repeated use of the letter P was rather clever, since the police chief was known to pop P's in his speech whenever he got worked up. In person, it was always wise to check the police chief's coloring and demeanor before stepping too close—his apoplectic plosives had sprayed many a pair of glasses, and ruined more than one good silk blouse.)

  Then in section one, page two, there appeared this article:

  Youth Action Project Leads to Wiggins Hill Discovery!

  Ms. Polly Kortum, longtime curator of the Grundhoffer House and member of the Turtle Rock Historical Society, said that Youth Action volunteer Lucy Moon made a discovery last Saturday.

  "I'd given Miss Moon the task of organizing the Amos Zebulon papers," says Ms. Kortum. "On Saturday, she showed me a document she'd found—an agreement between Amos Zebulon and Sebastian Wiggins concerning the Chippewa Indians' sugar bush. I am so excited about this historical discovery!"

  The discovered document clearly indicates that Wiggins

  Hill was once a grove of maples the Chippewa Indians used to make maple sugar. In addition, Amos Zebulon laid out clear conditions for the use of the Wiggins Hill land.

  An early settler of Turtle Rock, Amos Zebulon helped found the Hudson's Bay Company fort at Turtle Rock and married into the local Chippewa clan. When the fort failed, Amos Zebulon stayed in Turtle Rock. After his wife died in the mid-nineteenth century, Amos Zebulon became noted for reclusive behavior. He also owned a lot of land. At his death in 1901, he donated much of this land to the city.