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and two of Monster cricket’s friends leap on top of the leaves. They jump from leaf to leaf, as if they’re on platforms of different heights. The Monster cricket springs up to the very top of the vine.
    Aunt Edith smiles tenderly at me, patting down my messy hair. “Would you like to come back here?” she repeats.
    I try to pretend I’m paying attention. But it’s hard. Behind her back, above her head, the dragonfly is spelling out another word.
    Y. . . E . . . S.
    “Yes,” I tell Aunt Edith. “Yes.”
    “Wonderful,” she says, and she strides past me to the doorway. Before I walk through the doorway, I glance back into the turret one more time.
    The dragonfly bobs up and down in the doorway, while the Monster cricket stares at me from the ground. Slowly, he lifts up his leg and waves. Good-bye.
    “I’ll be back,” I whisper.

SAME DAY, FRIDAY, AUGUST 22
     
    Beatrice
     
    After Aunt Edith leaves, I go into our playroom, sitting on the soft couch opposite an oil portrait of Enid, set above our fireplace. I glance up at her quickly, then lean back into the soft chair and open Self-Reliance. It begins with a poem.
    Ne te quaesiveris extra
Man is his own star; and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man.
     
    “An honest and a perfect man.”
    I frown and shut the book. You would think that Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson never knew any honest and perfect women. Only men. I rest my head on the back of the couch just as Freddy slams the door and walks inside, with Basford right behind him.
    “We won,” he says. “Four zip.”
    “Freddy scored two of the goals,” Basford says, gazing up at my brother with what can only be described as worship.
    Freddy grins. My brother’s red cheeks are blotchy, and his shirt is soaked from sweat. “You need a shower,” I tell him. “You reek.”
    “Yeah,” he says. “I’m totally beat.” He heads toward the stairs and stops. “Where’s Aunt Edith?”
    “She left.”
    “Where’d you go today?” He grins. “The Museum for Smart People?”
    At that second, Beatrice walks into the room, an orange and white and red skirt cinched in at her wide waist.
    “Laundry time,” she tells Basford. “And don’t forget to wash the clothes you’re wearing.” Beatrice makes all of us do our own laundry, which she insists will be helpful when we’re grown up.
    Freddy takes off his sweaty shirt and tosses it to Basford. “Do a friend a favor?”
    “Sure.” Basford says as he catches it.
    “Excuse me?” Beatrice interrupts.
    “It’s just one shirt,” Freddy groans. “I’m tired.”
    “It’s no problem,” Basford says softly. Then he turns and leaves the room, before Beatrice can order Freddy to take his shirt back.
    “Tired?” Beatrice stomps over to Freddy and tries to look him in the eye, which is pretty funny to see, since Freddy towers over her. She motions for him to lean down and presses her lips against his forehead.
    “You have a fever,” Beatrice pronounces.
    “No, I don’t,” he says.
    “You do. To bed.”
    “I’m fine. I’m just hot from the game.” Freddy pinches his shirt so that it’s away from his skin.
    “Go upstairs and take a nap.”
    It’s impossible to win an argument with Beatrice, and Freddy knows it. “Fine,” he says. “But not because I’m sick. Because I’m tired.” He walks out of the room, and Beatrice turns her attention back to me.
    “What book is that?” Beatrice steps over to my chair and picks up Self-Reliance.
    “Aunt Edith gave it to me,” I tell her.
    “Where did you get it?”
    “Upstairs.”
    “Enid’s locked library, you mean.”
    “You know it?” I’m shocked.
    “I’ve worked here for thirty years, of course I know it.” Beatrice hands the book back to me.
    “It’s a really weird place,” I say. “Beatrice, there’s ivy growing on the inside and there are these bugs that were so big you’d have to kill them with a baseball bat—”
    “Polly!” Beatrice turns her head