"Great," he says. "Now visualize a white light, and imagine yourself inside that light. The white light is getting really bright. It's starting to absorb the objects in my room."

"It is?" I ask.

"Yes. No talking! Now, see yourself getting blurry from inside the light until you can't see the light anymore."

My head gets lighter as I imagine the white light around me. It's like the whole world is within that poster, and the edges of the design start to fade.

"Is it working?" I ask excitedly. "Am I invisible?"

Rick shakes his head. "Nope. I can still see you. Keep trying."

I stare for another few minutes until I fear I may go cross-eyed for good. Sighing deeply, I reluctantly turn away from the poster. "How long did it take you to be able to do it?"

"Me?" he asks, surprised. "I've never actually tried it."

I stare at him suspiciously.

"Hey, I never said I could do it, I just said I could teach you how."

"I bet you never even read those books!"

He shrugs. "Read, skimmed, browsed, same difference."

I quickly tug on my sneakers, putting them on the wrong feet and not stopping to correct them. Afraid to hear the answer, I nevertheless ask, "Did you make up all that stuff you told me, about the nature of reality?"

"No," he says sincerely. "I swear. That's all true."

I'm relieved to hear that. But I'm still angry that he made me believe, even for a minute, that he could make me invisible. Without saying good-bye, I leave his room and almost trip over my feet as I run down the hall. When I pa.s.s Samantha's room, I can hear her and Lizzy listening to music and laughing.

Rick catches up with me as I'm halfway out their front door. "Why would I ever need to be invisible? That's only for little kids!"

I'm only one year younger than him, but I don't turn around to remind him of this. I have only myself to blame for trusting him.

And maybe Lizzy. Definitely Lizzy.

Chapter 13: The Telescope.

Mary places a tall gla.s.s of lemonade in front of each of us, and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies in the middle of the white patio table. She has melted a mini Reese's Peanut b.u.t.ter Cup in the center of each cookie. When she sees my joyful expression, she winks at me. And I thought nothing could get me out of my funk.

We're sitting in Mr. Oswald's back garden, because his desk drawers are being packed up. I had no idea there were gardens in Manhattan other than in the parks. The sounds of the street are m.u.f.fled from here, and there's actually a bird or two chirping away in the small trees. It is very peaceful.

"May I see your notebooks?" Mr. Oswald asks, holding out his hand. I unzip my backpack and hand mine to him. Lizzy pulls hers out of her front pocket and apologizes for mangling it.

It had taken me the full H.O.J. last night to write down my observations from the experience at Mr. Rudolph's. I kept confusing what he had told us with what Rick had said about how at the deepest layer, nothing is connected. All night I felt like if I closed my eyes, I would float away into a void of nothingness. I know I should have recorded the visit right after we got home from it, but I was too busy wallowing in my ident.i.ty crisis. Which, as peaceful as it is to watch b.u.t.terflies flutter by, I have not entirely come out of.

I watch Mr. Oswald's face as he reads Lizzy's notebook first. Every once in a while he smiles, or nods, or looks puzzled. I glance over at Lizzy, and she's squirming a bit, sticking and unsticking her bare legs from the plastic chair.

"Very good, Ms. Muldoun," he says, closing her notebook and pa.s.sing it back to her. "You have quite an eye for observing the tiny details of people's surroundings." Lizzy beams as she takes the notebook from him. "Perhaps next time," he adds, "you can address a bit more of what the people you meet have to say, and how it made you feel. All right?"

Lizzy nods uncertainly, still clearly pleased with the previous compliment.

"And I hope you are enjoying your new lamp," he adds with a smile.

"Oh, yes," Lizzy says happily. "My dad put a light bulb in it and attached a new cord, and it works great! It makes our living room much more colorful." Then she hurriedly adds, "I told Mr. Rudolph not to give it to me, honestly."

Mr. Oswald smiles warmly. "I know. He told me."

"You spoke to Mr. Rudolph?" I ask, surprised.

He nods.

"Did he, er, say anything about us?"

"Only that he enjoyed your visit very much."

"Oh, okay, good," I reply, relieved. Maybe Mr. Oswald wouldn't like it if he knew we had asked him about the meaning of life. It's not like it's part of our job description. It isn't his fault we're doing this instead of looking for the keys to my dad's box and learning the meaning of life from it.

As he opens my notebook and begins to read from the beginning, I can't help but apologize for it up front. "I'm sorry about the randomness of what I wrote, Mr. Oswald. There's been a lot to absorb."

Without looking up, he says, "Never apologize for writing your truth, Mr. Fink. There are no right or wrong answers."

I think he must be wrong about that. If there were no right or wrong answers, everyone in school would get straight A's.

Lizzy slurps her lemonade and says, "I was worried Jeremy wasn't going to write anything at all. You see, he's been having an existential crisis."

I would kick her, but she is across the table from me.

Mr. Oswald raises his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

Lizzy nods. "And then he tried to become invisible."

I am tempted to throw my lemonade at Lizzy, but violence never solved anything.

Mr. Oswald looks at me. "You have been busy indeed. Now lets see what we've got here." As he reads, Mr. Oswald mumbles, "Very interesting point here. And this one, too. Not sure what you mean by that, but I see where you're going. Hmm, yes, hadn't thought of it quite that way. Very good. Very astute."

I redden as he hands the book back to me. I hurry to stick it deep in my backpack. Mr. Oswald turns to Lizzy. "Ms. Muldoun, why are you here?"

Lizzy puts her hands on the arms of her plastic chair like she's about to push herself up. "Er, do you want me to leave?"

Mr. Oswald laughs. "No, no, of course not, I mean, why are you here?"

Lizzy tries again. "Because of a little misunderstanding at an office building?"

"No, no, not that," Mr. Oswald says. "I meant, why do you think you are here on earth at this point in our history?"

"Oh," Lizzy says. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"Jeremy here has given it a lot of thought. As his best friend, do you mean to tell me you haven't thought about it some yourself?"

Lizzy shifts around uncomfortably in her seat. She pulls at the straw in her now empty gla.s.s.

"I really don't know," she mumbles. Then she abruptly stops fidgeting and says, "If you know so much, why don't you tell us why we're here?"

I cringe at Lizzy's forwardness, but Mr. Oswald laughs and says, "In my day, Lizzy, you'd be what's known as a spitfire."

"Thanks," she says, puffing out her chest. "I think."

"But I'm afraid I can't answer that question for you. In fact, I am not so sure it is the correct question in the first place."

That figures. When I asked Mr. Rudolph about the meaning of life, he said the same thing. That I had the question wrong. How am I supposed to learn the answers if I keep messing up the questions? It's moments like this when I would sell my left foot for a bag of Sour Patch Kids.

Mr. Oswald waits patiently as a b.u.mblebee swoops down, buzzes around his gla.s.s, and flies off. "If I were you," he says, "I'd be more interested in how we are here. Why is there something, instead of nothing? Perhaps if we understood that, we'd know the why of it."

I slump a bit in my seat. "But how am I supposed to figure that out?"

He gestures behind him for James to come forward with the small bra.s.s telescope. I wonder how long he's been standing there.

"It just so happens," Mr. Oswald says, taking the telescope and holding it out to me, "that today you'll be meeting someone who just might know the answer."

Lizzy groans. "Is it too late to pick up trash in Central Park?"

We've been in the car for less than ten minutes when James pulls up in front of the Museum of Natural History and neatly backs up into a spot. "Everyone out," he says over his shoulder.

"But aren't we going to return the telescope to-" I glance down at the envelope on my lap. We hadn't even gotten a chance to open it yet. "To Amos Grady? The kid from Kentucky?"

James nods. "He's now Dr. Amos Grady, a prominent astronomer. You're going to bring the telescope to him at his office in the museum."

"Hey, I remember this place," Lizzy says, peering at the large banner hanging from the roof of the building. "We came here in sixth grade to see that show at the planetarium. I fell asleep, and you pinched me so hard I bruised! Remember, Jeremy?"

It all came flooding back to me. "You were snoring! I still don't understand how anyone can fall asleep watching the birth of a star in a distant galaxy!"

"How could anyone not?" she counters. "I'm tired just looking at the museum from out here!"

Before I say something I might regret, I pick up the telescope, which we'd wrapped in bubble wrap, and get out of the car. James plunks eight quarters into the meter. Lizzy steps out and makes a big show of yawning.

"She's hopeless," I complain to James as we climb the stairs to the front entrance.

James shakes his head. "If everyone were interested in the same things, imagine how boring life would be. What if everyone wanted to be a chef? There'd be lots of people making meals, but no one growing the food, delivering it to the market, stocking it on the shelves. Right?"

"Still," I grumble. "It was a new star."

The museum is full of parents dragging kids by the hands or hurrying to catch up with them. One boy sits cross-legged on the floor, wailing that if he can't see the dinosaurs again he's not moving from that spot. James walks up to the security desk, and we hang back and look around.

A mom drags the screaming dinosaur kid past us. Balancing the heavy telescope in my arms, I say to Lizzy, "See? Now that kid is showing the right amount of enthusiasm."

She puts her hands over her ears. "If I were his mother, I'd leave him here."

"Mothers don't leave their kids somewhere just because they cry."

"Oh, really?" she asks, not looking at me. "Why do they leave them?"

I should have seen that one coming a mile off. I rarely think about Lizzy's mom, and Lizzy almost never mentions her. I feel like a jerk.

"Sorry," I mumble, reaching out my foot to tap the toe of her sneaker.

"Don't worry about it,"she mumbles back.

James marches back over. "I used the security guard's phone to speak with Dr. Grady. He's expecting us in the astrophysics lab downstairs. Follow me." James consults a map in his hand and heads across the main level toward the archway that says ROSE CENTER above it.

My heart leaps, and I almost trip over my own feet in my hurry to follow him. We're going to a real science lab! In the greatest museum in the world!

"Whoa, there, nerd boy," Lizzy says, coming up from behind. She lifts the telescope out of my arms. "You're so giddy you almost dropped this."

I don't know which bothers me more, being called nerd boy, or giddy. "All great scientists were nerds," I tell her. "If Albert Einstein had played football, do you think he would have come up with the theory of relativity?"

"Am I supposed to know what that is?"

"I can't explain it to you now," I reply. "But it's very important!"

We pa.s.s under the archway and into a large open s.p.a.ce with a tall winding stairway full of charts and graphs about the universe. The ceiling and the walls of the room are all made of gla.s.s. It's completely different from the rest of the museum.

"Hey, do you have this guy's envelope?" Lizzy asks as we follow James into the room.

I pat the pockets of my shorts until I find it. "I can't believe we almost forgot to read this." I slit open the top, narrowly avoiding a paper cut, and quickly unfold the piece of paper. I read the details out loud, taking care not to b.u.mp into anyone while I read.

Oswald's p.a.w.n Emporium Date: April 3, 1944 Name: Amos Grady Age: 15 Location: Brooklyn Item to p.a.w.n: Telescope Personal Statement of Seller: This telescope used to belong to my grandfather. Looking in it was his favorite thing to do in the world. He left it to me in his will. I need the money for my track team uniform. The cleats are very expensive and my parents can't afford it. I need to run track in order to get the scholarship to MIT next year. My grandfather would understand. I know he would. I am almost certain.

The photo shows a boy with very curly hair grasping the telescope in his arms. I peer a little closer. I think those are tears in his eyes.

Under the photo it says: Price: $45.00 (Forty-Five Dollars) Signed by: Oswald Oswald, Proprietor I fold the letter back up and stick it in the envelope. I don't want Lizzy to see that young Amos was crying.

"What does his picture look like?" Lizzy asks. "Is he cute?"

I stop where I am. James is already halfway across the exhibit, but I figure he won't go too far without us. "Why would you ask that?"

She shrugs. "Track runners are usually cute. Track and baseball have the cutest guys. Football and hockey, not so much. Everyone knows that."

"Keep in mind," I tell her, "this particular track runner would be in his seventies now."

Lizzy snorts. "I didn't say I wanted to date him." Then she says, "Don't move, and look down."