Mrs. Whitman bit down properly on her cookie and chewed with her lips pressed closed tightly. She looked at each of them, one by one. She took a sip of water, looking right over the brim of the cup at Finn.
“A starfish that has been preserved,” she said. “A museum comes to mind.”
“A church or a museum,” Finn said. “That’s really good, Mom. I think we’ll take it from here.”
“Doesn’t one of the car makers use a star as its hood ornament?”
“Really,” Finn said, “we’re good.”
“Thank you for the cookies and milk,” Willa said, trying to help Finn.
“They were delicious,” said Philby. “And your code breaking was awesome.”
“I hope it doesn’t disqualify you that I helped,” Mrs. Whitman said.
Both Finn and Philby screwed up their faces in confusion.
“The competition!” she said.
Both boys nodded. They were becoming trapped by their own story.
Mrs. Whitman returned the empty cookie plate to the tray and accepted the empty glasses as well. She left the room.
“Whoa,” Finn said.
“Museums?” Willa said in a whisper. “Churches? Christmas? What’s he trying to tell us?”
“One Man’s Dream is like a museum,” Philby said.
“It’s not impossible to think of Cinderella’s Castle as a cathedral.”
“At Christmas all the parks go wild with decorations,” Willa added. “There must be a million stars.”
“Fireworks!” Philby said. “That’s one place that stars never grow up. They go up, and they come down.”
“The numbers at the end!” Willa said. “We forgot the numbers at the end.”
“No we didn’t,” Philby said. “I solved that first: ten-fourteen. It’s either a time, or a date.”
“And if a date, it’s tomorrow,” Finn said.
“So what stars just don’t grow up tomorrow, and only tomorrow?”
“We should check a Disney calendar,” Willa said “I’m on it.” Finn took off to Google a Disney calendar. He bounded up the stairs.
He was at his computer—having no luck at all with the calendar—when his mother cleared her throat from his open door.
“Hey,” he said, paying her a passing glance over his shoulder.
“Hey there yourself.”
“You did awesome,” he said.
“Did you solve it yet?” she asked.
“I’m Googling some stuff.”
She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, leaning against the doorframe.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
He didn’t dare turn around. If she got a good look at him she’d know something was going on. He couldn’t hide stuff from her even when he wanted to. He’d learned to avoid some of her more penetrating questions, but outright lies were beyond him; he didn’t even want to lie.
“You know,” she said, “when you can’t look at me, it tells me a lot.”
“Who said I can’t look at you?” he asked, not looking at her. “I’m just busy, that’s all.”
“While you’re at it, why don’t you Google, Orlando School Code Contest, or Orlando School Challenge, or…any other combination you can think of. Or I could save you the trouble. The last one listed was in 1996.”
Finn panicked. His lungs stung, as did his eyes. His fingers felt cold and his throat dry. All this in a matter of seconds. Her, he thought. Only his mother could have such an effect on him.
“It’s the Kingdom Keepers, isn’t it?”
“Mom…”
“Is that your answer? ‘Mom?’ That’s…pretty lame, Finn.”
Lame? Since when did she talk like he did?
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“You are so grounded.”
“Mom…we’re just figuring stuff out.”
“You’re just putting your college education at risk,” she said. “That’s all. Do you know what your father would do?”
“Please don’t tell him! You helped solve it, after all.”
“Under false pretenses.”
“No. Not exactly.”
“Exactly and completely.”
“You’re part of it now. Think what Dad would think of that.”
“You’re threatening me? Do you really think you’re in any kind of position to threaten me? You’re about to turn grounded into grounded forever. As in infinity. Have you studied infinity?”
“The code,” he said, spinning around. “The code is nothing, Mom. A friend dreamed it. I swear that’s the truth. A dream. But she remembered it exactly, and we decided to try to solve it for her.”