Page 174 of Under Story

A young girl approaches the fountain. Laurel and Maisie watch in quiet as she throws a coin over her shoulder.

“Can I ask you something?” says Laurel. “Why didn’t you mention Celeste, either?”

Maisie stares as though the answer were obvious. “Because you’d asked me not to.”

“But I didn’t,” says Laurel. “It was—”

“Okay, because she asked me not to. The…other Laurel,” Maisie says. “She wrote to me from Antarctica. She said that when she came home, she couldn’t talk about Celeste—that it would be too painful. She sent the same thing to Clare.”

Laurel frowns. “Didn’t that seem strange?”

“Now it does, looking back. But she was so depressed.” Maisie shuts her eyes. “If what you’re saying is true, why didn’t she tell me herself?”

“Maybe she wanted to protect you. It would be dropping a bomb, you know?”

“I should have asked more questions. I should have known that you weren’t her.”

“If you have to blame someone, blame me. Apparently I’m a pretty good liar.”

“And now you’re trying to leave,” Maisie says. Her ears are turning pink. “And these—these friends—are helping you. Would you even have said goodbye to me?”

“Maisie, if it weren’t for you, I don’t know how I would have managed here. You’ve made it feel as close to home as possible. The thought of leaving you is horrible, but I miss my parents. I want to see them again, too. Think of it this way,” Laurel says. “If Eli and I can get back to our world, would you want to come with us?”

Maisie pauses. “No. This is my home.”

“That’s just it,” says Laurel. “You’re my best friend in the world—here and in the one I left. And honestly, more likely than not, we’re going to stay after all. Eli and I can’t find a way out. We’ve been trying for years.”

Laurel explains the neuron metaphor: her last-ditch effort is to assemble a collective.

“That’s why we invited the others. But none of our methods are working. The only thing we haven’t done is analyze our dreams.”

Maisie touches Laurel’s shoe with hers. “Well, it sounds like you need more neurons.”

—

That night, the McMurdoans drive to Riordan’s house. When Laurel rings the bell, his parents open the door.

“What a crew!” says Maureen, Riordan’s mother. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were up to something.”

“Us?” Laurel squeezes Eli’s hand. “We’ll probably just go to bed early.”

—

She leads the others to the basement. Sitting with Riordan and his two Dobermans are Maisie, Noah, and Jules.

The groups get to know each other over pizza, Riordan’s Dobermans licking their feet. After that, Laurel and Eli repeat their story to the new recruits. When they finish, there is a silence whose tenor Laurel cannot interpret. Riordan breaks first, grinning, and then they’re laughing, all ten of them.

“You aren’t mad at us?” asks Laurel, looking from Riordan to Jules.

Riordan shrugs. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened since I moved back in with my parents.”

Jules nods in agreement. “I always knew there was something weird about the Arc.”

“Maisie said that you want to analyze our dreams,” says Noah. “So what do we do? Talk about them in the morning?”

“That does sound kind of lame,” says Riordan.

Laurel crosses her arms. “Does anyone have a better idea?”