Page 175 of Under Story

“You keep talking about this collective,” says Maisie. “What if we try to have a dream together?”

“That’s good,” says Louis, pointing at her with a mozzarella stick.

“We could pick a setting,” Nita says. “A meeting spot where the dream would take place.”

Charlie rests her elbows on her knees. “It should be mysterious.”

“And weird,” says Louis.

He scans the room. Ghost Particle, the other Eli’s book, sits face out on a bookshelf.

“Something like that,” Louis says, gesturing to the cover. Under the subtitle—The Search for a Left-Handed Neutrino—is a picture of the Super-Kamiokande observatory.

“Riordan,” says Eli, touched, “I didn’t know you read it.”

“I haven’t,” Riordan says. “But I still wanted to support you.”

Louis retrieves the book, and they crowd over the cover: the cathedral-sized tank of water, the eleven thousand gold bulbs.

“What is this place?” asks Jules.

“It’s a neutrino detector,” Eli says.

“Never mind. I was wrong,” says Louis. “That sounds boring.”

“It really isn’t,” Eli says. “You can think of a detector like a fishing net for particles—and as particles go, neutrinos are especially hard to catch. First of all, they travel at almost the speed of light. And they interact so weakly with matter that very little stops them.”

Laurel waves her hand in a circle to suggest that Eli pick up the tempo.

“Anyway,” he continues, “that’s what Super-K is looking for: a neutrino that’s made it to Earth after flying for billions of years. The photosensors in the tank are like light bulbs in reverse. Instead of creating light, they detect it.”

“Light-catchers,” says Jules. The others look more interested now.

“It would definitely qualify as weird,” adds Eli, encouraged. “When something breaks, people row through the water in boats. You have to lower through the tank on a gondola lift.”

Louis sighs. “I’ve always wanted to go to Venice.”

“Should we be writing this down?” asks Charlie.

“Definitely,” says Laurel. “And we should get in our pajamas.”

Riordan brings their plates to the kitchen. In the bathroom, they change into pajamas and insert their retainers. Finally they unroll sleeping bags downstairs.

“Now tell us,” Maisie lisps.

So Eli describes the mountain that houses the tank: one peak of the Japanese Alps, densely forested with pine trees and often wreathed by fog. The entrance is a tunnel that leads two thousand meters down. During repairs, the tank is lit by spotlights. Scientists row orange dinghies and wear white zippered garments called bunny suits. Each photosensor looks like an eye the size of a porthole.

The others listen, some sitting, some kneeling, some, like Charlie, on their stomachs, drawing…and Laurel thinks of the time, so many years ago, when Eli recounted Ed White’s spacewalk. Once again, the story transports her. She drifts, carried along by Eli’s narration, his spell.

—

Laurel paddles through glimmering water with Maisie, Nita, Jules, and Charlie. The walls of the tank reach fifteen stories high.

“Oh my God,” says Maisie. “We did it.”

Riordan, Noah, and Zachary approach from the opposite direction. The spotlights reflect the tone of the bulbs, so that the scene is cast in gold.

Eli stands on the gondola.