Raymie Nightingale by Kate DiCamillo Page A

that I’ll just leave out this back door. If you see Marsha Jean or the cops, don’t tell them my whereabouts.”
    And then before Raymie could tell her not to, Louisiana went out the door marked EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. ALARM WILL SOUND .
    The alarm went off immediately.
    It was very loud.
    Raymie watched everyone running around the Finch trying to figure out what the emergency was. She reached up and tugged on the curtain and studied the dust as it rose up in the air and swirled and swooped.
    She flexed her toes again.
    She could feel her soul. It was a tiny little spark somewhere deep inside of her.
    It was glowing.

The world went on.
    People left and people died and people went to memorial services and put orange blocks of cheese into their purses. People confessed to you that they were hungry all the time. And then you got up in the morning and pretended that none of it had happened.
    You took your baton to baton-twirling lessons and stood under Ida Nee’s whispering pine trees in front of Lake Clara, where Clara Wingtip had drowned. You waited with Louisiana Elefante and Beverly Tapinski for Ida Nee to show up and teach you how to twirl a baton.
    The world — unbelievably, inexplicably — went on.
    “She’s late,” said Beverly.
    “Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “I’m starting to worry that I’ll never learn how to twirl a baton.”
    “Baton twirling is stupid,” said Beverly. “No one needs to learn how to twirl a baton.”
    “I do,” said Louisiana. “That’s exactly what I need to know.”
    Raymie said nothing. It was so hot. She stared at the lake. She didn’t know what she needed anymore.
    “I have an idea,” said Louisiana. “Let’s go find Ida Nee.”
    “Let’s not and say we did,” said Beverly. She threw her baton up in the air and caught it with an elegant twist of her wrist. The bruise on her face had faded to a yellow stain. She was chewing sour-apple gum. Raymie could smell it.
    “Well, I’m going to go find her,” said Louisiana, “because I desperately need to win the contest and earn the money and stay out of the county home.”
    “Yeah,” said Beverly. “Right. We know all of that already.”
    “Are you coming with me?” asked Louisiana.
    When no one answered her, she turned away from them and headed toward the house.
    Beverly looked at Raymie and shrugged.
    Raymie shrugged back. And then she turned and followed Louisiana.
    “Okay, okay,” said Beverly. “If you say so. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything else to do.”
    The three of them walked up to Ida Nee’s gravel driveway.
    “We’re the Three Rancheros,” said Louisiana, “and we’re going on a search-and-rescue mission.”
    “You tell yourself whatever story you want to tell yourself,” said Beverly.
    When they got to the driveway, they stopped and stood together and surveyed the house and garage. Everything was quiet. Ida Nee was nowhere in sight.
    “Maybe she’s in her office,” said Louisiana, “planning out what to teach us next.”
    “Yeah, right,” said Beverly.
    Louisiana knocked on the garage door. Nothing happened. Beverly came up behind Louisiana and reached around her and jiggled the doorknob.
    “This lock is no problem,” said Beverly. She took her pocketknife out of her shorts and passed her baton to Raymie. “Hold this,” she said.
    She went to work on the lock. She got a thoughtful look on her face.
    “Um,” said Raymie, “should we be breaking into Ida Nee’s office?”
    “What else is there to do?” said Beverly.
    She fiddled with the lock for a few more seconds and then smiled a big smile. “There,” she said.
    The door swung wide.
    “Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “That’s a very good skill to have.”
    “It beats baton twirling,” said Beverly.
    Louisiana peered into the office. “Miss Nee?” she said. “We’re here for our baton-twirling lesson?”
    Beverly gave Louisiana a little shove. “If you want to find her so much, go