While You Were Gone by Amy K. Nichols Page A

enough money to move his family, so he came here alone. Every day he missed them, especially his daughter. With what money he had, he bought some land at the foot of South Mountain and built his daughter a castle out of rocks, bottles, scraps of anything he could find. One day she’d come to live with him, and when she did, she would live in a castle. He died, though, before he ever saw that day come.
    Sepia-toned photos show the odd formations of the building. Pillars of rock, windows of multicolored bits of glass. What a strange place.
    I pull the note out and read it again.
Mystery castle.
If the
3
s are
E
s, then
w3d
means
wed. Wednesday.
    That’s today.
    If
5
s are
S
s, then maybe
2
s are
Z
s. So 2ı30 means…zieo? That can’t be right. Maybe they’re just numbers. An address? No. A time. Military time: 2ı30 is 9:30 p.m.
    Mystery Castle Wed 9:30 p.m.
    This isn’t a puzzle. It’s a coded invitation. But why?
    Because it’s a secret.
    I quickly fold the note and look over my shoulder, but there are only books staring back. I bury the paper deep inside my bag and return the book to its place on the shelf. If I check it out, my name will be associated with it. It’s a long shot that anyone would make the connection, but why take the risk?
    “Was the book helpful?” The librarian’s question startles me when I pass her desk.
    “Um”—I make a sad face—“no, it wasn’t quite what I was looking for.”
    “Do you want to try online?” She points at her computer.
    “No.” I back away. “That’s okay. It doesn’t really matter.”
    “Watch out for the—”
    I bump into a cart and yelp so loud everyone stares at me. I straighten the toppled books and whisper, “Sorry,” before rushing for the doors. So much for not drawing attention to myself.

After school, Germ comes over to work on the secret plan to make our mark on the city before Skylar goes live. Too stuffed from dinner to move, I lie on the bed and flip through the drawings in Danny’s sketchbook. Germ sprawls out on the floor, pencil in his teeth, staring at the ceiling. His eyes move when he thinks. “The thing is, we have to make sure no one recognizes our work. I mean, you’re known for your faces. I’m known for my letters.”
    “You are?”
    He lifts his head off the floor and snaps, “Yes.”
    Oops. “Just messing with you, man.”
    The sketchbook is full of people, animals, monsters. I turn a page and suck in my breath. It’s
her.
Dark hair, bright eyes. My throat goes tight. Should I ask Germ who she is?
    He mutters something I can’t understand.
    “What?”
    He takes the pencil out of his teeth. “Stencils.” He sits up on his elbows. “What if we do stencils? Not as fun as free-form, but we can paint it quickly and no one will know it’s us.”
    “I don’t remember the last time I used a stencil,” I say, still staring at her.
    “Dude, we used them last week at the mall.” He raises his eyebrow. “Still can’t remember?”
    I shake my head.
    He taps a rhythm on the floor and stares at me. Then he looks back at the ceiling. “The hard part is deciding what to make.”
    “Well…” I set the sketchbook aside and stretch my legs up the wall so my head falls back over the edge of the bed. “What do we want to say?”
    He drums the pencil. “That Skylar is bad.”
    “ ‘Skylar is the devil’?”
    “A devil face with
Skylar
over the eyes?”
    “A red circle with
Skylar
crossed out?”
    We both go quiet. What
are
we trying to say? I try to think up the right image. My mind flashes to the time Brent caught me sneaking into the foster home after being out all night. He was waiting for me in my room. Leapt out of the dark and pounded the crap out of me. “This is about control,” I say, still seeing his fists flying. “When you’re afraid, you’re easily controlled.”
    “Maybe something like ‘Don’t be afraid’?”
    “ ‘Don’t let them control you’?”
    “ ‘Stop giving them