Spencer leaned into the onrushing wind to examine his face in the rearview mirror. He didn't look any older. In the mirror, outlined by Utah's bright blue sky, he read a sign's backward reflection:
"Hey dad," he said into his helmet's intercom. "Why do mirrors reflect backward but not upside down?"
"Scientists have been puzzling on this question since the mirror was invented," his dad said. "It has something to do with the Earth's polarity."
That sounded like it might be right.
They were on his dad's hefty touring motorcycle, leaving a Salt Lake Bees baseball game. His dad was taking him home—to his mom's house—in Kimball, Utah, twenty miles south of Salt Lake City.
When they rode up to Spencer's driveway, Evie was barking madly in the living room window. Evie was Spencer's West Highland terrier, a compact and sturdy dog with fluffy white fur. Today she had a pink plastic bow on her head. She settled down when Spencer worked his sweaty, matted head free from his helmet.
He ran into the house, dropped his glove, and yelled, "Surprise! Happy birthday to me! I'm home."
Evie skidded around the corner. "Happy birthday, Spencer!" She bounced on her hind feet, scratching Spencer's legs. "How was the game? Did you miss me? I missed you."
"The Bees lost."
Spencer had figured out in second grade that his grown-ups were just playing along . . . they couldn't actually hear Evie. His mom had slipped up, remarking on Evie's Scottish accent. Of course Evie didn't have a Scottish accent. Sure, Westies were bred in the West Highlands of Scotland, but Evie was born in Utah and, like Spencer, had never traveled outside the state.
She ran with Spencer—who was also compact and sturdy—through the kitchen to the top of the stairs. Spencer yelled into the basement. "Mom!" He sped down, leaping over the last five steps. "Mom! Mom?" Nothing.
Before leaving the basement, he straightened a pulley on the Rube Goldberg machine—a complicated device made to handle a simple task—that his dad had encouraged him to build last year. Except Spencer's machine kept getting even more complicated. He linked together billiard balls, water bottles, a pinewood derby car, and a swinging croquet mallet . . . just to turn on the laundry room light.
"Your mom went out back," Evie said, dodging Spencer's feet as she bounded up the stairs beside him. Her tail was a white blur, but her face was scrunched. "Hold on. Will you get this stupid thing off me?"
Spencer sat down and unclipped the bow. Evie shook out her fur, put her front paws on Spencer's chest, and licked his cheek with her quick tongue. "You're salty."
He dried his face on his shirt. "Gross."
Evie was confused by his sour look. "Why are you sad on your birthday?"
"Summertime birthdays are a drag. I don't get a real party."
"But summertime kids get cake twice." That part was right. Back in May, Spencer's class had sung the birthday song for all the kids with summer birthdays, smashing six kids' names together: Haaaa-pee biiiir-thdaaaay, deeeear Sawyer-Ally-Noah-Ashley-Spencer-and-Eeeethan. Then they gorged on cupcakes. It was hard to explain why a party for six kids, all at once, was the opposite of special.
"And you get presents with your cake this time," Evie added cheerfully.
"You know they're just school clothes." Spencer ran out the back door into the yard with Evie following. "And it's that sugar-free vegan cake—chalky as usual."
"It's still better than dog food."
"You can have most of mine," Spencer said, "but don't be obvious about it."
YOU ARE READING
The Search for Macadamia, a Quest Most Noble
FantasyHOW COULD AN ENTIRE CITY SIMPLY DISAPPEAR? That's what Spencer Delucian wants to know. On his twelfth birthday, his dad sends him off with his chatty terrier on a global expedition to rediscover the lost city of Macadamia-a place no one has heard of...
