Penny Dreadful (28 page)

So Luella and Penny ran off to lie in the grass by themselves and stare at the stars. For a few minutes they were silent, and then Penny rolled over to look at her friend.

“Luella?” asked Penny.

“Yeah, Penny?” said Luella, rolling over too.

“I’m really, really happy we’re staying. Only—”

“Only what?” asked Luella.

“Promise not to laugh?” said Penny.

Luella nodded.

“It’s just—I
really
thought I was going to find the treasure.”

“I know,” said Luella. “At first I actually wondered if maybe you’d found a map or something and not told me about it.”

Penny sighed. “No, no map. But there were—oh, I don’t know—all these
signs
. Almost like foreshadowing, kind of. I guess that sounds funny, but it’s how I felt. Like it was fate that we go find that treasure. Like
that
was supposed to be the end of the story. I was making these wishes that I thought might actually be coming true, and it felt—like it was my adventure, like it was my mission to fix everything.”

Luella pondered this. At last she said, “But it was! You
did
fix things. You told
me
, and that was the beginning of things getting fixed, right?”

Penny shook her head. “It isn’t the same. The signs all pointed to the treasure, to the cave. I could feel it.”

“Well,” said Luella slowly, “if we
hadn’t
gone looking
for the treasure, and if you hadn’t
thought
you had found the treasure, you never would have gotten disappointed and upset enough to tell us the truth, so really, the solution
was
in the cave, if you think about it the right way.”

Penny tried to think about it that way. It wasn’t very satisfying. “Still,” she said, “it would have been nice to find the treasure. If this were a book, I would have found the treasure.”

Very suddenly, Luella sat up. “Penny,” she said sharply.

“Yes?” replied Penny.

“
That,
” said Luella, “is the stupidest thing you have ever said.”

“But—”

“Because you
don’t
live in a book. Nobody does, silly. Things never happen the way they would in a book. There isn’t
foreshadowing.
” She shook her head.

“But I thought—” said Penny.

Luella kept on. “Problems don’t always get fixed. Lots of the time things are boring and dumb for no good reason. Or even terrible. And you can’t do anything about it. That’s life.”

Penny thought about this for a minute. Then she sighed. “I know,” she said.

She thought about it some more. “Or maybe I don’t,” she said. “But I’m starting to, anyway, I guess.”

There might have been other good things to say about that, but just then a shooting star flew through the inky darkness, causing both girls to gasp.

“Quick,” said Luella, pointing at the sky. “Make a wish.”

But Penny didn’t.

Sprawled in the clearing beneath the big night sky, Penny looked up at the shooting star and decided
not
to wish.

Instead, she rolled over and buried her face in the grass, breathed deeply, and smelled the dirt beneath her. She reached out her arms and felt the prickling of the grass blades against her bare skin.

Lying like that, quiet and full and tired and home, Penny knew that everything was as it should be; everything was perfect.

Just like she knew that someday soon everything
wouldn’t
be again.

But that was okay.

The stars weren’t going anywhere.

T
here’s no way to thank everyone who helped me with
Penny Dreadful
. I have many wonderful friends. I have a supportive and loving family. I have babysitters, teachers, and colleagues who keep my world in orbit. I have the incredible people at Random House behind me. I wish I could thank all of these people by name, but I can’t. It isn’t possible.
That’s
how lucky I am. So I’m not even going to try this time.…

But there are three people I
must
thank. Three people without whom this book could not have been written.

First—I need to thank my husband, Chris Poma, who makes lunch and changes diapers and rushes home from work so I can scribble madly at odd hours. I don’t always appreciate him. I nag the poor guy mercilessly. But I couldn’t do anything without him. He’s my foundation.

Second—I need to thank my agent, Tina Wexler, who keeps me working, keeps me laughing, keeps me sane, and keeps me believing in books. She’s my first reader and my best advocate, but most of all, she’s my friend—an honest, kind, funny woman. I need her.

Third (and most of all)—I need to thank my editor, Mallory Loehr. A book can be a slippery thing, and this one nearly slid through my fingers, but Mallory caught it! Mallory is the kind of editor a writer dreams about, and I’m humbled by the time and energy she spent on
Penny Dreadful
. Mallory is careful but quick, supportive yet critical. She is a practical dreamer, and the clearest-eyed reader I’ve ever known. I owe her much.

L
AUREL
S
NYDER
, like Penelope Grey, ran away to the mountains of East Tennessee at an impressionable age, where she (like Penelope) found a world of wonderful people, winding roads, lush foliage, and wishes come true. She now lives in Atlanta with her family, and online at
www.laurelsnyder.com
. Her past works include
Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains, Inside the Slidy Diner
, and
Any Which Wall
.

A
BIGAIL
H
ALPIN
grew up drawing in a tiny town on the Maine coast. Since that time, she’s lived in a faraway city and visited distant states, but never quite felt at home. With pens and pencils in tow, she moved back where she grew up: Wells, Maine. She spends her days drinking tea and illustrating; her work most recently appeared in
Maybe Yes, Maybe No, Maybe Maybe
by Susan Patron. Visit Abigail online at
www.theodesign.com
.