His dad shifted in his seat and rubbed the side of his face. “Nate, I’ve had a long day, I don’t have time for your stories.”

“It isn’t a story,” Nate said, putting a Moon Rock in his mouth. He hopped into the air, twisting so that his body pressed flat against the ceiling before drifting down to the carpet. “Did you see that?”

“I told you, Nate,” his dad huffed, “I’ve had a long day.”

Nate leaped toward a wall, kicked off, and glided across the room. “Can you explain how I’m doing this?” Nate asked.

“Is there a show on you want to watch?” his dad asked impatiently. “Am I in your way? If you want the TV, you can ask me directly. I’m not a tyrant.”

Nate spit out the Moon Rock. He stood watching his dad. Through word or action, there appeared to be no way to pierce the fudge-induced fog. “Never mind, it’s no big deal.”

“Okay, don’t forget your homework,” his dad advised.

“My teacher forgot to give us homework,” Nate mumbled, walking from the room.

It was official. He was on his own.

*****

The cool night air ruffled Nate’s hair as he coasted down Monroe Circle. He saw Pigeon waiting on the path astride his bike. As Nate hopped the curb and skidded to a stop, he saw Summer peddling down the path.

“Nice work finding the ship,” Nate said to Pigeon.

“Thanks,” Pigeon said. “The only hard part is, the library has an alarm system. But I can guide us straight to the Stargazer. I saw the key Mrs. Wagner used to open the supply room, and I saw the drawer in her desk where she keeps her key ring. Her office has a window on the ground floor, so if we break in through the window and snag her keys, we can be in and out in a couple of minutes.”

Summer pulled up beside them. “You guys ready?”

“The library has an alarm,” Nate told her. “Did you try to get the alarm code?” he asked Pigeon.

“When I tried to get Mrs. Wagner to let me take the boat home, she started acting suspicious of me,” Pigeon said. “After she had started resisting the Sweet Tooth, I got nervous and couldn’t think of even a vaguely plausible explanation for why she should give me the alarm code.”

“So what do we do?” Summer asked.

“We try to get out before anybody responds to the alarm,” Nate said. “Let’s go.”

They rode their bikes down the path and then turned onto Mayflower, which they followed until reaching a tree-lined street called Goodman Road. Not far down the road they came into view of the Nelson J. Colson Memorial Library, a sprawling, modern structure with lots of huge windows. The unusual slopes and angles of the contemporary library contrasted sharply with the neighboring old barn and fenced pastures. The decrepit barn stood near a paved road that branched out from the library parking lot and passed beneath an arched sign for Goodman Farm.

“What’s with the farm?” Nate asked.

“It’s cool,” Summer said. “That’s the original barn. It’s mainly for show. The rest of the farm is more current. They have real animals, but they run it like a park so people can see how a farm works. You can milk cows, feed pigs, pet sheep, take a hayride, that sort of thing.”

“My family likes to go there,” Pigeon said.

“I’ve been there on field trips,” Summer said.

“Gotcha,” Nate said. “Where are we headed, Pigeon?”

“This way,” he said, riding his bike onto the lush lawn encompassing the library. The grass was thick and ready to be mowed, making peddling hard work. Pigeon gave up grinding forward and walked his bike over to the side of the library, leaning it against the wall behind a bush. Nate and Summer did likewise.

Pigeon led them along the side of the building, trudging through wood chips, weaving around shrubs and young trees. He peeked through a window. “Anybody bring a flashlight?” he asked.

“I forgot,” Nate said.

“I have one,” Summer said, removing a small black flashlight from her pocket.

Pigeon pressed the flashlight to the glass and clicked it on. “Not this one,” he reported. “I pretended to be admiring Mrs. Wagner’s view and unlocked her window. If she didn’t notice, it’ll make life easier.”

After peering into the next window, Pigeon gave them a thumbs-up. Pressing his palms against the glass, he slid the window sideways. “Phew,” he said. “If we’d had to break the glass, I would have looked ten times more guilty. If we’re careful, they may not ever realize anything was taken, and I’ll be off the hook.”

The windowsill was about the height of their necks. Nate boosted Pigeon and Summer through, then grasped the windowsill, kicked off the wall, and pulled himself up. By the time he was standing in the office, Pigeon had the keys in hand. A steady beep filled the air.

Clutching the flashlight, Pigeon led them out of the office and down a hall. The beeping continued, warning them to punch in the code to disarm the alarm. They reached a staircase that went down to a basement and curved up to a second story. Pigeon led them up. Near the top of the staircase, the beeping stopped and an obnoxious alarm started blaring. Emergency lights flashed.

They ran along a hall at the top of the stairs. One side of the hall had several doors and a couple of drinking fountains. The other side overlooked orderly ranks of bookshelves on the first floor. The hall let them out near a reference desk in an airy room divided by row after row of shelves.

Pigeon raced back into the book stacks, fumbling with the keys. At the end of the shelves they reached a wall with a gray door. Pigeon jabbed a key into the doorknob and opened it. The windowless room beyond was cluttered with books, cardboard boxes, stacked chairs and desks, framed pictures, wheeled carts, a pair of overhead projectors, a film projector, a phony-looking suit of armor, and metal shelves stocked with fake flowers and other diverse knickknacks.

The alarm blaring incessantly, Pigeon directed them to a shelf in an obscure corner of the room where the USS Stargazer sailed inside a clear bottle beside a marble bust of Mark Twain.

“It’s huge!” Nate shouted over the alarm. “That looks like a refill bottle for a water cooler!”

“I told you it was big,” Pigeon said.

The bottle rested on curved wooden mountings to prevent it from rolling. Nate scooped his arms under the bottle and lifted it off the shelf. It was almost too heavy for him to carry. Not only was the bottle big, but the glass seemed thick. “Lend me a hand, Pidge,” Nate grunted.