Distress Signal Read online

  This book is dedicated to all my favorite ham radio operators:

  my grandpa, my dad, my older brother, my younger brother, and my sister-in-law.

  But most especially, it is for our youngest ham, my nephew, Henry,

  and the first girl in our family to get her license, my niece, Violet.

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  Teaser

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  It all started the night of the spring concert.

  Looking around, Lavender thought everything was perfect. The stage was decorated with flower garlands of brightly colored tissue paper made by the fifth and sixth graders. In their black-and-white outfits, the choir members looked sharp. “No pun intended,” John Johnson said when he overheard Lavender say so. Lavender cracked up, but her best friend, Marisol, didn’t even smile.

  The bake sale was a huge success. John was running the booth at the back of the auditorium with Amy Wright, and they were sold out of everything but oatmeal raisin cookies. Mrs. Henderson, the sixth-grade teacher, told Lavender that they’d raised $279 so far. That, plus the money from their previous fundraisers, would be enough to buy a really nice new telescope for the science campout.

  As Lavender took her place on the risers, she couldn’t stop smiling. She was in select choir with Marisol, and Lavender couldn’t be prouder that her best friend was the soloist. Everyone agreed Marisol wasn’t just the best singer in the sixth grade: She was the best singer in the entire school. Probably in the whole state of Arizona.

  Mrs. Jacobson raised her baton, and everyone stood a little straighter. Lavender took a deep, deep breath, inhaling until she could practically taste the air … and regretted it immediately. The multipurpose room was layered with the stale smell of fish sticks and tartar sauce from that afternoon’s lunch, the lingering odor of sweat and volleyballs from that day’s PE classes, mixing with the strong scent of fresh coffee, which the PTO was providing for concert attendees. It was a terrible combination. Worst of all, some sixth graders hadn’t started wearing deodorant yet, and they really needed it.

  Lavender forced herself not to gag. To her surprise, the music teacher was less successful. When Mrs. Jacobson inhaled with the singers, the color drained from her cheeks. As the first notes of the song played, Lavender saw the conductor’s baton slip from Mrs. Jacobson’s fingers. The teacher clamped both hands over her mouth and dashed for the nearest exit.

  Behind her, Lavender heard Rachelle whisper, “I told you she’s going to have a baby. She’s friends with my mom. We’ve known about it for weeks.”

  Only Rachelle could be smug at a time like this. Didn’t she realize that their entire concert was about to unravel like the Apollo 13 mission? Marisol’s solo was supposed to be the highlight of the evening, but unless someone took action, the only thing anyone would remember was that Mrs. Jacobson barfed into a trash can.

  There were only seconds left in the song intro. The choir was about to miss their cue. The song would be ruined. Marisol would never perform the solo that she’d been practicing for weeks. Last Saturday, she hadn’t even been able to hang out with Lavender because she was working on her piece. This song meant the world to Marisol.

  Houston, we have a problem.

  Someone had to do something.

  Lavender elbowed her way between the snickering tenors until she was standing in front of the audience, facing the choir. Hundreds of eyes were on her. But there was no time to worry about that. Lavender snatched the conductor’s baton from the floor, straightened her shoulders, and as the cue played, she jabbed the baton toward the singers, mouthing the word “NOW!”

  A wave of relief washed over Lavender as a handful of voices sang out.

  Ordering herself not to shake, Lavender ignored her nerves and concentrated on the music. She waved the baton in an imitation of Mrs. Jacobson, and the faltering voices grew stronger. The members of Wellson Elementary School Choir stopped straining to see if Mrs. Jacobson’s head was still in the trash can and remembered that they were in the middle of a performance.

  It was working! Marisol would get her solo after all. Lavender felt her shoulders relax. Everything was going to be okay. She held up one hand in a stop signal. The choir paused. Lavender counted a measure and pointed the baton at Marisol.

  Her friend’s voice, usually so rich and full, quavered and sounded uncertain. Marisol must have been caught off guard by the chaos, which was completely understandable. And even on her worst day, Marisol still sang a hundred times better than anyone else in the choir.

  With another wave of the baton, the choir rejoined Marisol, finishing the song. As the last note faded, Lavender lowered her arms. They’d done it.

  Thunderous applause echoed off the multipurpose room walls. Lavender beamed at the choir, so happy and so proud of her friend that the corners of her mouth ached with her smile. She tried to make eye contact with Marisol. She wanted a thumbs-up or a wave, but before she could get Marisol’s attention, Lavender felt a tap on her shoulder. Mrs. Jacobson stood there, pale but smiling. Lavender could barely hear her music teacher over the roar of the audience.

  “Take a bow,” Mrs. Jacobson was saying. “You deserve it. You saved the day.”

  Lavender turned and bowed to the cheers and whistles of the audience, most of whom had leapt to their feet and were clapping for … for her.

  She was a hero.

  The applause still rang in Lavender’s ears as she made her way toward the cluster of sixth-grade girls in the back of the room. She couldn’t walk more than three steps before someone stopped her.

  “Here’s the little conductor!”

  “Let me shake your hand. Excellent work, young lady.”

  “Only a special kid could take over like that.”

  Parents of classmates, younger students, and even a few complete strangers all wanted to congratulate her for getting the choir through their final song. By the time she reached the back of the room, Lavender had never been more impressed with herself … not when she’d won the spelling bee in fourth grade … not when she’d gotten to be the Queen of Hearts in the school play … not when she’d gotten first place at the science fair for the third year in a row … not even when she’d passed the test to become an amateur radio operator.

  Nothing compared to this.

  Lavender threw her arms around Marisol. “Wasn’t that amazing?” she asked.

  Marisol did not hug her back. She stood stiff and awkward for a second before she wrenched herself away from Lavender.

  “No, that wasn’t amazing. It was terrible.”

  Lavender dropped her arms and took a step back from her best friend. “What are you talking about? I saved the concert. I saved your solo.”

  “No. You ruined my solo.”

  “But without me, you wouldn’t have even gotten to sing.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  At a loss for words, Lavender studied Marisol’s face. Her mouth was an angry, straight line. She was staring at a point on the wall somewhere behind Lavender, refusing
to make eye contact and blinking furiously. She looked about two seconds away from tears.

  “Hey, Marisol!” Rachelle swooped between Lavender and Marisol, cutting off their conversation. “Your mom asked me to come get you. Your family is leaving now.” Rachelle linked arms with Marisol, and the two walked away.

  What was happening? Since when were Marisol and Rachelle friends? This simply did not compute.

  Lavender tried calling Marisol that night after the concert. She tried again on Saturday and again on Sunday. Marisol did not answer her phone, and she did not call back. By Monday morning, Lavender felt like she was going to explode into as many pieces as two colliding asteroids. They needed to talk.

  Lavender’s mom explained why Marisol might have been upset after the concert: “You did kind of steal the show, honey.”

  “Not on purpose,” Lavender said.

  “I know, but it was supposed to be Marisol’s big night,” said her mom.

  “It still was.”

  “At the end, everyone was applauding for you.”

  “I was just trying to help her.”

  Her mom nodded. “Sometimes, without meaning to, people make things worse when they jump into a situation. It can be really tricky to know the right way to help.”

  Lavender could understand her mom’s point. Sort of. And, anyway, the whole concert thing was over. In the past. There were more important things to think about.

  Science camp started on Monday, and as she packed, Lavender had about a billion last-minute questions for Marisol. Which games did she want to play on the bus? Would they rather have almond or pecan granola bars? And what book did they want to read together before bedtime? Lavender wanted everything to be perfect.

  This trip was supposed to be the highlight of the year. They would camp for three days in Chiricahua, a vast wilderness in the southeast corner of the state. In her head, Lavender could hear the teacher’s voice as she pronounced the word for the class: chr-uh-cow-uh. Mrs. Henderson said it was a stunningly beautiful place where different deserts and mountain ranges came together to create a unique blend of landscapes. They would see cacti and pine trees growing next to one another, interspersed with tall rock formations left over from volcanoes that had erupted long, long ago.

  Best of all, science camp meant three days of freedom from their normal classes. Three days of eating s’mores. Three days of sharing tents. Three days of nature scavenger hunts and studying the stars and outdoor labs. Science was Lavender’s favorite subject. She had been looking forward to this campout since kindergarten.

  But even though Lavender waited all weekend, Marisol never called back.

  So early Monday morning, Lavender was desperate to find Marisol and smooth things over in person. Lavender waved a hurried goodbye to her dad as he dropped her off at the bus.

  “Love you, Lavender,” he said.

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “Don’t forget about the note I wrote for you. It’s in the front pocket of your backpack. I’ll be listening on that frequency every night between 7:30 p.m. and 8:30 p.m.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lavender didn’t really register his words. Though she’d been looking forward to talking with her dad on their radios, just now she was way more worried about fixing things with her best friend. “Bye,” Lavender called over her shoulder as she charged up the bus steps.

  Lavender paused at the top, next to the teacher chaperones, Mrs. Henderson and Mr. Gonzales, who sat across from the parent volunteers. Ignoring the adults, Lavender searched for the seat Marisol was supposed to be saving for her. But when Lavender found her friend, she was astonished to see someone else sitting next to Marisol.

  Lavender marched down the aisle.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re in my seat,” she told Rachelle.

  “I don’t see your name on it,” Rachelle said.

  “Marisol was saving it for me,” said Lavender. “You have to move.”

  “Make me.” Rachelle crossed her arms. On her left wrist, she wore a pale pink scrunchie.

  Lavender rolled her eyes and leaned over Rachelle. “Come on, Marisol. We’ll find another seat to share.”

  “Actually, I’m going to sit here,” Marisol said, looking at her hands as she spoke.

  “What?” Lavender had to have heard wrong.

  “Hurry up, Lavender,” Mrs. Henderson called from the front of the bus. “You’re the last one. We’re all waiting on you to sit down so we can get going.”

  Marisol whispered, “I’m going to ride with Rachelle.”

  This couldn’t be happening. She and Marisol did everything together. Everything. Homework. Group projects. School plays. Even summer camp. Like best friends were supposed to.

  “Are you serious?” Lavender asked.

  Rachelle rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, Lavender.”

  That was ironic. Rachelle was the sixth-grade drama queen, and everyone knew it. Lavender ignored her to focus on what was important. “Is this about the concert?”

  “Yeah. And other stuff.” Marisol shrugged uncomfortably.

  “Lavender, you need to sit down now.” Mrs. Henderson sounded as if she needed another four hours of sleep. “There’s a spot next to John.”

  Lavender heard a snort; Rachelle was laughing at her.

  “Hurry up,” the teacher said, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “I’ve got an announcement to make.”

  Lavender could feel the eyes of the entire sixth grade watching her. And not in a good way. She wished the floor of the bus would open up and swallow her whole. With a last glance at Marisol, who still refused to look up from her lap, Lavender dashed down the aisle toward the seat Mrs. Henderson had pointed out. As she plopped into it, Lavender shoved John’s giant backpack out of her way.

  “Hey, watch it.” John grabbed at a strap before his bag could hit the ground.

  “Sorry,” Lavender said.

  “You can’t sit here. I need the space for my backpack.”

  Lavender blinked. Since when was John so rude? Had the entire class gotten personality transplants over the weekend? Sixth grade felt that way sometimes. People were starting to grow up, and it didn’t always look good on them.

  “Well, Mrs. Henderson told me to sit here,” Lavender said.

  Before John could argue, Mrs. Henderson clapped her hands twice. “I have a few reminders before we get on our way.”

  John glared at Lavender and pulled his backpack protectively onto his lap.

  While Mrs. Henderson rattled off a list of rules, Lavender replayed her disastrous conversation with Marisol and Rachelle. The more she thought about it, the more Lavender realized that this wasn’t the first time Marisol hadn’t been herself lately: wanting to switch where they usually sat in the cafeteria and pretending she was scared of a bug in the classroom like everyone else when Lavender knew for a fact that Marisol loved insects. She thought they were fascinating.

  Lavender’s thoughts were interrupted as Mrs. Henderson suddenly raised her voice and said, “The last thing I have to say is rather unfortunate. So please sit up and give me your eyes. That includes you, Sedgwick. Kyle. Lavender. Sit up. All of you.”

  Grudgingly, Lavender shifted in her seat and made eye contact with the teacher.

  “I am afraid that the money you raised for our telescope on Friday evening has gone missing.”

  There were gasps from around the bus.

  The teacher went on. “When one of the student workers at the bake sale stepped away from the table to use the restroom, the envelope of money disappeared. Though we conducted a thorough search, we were unable to find it. With hundreds of people in attendance, I am sorry to say that it is unlikely we will ever see that money again.”

  “So there’s no telescope for the campout?” Lavender heard her own voice wail above the others. She was already upset that Marisol ditched her. Now this. It was doubly unfair, like spraining your right ankle when your left ankle was already broken.

  “What about the ot
her money we raised before that?” Amy asked.

  “It was not quite enough to cover the costs of the new one we had picked out. We will put that money toward a new telescope for next year’s camp,” Mrs. Henderson answered.

  Everyone groaned, Lavender included. It was hard to be happy for next year’s sixth graders when all her hard work this year was for nothing.

  “What about the old telescope? Did we at least bring that?” Raj called out.

  “I am afraid the old one was broken beyond repair. But we will still stargaze. Even with the naked eye—” A couple students giggled at the word naked. Mrs. Henderson shook her head at the gigglers as she repeated herself more loudly. “Even with the naked eye, you will be able to identify many constellations for your maps, and you will likely see a number of shooting stars.”

  Meteors. They would likely see meteors, but Lavender was too miserable to bother correcting Mrs. Henderson.

  “Who would do something like that?” Lavender wondered out loud.

  “Do what?” John asked.

  “Steal our money. I can’t believe anyone would do that. We all worked really hard to raise that money.” She thought about the time she’d spent baking her favorite chocolate cloud cookies with her dad. “Aren’t you upset?”

  Instead of answering her, John yanked his sweatshirt’s hood over his head and slouched over his backpack, giving off all the don’t-talk-to-me vibes in the universe.

  As the bus pulled away from the school parking lot, Lavender watched Marisol’s dark ponytail bob up and down while she talked animatedly to Rachelle. She was wearing a pink scrunchie in her hair. It perfectly matched the one on Rachelle’s wrist.

  If this morning was any indication, Lavender had a new hypothesis about science camp. It wasn’t going to be the highlight of elementary school—it was going to be a nuclear disaster. Level seven.

  By the time the bus was halfway to Chiricahua, Lavender was wondering if she should try to radio her dad for help. She’d brought her handheld along so they could talk. Lavender’s parents thought she was too young for her own phone, and Mrs. Henderson had warned them that they wouldn’t have cell reception in Chiricahua anyway, but with the right antenna, a ham radio could work from almost anywhere.