“Do you think my dad and your aunt are going to get married?” Earth and I were spread out on the floor of my room. I was going through the journal for the thousandth time, looking for some clue to James’s whereabouts. She was lying on her stomach by my feet, studying an astronomy chart.
“You like the stars, huh?” I asked, nudging her.
“You didn’t answer my question.” She chewed thoughtfully on the end of her colored pencil.
I stared her down, one eyebrow raised. I had a feeling I’d met my match in Earth. Just like the real earth and sky, she kind of kept me grounded. I wondered if her name was a coincidence.
“Do you want them to get married?”
Earth seemed to consider this. “I want a mom again,” she said.
“Me too.”
“You have a mom.”
“No, I don’t. My mom died. And left me with this.” I gestured around me to the sea of papers, childhood artifacts, the little wooden box. “Riddles.”
“But you have Aunt Jo,” Earth argued. “You’re lucky. She makes such good cookies.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I said, watching her. “You seem really lucky to have your dad, too.”
“He’s all right,” she rolled her eyes. Then she seemed to grow serious. “I don’t think he’s happy.” It was a shocking thing to hear out of a seven-year-old’s mouth.
“How do you know?” I asked.
She looked thoughtful. “I can just tell.”
“Are you?” I asked her carefully.
“I want a family.” She sighed, studying her star chart.
“Me too, Earth,” I said. “Me too.”
“Do you think they’re in love?”
“They sure look like it.” I put the notebook down.
“I don’t think that when you love somebody, it ever really goes away,” Earth said, looking out the window. “It’s like riding a bike. You can decide you don’t like bike riding any more, and do soccer for a while, but then when you get back on a bike, it’s like your body remembers how to do it without you even having to think about it.” She looked up at me. “I think love is like that.”
I felt surprising tears prick at the backs of my eyes, and swallowed.
“You’re a smart kid, Earth,” I said. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t know what’s up.”
“No one ever does.” After a beat, she said, “Well, maybe I could give you advice.”
“What about?”
“Asher.”
“How do you know about Asher?”
“Cassie told me,” she said casually.
“Of course she did.”
“No, really,” Earth said, turning to me. She was excited now. “Let me help you. I’m good at this. When Mom and Dad used to fight, I always helped them meditate.”
“I think you mean mediate.”
“That’s what I said.” She grinned. “Dad says I have a gift for making people feel better. It’s like a special power.”
A power. It sounded like Earth had inherited some powers from her father’s half-Rebel blood after all. But what kind of power was making people feel better? Was that something the Rebels had control over?
“Well,” I said finally, trying to figure out how best to phrase this. “Asher and I have to fight for different sides. And he promised that when this is all over, we’d find a way to be together. He seemed so certain.”
Earth frowned at me. “But you’re not sure,” she said, her eyes glazing over. “And you think there’s something wrong with you that you’re not as certain as he is.”
I looked at her in surprise. “Did Cassie tell you that?”
“No,” she said. Her eyes had a faraway look in them. “I just knew.”
“It’s just that I know how people are. They say one thing and do another. And I know that love can change the outcome of a war. But also . . . I think war can change the outcome of love, too. What if Asher thought he loved me, but it turns out he believes in his cause more than he believes in us?”
“Are you saying that because you think that’s how he feels?” Earth asked. “Or because you’re secretly scared that’s going to happen to you?”
“Uh . . .” I gaped at her. “Man, you’re good.”
“I know.” She smiled hazily. She was sitting there with me, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. “So am I right?”
I sighed. “My parents were so in love that they gave up everything to be together. They didn’t have to question how they felt. How come I can’t be that sure? How come Asher can?”
“You’re both kind of stubborn,” said Earth, wrinkling her nose. “My dad says I am, too. Also, you’re proud.”
“But what if I never know a hundred percent if he’s worth fighting for?”
Earth shrugged.
“That’s it? That’s your advice?”
She went back to drawing. “Hello, you’re never going to just know,” she said with exasperation. “You have to take a risk.”
I paused. “And if I make a huge mistake?”
She put down her colored pencil and looked at me seriously. “You have to trust yourself.”
“Are you sure you’re only seven?”
“I get that a lot.”
And that was it. I’d been schooled by a seven-year-old.
I felt tiny arms wrap around my waist, and looked down to see a messy light brown set of pigtails nestling into the crook of my arm.
“I’m glad we’re here,” she said softly.
“Me too,” I whispered. “Me too.”
That night at dinner, I watched Aunt Jo and Aaron carefully. If all this ended well—if the Uprising worked—would Aaron and Earth go back to Rocky Pines? Or would they stay here with us, for good? Was Earth right—were they going to get married? Maybe what I’d always wanted was on the verge of coming true. Maybe I was going to have a complete family again. They could never be a replacement for my parents. But Aunt Jo and I wouldn’t be lonely anymore. And that was a start.
Raven excused herself to stalk the perimeters of our property, keeping an eye out for danger. Aaron and Aunt Jo went to assess the damage from the fire at Into the Woods. Earth helped me clear the dishes, trailing behind me with a stack taller than her head.
“Don’t drop those,” I said over my shoulder.
“I have impeccable balance,” she piped back. We rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.
“Hey, Earth,” I said, turning around to face her. “This, um, power of yours.” I thought for a minute. “Want to see if there’s anything else you can do?”
Earth grinned up at me mischievously.
13 
It was an idea I’d been brewing for a while.
Earth was an astonishing child, a “special kid” as Aaron had said. There was something almost wise about her, a maturity that was surprising, out of proportion with the number of years she had lived. She had the remarkable ability to understand emotions much more complex than she should. Part of this could have been that she had experienced more in those seven years of life than anyone should have to. But I had another idea.
I had a feeling there was something magical about Earth. And that I was the one who’d be able to bring it out in her.
I slid the door to the deck open onto a clear, warm night. Earth slipped her hand into mine as she followed. We stood, facing the mountains. Fireflies blinked on and off in the space between us, illuminating Earth’s face in a soft yellow glow.