Beyond Stoneybrook

All original characters (Dawn, Stacey, Abby, Kristy, Mallory, Mary Anne, Jessi, and Claudia) are property of Ann M. Martin and Scholastic.
I have posted this story twice already, on different pennames, but have had tons of trouble with the site and my computer. From now on, it will be solely this penname, and I apologize for the inconvienence.
Chapter 1

Abigail Stevenson stood on her tiptoes, stretching herself to the fullest extent while she rummaged around the top shelf in her hall closet. "It's got to be around here somewhere," she mumbled around the roll of fishing line that stuck sideways out of her mouth. Sighing in defeat, she removed the line and ran a hand through her thick mane of chocolate curls.

"Momma, Momma, I want to make necklaces!" whined Jill, whom had fastened herself to her mother's blue denim-clad leg.
Abby handed her daughter the fishing line and said, "I know, I know, dear. . ." Her words dissolved into silence as she began poking around for the plastic box of kaleidoscopic beads that Jill had received ages ago for her birthday, and immediately forgotten. Of course, leave it up to a seven-year-old to remember a toy that was hidden away for what was meant to be all eternity.

After a few moments, Abby rocked back on her heels again. "I'm sorry, Jill, but I can't find the beads," she looked down at her daughter.

Before Jill could shriek in protest, a heavy glass bottle teetered on the edge of the top hall shelf. Falling with high velocity and finishing with a crescendo of diamond shards of glass and a salt and pepper shower, the jar sent a spew of dust up in its midst. Abby quickly covered her mouth and pulled Jill away from the broken glass and dust, for Jill had inherited the vicious allergies that her mother had.

Jill began wailing in her state of surprise, and Abby comforted her with juice, cookies, and 'The Little Mermaid' playing in the living room. Returning to the hall to clean up the mess, Abby's hand found her forehead as she sighed. "What a day."
Pulling on her surgical mask, that she wore when she was in close contact with dust, she peered down at the mysterious bottle that had broken. One look sent her back to eighth grade. . .

The soccer napkin covered in gray and white speckles. . .a bit of streamer under a mountain of salt. . .the stubby, melted friendship candle sitting stoutly on its side. . .

These were mementos from her memory glass, that her friends from the Baby-Sitters Club had made for her for her Bat Mitzvah. Abby sat back to think about this for awhile, when suddenly, a thought sparked in her mind and she shot to her feet in a flash. She rummaged around somewhat frantically again, and her hands closed around cool porcelain. Bringing the object down to eye level, Abby confirmed her thoughts. It was the piggy bank. She idly remembered scrawling her dreams on a looseleaf piece of paper and putting it in this breakable piggy bank, and her friends doing the same.
How fun it would be to see what they wrote! Abby smiled to herself, preparing to smash the bank on the floor.

As she raised the piggy bank, another thought flashed through her mind. Abby tucked the piggy bank under her arm as she made way to the kitchen. Setting it on the table, she fished around the drawer in her kitchen cupboard. Triumphantly, she came up with a thick phone book.

Flipping through the densely populated pages, she suddenly stopped.

Shakily, she picked up the receiver of her phone, dialed, and held her breath.