 
Enter: Ten Tales for Tweens

Fantastic Short Stories for Middle Grade Readers

Stories by:  
MJ Ware, Sybil Nelson, Laura Lond, N.R. Wick, D.D. Roy, Jean Cross, Tess Oliver, Laura Keysor, KJ Hannah Greenberg, & Chris Eboch

Collection Copyright © 2012 – Cover Art © 2012 Slamet Mujiono  
Additional copyright, front matter, and legal information.

All proceeds from this ebook will be donated to The Children's Literacy Initiative.

Published at Smashwords

Table of Contents

Brother's Keeper By MJ Ware

Priscilla the Great vs. Christine the Mean By Sybil Nelson

Fair Price By Laura Lond

The Emerald Key By N.R. Wick

Mr. Kent's Wall of Wonders By D.D. Roy

The Ghost of Vernon Avenue By Jean Cross

Grunge is the New Cool By Tess Oliver

Starboard Academy – The Summer Before By Laura Keysor

Squamata's Rumble By KJ Hannah Greenberg

Sister's Keeper By Chris Eboch

Acknowledgments

Bonus Book Previews

Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb

Priscilla the Great

My Sparkling Misfortune

Jinnie Wishmaker

The Boots of Saint Felicity

The Mortal Enemy List

The Ghost Miner's Treasure

# Brother's Keeper

By MJ Ware

"Bradley!" I yell at my little brother, "where'd you put my sled?"

Bradley's green eyes glare. "I already told you, I didn't take it."

We've only been at the cabin for a day and already my big Christmas present is missing. Steel runners, composite frame, even a steering harness; it was awesome. Until it disappeared. "I know you took it. If I find it outside, you're never borrowing it again."

"Again? You gotta let me use it once before I can borrow it again."

"Zack, I'm sure you just left your sled somewhere," Mom says without looking up, too busy rummaging through cabinets trying to figure out where everything's stored. "Did you check outside?"

"Yep, I looked out all the windows; it's gone." I grip my mug of hot cocoa, trying to get some feeling back into my fingers.

"Well, maybe you should go outside and look."

"Maybe Bradley should. He's the one who left it out—"

"Did not," Bradley snaps. "But if I find it, you've gotta let me ride it too."

"Did too. And you better go look now, 'cause if it gets covered with snow, we'll never find it." I slam my mug down on the table as hard as I think I can get away with.

"There's going to be a major storm tonight," Dad says, looking up from the paper. "I'll check around for the sled. I need to bring in more firewood anyway." He heads out of the kitchen and down the stairs that lead to the front door. The cabin sits on the side of a hill with the main floor on top of the garage, so a really long stairway leads down to the door.

Mom picks up our dinner mess while I make faces at my little brother.

"Do you hear that?" Mom asks.

"Hear what?"

"I think it's the door," Bradley says, getting up.

"I'll get it." Pausing just long enough to push my brother back into his seat, I run down the stairs toward the front door.

Opening the door, I see my dad with a stack of firewood so high the top of his head is barely visible. "Whew, I'm glad you heard me from up there. I was really pounding. I think the doorbell's broken."

"Where's my sled?" I ask.

"Sorry, sport, couldn't find it."

Poking my head out the door, I glance around outside. No sled, just gray storm clouds gathering around the cabin.

I get upstairs just as Dad's throwing another log into the big redbrick fireplace. He shakes the snow off his jacket. "Hope I got enough wood to last all night."

Everyone sits around an old pine coffee table. "Zack, come play." Bradley holds up a worn pack of Uno cards.

"Not with you, you sled thief—" I'm about to say more when I catch the look in Dad's eye. I know I'm about to get it, so I take off for my room.

The cabin has two big rooms in front that sit over the garage, with a great view of the lake. Bradley's afraid of sleeping in a strange place, so he got the room next to Mom and Dad. That leaves me with the dinky back bedroom. No view, just a half-window that looks onto snow-covered pines.

I'm deep in thought about how ticked I am at Bradley for losing my sled when I trip over it.

Lying on the ground, grabbing my throbbing knee, seems to jog my memory. Now I remember dropping the sled in my room after coming inside. Mom was yelling at me for tracking snow through the cabin. I left it here to keep it away from my little brother.

I feel kinda bad. I mean, sure, statistically speaking, it's almost always the little brother's fault—except this time.

I can make it up to him by letting him ride it tomorrow. I just need to make sure no one finds out it was here all along or I'll be in the doghouse for the whole trip.

Sitting on the floor, I grab my sled and push it way back under the bed's old rusty steel frame.

Once my knee stops aching, I think about going to play cards with the family, but decide I don't feel like it. For a moment, I even consider telling my brother sorry, but that thought is quickly replaced with figuring out how to get the sled out without anyone noticing.

The best option seems to be waiting until everyone's asleep and then dumping it outside.

I play Tetris on my phone until Mom comes in to tell me goodnight. "You know, you really shouldn't be so hard on your brother. You're lucky to have one."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't tell me again how terrible it was to be an only child," I say, not looking up from my game. "Night, Mom." I hear her blow me a kiss as she leaves.

After waiting like thirty minutes, I decide it's probably safe to go take the sled out. I figure I'll leave it somewhere Dad might think he just overlooked it.

Sled in hand, I tiptoe toward the front of the cabin. As I'm passing the kitchen, there's a sound at the front door. Someone's down there. I dash back before I'm seen.

After several minutes of silence, I figure it's safe to try again.

Slowly, I descend the stairs, my sled in hand. Every time a step creaks, I stop and count to ten before moving on.

The big oak door is slightly ajar; closed, but not enough to latch. That noise must have been Dad carrying more wood up. He must not have closed it all the way.

Outside it's pitch black. The wind howls and the only things visible are snow flurries flying in crazy patterns.

My PJs and slippers aren't exactly cold weather gear. The chill is already stinging my ears. I can't wait around for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Feeling the shingle siding with my one free hand, I head around the side of the cabin, looking for somewhere to put the sled.

As my eyes begin to adjust, shadows appear in the trees, the wind moving them in fits and bursts; they look like angry vipers poised to strike.

I know under a tree's the best place to put my sled, but I'm having a hard time convincing my feet. The bitter bite of the cold wins out over fear and I step into the snow, toward some trees about half a basketball court away. Before I get five feet, something rustles in the bushes. It's unmistakable—not wind, but something moving.

What type of animal—or monster—would be out on a night like this? If it's growling, I can't hear it over the wind. I don't wait around to find out. Dropping the sled, I dash inside and lock the door, listening for the click as I turn the deadbolt.

Lying back in bed, I look out the window. Most of it has iced up; all I can see are dark shadows violently tossing snow around.

I try to figure out why I can't sleep. Then, as my mind begins to wander, a sound creeps into the room. A tap, tap, tapping.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, I listen. The only sound now is anger in the wind as it pummels the treetops.

It must have been my imagination—maybe frozen snow battering the window.

Sleep almost comes when I hear it again. Tap, tap, tap. Looking at the dreary window, it seems as if the shadows are creeping closer. I throw the blankets over my head.

Whatever it is, it can't be an animal. Because of the hill, that window is pretty far up the side of the house.

I tell myself, it must be hail, maybe a tree branch, batted around in the wind.

I sit and listen. As if on cue, it starts. Tap, tap. This time it continues: Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap—softer now, almost desperate.

Still under the covers, I reach for my headphones. Tap, tap, tap. The sound drills into me; I feel it in my gut.

I put the earbuds in. Tap, tap, tap.

I plug them into my phone. Tap, tap, tap.

I quickly select a song. Tap, tap—the sound is driven out by music.

By the light of my phone, I setup a playlist of music that I might be able to sleep to then turn it down as low as I dare. I won't hear that sound again. That tap, tap, tap. But there it is, still echoing in my head.

I try to sleep, but the tapping won't leave me alone. I can't hear it, but it's still there. I know it is, calling out to me—desperate for my attention.

I don't sleep well. I keep having this dream that a branch breaks through the window. Snow and ice howl into the room. The branch reaches in for me like a monstrous bark-covered hand. After many restless hours, I finally wake up. I sit up in bed and the aroma of pancakes drifts down the hall.

I jump out and dash for the kitchen, hoping to make it before my brother eats all the bacon.

Mom and Dad sit at the table, coffee and OJ in hand. I smile at the big plate of bacon sitting between them.

"Oh good, you're up, honey," Mom says. "Between you and your brother, I thought breakfast might get cold."

"Some storm we had last night, huh?" Dad puts down his mug. "Woke me up a few times."

I pile way more than my share of bacon onto my plate, then put a piece or two back. "Yeah, I didn't sleep well either."

"Can't put if off any longer; we need more firewood." Dad looks down at my plate. "I better wake Bradley up before he misses out on breakfast." His slippers make a shuffling sound on the wooden floor as he heads toward the front bedroom.

Silent and still, I sit looking at my plate. Pancakes with blueberry syrup, scrambled eggs cooked in beacon grease. It all looks so good, but I don't know—I just can't eat.

Mom looks at me and puts a hand on my forehead. "Zack, don't you feel—"

"Where's Bradley?" Dad suddenly appears in the room. "Susan, have you seen Bradley? He's not in his room."

"What? Where could he be?" Mom stands up. "Zack, you don't know where your brother is, do you?"

"Who, me? Did you check under his bed? He's such a big chicken. Maybe—"

"His coat's gone, but the rest of his clothes are still hung up." Dad's putting on his jacket and shoes.

"You don't think he went outside?" Mom says, turning off the stove.

"I don't know. Where else he could be?" Dad's already heading down the stairway, gloves and scarf in hand. "You two get dressed and meet me outside."

Mom's face turns pale as snow. "Didn't you say the doorbell was broken?"

I run to my room and put my jacket and ski pants over my PJs. When I reach down for my boots, I almost throw up.

I start to lose my balance and sit on my rear to get my boots on. Something's missing. No tap, tap, tap.

I grab my cap and run down and out the front door. Dad's coming back from across the street.

"Zack, check the left side of the house. I'll go right. We'll meet up around back."

"No, Dad, let's go together..." But he's already taken off.

"Bradley!" Dad's voice echoes through the trees.

Slowly, my feet carry me around the cabin, as if they're on automatic. I round the corner and there's my sled. Not where I left it, but upright against the wall, right under my window.

Standing on it, my little brother, covered in frost, like a Popsicle left in the freezer too long. Arms, hands, fingers reaching up to the window outside my bedroom. He's still, slumped upright, not moving. Tiny fingers motionless, frozen to the bottom windowsill.

In my head I still hear tap, tap, tap.

About the Author

MJ Ware, lives in the foothills of the Sierra Mountains with his wife and two daughters. When not writing about aliens, monsters and ghosts, he runs a company where he designs award-winning video arcades. He's recently published his debut novel, Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb, about friends who take on an army of the undead, armed with nothing but Super Soakers—filled with zombie killing juice. A complete list if his titles can be found at Smashwords.

Read an excerpt from MJ's Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb.

#   
Priscilla the Great vs. Christine the Mean

By Sybil Nelson

If you ask me, parents who send their kids to summer camp are just plain cruel. I mean, summer is right smack dab in the middle of baseball season. And not many camps have access to MLB's Extra Innings package. Do you know how many games I would miss if I was forced to go off to summer camp like so many unfortunate teens? Unthinkable. Fortunately, my parents aren't camp people. They'd never even suggested the idea of sending my brothers or me away for the summer. Considering my dad was more paranoid and superstitious than a Cub's fan, it was highly unlikely that our parents would ever send us away anywhere.

What's funny...well, actually it's kind of ridiculous. Let's call it fridiculous. Yeah, what's fridiculous about the whole overprotective dad situation is that I'm a freaking superhero. Literally. I can shoot fire out of my fingers and I can bench press a car. So technically, I would say the rest of the world needs to be protected from me. But since there are some pretty evil people after my family and me, my dad takes this whole secret identity thing pretty seriously.

That doesn't stop my parents from sending me all over the world to complete different random missions. I mean just last night I had to fly to Andorra to stop a bunch of YouTube hooligans. It's a long story. Let's just say a group of idiots started videotaping themselves doing impossible and stupid things. I had to stop them before someone got hurt, or worse, someone found out about their powers.

Anyway, after a night of flying around the world and knocking some sense into three morons with too much power, all I wanted to do was rest. But that wasn't going to happen.

"Priss, phone's for you!" my brother Josh yelled into my room at six am. This was super annoying for not one but two reasons. First of all, it was six in the morning. Who in the world is awake at the ungodly hour of six in the morning? Secondly, the phone wasn't even ringing. Oh, wait, now it was.

See, Josh is a psychic. So sometimes he knows what's going to happen before it actually does. He must have had a vision about this phone call.

I hopped out of bed and ran to the kitchen to answer the phone. No, I didn't have a cell phone. And no I didn't even have a landline in my room. I had to use one of those old-fashioned phones with the long curly cords. I had to drag that phone, cord and all, to my room if I wanted any privacy. The only highlight of the situation was watching my twin little brothers run through the house and trip on the cord stretched from the kitchen to my room. It was hilarious every time.

"Priss, is that you?" a panicked voice said when I answered the phone. It was Kyle, my best friend turned boyfriend, and one of only two people outside my family who knew about my powers.

"Kyle, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Kyle was away at camp and I actually hadn't spoken to him in over a week. Unlike my parents, Kyle's parents are definitely camp people. I think they had a special countdown each year to the time when they could ship Kyle out to Texas for three weeks.

"Yes, I mean no. I mean..." He took a deep breath and said, "Priss, I need your help."

"I'm on my way." I dropped the phone and ran to my room so I could grab the keys to my family's jet. Yeah, my family has a jet. How do you think I went to Andorra last night?

Anyway, if Kyle needed me, I would literally run to his aid if I had to. Fortunately, I didn't have to subject myself to all that extra exercise. With the jet, I was at his camp in a little over an hour.

I didn't have too much trouble finding a place to park the jet. I mean once I turn on the cloaking device and it becomes invisible, I can pretty much park it anywhere so long as people aren't going to accidentally run into it. I found a clearing in the woods about a mile away from Kyle's camp then ran to meet him.

"Okay, I'm here. What's wrong?" I said slightly out of breath. Yeah, I might have super powers and all, but super speed isn't one of them. Running at top speed for a mile is exhausting, especially considering I only had like two hours of sleep the night before.

Kyle was leaning against his cabin with his arms crossed when I arrived. I knew it was his cabin because over the five years he had been going to this camp he never shut up about it. Could probably have found it with my eyes closed.

Kyle uncrossed his arms, took a step forward and gave me a hug. "Thanks for coming. I didn't know who else to call."

I hugged him back. "Of course I came. If you're in danger, I'm going to help you."

He released me then went back to leaning on the wall.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked.

Instead of responding, Kyle just nodded toward the front door of his cabin. I don't know what I expected to find when I entered that cabin. Maybe I expected to see that it had been vandalized and Kyle's life was threatened. If that was the case, his life was probably in danger because of me. Anyone who knew my family's secret was in danger from the Selliwood Institute or perhaps a rogue specimen.

But I didn't find a vandalized camp cabin or a death threat. Instead, I found something even more scary or scarier or whatever the word is. It was a first edition Superman comic ripped in half and lying sad, lonely, and ruined on top of Kyle's bed. Okay, so technically it was an Action Comics, but it had Superman so I'm calling it Superman.

I gasped. "Who would do this?" I yelled. This comic was priceless, irreplaceable. Not only because it was one of a kind and out of print, but also because Kyle and I had been exchanging this comic since we had learned to read. Every time one of us lost a bet we'd have to relinquish ownership of the comic. It was like a part of us.

"I knew you'd understand the seriousness of the situation," Kyle said, coming into the cabin. "My roommates thought I was being a whiny baby."

"Oh, no. This is beyond serious. Whoever did this is going down," I said, punching my left fist into my right hand in a threatening manner. "You want me to help you take him out?"

Kyle shook his head. "That's just it. I can't help you. You have to avenge the comic on your own."

"Why?" I asked confused. Kyle was more than capable of seeking revenge. He was an expert fencer and after knowing me all his life, he was awesome at pranks. Not quite as awesome as me, but good enough. "Is he too strong for you or something?"

After shaking his head again, Kyle said, "That's just it. It's not a he. The person who did this is a girl."

"A girl? There's a girl here? But Kyle, you're at a camp for boys."

"Yeah, I know. But Christine Kowalski is so mean and evil that she's been banned from every girl's camp in the state. Her parents actually wrote a congressman in order to get her to come here."

I plopped on the bed and picked up half of the comic book. "I understand your problem. If you beat up a girl, you're an evil bully. But if you let her beat you up, you're a sissy."

"I knew you'd understand," Kyle said sitting next to me on the bed and picking up the other half of the comic.

"No worries, Kyle. Let me at her. Christine the Mean is going down."

* * *

The rest of Kyle's camp was at breakfast. He led me around to the Mess Hall and I poked my head in so I could get a glimpse of Christine in action.

She was a not completely unattractive brunette who had definitely hit her growth spurt a bit early. She was only twelve or thirteen, but she was built like an eighteen-year-old linebacker for the University of Texas Longhorns. A couple of hours with me, some lip gloss, and a hairbrush and she would have looked relatively normal. But as it stood, she looked like a wildebeest.

Apparently, a week at Kyle's camp was long enough to earn her a reputation. She sat alone hunched over her breakfast shoveling eggs and hash browns in her mouth so fast I think she thought someone was going to steal it.

I felt kind of sorry for her in that moment. She was just a lonely, fashion-challenged teenager who probably needed a friend. My sympathy for her quickly faded away when I saw her stick her leg out and trip one of the other campers. The boy fell forward and busted his lip open on his tray.

When one of the counselors came around asking what happened, Christine burst into tears and claimed the boy had called her fat.

Oh, she was good. Men have no idea what to do around a crying teenage girl. It was a tactic I had used often with my patented Prissy Fit.

"See what I mean," Kyle said, nudging me in the side. "She's evil, ruthless and unstoppable. None of the counselors believe us when we tell them what she does to us. She filled Aiden's jock strap with fire ants. And she's been giving Lucas a wedgie every morning for a week."

"Say no more, Kyle. This is a job only a woman can handle."

* * *

After breakfast, each camper was supposed to return to his...or her cabin to wash up before their morning activities. Kyle showed me where Christine's cabin was and I broke in to wait for her.

While I was alone in her room, I decided to check things out a bit. I wondered if there was a reason why she was so awful and mean. I think I figured it out when I looked at her family pictures. Christine was the youngest of what looked like a family of supermodels. Seriously, she had four older sisters who were like six-foot beauty queens. And her parents looked like they were either selling toothpaste or running for office. In every picture, ugly duckling Christine looked like she wanted to punch her siblings and her parents in the face. I couldn't say I blamed her. They managed to annoy me just from their pictures alone. I couldn't imagine what it felt like to have that kind of standard to live up to and not even come close.

Maybe all Christine needed was someone to understand her. And, of course, that lip gloss and hair brush I suggested earlier. That would be where I'd start.

"What are you doing in my room?" a gruff voice said from behind. I spun around and stared right into the snarky, pimply face of Christine Kowalski.

"Calm down, Christy. I'm not doing anything," I said.

"You are doing something. You're sneaking around my room without permission. That translates to asking for a beat down in my language."

"And what language is that? Amazon or ogre?"

I heard snickering. Yeah, I hear things a lot actually. It's another one of my super powers. I would have been able to hear the snickering if it was like a mile away. But this wasn't a mile away. It was like a few feet away. I turned to see Kyle and two of his friends staring at us through Christine's window.

My split-second lapse in concentration resulted in a split lip as Christine landed a left hook to my face. She hit me so hard I lost my balance and fell on the bed.

"I don't know, Kyle," one of the boys outside said. "Your girlfriend may be cute, but look at how tiny she is. She's no match for Christine."

Hey, I'm cute? I thought as Christine picked me up and threw me on the ground. Wow, she was strong. But, fortunately, not as strong as me.

Christine jumped on top of me and went to punch me in the face. Instead, I grabbed her fist and pushed it back against her own face. "Why you hittin' yourself?" I said, leaping to my feet. Immature, I know, but I couldn't resist.

Christine stood as well and came at me. I was too fast for her though and I stepped out of the way. She went crashing into the wall on the other side of the room and fell to the ground stunned. I pulled a chair from her desk to the middle of her room and then swiped the sheet off the bed.

I picked up Christine and tossed her into the chair. As I started to tie her up with the sheet, Kyle and his friends came in.

"Wow, I totally underestimated the little redhead," one of the boys said. "She may be tiny, but she's spunky."

"Never underestimate my Priss," Kyle added with a smile.

Is it wrong that I got tingles at the way he said my Priss? How cute.

"When I get out of this you're dead, Montgomery," Christine said to Kyle when I finished tying her up.

"Hey, no one threatens my man but me," I said, poking her in the shoulder. "And you might want to watch that attitude considering the position you're in right now."

"Don't worry, when I get out of this, you're dead too."

"I'm not so sure about that. I'm about to rip you in half just like you did to my comic book."

Kyle grabbed my elbow and pulled me to a corner of the room. "What exactly are you planning on doing to her? I don't really want you to hurt her or anything. I just wanted you to teach her a lesson."

I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do to her. She wasn't another specimen and she didn't have powers so I really could hurt her if I tried. It honestly wasn't a fair fight. I'd have to come up with another way to get through to her.

My eyes surveyed her room. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but when I saw her karaoke machine on top of her dresser I knew exactly what to do.

A smile spread across my face as walked over to it and clicked on the machine.

Kyle's eyes grew large. "Oh, no. No, Priss. Don't do it." He leaped across the room and snatched the microphone out of my hand. "Priss, the sound of your singing voice is so terrible it's considered torture in three states."

"Hey, that's a bold-faced lie!" I said, snatching the microphone back. "It's only two states. And really North and South Carolina are like one big state, anyway."

"Okay, guys, let's get out of here," Kyle said, pushing his friends out of the room. "Christine, I suggest you surrender now. You have no idea what you're in for."

Christine shrugged. "It can't be that bad."

* * *

Three hours later Kyle returned right during my fifth, and might I say best, rendition of "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion.

"Montgomery, Montgomery!" Christine pleaded with tears in her eyes. "I'll do anything. Just make her stop. Please!"

Kyle smiled then unplugged the Karaoke machine.

"Hey, I was really feeling that one," I said.

"Montgomery, she's crazy. Please get her away from me. I'll clean your bathroom with my toothbrush. I'll take your Mess Hall duty for the rest of camp. I'll glue back your comic book page by page. Just please make her stop." That's when Christine the Mean burst into tears. "How do you take it? Does she do this all the time?"

I should have been insulted that my singing voice could move someone to tears, but I wasn't. I mean, part of growing up was learning and accepting your strength and weaknesses. And singing was definitely a weakness of mine. But I had learned how to use it to my advantage.

* * *

Three weeks later both Kyle and I got packages in the mail. Mine was a classic Superman comic. Not quite as valuable as the one that was destroyed, but it was pretty darn close. Inside Kyle's package was a set of designer...ear plugs.

About the Author

Sybil is a wife, mother of two, and a full-time PhD student at the Medical University of South Carolina. She is also the author of the award-winning Priscilla the Great series. Books 1-5 are available now. A new series called Dark Marco, based on a character from the world of Priscilla the Great will be available in Fall of 2012. A complete list if her titles can be found at Smashwords.

Read an excerpt from Sybil Nelson's Priscilla the Great.

# Fair Price

By Laura Lond

Kian had no memory of his parents. In fact, up until now he had no idea of what parents were. As long as he could remember, he'd always lived with the tribe, and the tribe was his family. He never went hungry or cold, and if he was hurt or upset, one of the women would always be there to comfort him. Men were good to him, too. One gave Kian a knife, another made him a small spear. Kian loved watching men dance at the fire, their bodies slender and strong, sweat glistening over the spiral markings on their bare chests. Kian's own markings were different, but he was still very proud of them and couldn't wait for the day when he would be allowed to join the warriors in their dance.

Kian didn't spend very much time around other children—he was perfectly happy on his own—yet he had eventually noticed that all of them had two people they called father and mother. That puzzled Kian. Nobody ever told him who his father and mother were. Maybe he was supposed to find them himself?

Kian gave it some thought and then approached Lyntia, a bright-eyed young woman who seemed to always have a piece of sweet bread or some milk for him.

"Are you my mother?" Kian asked.

"No," Lyntia quickly replied, averting her eyes.

"Then who is my mother? And my father? Do you know?"

The woman looked at him, as if uncertain, then rose and took his hand.

"Chief Kanga knows. He will tell you. Come."

Kian held his breath as he stepped into the chief's tent. He'd never spoken to the chief of the tribe, whom he considered the greatest of all men, and never dreamed he would have such honor until he became a warrior.

Chief Kanga showed no surprise at the sight of Kian and Lyntia. He seemed to know right away what brought them into his presence. Having dismissed the woman with a slight nod, he motioned to Kian to come closer. Kian obeyed.

The big man was silent for a few moments, his keen dark eyes studying the boy.

"So you have been asking about your parents, Kian," he said at last.

"Yes, Chief Kanga. Lyntia says that you know who they are."

"I do. Your father is Takunak, a great chief and a mighty warrior."

Kian's eyes widened at the name of the feared enemy. "Takunak? The chief of the Bemungi?" he exclaimed.

"Yes."

"But—but I am a Chaflak!"

Chief Kanga gave him a long, sad look.

"No, Kian. You grew up with Chaflaks, but you are a Bemungi. Look at your tribal markings; they are so different from ours. They are Bemungi markings."

Speechless, Kian regarded his chest and arms. He knew the pattern was different, but it never occurred to him to ask why.

"I don't understand, Chief Kanga."

"Let me explain. There was a battle between Bemungi and Chaflaks. My brother was then the chief. Our tribe won, but only because Takunak and most of his warriors were away. We fled before they returned, taking no plunder—except for one of our men. Without my brother's knowledge, he went to Takunak's tent and took his little son. You, Kian."

The boy listened, not knowing whether he believed it or not.

"...But why?"

"To crush Takunak. To hit him in his very heart and defeat the Bemungi once and for all."

Kian said nothing. He was overwhelmed.

"That warrior wanted my brother to kill you, Kian," Chief Kanga continued. "But my brother was wiser than that. He knew that your death would only cause more bloodshed. He decided to raise you in our tribe."

The chief paused, as if to give the boy another chance to speak up or ask a question. When Kian remained silent, Chief Kanga went on.

"One day, your father will come for you. And on that day, Kian, you will tell him that our tribe has been your family, and that Chaflaks treated you as one of their own. It will be the best proof of our good will. We no longer wish to fight with Bemungi."

"My father will come for me?" Kian asked, getting worried. "Is he going to take me from the tribe?"

"He might."

"But I don't know him! And he—he doesn't know me! What if he hates me? He hates Chaflaks!"

"He does not hate you, Kian. You are his son. He may be thinking that he had lost you forever—that you are dead. And when he sees you alive and well, he will be happy, and he will know that Chaflaks want peace."

Kian lowered his head, taking it in. It wasn't about him. It was about peace between Chaflaks and Bemungi. The thought brought tears to his eyes, and Kian hurried to look away, terrified that Chief Kanga would notice them. He was a man, a future warrior—a chief's son. He shouldn't cry.

"Why... Why didn't you simply give me back to my father while I was still little?" he asked.

Chief Kanga shifted on his seat. "There was no way we could do that. You will understand more when you grow up to be a man. For now, you know enough. Go, and be proud, for you are the son of a strong man."

Kian stood there for another moment, then squared his shoulders, pressed his right hand to his heart, bowed to the chief and walked out of the tent.

Chief Kanga watched him go. His heart longed after his son, but he ordered it to be silent. It was the right decision. It was going to save the tribe. When he killed Takunak's boy, he knew he had crossed the line. Drunk with the quick victory, he took the life of a helpless child—and realized just a minute later that it would bring death to his own tribe. The Bemungi were so much stronger; they were going to go after Chaflaks, and in his fury Takunak would wipe them out.

The decision came hard, but when the thought had first crossed his mind Kanga felt strong, deep assurance that this was the right way to go. It was a fair price. His own son was born not that long prior; he didn't yet have the markings. Copying the Bemungi markings from the dead boy's body was no difficult task—Kanga had done many tattoos before; switching the children and silencing those who knew what he did took more effort and wits.

His brother never found out. Kanga presented the boy to him as Takunak's son and suggested to keep him alive as a trophy. It was a dangerous trophy, but Lagon, Kanga's brother, loved danger. He agreed, delighted to have his enemy's most precious possession. The tribe had been on the run for several months, fleeing from Takunak's rage. Then Lagon was killed in a battle, and Kanga became the chief. He had announced to the tribe his intention to stop the war with Bemungi, and the role Kian was supposed to play in it. The tribe, tired of Lagon's never-ending fighting, had gladly accepted the idea. Some wondered whether it would be best to go to Takunak and give him his child right away. Kanga couldn't allow that. Kian was younger than Takunak's boy. He needed time to grow enough so that no one would be able to tell the difference. For several more years Kanga kept inventing reasons why it wasn't the right time to approach Takunak yet. But now—now he could give it some thought. Kian was getting old enough to speak for peace. Kanga would need to train him some more.

No, he'd better assign someone else. He shouldn't grow attached.

About The Author

Laura Lond is a European-born author now living in the United States who still hasn't acquired the taste for any kind of sweetened meat ("honey ham" sounds as disturbing to her as "salted chocolate cake"). Laura writes mostly fantasy and is slightly less eccentric than her characters. She loves animals and hates talking on the phone. A complete list if her titles can be found on Smashwords.

Read an excerpt from Laura Lond's My Sparkling Misfortune.

# The Emerald Key

By N.R. Wick

Holly Greene lay on her bed with her legs hung over the side as she stared at the ceiling. She stared so hard at the stucco above her that the random shapes turned into strange and even disturbing faces. It was supposed to snow any day now, which would provide perfect sleighing fun, but instead, sleet fell that morning in a way that would disappoint any child.

"Holly, my love. I've brought you cocoa," her mother said. The woman nudged Holly's bedroom door open with her satin-clad hip, carrying a small tray with a thin, ornate mug set upon it. Holly perked up immediately and grinned.

"Thank you, Mom," she said and scooted to the edge of the bed. Her mother set the tray on the night table next to her headboard before she took a seat beside her.

"It must be terribly boring for you here, especially with the weather the way it is," she said. Holly leaned against her and inhaled; her mother always smelled of lavender. The smell comforted her, even when they were apart.

"It's all right, Mom. I just wish I could go sledding in the garden."

"Well, when you finish your cocoa, you should go see Ms. Madeline. She was in the attic early this morning putting away some of my old chinaware and mentioned that she may have found something special for you."

Holly's eyes lit up with excitement. "What is it? Did she tell you?"

"Possibly, but you should go find her and ask her to take you up there to get it."

Holly whooped and raised her fists into the air. With a smile, her mother kissed her forehead and left. Steam from the cocoa warmed Holly's face as she lifted the mug carefully to her lips. It was too hot for her to drink, and the thought of waiting for it to cool made her patience wear thin. Instead, she set the cup back down and left to find Madeline.

* * *

A robust, older woman with a thick Russian accent greeted Holly as she entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Miss."

"Morning, Ms. Maddy," Holly said. She grinned while Madeline rolled pastry dough aggressively on the countertop with a rolling pin. Despite her rough movements, her dark blonde hair remained neatly in a tight French braid.

"I make meat pie for supper," Madeline said. "Your favorite, no?"

Holly pretended to be interested, but when it didn't seem like her nanny was going to mention the surprise, she thought she'd bust. "Don't tease me! Mom said you had a surprise for me. Please please please tell me what it is!"

Madeline worked the dough a few more times then said, "Why not wait until your birthday next week instead?"

Holly squealed in protest. "No, that's an entire week away. I can't wait that long now that I know you have it already."

"Maybe we wait." Madeline spoke without looking up. Holly giggled at the game. She loved surprises, and the fact that Maddy was teasing her meant she'd get it today for sure.

"It's okay. Mom told me that you found the surprise in the attic. I could go there myself if you're too busy." Holly put on her sweetest, most innocent look.

"Okay, okay. I take you to see surprise," Maddy said. She covered the dough with a kitchen towel and wiped her hands on her flour-smeared apron. "Come."

She led the way out of the kitchen with Holly trotting close behind her. They marched up two flights of marble stairs and through a corridor that was covered with rich tapestries in a variety of blues and purples. The only sound in the entire estate was the click of their footsteps. Out of the wall-length windows along the right side of the corridor, Holly noticed the sleet lighten. Maybe her chance for sledding wasn't completely ruined, she thought.

Madeline removed a heavy skeleton key from her apron pocket as they approached a dark wooden door at the end of the corridor. Holly bounced beside her; she felt that she might burst at any moment with excitement. When the door opened and they walked up the narrow staircase leading into the attic, Holly expected to see the surprise immediately. But the attic looked the same musty brown-yellow it always did. She frowned.

"In chest near far corner. I give you clue. Green ribbons."

Holly lit up again as Maddy gently nudged her toward the chest. She flipped open the lid and rummaged carefully so not to miss anything. Behind her, Maddy eyed her carefully. After Holly had pulled out most of the contents from within the chest, she spotted the deep green ribbon. It belonged in the curly, black hair of a handmade porcelain doll that was dressed in an old-fashioned frock decorated with small green bows.

As Holly inspected the doll with a wide smile on her face, she noticed that it was missing its right shoe. She leaned into the chest to look for it. A sharp glint caught her eye from a ripped seam on the inside edge of the lid. She reached for it, pulled up the seam delicately, and with a jump, something metal dropped out onto the floor of the chest.

It was a key unlike any Holly had ever seen. She held it up toward the unprotected attic light to inspect it further. The head and most of the stem were made of a muted gray metal and the teeth of the key were three rectangular prongs ascending in height. Its handle was made of a translucent green stone that twinkled as the stark light caressed its surface.

Holly ran her fingers over the design at the end of the key and traced the Celtic triangle with its dotted emeralds. She stared curiously at it, forgetting the fancy doll under her arm.

"You find doll, yes?" Maddy said from the entrance of the attic. With an amused smile, she watched Holly fumble to hide the secret key in her pocket.

The child spun around to face her nanny. "Oh yes, she's beautiful. Thank you." Holly didn't want to share such a beautiful treasure.

Maddy held out her hand for her to take. "Come now. I make lunch."

After she ate, Holly went outside and walked along the slush-covered hedges with her new doll, Emily, snug in her arm. Her other hand clutched the strange emerald key hiding away in her pocket as she made her way to a tree-swing near the center of the sleeping garden. A thick layer of icy snow crunched beneath her shoes and with a trip of her foot, she fell flat on her stomach. Holly lay still for several moments embarrassed and wondered what happened before she finally got to her feet.

A small lip of wood peeked through the carpet of thick, crusty frost where Holly's foot caught. She kicked it out of spite, which knocked the ice loose. Holly stopped abruptly at the sight of a familiar pattern on the edge of the freshly revealed wood. After a glance around to make sure no one else could see her, she dropped to her knees and scraped away at the frost as if digging for a buried treasure.

As she wiped the ground clean, a trapdoor that was crafted with the same Celtic design as the emerald key emerged before her. It had never been there before, Holly was sure of that. She spent most of spring in the garden each year and had never seen it. With that, she stooped and pressed the key into the lock.

Holly heard the lock release as she twisted the key and opened the decorated trapdoor. The prospect of an adventure made her heart flutter as she peered into the darkness below. Nothing. She couldn't see a thing, even though the light from outside should have illuminated something. What if it was a deep hole with no way out? She swallowed hard. Leaning over the edge, Holly reached her hand into the darkness. What if there were spiders down there? Her hand recoiled at the thought. She hated spiders.

A sweep of warm, sweet-smelling air swooped around Holly from the open door. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent. It reminded her of her mother, the smell of lavender, but also something else she couldn't place that brought a feeling on excitement and hunger. Holly glanced at Emily, who was sitting on the edge nearby, as if she expected the doll to instruct her on what to do next. The doll stared back at her, and Holly's eyes drifted back toward the delicious adventure waiting for her. In the end, she grabbed Emily and lowered herself into the darkness.

* * *

Holly didn't know what happened. It felt like she had walked straight ahead, but she was also sure that was not possible since she had just dropped down from outside. She stood upright and looked up to see a stone ceiling. The hole to the outside world wasn't there at all, so she glanced behind her. A matching trapdoor welcomed her with the same Celtic symbol as the one she had fallen through. It only took her a moment to realize there was no handle and no way out.

When Holly turned back around, she found herself facing a never-ending corridor. To find a way out, she knew she'd have to move forward. Candlelight licked the stone walls as far as Holly could see as she walked along a red carpet. The hallway had an eerie quietness to it that made adrenaline vibrate through her entire body.

A flicker of white moved ahead of her and a giggle echoed down the hall bringing the sweet smell of cotton candy and a variety of fruit. She wasn't alone after all, and this thrilled her.

"Hey, wait up!" she called and ran to catch up with the other little girl. A dead end greeted her. She stopped and sighed before turning to go back the way she came. To Holly's surprise, the hallway no longer existed. Before her stood a wall with a floor-length mirror.

Behind her in the mirror was a room filled with toys and treasure. A table filled with rich foods and golden cups enticed her. Amazed, Holly waved her hand in front of the mirror and smiled nervously. Her reflection, however, did not mimic her movement. Instead, it waved her forward as if inviting her to join. Holly took a step backward. She wanted to leave, but the doppelganger waved its hands begging her not to flee.

Holly frowned and did not move forward. She squeezed Emily in her arms considering what to do. On one hand, her reflection shouldn't move on its own, but on the other hand, it reminded her of Peter Pan's shadow. The reflection stomped her foot impatiently and waved more forcefully than before. It gestured to all of the enticing things behind it before placing one hand against the glass. It smiled freshly and motioned again for her to come. Maybe her reflection needed to be reattached to her like Peter Pan's shadow.

With a smile, Holly agreed and pressed her hand against the ice-cold mirror where the doppelganger's hand rested. She felt a sudden pressure grasp her hand and pull at her. The world turned black. Holly cried out.

* * *

"Wake up, child."

Holly's eyes opened to an amazing white light that engulfed her. She focused and realized it was actually a woman, radiant with light. She was the most beautiful woman Holly had ever seen and had a heart-shaped face with smooth, milky skin. The woman seemed to float while her hair and clothing moved as if she was under water.

"My key. You found it," the woman said. Her voice delightful and rich, which made Holly feel sleepy. Holly shook her head as though she wanted to clear her mind.

"Your key?"

"Yes, my darling child. The emerald key. You've got it don't you?"

Holly reached into her pocket and grasped the key, but did not remove it.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she asked. A smile spread slowly across the woman's face.

"I am Alora. You are in my prison."

Holly took a step backwards at this news. She stumbled over a golden helmet next to a pile of gold coins, which knocked loose a shiny metal serving plate. With all the treasure, the room shone so bright it stung her eyes.

"Y... your prison?" she asked and took a step back.

"Oh no no no, child. Don't be frightened. When I say prison, I mean that I was trapped here by an evil, cruel witch. She made it so I would have to stay here forever. Alone."

Alora glided forward, closing the space between herself and Holly. As she approached, the coins shifted again and moved the serving plate in her direction. Holly caught a glimpse of something dark reflecting in the plate, but Alora hissed suddenly and batted it away. Holly jumped with fright at the outburst. Maybe the woman had seen it too, she thought.

Alora composed herself and moved closer. "She also put a curse on me for being so beautiful. It's too painful to see myself anymore."

"Why would she do that?"

"She was jealous, I suppose," Alora replied with a flippant tone.

Holly took another tiny step back as she scanned the room for an exit.

"My key," Alora said. "You have it. Will you give it to me?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Holly replied. She tightened her grip around the key. There was something about the way Alora looked at her with eyes that seemed to devour her.

The woman huffed. "What would you know? It's not like you have been trapped here for hundreds of years. Now, hand it over." She held out her hand.

Holly thought for a long time. There wasn't any way out of the room that she could see, and there was no way she would give up the key. Over Alora's shoulder, Holly saw a wooden trap door in the ceiling. The only place she hadn't looked before. She spotted the same Celtic design carved in its wood as the first trapdoor had.

"What is there to think about?" Alora barked.

"I um... uhh." Holly moved backwards and around the table in an attempt to make her way over to what she hoped was the way out.

"Come child. Give me my key!" Alora was almost twice her original height and seemed to grow larger the angrier she became. Holly knew she would have to be quick. Her eyes darted everywhere looking for something to help protect herself. Then she saw it. The shiny metal plate that caused Alora to retreat.

The woman must have seen her contemplate it because she pounced on Holly when she dived to retrieve it. They struggled together, Alora clawing at her legs and Holly thrashing them to kick her away.

"Give me my key!" the woman yelled. Holly grabbed for the golden helmet and smashed it into Alora's head. Disoriented, the woman let her go long enough to reach the reflective platter. Holly rolled out of the woman's grasp and onto the floor. As Alora recovered and whirled on her, Holly held the plate up like a shield.

Alora recoiled. She let out a ground-shaking screech and Holly used this opportunity to leap onto the table. Her boots crushed the sugary treats and she ran for the trap door. With a hop, she yanked the key from her pocket, jammed it into the lock, and twisted. It opened into blackness as it had before. Holly took one more look at Alora, who screamed and clawed at her own face, then pulled herself into the darkness.

* * *

With the emerald key in one hand and Emily in the other, Holly dropped onto her bed from the ceiling. She panted and remained on her back watching the Celtic designed trapdoor disappear until her mother entered the room.

"What is going on in here?" she asked with a smile. Holly smiled at her mother, happy to be home.

"Just playing."

"Where did you find that?" her mother said and pointed at the key. "It's a lovely key. You should put it on a chain. Come with me and we'll go get one."

Holly didn't answer as her mother left. She contemplated whether or not she could return to Alora and the secret prison, then got to her feet to follow her mother out of the room. Emily sat on her bed and watched her leave.

About the Author

N.R. Wick writes fiction for young adults and children. She loves all things magical, fantastical, and supernatural, especially if it's dark. N.R. Wick has her Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and teaches adult education. She currently lives with her husband, Andrew, in the Kansas City area, where they enjoy legendary KC BBQ on a regular basis.

Discover other titles by N.R. Wick at NRWick.com

# Mr. Kent's Wall of Wonders - A Troubled Tweens Series Short Story

By D.D. Roy

Each year, Mr. Kent dreaded this day most of all.

It wasn't really the report that was due. The forms were easy to fill in now that headquarters had sent him the ScanBot 5000, which made categorizing all his magical items quite simple.

His problem waited in Cabinet 11. He faced the wall of doors, each a different color. They varied from the largest, which held a flying bicycle (the girl who eventually wrote the movie E.T. had lived near him as a boy and caught Mr. Kent riding it one night in front of the full moon), to the smallest, barely the size of a ring box, which held a small rock from Mars.

The bell rang, and he stood near the window watching the students of Trinity hurry by. He spotted Jinnie first, jostled among the faster students, lost in thought. No doubt she was hearing or sensing a dozen colliding wishes among the middle schoolers, all ringing inside her head for attention. She'd described it as a buzzing feeling, like when you rode in a car that vibrated really hard, making your stomach quiver. She'd gotten used to it, and now it didn't make her feel sick, but the sensation still made it hard for her to focus on anything else.

Soon he saw Maddy and her twin sister Grace. Maddy stomped down the sidewalk, shoving people out of the way. She wore her crazy striped tights as usual. No doubt some teacher would be sending her to the office at some point during the day.

Grace stepped daintily through the crowd, hugging other girls and smiling at everyone. Mr. Kent chuckled to himself. Grace glanced at the window and waved. She pointed at her wrist. He had loaned her a bright red bangle bracelet with a smiley face painted on it. She nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Good, that meant it was working.

Grace had a tendency to cry too much, and sometimes her bright smile was really hiding a deep and powerful sorrow. The enchanted bangle had the ability to cheer up anyone who wore it. You just had to tap the smiley face twice and think of one good thing that had happened to you. The happiness of that moment would then spread to your whole body, and any temporary sadness faded away.

Mr. Kent returned to his desk, shoving aside the normal school papers to reveal his report parchment. He no longer had to fill it out with a quill and ink, thank goodness, but the organization of the checkboxes had not changed in a hundred years, far before his time.

His door burst open, and Marcus flew into the room.

"Whatever's the matter?" Mr. Kent asked.

"I fixed something that should have stayed broken!" He laid a bright yellow whistle on the table and backed away as if it might explode.

Mr. Kent studied the plastic outer shell. It had been cracked at one point, he could see. "What's wrong with it?" He turned the mouthpiece toward him.

"Don't point it at your mouth!"

A horrifying shriek blasted from the whistle like the scream of a ghost. Mr. Kent cupped the whistle in his hands, trying to muffle the sound.

"See?" Marcus shouted.

"How long will it sound like this?" Mr. Kent yelled over the noise.

The piercing screech abruptly ended.

"That long," Marcus said.

Principal Bower hurtled into the room, looking every direction at once. "What was that? Who is hurt? Should we call an ambulance?"

Mr. Kent kept the whistle tight in his palm. "Whatever do you mean?"

"That agonized sound I heard coming from here. Surely something fell on someone?" She studied Marcus and Mr. Kent, then glanced behind the desk.

"We're quite all right here," Mr. Kent said. "Perhaps it was the attendance office?"

Principal Bower backed slowly out of the room. "I'm not crazy. I heard that sound." She whirled and walked back into the hall.

Marcus sagged on the desk. "See?"

"Where did you get this?"

"Bruscilla threw it out the window of the bus after someone stepped on it. I figured it was Loki magic."

"Indeed." Mr. Kent didn't dare open his hands again but nodded toward a blue cabinet on his wall. "Can you get that for me?"

Marcus opened the small door, and Mr. Kent thrust the whistle inside. It attempted another shrill cry, but he slammed the cabinet shut.

"I didn't mean to fix it! I picked it up, and you know, I just did!"

Mr. Kent patted Marcus on the back. "You'll get control of that power soon, and you'll only fix things you intend to repair. Remember how Jinnie used to grant wishes haphazardly?"

"Boy do I." Marcus had gotten very sick after receiving ice cream he wished for as a joke.

"Now off to class. We'll attend to that whistle at our next Troubled Tween meeting. The girls might know what Bruscilla intended to use it for."

Marcus nodded, shifting his backpack on his shoulders. "See you later."

Never a dull moment at Trinity. The final bell sounded, so Mr. Kent closed the door, locking it with his special key that would temporarily erase the memory of anyone who tried to turn the knob. They would walk away without remembering why they wanted to visit, and he could finish his inventory uninterrupted.

ScanBot 5000

He moved to Cabinet 18, where he'd placed the ScanBot after it arrived two weeks ago. He itched to get started. How much easier it would be to just open each door and quickly scan the object inside. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to keep Cabinet 11 under control this year.

The mandarin orange door revealed the sleek silver machine, about the size of a flashlight and just as simple. One button turned the ScanBot on, and a second one activated the scanner. A small screen displayed the scan results.

He opened the red door to Cabinet 1. Inside was a pair of magical dice. Despite appearing normal in every way, white cubes with black dots, no matter how you rolled, you always got double sixes. They had been great fun at parties when he was a teenager but weren't very useful as battle magic. He aimed the ScanBot at the dice, pushed the red button, and a beam of light flashed as it captured the three-dimensional image. The screen lit up, showing a picture of the dice and the words, "Dice: 2. Rolls double sixes."

Cabinet 2 was empty, where the smiley bangle should go. He'd scan it later, at the Troubled Tween meeting.

Cabinet 3 held magical lip gloss. He aimed the machine at it and pressed the button. The pink tube, swiped from his older sister in 1967, appeared on the screen. "Lip gloss: 1. Seals lips closed for approximately six minutes."

He laughed to himself, remembering when Keira had planned to tattle on him because he'd snuck out the night before to ride his flying bicycle. He'd enchanted the lip gloss to keep her from being able to tell his parents, but she was smarter than that, ripping a page from her notebook and writing it down. She had known about his power to add magic to everyday objects, but his parents had never been told.

He'd almost forgotten the jump rope inside Cabinet 4. The machine captured the image, pausing a moment to figure out its magic. "Jump rope: 1. Provides invisibility while activated." No one ever used the jump rope, as you were only invisible while you were jumping. He'd used it to sneak into a parent-teacher meeting at school, to see what they were saying about him. But of course, he'd tripped and as soon as the rope stopped skipping, he was visible again. Grounded two weeks. He should have made an invisible hat or something easy. He'd only been nine then. He got smarter about it later.

In the Mood

Cabinet 5 held one of his favorites, a small velvet box with a mood ring inside. He tugged the silver scallop ring out, cradling it in his palm. He'd made the ring very shortly before his powers had left him when he was thirteen, during the period when he had frantically tried to make sure he had everything he needed to get him through a lifetime as a non-magical person.

The ring turned the usual colors for regular people, but if you had abilities, whether you knew it or not, the ring would become clear. He'd last used it on Jinnie. The ring was his way of knowing who he was dealing with as he was growing up, and now, as a counselor and regional advisor, he used it to help young people recognize their abilities. He scanned it quickly and moved on to Cabinet 6.

He opened the pink cabinet to reveal an old-fashioned Polaroid picture that appeared to be faded to black. Mr. Kent held his breath a moment. Such a powerful object, one of the most impressive items he'd ever enchanted. He lifted it from the shelf, afraid to stare into its dark rectangle.

The image began to develop color and light. It showed him kneeling on the ground by Principal Bower, who had fainted dead away on the ground. Marcus stood behind her, looking shocked. Mr. Kent burst out laughing and quickly scanned the Polaroid with the bot. "Polaroid Photograph: 1," the screen read. "Provides a snapshot of the viewer's life if they changed their very last decision."

Mr. Kent had chosen to lie to Principal Bower about the whistle, not the best policy, but the only option he could think of on short notice. The Polaroid showed what would have happened if he had made a different decision, one to tell her about the magic whistle. The image darkened back to black, awaiting the next person to look at it. He returned it to its cabinet.

He opened Cabinet 7 and immediately groaned. Now THAT had been a life changing enchantment. He'd used the slinky dozens of times. When you stretched it out, it made you super-humanly tall, so you could look in windows, climb up trees, or crawl on roofs. He'd used it so much that one time, when he'd stretched himself up to reach a kite in a tree, it had sprung and broken before collapsing all the way back down. This was why now, as an adult, he was still over seven feet tall.

He held the slinky, afraid to let it move even an inch. Marcus could fix it, he was certain, and use it to return himself to normal size. He looked down at the ground, imagining it much closer, and at his six-foot desk, which could be cut back down. Nah. He scanned the slinky and set it back inside its door. He was used to his height now. No use changing one of the things that made him unique.

A knock at his door startled him. He glanced at the magical key, still in the lock. "Mr. Kent?" a voice said. The principal again. "I have a student to see you."

Mr. Kent covered his hand with his sleeve so he could turn the knob without knocking out his own memory. Outside, Mrs. Bower waited with a wiggly young boy, probably a third grader.

"Can it wait until later today?" he asked. "I'm in the middle of an urgent report."

"I'm afraid not."

Mr. Kent sighed. "Can you turn that knob for me, Mrs. Bower? I think it's stuck."

"Well, okay." She grasped the brass knob then immediately let it go. She shook her head. "Why, hello, Mr. Kent! I came down the hall to—" She paused. "To do something." She looked down at the boy. "What are you doing here? Hustle to class now!"

The boy's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Go on," Mr. Kent said.

The boy dashed down the hall and through the office doors.

The principal frowned, still confused. "Thank you," she said absently and turned back down the hall.

He closed the door and leaned on it. Still so many cabinets to go. Some fifty in all. And that pesky number 11. The door to number 11 was brick red, menacing. Maybe he could skip it somehow. No doubt the moment he opened the door, even a crack, it would escape. If only this report was due during the summer, when he didn't have to worry about students in the halls if it got loose.

He returned to Cabinet 8. Inside a black handkerchief lay neatly folded. He couldn't resist and tugged it out, setting the ScanBot down a moment. He made a fist with his left hand and covered it with the fabric square. Immediately all the lights in the building went out. Someone shouted from the next room. When he lifted the handkerchief away, the light returned. Such a great trick. He did it once more, then scanned it into inventory and placed it back on the shelf.

Cabinet 9 was enormous, on the bottom, almost as big as the one next to it, 10, which held the bicycle. He opened the square door to reveal a red and white hula hoop. Again, he couldn't help himself, laughing out loud as he pulled it out and stepped inside. As it began to spin around his waist, the room changed. The cabinets turned brown again, dull and ordinary. The desk shrunk back to normal size. The moon and star mobile hanging in the center of the room disappeared. Another man sat at the desk, surrounded by papers and a very old-fashioned telephone. He wore a funny wool suit and a little red bow tie. The calendar on the wall behind him read 1942.

The other man looked up, saw Mr. Kent, and stood. "Hey, who are you?"

Mr. Kent whirled the hula hoop faster and now the walls fell away. He stood on a construction site, steel girders surrounding him. Men in overalls unloaded brick from a big truck with a wooden bed, the kind he'd only seen in movies.

A worker shouted, "Mind yer heads!" A big steel beam came right for his face!

Mr. Kent ducked and disrupted the spin of the hula hoop. It clattered to the ground and the scene quickly righted itself back to present day, the colored cabinets and his oversized desk. He stepped out of the hula hoop and scanned it. Sometime he'd have to take this toy home to find out the history of his house.

He opened Cabinet 10 and quickly scanned the bicycle. Too bad he could never take it for a spin, but after the slinky incident, it was miles too small for him to pedal fast enough to fly. If he'd known Jinnie would be riding to Bruscilla's house when she tried to retrieve her stolen wish from the magic thieves, he would have loaned her this one.

Now it was time for 11. Maybe he should skip it. If only the report wasn't due so soon! But rules were rules. It had to be submitted during daylight on the 22nd of May, every year. On good years, this was a weekend, but not this time.

He took a deep breath and turned the dial of the combination lock that kept Cabinet 11 protected. He readied the scanner and cracked open the door. He pushed the end of the machine in and pressed the button then slammed the door shut.

The ScanBot bleeped a warning. "Scan failed" the display read.

Curses. He opened the door again, bracing his knee against it, and aimed the bot inside. Thumping noises startled him but he held the door tight.

Magic on the Loose

An image appeared on screen, turning in three dimensions. "Pogo stick: 1. Able to hop entire structures and achieve super sonic speeds exceeding—"

Mr. Kent fell back on the floor as the pogo stick knocked hard against the door and flung it open.

The stick sprung against the floor and smashed against the ceiling, knocking a hole in the plaster. Bits of white rained on Mr. Kent's head as he scrambled back up. The pogo stick lunged for the door, and Mr. Kent grasped for it, tumbling forward to catch himself on the doorknob.

The door opened wide and the pogo stick made a break for the hallway. Mr. Kent let go of the doorknob, puzzled. Why had he opened the door? What had he just been doing?

He glanced down at the ScanBot in his hand. Something to do with the cabinets. He saw the display with the image of the pogo stick at the same time he heard a scream from the main office. Cabinet 11! He turned back to it and saw the open door and loose lock. It had escaped!

He dropped the ScanBot on a chair and ran down the hall. The students in the office sat shocked, the secretary standing over the long front desk with her mouth open.

"Rogue pogo," Mr. Kent said. "Mechanical remote control thing." He ran out in the main hall just as the pogo launched itself into the ceiling again, this time getting entangled in the "Welcome to Trinity" banner. Mr. Kent caught up to it, holding out his arms in hopes of snatching it. If he could get on the darn thing, he could steer it back to his office. It wasn't easy, as he was too tall for it, but he'd done it before.

The metal pole crashed in front of him, and he managed to get his hands around the handles before it took off again. He realized his mistake as soon as it sprung up again, his head going straight for the concrete ceiling.

He angled the bars and leaned forward, neatly flipping as they went up so that the bottom of the pogo hit up top. Now they were hurtling toward the floor. Mr. Kent let go before he smashed into the tile, rolling into the wall. The pogo took off for the atrium.

A bell rang and students spilled out of the room. This was a disaster. He chased after the pogo, shouting, "Back away! Remote control machine gone batty!"

Maddy and Grace caught up to him. "What can we do?"

The pogo appreciated the height of the main entrance, where stairs led to a second floor, bouncing up and down in place. Shocked students lined the staircases, watching it.

The three of them stood away from the crowd to discuss their options. "Do you think my power works on a machine?" Grace asked.

Mr. Kent watched the silver stick, considering this. "Have you ever calmed down anything but people?"

"She hasn't," Maddy said. "But it's worth a shot."

"I don't know," Mr. Kent said. "This thing is pretty dangerous. If it gets outside, it can jump entire buildings."

Jinnie ran up and set her books on the floor. "I can help. That thing might be a thing, but it has enough personality to have a wish."

"What can that thing want?" Maddy said. "It's a bunch of metal and a spring."

"Isn't it obvious?" Grace said. "It wants freedom."

"That's the one thing it isn't going to get," Mr. Kent said.

"Nope," Jinnie said. "What it wants is a rider."

"I'm up for it," Grace said. "Just tell me what to do."

"I'm going to grant the wish," Jinnie said. "Just make sure you're the rider it gets."

"It won't know what hit it," Maddy said. "You could calm Genghis Khan into a having a tea party."

Jinnie and Grace inched forward. The pogo seemed to sense the encroachment on its territory and began to bounce faster, inching toward the glass panes surrounding the front entrance.

"Act fast," Grace said. "It's planning to bust out of here."

Jinnie stared at the pogo. "I got it," she said. "I feel the buzz."

"Be careful," Mr. Kent said. "It's pretty erratic."

"Any idea how this is going to work?" Grace asked.

"None," Jinnie said. "Just get as close as you can."

Grace edged up to the pogo again. The bouncing intensified.

Jinnie put her hands over her ears and shouted, "NOW!"

Grace jumped for the pogo stick, gliding through the air and landing perfectly on the footrests. But her hands couldn't catch the handlebars, so she awkwardly wrapped her arms around the center pole.

"Grab it with your hands!" Maddy shouted. "You have to hold it!"

Grace struggled with the pogo stick, which seemed to want to buck her off.

"I though it WANTED a rider," Maddy said.

"It does," Jinnie said, "It just isn't used to them."

Grace managed to move up the pole and clasped her hands around the t-bar. The pogo stick made one last lunge, then its bouncing slowed. "I got it," Grace said, laughing. "It's working like normal now!"

"Bring it back to my office," Mr. Kent said. "Take it easy, not too high."

The students parted to allow Grace through as she hopped down the hallway and back to the main office. "I'm going to let it stretch its legs a bit," Grace said. They zigzagged down the hallway.

"If that pogo could laugh, I think it would," Maddy said.

But Mrs. Bower stepped in their path, hands on her hips. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded "You've disrupted the entire school day!"

"Sorry, no time to explain," Mr. Kent called. "Come, Grace, to the office!" He led them down the narrow corridor. "Steady, now, watch the door."

Grace steered the pogo into the office.

"Get as close to that open cabinet as you can, then we'll toss it inside," Mr. Kent said.

Grace gripped the handlebars more tightly, forcing the pogo to slow to tiny little hops. Mr. Kent opened the door wide. "On the count of three, jump off and push it in. Ready? One. Two. THREE!"

Grace flung the pogo stick into the cabinet, where it immediately smashed itself into the top wall. Mr. Kent slammed the door shut and rapidly closed the lock.

"Whew!" he said. "Grace, you really saved the day."

"What did you let that thing out for?" she asked.

"Inventory," he said. "Once a year."

Mrs. Bower filled the doorway, scowling and angry. "Will someone please explain this situation to ME?"

Mr. Kent, Grace, Maddy, and Jinnie all looked at each other.

"I think we're busted," Maddy said.

"I'll say you are!" Principal Bower said. "All of you, in my office!"

They walked past her into the hallway. Principal Bower looked back in the office as if to see if they'd left any evidence that could be used against them.

"What are we going to do?" Grace whispered. "We can't tell her about the magic."

"Don't worry about a thing," Mr. Kent said. "Mrs. Bower, would you mind closing my door?"

And Mrs. Bower grasped the doorknob. She let go as if she'd been shocked and shook her head. "What are you girls doing out of class?"

Maddy caught on immediately. "We had to deliver a note to Mr. Kent."

"Well, hurry along!"

Mr. Kent motioned for the girls to move down the hall. "That's right, girls. See you after school. And thank you!"

Mrs. Bower pressed her fingers to her forehead. "I can't remember a thing lately."

"You should take more B vitamins." He returned to his office, careful to use his sleeve on the knob.

Whew. He picked up the ScanBot again. Still almost forty objects to scan, but the worst was over. He squinted at the sun outside his window. Plenty of time to get it done.

About the Author

D.D. Roy wrote her first story "Blackie and the Garbage Dump Dogs" when she was in elementary school. As a teen, she tried to destroy her little hand-made books, but if you get a chance to meet D.D.'s mom, she will whip out the one surviving copy, still to D.D.'s total embarrassment.

D.D.'s iPad/iPhone storybook app for children, Dust Bunnies: Secret Agents, will be released by Polycot Labs in 2012. Jinnie Wishmaker is her first novel for middle grade readers. Visit her blog for behind-the-scenes looks at the Trouble Tweens.

Read an excerpt from D.D. Roy's Jinnie Wishmaker.

# The Ghost of Vernon Avenue

By Jean Cross

Introduction: This tale is based on a story my mother told me about her childhood. It is set in Dublin, Ireland probably in the late nineteen thirties. My mother's name is Ann.

Ann O'Reilly led her friend down the stone steps to the large basement where the O'Reilly children played and congregated with their friends when inclement weather rendered outdoor games impossible. Even on gray days, light from the short, high windows hit the dark wood paneling on the walls rendering it less somber, and the expansive stone floor was an ideal surface for spinning tops and skipping with long ropes. It was a great place to bring friends. But not somewhere Ann ventured at night, not on her own anyway.

Elly Farnham stopped at the bottom of the steps and took a lingering look around. She had never seen the place at twilight. It was very different in dim light.

"It's over here, Elly," Ann beckoned from the other side of the large room. She was already removing a panel. Elly Farnham joined her friend as the second panel was taken from its fittings. She peeked into the dark space behind the wall and could not tell if it was large or small.

"This is where you hide?" she asked.

"Yeah, one of us gets in there and we board it up again. Then we bring someone in and tap on the wall and call the ghost. It usually scares the bejesus out of them."

"And Dick is bringing someone in tonight?"

"Yeah, Dan Breen. Dan says there are no such things as ghosts and even if there were, he wouldn't be afraid of them. He says he would just walk up to a ghost and poke it and tell it he wasn't afraid. Dick is bringing him in after tea, at seven o'clock. Do you want to come?"

"Oh yes! Absolutely."

Ann removed the third and final panel and Elly was able to crawl in, though she chose to venture just a little. She could see no discernable boundaries.

"How big is it in there?" she asked, returning to the solid floor of the basement.

"Just big enough to hide a person," Ann replied as she began to replace the wood.

"I can't wait until seven o'clock!" Elly exclaimed. Then she had an absolutely brilliant idea.

"Can I be the ghost Ann? Can I be the ghost, please? I'd love to be the ghost."

Her friend considered the proposal.

"Gerald usually does it. He's very good," she said

"But I could be a great ghost, listen to this," she began to make a low droning noise.

"Wooo, wooo, wooo," she continued, crinkling her fingers in front of her.

"All right Elly, you can be the ghost tonight. But you have to be here by a quarter to seven, so I can put you inside and you have to promise to stay inside on your own until we bring Dan Breen in."

She looked at her friend and waited for confirmation.

"I will. I will. I promise," Elly promised.

"Elly! Elly Farnham!" Ann's older brother Gerald stood at the top of the stairs.

"Sinead is at the door. She says you're to come home for your tea. It's on the table."

Elly turned to go immediately.

"I'll be back at a quarter to," she promised as she passed Gerald and left for her own house and her tea. The boy raised a finger to the bridge of his round spectacles and pushed gently to resettle the things on his none. Then he sauntered down the stairs.

"Our tea is just ready too," he said. "Mammy is looking for you."

"I'll only be a minute," Ann replied as she replaced the third panel.

"Elly Farnham wants to be the ghost tonight, when Dick brings Dan Breen in," she told him.

"Really?" he said, imagining Elly Farnham waiting in the dark space he usually occupied before the ghost was conjured.

Unlike Elly Farnham, Gerald O'Reilly knew the parameters of the space behind the panels intimately. He knew exactly how many children could hide in there. He knew there was ample room for two.

"I have an idea," he said.

* * *

Elly Farnham showed up at twenty to seven. Ann had already secured an ivory candle on an old saucer. She lit the candle at the top of the stone stairs and led the way down. As they crossed the floor in silence Elly was increasingly mindful of the changed nature of the room. There was no light from outside. Illumination from the lit wick barely seemed to reach the dark, heavy walls.

"You won't be long, will you?" Elly asked as her friend began to remove the paneling.

"No. I won't be long. I'll bring them straight in. Remember to stay really, really quiet until you hear me call for the ghost."

Elly nodded. Ann lifted the third panel out. It was time. Elly looked inside. Then she turned again to her friend.

"Ann, are you sure you won't be long?"

"I promise."

Elly Farnham climbed into the pitch dark hole in the wall. Ann O'Reilly replaced the panels.

"OK in there?" she asked, tapping on the wood.

"Hurry," came the faint reply.

"I'm going to get Dick and Dan," Ann assured, but she did not leave the basement. Instead she waited.

On the other side of the wall Elly Farnham turned on her hunkers and groped with an outstretched arm. She was hoping to find a solid reassuring boundary, but there was nothing solid within her reach save the cold gravelly floor and the rough side of the paneling. She thought of edging further into the space but she did not want to move even a little from the entrance. She knelt and sat back on her knees and crossed her arms holding her shoulders high and tight as she waited in the dark and listened intently for the return of her friend. Then she heard it. A scratching sound, as if something had moved on the floor behind her. She froze. Wide eyed, she listened. There was no other sound, but she knew something was in there with her. Terror rose inside her. She opened her mouth wide, but no sound emerged. Then something pulled gently on the green ribbon in her hair. The scream came. It was full and piercing.

"Get me out! Get me out! Get me out! Sweet Mother of Jesus, get me out. Get me out!" She began to bang at the paneling repeatedly with her fists all the while crying out for release.

"Elly, it's OK. It's only me!" Gerald tried to reassure. But it was useless.

Ann was already working on the paneling, her quick fingers finding the familiar lifting positions automatically as she too tried to comfort her friend.

"Elly, it's just Gerald. It's just Gerald."

Ann removed the second panel and the girl slumped out gasping. When the third one was out of the way, she scrambled onto the floor of the basement. Gerald climbed out behind her and crossed the room to the light switch. The illumination changed everything.

Elly Farnham looked around taking it all in. The stairs, the door at the top, the now black windows, a discarded skipping rope strewn on the floor. A book shelf with some well thumbed monthly editions of adventure and derring-do. The gas meter in the corner. She was back. She pulled herself to her feet and looked at the friend who had conspired to set her up.

"That was great!" she declared.

Ann O'Reilly smiled, let out a big sigh of relief and looked to her brother.

"Well," he said polishing one of the glasses in his spectacles with a white handkerchief, "I better get back in. It's nearly seven. Dick will be here with his friend any minute."

"It's all right. I told him to wait in the garden till I came to get him," Ann assured. "But we better get set up."

Then Elly Farnham surprised the pair.

"Can I do it? Please, it was supposed to be me."

Ann checked silently with Gerald.

"I don't mind," he said.

* * *

Ann and her brother walked half way down their large garden and stopped. At first they could see neither their young brother Dick nor his friend, Dan Breen. This was not because neither of them were present but because of the throng of little children which Dick had gathered to hear the ghost. "Dick!" Ann called to summon the ring leader. He emerged from the crowd flanked by Dan Breen.

"C'mon," she said, "bring Dan in."

"They're all coming," Dick replied. "They all want to hear the ghost." Ann and Gerald shared another glance.

"All right," she said. "But tell them all to be quiet."

Dick O'Reilly led Dan Breen and a hushed multitude of small children behind his older sister and brother. The silent snake of children left the dewy grass and negotiated the silhouette of the concrete shed near the house, then it filed into O'Reillys' through the side door.

Not a word was uttered as the troop descended the stone stairs to the candle lit basement, which was all but filled by the throng. The only sound to be heard was that of settling as little feet shuffled to find their place when those in front of them stopped. Soon they were all in and stillness descended on the gathering. Dan Breen had not left Dick's side. Ann looked over the hushed crowd. Then she raised her candle high eliciting several audible gasps from the multitude. Little fingers began to find each other as friends drew close. Ann turned to the wall. There was a definite ripple of anticipation as she tapped three times and then called out, "Ghost, ghost, are you there? Are you there?"

For a moment none of the visitors dared even to breath. All eyes were on the wooden wall.

"Wooo, wooo I'm here. I'm...." Elly Farnham started from behind the paneling.

Pandemonium erupted in an instant and the scramble to get out of the basement was accompanied by screaming and crying and flailing of little limbs. Dan Breen was among those calling for his mother as he fought his way to the stairs. The three O'Reillys stood and stared with satisfaction at the spectacle in their basement as Elly Farnham continued to utter guttural ghostly moans from her secret hiding place.

* * *

It was a long time before Ann O'Reilly could pass unmolested on Vernon Avenue or any of its adjoining roads. To set foot outside of her own garden was to risk the ire of someone's mother. She didn't even know some of the women who accosted her, as their children where friends of Dick's and far too young to interest her. Mass was a nightmare for weeks and if summoned by her mother to go to the shop at the end of the road, she would run all the way there and all the way home least she fall foul of the ever waving fingers.

The ghost of Vernon Avenue never made another sound, but to this day a dusty green ribbon lies on the floor in the dark space behind the wall paneling in the basement of what used to be home to the O'Reillys, when they lived in Woodside, Vernon Avenue, Clontarf, Dublin.

About the Author

Jean Cross lives in the beautiful county of Mayo in the West of Ireland. Her cottage is so small that she can vacuum all of it from one socket. As yet she has written one book, The Boots of Saint Felicity. This adventure is set in Splickety Village and you can visit it, have a look around, meet some of the people and read the local newspaper at http://thebootsofsaintfelicity.com

Read an excerpt from Jean Cross' The Boots of Saint Felicity.

#  Grunge is the New Cool

By Tess Oliver

Amy laced up her new riding boots. She stood and nodded with approval at her spectacularly clad feet. So far, her first day at summer camp had been perfect. She'd managed to land the stack of pancakes with the most maple syrup, her cabin had a great view of the boys' camp, and she'd won the coin toss for the top bunk. But the real test of the day was still to come, and it had nothing to do with pancakes or bunk beds. In a few minutes, Amy would find out which horse would be hers for the week. Everyone wanted Silky. Silky was a beautiful palomino with a thick, white mane and luxurious tail. Anyone looked good sitting on Silky.

Megan walked in from breakfast clean-up duty. Her mouth dropped open. "Are those your new boots? I'm jealous." She tromped over to her bunk, slid out her duffle bag, and rummaged through her clothes. With a sigh she pulled out a pair of red cowboy boots.

Amy fought to hold back a grin. "Didn't you wear those—"

"On Halloween?" Megan finished for her. "Yes, they were part of my costume." She sat down hard on her bunk. "It's so humiliating. And worst of all, they don't actually fit."

Amy came and sat next to her. "I do seem to remember you tripping over your feet a couple of times at Jen's costume party."

Megan reached in and pulled a rolled-up sock out of the toe of the boot. "I've got to stuff the toes so they stay on my feet." She flopped back on the bed. "My life sucks."

"Come on, Megan, they're not that bad," Amy said. "And once you're in the saddle, you won't have to worry about tripping."

Amy couldn't wait to ride. She'd taken lessons all year, and she was determined to leave Kaitlyn Archer, the camp big shot, eating her trail dust. Amy imagined herself cantering confidently down the trail on fabulous Silky. She'd imagined herself waving and flashing a confident smile at the boys as they stopped their soccer game to stare in awe as she floated by.

Megan slipped on her boots and frowned down at them. "I guess I'm ready. With my luck, I'll probably end up with Patch. He's the perfect horse for my hideous boots." Patch was a squat, brown horse with a shabby coat and a splash of white on his butt. One of his ears had a small chink taken out of it. Patch was grunge on four legs. And that was not the worst thing about the horse. He was mean.

Amy slipped her a sympathetic smile, and they bounded down the cabin steps.

The soft snorts of horses and the warm, earthy smell of the barn area greeted them as they reached the corral.

Amy hopped up on tiptoes to peer over the white fence of the paddock. "There's Silky," she sighed. The mare was nibbling tiny patches of grass until the horse next to her swung its head at her with pinned ears and bared teeth. It was Patch. "I see Patch is still suffering from his personal space issues. My new shoes are going to bring me luck, Megan. You watch. I'm going to ride Silky this week."

"Ha! Fat chance." Kaitlyn walked by with her fawning entourage. She, too, wore new riding boots. They were the tall, sleek black boots.

"Those boots would look really good on someone with long legs," Amy called to her.

Megan laughed behind her hand. "Hey, they're picking names."

Amy closed her eyes tightly and clenched her hands into fists. "Please, please, please let it be Silky," she whispered. She was not sure how long she'd stood there with closed eyes, but by the time she'd opened them, seven of the girls had already been matched with horses. Only Silky, Patch, and Ole Molly remained.

"Megan Fisher," the camp leader called out, "you will ride Ole Molly."

"Figures." Megan's shoulders slumped as she plodded toward the swayback horse standing at the mounting block.

"At least it isn't Patch," Amy called after her trying to sound enthusiastic. Poor Megan, Amy thought. Then it dawned on her. Only Silky and Patch were left. She scanned the corral. The only other girl without a horse was Kaitlyn. Amy's stomach climbed into her throat. This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for all year. Silky was hers. She clicked the heels of her boots together hoping they would bring a little magic.

"Amy Walker," the counselor called out her name, and Amy swallowed hard. "You will be riding Patch." She froze in disappointment. How could that be? Kaitlyn squealed as if she had just won a beauty pageant, and Amy had received the crappy runner-up award.

Amy shuffled in a cloudy haze of disbelief to the mounting block. Kaitlyn raced ahead to Silky. Amy's new boots felt like lead weights as she dragged herself up the steps of the block.

Becky, the lady who ran the stables, was wearing her red checked cowboy shirt and white straw hat. She smiled at Amy. "So you're the lucky girl who gets to ride Patch this week."

Was she being sarcastic? How could she be so mean? "I'm the lucky one all right," Amy muttered.

"You sure are. In his younger days, Patch was a star. This old guy could chase down a calf faster than any horse twice his size."

Amy plopped herself into the saddle and stared down at Patch's neck. There were several bald places where he'd rubbed his mane out. His damaged ear looked like someone had forgotten to put the last piece in the pony puzzle.

"You let Patch know who's boss right from the start," Becky advised.

The string of horses fell automatically into a single file line. Naturally, Patch and Ole Molly dropped to the end of the pack. Amy could see the satiny sheen of Silky's mane up near the front of the group.

Even though she was stuck with Patch, Amy tried to enjoy the ride. The fields were covered with tiny yellow and purple wildflowers, and the sky was a rich shade of blue. The usual clump of afternoon clouds helped to cool the summer heat.

Amy was determined to pull herself out of her grouchy mood. After all, being at camp and riding a horse, any horse, was still better than watching her two younger brothers throw their smelly socks at each other as they fought over which video game to play.

The lead horse had picked up to a trot and Amy couldn't hold back a smile as Patch picked up his pace. She glanced back to see if Megan was all right. The only time she ever rode was at summer camp. She was bouncing all over the saddle, but she seemed to be having fun. Amy faced forward again and realized they were nearing the boys' camp. Some of the guys were out playing soccer. She could see Justin's tall, blond head amongst them. Amy had been in love with Justin Carter since the third grade. He'd only grown more in glorious cuteness since then. Then Amy reminded herself that she was sitting on grungy Patch at the back of the line and Justin would never notice her, especially with Kaitlyn and her fancy boots and beautiful horse leading the way.

The line of talkative girl riders grew quiet as they rode past the boys. The boys took a second from their soccer game to blow a few whistles and howls toward the girls. Amy could see Kaitlyn sitting tall and proud on Silky and felt like melting into the saddle. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy could see Justin's cloud of blond hair float down the field as he ran to kick the ball. Boom! The soccer ball shot up in the air, arced over the fence, and headed straight for the horses.

The horses lifted their heads in curiosity. Then the perfect line of horses scattered. Silky went straight up on her back legs, and Kaitlyn slid to the ground with a thump. The counselors were trying to calm the agitated animals and riders. Amy reached down and patted Patch's neck. While the other horses were freaking out, Patch stood calm like a steady warhorse.

Suddenly, Megan screamed. Ole Molly was trotting quickly across the field and away from the trail. Megan flopped around in the saddle like a rag doll.

"Sit back and pull the reins!" Amy shouted. But her friend was too scared.

Amy pulled Patch's head toward the field and kicked him into a lope. Patch seemed to know instinctively what they were doing. They rode up alongside of Ole Molly just as Megan lost her stirrup. Amy reached over and pulled back on Megan's reins. Both horses came to an abrupt halt. Megan's face was as pale as snow as she pushed her foot back into the stirrup. She gave Amy a silent look of thanks, and they walked back to the trail.

"You are a great rider," Megan said, her voice still shaky.

"Patch helped." Amy reached down and gave the horse a hearty rub. "I'm the luckiest girl at camp."

Amy and Patch led Megan and Ole Molly back to the others. The boys had lined up along the fence to watch the chaos they'd created.

Becky rode over to Megan. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Megan said with a tremble still in her voice. "Patch and Amy saved me."

Becky smiled at Amy. "They sure did." She reined her horse around and headed back up to the front of the line.

Amy glanced over at the boys. Justin was looking at her. "That was pretty cool, Amy," Justin called over the fence.

"Thanks." Amy leaned over and patted Patch's neck again. Those new boots had been magical after all.

About the Author

Tess Oliver is an author and teacher. She lives in California with her husband, kids, and a herd of spoiled pets. Tess loves horses, hiking, and fudge brownies. She's written a science book for Barron's Educational Publisher and also writes Young Adult fiction.

Read an excerpt from Tess Oliver's The Mortal Enemy List.

#  Starboard Academy - The Summer Before: Maddie's Story

By Laura Keysor

"Oh, wow! I can't believe it! Eeeee!" I couldn't contain my squeal of excitement as I read the cast list posted on the bulletin board hanging just inside the parlor of Orchard House. Squealing was not a normal thing for my level-headed self. I seriously sounded like Katie's five-year-old sister, Sophie, but I couldn't have cared less about how immature I sounded at the moment. I had actually gotten the part!

"Nice work!" Katie high-fived me while I squealed and brought her into a bouncing hug, totally unable to keep our feet on the ground as we celebrated my good news.

Emily, our other BFF since the 1st grade, heard our squeals and trotted down the staircase behind us. "What's going on?"

"Maddie got 'Jo'!" Katie yelped through the bouncing.

Emily smiled. "Uh... congrats," but I could tell something was off as she came up with the hurried excuse of being starved to death and made her way to the kitchen where we would be learning how to make corn cakes and flap jacks this morning for breakfast. I stopped bouncing, confused by our retreating friend. "That was weird."

"Seriously, weird. I wonder what's wrong." We watched as Emily rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. This really wasn't like Emily at all, and I was definitely worried about her strange behavior.

A confused sigh escaped me. There really wasn't much we could do about our friend except join her in the kitchen and try to be as fun and compassionate as possible. "C'mon Katie, let's go be Little Women," I said just a tad sarcastically, feeling much less enthusiastic than just moments before, and we scampered down the hallway to cheer Emily up.

We had read Little Women last year in school and the three of us had become obsessed with the book, the era of the Civil War, and the author, Louisa May Alcott. Orchard House was her home and she had written Little Women while living here with her own beloved sisters.

Katie's mom had done some digging for us and found out that Orchard House was just a half hour from our hometown in Massachusetts and signed the three of us up for a week long Little Women experience to be held here in the home that inspired the book. I would be leaving my home and my friends in a few weeks to start middle school aboard Starboard Academy, and I couldn't thank her enough for trying to make our last few weeks of summer together a memorable one.

Of course, I was excited to be going to Starboard Academy. I felt so incredibly lucky to be going to boarding school on a cruise ship and exploring the world with other kids my age, but I couldn't help feeling a little sad that I would be leaving Emily and Katie behind. I knew the school year wouldn't be the same without them, and I would miss them a ton. I gave Katie a little squeeze, hoping that she knew how much she and Emily really meant to me.

Emily was already picking out ingredients from the side table when we walked into the kitchen after her. She looked up, giving us a half-smile, "I have everything we need here," she said handing us a few of the ingredients we would need to make our breakfast.

We took the items and settled into cooking our meal. Katie, as usual, was cracking jokes to ease the tension we were feeling from Emily. I had no idea what was wrong, but Emily hadn't looked at me the entire time we had been cooking in the kitchen. Something was definitely up.

I reached over Emily to get the milk to pour into the batter. The butter on my fingers was a little more slick than I had thought it would be, and the glass of milk slipped through my fingers, spilling all over the front of Emily's muslin dress and down the apron tied around her waist. She was totally soaked.

Katie burst into laughter as Emily stood there completely shocked and wet. I fully expected Emily to join in Katie's laughter, and a fit of giggles erupted from me, but Emily still wasn't laughing. She looked at me and pursed her lips. Emily pursing her lips was never a good sign, and my giggles abruptly stopped while Katie's laughter faded as she saw the impending storm that was about to hit us.

"Awesome, Maddie, just awesome," Emily huffed as she dried herself with a towel. "You never care about what happens to me, and everything is always about how great your life is. Yeah, laugh. Who cares if I'm the one that gets soaked, just as long as it wasn't you, huh?"

I reeled back confused by her attack and blinked twice before replying thoughtfully, "Emily, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to spill on you," I apologized, "I thought we were just having fun, but we really shouldn't have laughed at you. I'm really, really sorry!"

"Yeah, me too, I shouldn't have laughed. I'm sorry, Emily," Katie interjected quickly.

Emily huffed again, "I need to change," and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving us gaping in shock behind her.

"Uh, what just happened?" Katie asked completely confused by Emily's angry reaction.

"I have no idea, but that's not like Emily at all."

Katie shook her head. "Yeah, totally not."

Shrugging my shoulders, I hoped Emily would be fine in a little while. Maybe we could do something to cheer her up, but it really didn't seem like she wanted my company at all. I was stumped.

* * *

"Does this look okay?" I was kind of freaking out. Okay, really freaking out. Tonight would be my first time dancing with a boy, and I wanted to look great. It would be Katie and Emily's first time too, and we had been frantically trying to make ourselves appear to be lovely young ladies of the 19th century for most of the afternoon. The dresses we were given to wear out of the costume closet were seriously amazing. Katie's dress was a robin egg blue satin and perfectly fit her happy, spunky personality. Emily had been given a pink taffeta dress to wear that was a little too big, but the costume matron had helped pin it to fit her better, and it ended up being totally cute. I had been given a light green dress with a bustle that I absolutely loved because it matched my eyes. Our hair had been curled and pinned up, and I had to admit we looked pretty good despite the freaked out state of my nerves.

"You've been standing in front of the mirror for like ten minutes freaking out. Seriously, you need to stop." Emily rolled her eyes. "You always look great. Does my dress look weird with it pinned like this?"

I shook my head and smiled at her reflection next to mine, "It's cute, I promise."

Even though it had been two days, Emily still wasn't my biggest fan. I had tried my best to pretend like everything was fine and ignore her attitude towards me after I had made her cookies to apologize. She just seemed more annoyed by the gesture rather than wanting to make up with me. I knew that there really wasn't much else I could do, except be the best friend I could be to her and hope that whatever was bothering Emily would just blow over soon.

We looked out the window from our room and were ecstatic to see that the grounds around Orchard House had been decorated and lit by tiny sparkling lights. The place looked amazing. There were orchestra musicians setting up to play the music instead of a DJ, and the entire backside of the house was flanked by table after table of punch and treats. The boys would soon be coming from their Civil War reenactment camp from across town to be our escorts to the ball and I was more than excited for the ball to begin.

We scampered down the stairs as daintily as we could in our excitement to meet our escorts. While we waited impatiently for the boys to show up, we talked nervously with the other girls on the front drive of Orchard House.

"Oh! They're here!" Katie gushed seeing a bus pull up and stop on the side of the road in front of the house.

"Wait, is that Matt Jackson?" Emily asked as the boys filed out of the bus. Matt Jackson was the cutest boy in our grade, and we all had a huge crush on him. How could we not? Emily though, had the biggest crush of us all and she was seriously head over heels for him. She clammed up every time he talked to us, and had been trying to overcome her shyness around him for the last year of school. She could, at least, now say hi to him without blushing.

The Orchard House Director, Ms. Walker, handed us our dance cards as we followed the boys behind the house where the ball was to be held. I opened the folded card and gasped, "I have Matt for the Waltz!"

Emily glared at me. "He's not on mine at all."

Uh oh, the storm was about to hit again, "Here, we can switch cards." I offered trying to calm my friend.

"Don't bother."

Emily stormed off around the corner and I ran after her with Katie following quickly behind. She had made it into the house and almost up the stairs when we caught up to her.

I grabbed her arm. "Emily, wait. What's wrong? You've been mad at me all week and we need to figure this out."

She turned around, yanking her arm from my grip. "Just forget it. Go have fun with Matt. I'm calling my mom to come get me. I don't want to be here anymore."

"What? Don't Emily!" Katie pleaded, "Will you just talk to us? Please?"

Emily sighed and shrugged. "Fine."

"Okay, so why are you so mad at me?" I asked.

"Isn't it obvious? You get everything handed to you, and I don't ever get anything at all when you're around."

Her confession stung, but I could kind of see where she was coming from. I had gotten the part of Jo for the play, true, and I did have a dance card that included Matt's name for a dance and she didn't, but it seemed like what she was talking about had started before those things had actually happened. It was like getting the part of Jo was the last straw and she had just been tolerating me since then.

"Okay, I can kind of see that, and I'm sorry I haven't been more sensitive to you and your feelings when I get things. I don't want our friendship to be a competition."

"I know. I don't either. It just seems like you've been getting everything you've wanted since finding out that you'll be going to Starboard Academy instead of staying here with us. Like, all your dreams are coming true and you're leaving us behind without a second thought."

Oh, wow. This was deeper than I had thought. "Emily, I'm not going to forget you guys. You're my best friends!"

"Well, you're going to be going to all these amazing places and meeting a ton of new friends to replace us when you go."

I sat down on the stairs bringing Emily and Katie with me, putting my arms around each one of them. They were my best friends, and I was not going to let them think I was just going to forget them when I left.

"Okay, yeah, I'm going away and meeting a ton of new people, so I think we need to make a pact and actually do something so we can stay in touch. I want you guys to totally be a part of all the exciting things I'll be doing."

Katie nodded thoughtfully, chewing on her lower lip and gasped, "Oh my gosh, you guys! We can make a blog!"

"That could work," I agreed.

I could see Emily mulling over the idea in her head. "Okay, yeah. Maybe we could each write an entry every week about what we've been up to, so we know what's going on with each other?"

Emily was smiling now and I could tell her sadness about me forgetting them when I left was fading fast. I was relieved. I gave each of them a squeeze, and we wrapped our arms around each other for a group hug. I loved my friends and I knew we could get through anything, even though I would be leaving them for boarding school.

"All right, let's go dance with some boys!" Katie exclaimed.

Laughing, we helped each other up from our perch on the stairs and made our way out to the ball. Matt was standing next to one of the food tables, but sauntered over when he saw us emerge together from around the corner.

"Hey, Maddie! Can I talk to you real quick?" I looked at my friends totally confused and shrugged.

We walked to a nearby tree away from my friends. "What's up?"

"Well, umm, I know we're supposed to dance the Waltz together, and I think you're awesome, but I was wondering if maybe you'd let Emily dance with me instead?"

I have to admit I was shocked by the question. "Uh, sure, but why?"

"You won't tell her why if I tell you, right?" he asked. I couldn't believe Matt Jackson was blushing.

"I won't," I agreed.

"I kind of like her. This whole year I've been trying to talk to her, but I keep chickening out. If I can dance with her tonight, then maybe I'll be able to talk to her finally," he confessed.

I couldn't help my smile. He liked Emily! She was going to freak. "Wow, OK. The Waltz is starting, so go get her!"

"Thanks, Maddie. I owe you."

"No problem, anything for my friends."

I watched as he walked over to Emily and asked her to dance. She spotted me and I nodded happily confirming that it was okay. She beamed up at Matt and took his outstretched hand to lead her out to dance. I glanced at Katie who gave me a wink and thumbs up before following her own partner to the dance floor.

I smiled to myself watching my friend's elated faces and knew, without a doubt, that we were going to be okay.

About the Author

Laura Keysor is the author of the middle grade series Starboard Academy. When she's not writing about the adventures of Maddie and her friends around the world, she's hanging out at the beach with her face buried in a good book. Some of her favorite things include cool stories she discovers in history, archaeology, Indiana Jones, and warm chocolate croissants. Laura is a prolific traveler and has had her own amazing adventures in most of the places she writes about in her books! She hopes the Starboard Academy series will inspire a love of history, people, and places in future travelers... and an adventure, or two, of their own. You can find out more about her and her book at: starboard-academy.blogspot.com.

#  Squamata's Rumble: Certain Results of Biker Attitude

By KJ Hannah Greenberg  
From the book Don't Pet the Sweaty Things

Johnny was a good boy. He regenerated his tail in champion time and made sure to eat both leaves and flies. Days off, he obeyed the speed limit, usually.

Summer's sensual airstream had tickled him awake, moaning gust and heat, in turn. He had tried to ignore that tempestuous summons, willing each of his limbs to sleep, concentrating only on the smell of jasmine and aloe buds, counting the scales on each of his clawed feet. The warm season, unhurried as a sated cockroach, endeavored otherwise.

A new zephyr puffed at him, introducing enticement by first name. Squamata approximated a groan and reached for his goggles.

Lean in body, dexterous, and fleet, Johnny was the sovereign of the mirpesset tetrapods, his taunt centimeters assuring mortality for other leaseholders. Only July's breeze ever beguiled him away from his chopper-earned safety.

Johnny listened. No one else was chirping or whistling. No one else had donned gloves.

Again, the puff of air became insistent. Johnny swallowed, subconsciously, flicked out his tongue and then retracted it to his vomeronasal organ. No other chasse had been mounted. Eagerly, Johnny reached for his cruiser.

Counting himself down, Johnny leapt over the rail, his short neck sailing Earthward before his tail hit orbit. He surpassed his best elapsed time as well as his best terminal speed, his thirty foot free-fall toward cement having been fueled by those lusty atmospheric gases.

So marvelous was his sprint that the crows did not pick up Johnny's pieces until morning.

About The Author

When not playing tidily winks with plot lines, Hannah blogs for The Jerusalem Post and for Kindred, and reviews manuscripts for Bewildering Stories and for Bound Off. Although both a science writer and a rhetoric professor by training, Hannah prefers to think of herself as a banshee whose wailing causes: her sons and daughters to consider the merits of cleaning their rooms, makes her husband suddenly remember the plus points of the espresso served at the neighborhood cafe, and her editors to shrug, to mutter something about wacked-out midlife hormones, and then to publish her work, anyway.

#  Sister's Keeper

By Chris Eboch

Some people swore that the house was haunted. Yeah, right.

My sister pulled on my arm. "Let's look around. Mom and Dad will be busy for a while."

"Whatever." None of my friends were there to see me, so I followed her up creaking stairs and through musty rooms hung with cobwebs. I thought about sneaking away and hiding somewhere, to give her a scare.

Tania paused at an open doorway. I started to sneak past, down the hall.

She gasped. I looked back. She swayed in the doorway, eyes wide and face white. "What?" I asked.

"The ghost!" she hissed.

My stomach gave a flip. I pushed next to her and looked into the room. Nothing but dust floating in the light from grimy windows. Just for a second, she'd gotten me. But I couldn't let her know that. I rolled my eyes. "Nice try."

She kept staring ahead. "Don't you see it?"

I snorted. "You can give it up now."

"He's right there!" She stepped into the room, slowly. She moved in a half circle, like she was skirting something. She reached out a hand to the empty space in the middle of the room. It was creepy. Does that sound stupid? Well, you weren't there.

"Hello," she whispered. "Can you hear me?" Her hand passed into a beam of light, looking dead white and almost translucent. She gasped and jerked back, like she'd touched something painful.

"Cut it out," I said. "It's not funny."

She cringed back. Her hands clutched at her throat. "No!" She was half bent over backward. She should have fallen, but it looked like someone was holding her up.

I stood frozen in the doorway. My legs felt like water, but I couldn't let her see that she was getting to me.

She thrashed, still scratching at her throat, and made a gurgling noise. Could something really be wrong?

She was my little sister. It was my job to protect her.

I rushed forward. I reached out for her.

I slammed through a wall of cold. I struggled for balance as the room tilted crazily around me. Tania's face swam in my vision, an arm's length away.

Strange feelings swarmed around me, spewed up inside me. Anger. Hatred. Blood pounded in my head and I saw Tania's terrified eyes through a haze of red. My hands were around her neck. Squeezing.

I couldn't stop. Some part of me tried to pull back, but my rage was too great. I had to keep squeezing until those hated brown eyes closed and the body fell limp to the floor.

Her lips moved. No sound came out, but I could see her form a name. "Jon." My name. Blue eyes bulged in her face. Tania's eyes, pleading.

She was my little sister. It was my job to protect her.

I fought back the rage. I struggled to control my hands. I forced them open, forced my arms to drop. The feelings welled up, battering me. But I was not him. I made my own choices. Her death would not be one of them.

The emotion faded. Tania slumped and I caught her. We stood trembling in an empty room. She gasped for breath, her face pressed to my chest. "What was that? What happened?" She looked up at me.

She was my little sister. It was my job to protect her.

I grinned. "Gotcha!"

Her eyes narrowed. She punched my arm. "You jerk!" She stormed away.

I had protected her. This time.

About the Author

Chris Eboch's Haunted series, starring Jon and Tania, starts with The Ghost on the Stairs. Her other novels for ages nine and up include The Eyes of Pharaoh, a mystery in ancient Egypt; and The Well of Sacrifice, a Mayan adventure. Her book Advanced Plotting helps writers fine-tune their plots. Learn more at www.chriseboch.com. Chris also writes novels of romance and suspense for adults under the name Kris Bock.

Read an excerpt from Chris Eboch's The Ghost Miner's Treasure.

Acknowledgments

The authors would like to thank the following individuals for their help and assistance: Julie Dawson at Bards and Sages Publishing, Emily and Elizabeth Chauffe, Fun Prints Photography, Mikaela Pederson, and Bethany at Last Draft Editing.

Bonus Book Previews

##  Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb

By MJ Ware

Chapter 1 – Blizzards, Bites, and Zombies

Ever have a really bad day? I'm not talking miss the bus, caught cheating on a test, bike gets stolen bad. I mean people dying and coming back from the dead to eat your brains bad.

This whole mess started one night when my best friend Misty messaged me, "DQ run now!"

I'm as down with Butterfinger Blizzards as anybody, but it was almost eleven p.m. Somehow, she talked me into it—I can never say no to her. I mean, I can say it once or twice, but after eight or nine times, I give in.

You might have guessed, we didn't exactly ask permission. Misty snuck out by climbing down a window above her garage and jumping into an overgrown bush. Maybe it was the three waffle sundaes she'd eaten, but to get back up it looked like she was going to need a boost.

"Ready?" I whispered, clasping my hands over my knee.

"I don't think so, Nate. I'm wearing a skirt." Even in the dim glow of the neighbor's porch light, I could see the wrinkles in her brow.

"Then how you going to get back up?"

"I can climb."

"In your skirt?" I stood back, folding my arms. Misty had always been more t-shirt and cutoff jeans. "Why'd you wear a skirt, anyway? Who sneaks out in a skirt?"

She ignored me and started pulling herself up the rain gutter. By the third try, I knew, skirt or not, I was going to have to help.

I stepped forward when from behind me came a deep grunt, like a yeti clearing its throat.

Turning around, Misty's dad towered over us, arms crossed, naked except for knit socks and shorts; his huge, hairy muffin-top forcing the band of his briefs into submission.

Even in his skivvies, he was an imposing figure. Picture Atlas, if all he ever held up were jelly donuts. I didn't know if I should laugh or run.

Normally Misty's dad is too nice, one of those big guys with an even bigger soft spot—especially when it came to his only daughter—but that night, boy, did he holler.

He grounded Misty for the whole summer. Not from her girlfriends, just from me—even canceled our camping trip. Our families go every year, so that made it a tradition or something.

Almost three weeks passed before I heard a peep from Misty. I wasn't sure if her dad really came down on her or if she was just too busy to bother with me.

Finally, she called. "Guess I should feel honored."

"Hey, Nate, ready to go camping?"

"Who's this? I think you may have dialed the wrong number."

"Nathan!" she screamed. "Dad's keeping me under house arrest. Even confiscated my cell. It's so humiliating." The echo told me she was probably hiding out in her dad's workshop. "So, you up for camping or not?"

Apparently, no one had bothered to tell her the trip was off. I tried to break the news gently. "Where've you been? Your dad put the smackdown on camping."

There wasn't much to do in our tiny mountain town, so this trip was the highlight of our summer: fishing, ghost stories, eating s'mores until you puke.

"Just because our parents are being stupid doesn't mean we can't go."

I don't normally do crazy things like run away from home. Which is probably why we weren't prepared. We lasted all of one night. Who knew a jumbo box of Little Betty Brownie Bites could go so fast?

On our way back, we knew we were in trouble, but had no idea just how much.

"Maybe running away wasn't such a good idea," I said, scanning the lifeless town. The sun crawled over the horizon, casting long shadows like bony fingers reaching down to clutch the empty streets.

"You think?" Misty said with an edge to her voice.

We'd been walking around for over an hour and hadn't seen anyone. "How'd I know everyone would..."

"Vanish." She finished my sentence. "They're all gone, Nathan. They can't all be out looking for us, not every single person in the whole entire town." She shook her head.

"Calm down. Let's think this out." I listened for familiar sounds, people, cars...even the trees were silent.

"Think what out? Nobody's here. I can't even get a single bar." Misty stood on the side of the road, brandishing her phone like a weapon.

"Updating your online status is the least of our problems," I shot back.

"This isn't a joke, Nate. We're in deep here. Deep, deep, deep!" She paused—probably winded from carrying on so much—then pointed across the street. "Look, someone's there."

From across the road, Mayor Frank waddled towards us. "A little early to be wasted," I said. Besides mayor, he was also the town drunk. "Only person in town and it has to be him?"

"Mayor Frank, over here," Misty yelled.

"Now you've done it. He's headed this way." I wiped my palms on my jeans; something wasn't right.

"Nate, shut up. We could use a little help."

He almost fell over three times while crossing the street. His clothes looked like they'd spent more time in the gutter than on his back. His eyes, swollen and cloudy—he looked sick. I'd never seen eyes like that.

The mayor didn't say a word, just reached out his two pasty arms. I thought he might shake our hands. He was one of those phony politicians. Instead, he grabbed Misty and went in for a big, open-mouth kiss.

I'm not sure what came over me. I'd never hit anyone—except Misty's older brothers—and then only in a desperate act of self-defense. But I wasn't about to let this creep kiss her.

I cocked my arm back and with everything I had, socked the mayor in the face.

He folded, flat to the floor.

Grabbing my hand, I winced in pain. Misty screamed, her long hair whipping around as she jumped back.

My mind raced. Oh, no. I just punched the mayor. I took a step toward him. "Mr. Mayor, I'm sorry. I thought you—"

I looked down at my hand as I spoke, thinking maybe I busted a knuckle. It throbbed so bad I didn't notice the mayor roll over and grab my foot until it was too late; he sank his teeth into my lower leg.

"Ouch," I yelled as I tried to wiggle free. He wouldn't let go. What was I supposed to do? Ever been bitten by your little sister? Try a three-hundred pound drunk politician.

I just started kicking. After the third kick, my hiking boot flew off, still dangling from his mouth.

"Nate, you kicked the mayor in the face!" Misty's hands covered her mouth, but did little to mask her expression of horror.

We took off running, our backpacks clanking behind us.

"Those are Gore-tex boots, they're over two hundred bucks," I said, running lopsided down the street. If my dad found out, he'd kill me.

I looked at Misty. Her wide, hazel eyes scanned the deserted roads, flashing with alarm. Standing tall, California Firs blocked our view more than a couple blocks. I couldn't help but feel responsible for this mess. I should have tried to talk her out of running away.

Maybe Misty's dad was right; I was a bad influence.

Chapter 2 – Snookum's Last Stand

A few minutes after punching a public servant in the face, we finally stopped running in front of Misty's house with its familiar faded cedar siding. It was old and rustic, but solid. It'd probably last forever.

I wiggled my fingers, making sure they still worked. It never hurt when a guy punched someone in one of those old karate movies Misty and I used to watch.

"Nate, what the heck happened?" Misty was breathing hard. She might have been in better shape than me. Athletic, but definitely not in a big-boned, husky sorta way.

"I don't know." I took a few deep breaths before continuing, "I've heard the mayor is grabby, but that was ridiculous. He could be your gramps. And did you see his fogged-over eyes?"

"His eyes? You shoulda smelled his breath—like a rotting cheeseburger." Misty squirmed from head to toe.

"Wait until I tell your brothers. Or your dad—"

"Nathan Patrick Lewis. You are not to tell a soul." Misty kicked up some dirt as she stood nose-to-nose with me. I'd been praying for a growth spurt all year. If it didn't come soon, she'd be taller than me. "Do you understand?" she said as if she could intimidate me.

"Don't worry, who'd believe me? I mean, the mayor trying to kiss you."

"Kiss me? I thought he was going to swallow my face, and what about you kicking his head like a soccer ball? What the heck are we supposed to do now?" Misty's fingers grabbed a clump of her long, wavy chestnut hair and she started chewing. I knew the hair thing meant she was either shy or nervous—or maybe completely freaked, like now.

"He was really gone. Bet he won't remember." I rubbed my leg where the mayor had tried to take out a chunk. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Hey, look who's still here." Misty pointed to her neighbor's dog. A spoiled, obnoxious poodle, with an equally spoiled and obnoxious name: Snookums. "Mrs. Redberg would have never left Snookums alone."

"I hate that little rat dog. He always barks at me." He must have heard, 'cause he ran up to the fence yelping at full volume.

I'd never kick a dog, though I've heard poodles fly pretty far. I kicked the fence instead.

"Hey, Nate, stop picking on the dog."

It felt safe in Misty's house, something familiar that never changed. Wall-to-wall thick orange shag carpet, dark wood paneling, even popcorn on the ceiling—with sparkles. The sparkles were pretty cool.

The lock squealed as Misty bolted it behind me. I grabbed a pair of old sneakers. Worn and caked with dried mud, I didn't bother looking for a nicer pair. Her brothers probably didn't own any.

"I'm going to go powder my face," she said.

"Powder it with what?"

She shook her head and closed the bathroom door with a thud.

In the family room, I messed with the cable and Internet. A couple minutes later, Misty came in to supervise. Neither of us spoke. I kept rechecking the connections, more than a little desperate to get them working.

Nothing.

I was opening my mouth to tell Misty that it was useless when the windows, really the whole house, shook with the crack of thunder.

"Summer storm?" Misty asked, her voice higher than normal.

Indian Springs was deep in California's Sierra Mountains. Nothing but rivers and trees surrounded the place. Summer thunderstorms were pretty common.

"Maybe. Sounded more like an explosion," I said.

"This can't be good. Let's look out my window."

I hadn't been allowed upstairs for years. Mr. Wibbles still sat in his designated spot on the head of Misty's bed, but long gone were the plastic horses and pink curtains. Now the room was littered with pictures of her with girlfriends and posters of guys who were apparently so cool it didn't matter how bad their haircuts were.

From her window upstairs, we had a good view, but no sign of an explosion and not a cloud in the sky.

I chewed on one of the straps from my backpack as I looked over the vacant streets. The strap tasted like dirt and charcoal, so I spit it out. What was going on? Where were our parents?

"Think it could be a fast moving storm?" Misty asked.

I looked again. "No wind. I don't think so."

We stared helplessly out the window at the tiny town surrounded by rolling waves of trees and green surf as far as we could see. Finally, we headed back downstairs.

KABOOM!

Another explosion, but way larger. I felt it in my legs, as if the whole earth threatened to rip apart under my feet.

"Nathan, what the heck was that?" Misty's summer-bronzed skin went pale.

We flew back to the window, dodging pictures that had shaken off the walls and lay scattered along the floor.

Outside nothing changed. Well, almost nothing, that pint-sized dog started barking. Guess I couldn't blame him.

We kept our eyes glued to the window, searching for any sign of movement; a person, a car, even a raindrop would've been welcome. The only change, a silent haze that settled over the streets.

The dog's barking stopped, and in its place came a loud wail. My heart leapt. Could it be a fire truck?

A quick, desperate, piercing yelp and the sound died. "Nate, the dog. That's the neighbor's dog."

Goose bumps danced along my spine.

"Go check it out." Misty started pushing me towards the door.

I tried thinking of an excuse to stay put. "That dog's crazy. He'll probably bite me," was all I came up with.

"You're such a girl. If he tries to bite you, give him a kick."

"Oh, now I can pick on him," I said as I headed down the stairs. On the way out, I slammed the door to make Misty think she'd ticked me off.

Outside, I grabbed the big wood-splitting axe. Looking at the worn shaft, silvered with age, I wondered if I needed it. My hands wouldn't let go—I took that as my answer.

Hopping the old chain-link fence to the neighbor's yard left rusty freckles on my sweaty palms. I expected the runt to come tearing around the corner any second. Except when I got around back, what I saw frightened me way more than any dog.

Chapter 3 – A Bridge to Nowhere

On the back stucco wall, above the dog's water bowl, a huge stain of smeared blood and fur was all that remained of Snookums. It reminded me of my plate after I ate waffles with blueberry syrup, which until right then, was my favorite.

I'd turned to look away when Misty joined me. "Oh my gosh, what's that?"

"I'm guessing that's what's left of Snookums," I said, swallowing a lump in my throat.

"How the heck can you say something like that?" Misty's jaw clenched and her face turned a shade of red.

"Sorry. I, um, didn't think about what I was saying. I was sorta speechless."

"Then you should keep your mouth shut, Nate."

"You're right, Miss. It just came out. I'm really sorry." I rubbed my hands against my forehead. The day wasn't going so good. Even worse than that time at lunch when I sat on my sloppy joe.

She paused and took a deep breath. "Let's cut each other some slack. Least until we figure out what's going on."

"Yeah, agreed."

She turned away. "What happened to poor Snookums?"

"Don't know." Privately, I took back every nasty thing I'd ever said about the mutt. "Coyote maybe? Let's not hang around to find out." I eyed the sparse forest behind the yard. Years of logging had cleared every decent tree on this side of town, leaving a few sad saplings and lots of ugly stumps.

"Maybe we should get back inside," she said, glancing over to her house.

"Nothing we can do here. Let's head over to Greenburg. See if we can't find out what's going on."

"What if we run into the mayor?" She grabbed my arm.

"Let's just get going." I started walking.

* * *

"Could have been a chemical leak from one of the big factories, maybe a forest fire?" Misty said, guessing what could have caused everyone to evacuate. Whenever she got nervous, her mouth wouldn't shut.

"My money's on mass alien abduction."

She gave me a cool stare—she wasn't amused. I kept quiet and just let her blabber on about how this couldn't possibly be happening, until we'd walked almost all the way to the bridge.

"Your brother's shoes are killing my feet."

"Oh, Nate." I heard it in her voice; she hated complaining. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but Misty was one tough girl.

"Seriously, I think they're blood blisters."

"Not your feet, the bridge. Nate, look at the bridge."

I glanced up, not prepared for what I saw. "Whoa—the bridge, it's gone. I mean it's been destroyed."

All that remained were piles of rubble and the steel frame—twisted into a giant crumpled spider web. A huge crater sat where the overpass should have been. Someone really wanted this bridge gone.

Misty stepped forward and looked down at the huge pit. "Who would blow up the bridge? What do we do now, swim across?"

"There's no way I'd take on Bear River. Not this time of year."

"Our families could be over there. Let's find a raft or a boat," Misty said.

"Remember those outta towners who plopped in, one after another, trying to save each other?" Bear River swells all up with crazy currents and hardcore eddies every year. "That river's gulped down entire families. Let's just wave someone down and they'll get help." I stood on a pile of rubble, looking across.

"No one's there," Misty whispered.

We didn't say another word. We just stared across the bridge.

We stood there awhile longer. Still, no one showed: not at the bridge, not in the town, no cars driving by, nothing.

Finally, after standing there silent, just staring for what seemed hours, I lost it.

"I knew we should've come here before going to your house. I knew it!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, hands raised like one of those cheesy TV preachers. "You know what the other explosion was, don't you? It had to be the other dam bridge. They've blown both bridges—we're trapped. Just you, me and that stupid little dog—no, wait—he's dead, how could I forget we saw his—"

Tears flowed. I'd only seen Misty cry one other time. Even when we were kids and she fell off her bike, she'd just shake it off.

She stood there, face in her hands, tender tears trickling down her cheeks. I thought, this might have been the worst thing I'd ever done.

There was only one thing I could think to do. I gave her a hug. In all the years I'd known Misty, I'd never hugged her. Sure, I'd tackled her a few times, but that's just not the same.

She felt a lot softer than I remembered. Maybe she was getting out of shape now that she wasn't playing dodgeball.

It felt weird, like, well, like hugging your best friend. I wanted to tell her it would be all right. That we'd see our parents again, but I was never a good liar.

She started wiping her cheeks. I quickly let go and took a couple steps back. "Um, maybe we should try hollering. See if we can get someone's attention? There still might be someone over there."

"If there was, they would have certainly heard your yelling."

"Yeah, about that—I'm really sorry. This is totally not your fault. I'm really, really sorry." I always messed things up. No wonder Misty hadn't been hanging around me. Sometimes, I don't even like to hang around me.

"Sorry, seems to be a theme with you today. But I'm cutting you some slack, remember?" A small smile slipped out and made me feel a little less like the world's biggest jerk. "So now what?"

The sun beat down on us, as if it'd been glued in place. The air felt stale and lifeless. "No use going to Greenburg if no one's over there. Let's go to Cedar Creek, see if the other bridge is really blown."

Sure enough, the Cedar Creek dry dam was completely gone. Crossing the creek would have been easy, but there's nothing except asphalt and trees between here and Chico. Which is, I don't know, at least a week's walk.

"We could take bikes," Misty suggested.

"No. It's all mountain roads, we wouldn't last an hour."

Drained, dog-tired, and defeated, we headed to Misty's house to regroup. It'd been one fantastically horrible day.

"I can't believe you tried to blame me for the bridge blowing up," she said.

"I didn't say it was your fault; I was just blaming you. There's a big difference."

Misty shook her head. My legs ached and my conscience stung. I didn't have it in me to argue—especially since I was wrong.

We both dragged our feet across the asphalt. The rough sound reminded me of a street sweeper.

"We've gotta get a car. I can't walk around this town anymore." I was still wearing my backpack. Misty had left hers at home.

"Everyone takes their keys when they evacuate," she said as we passed a house with a TV lounging comfortably in the middle of the lawn.

"Who said they evacuated? Maybe they had all the water extracted from their bodies and they turned to salt. Maybe there was a huge sale at the mall up in—hey, do you see that?"

She had. "Hey mister! Over here, please help!" With her long, perfect hair, Misty could have passed for a cheerleader as she waved her arms up and down.

The glare of the low sun made it hard to see the man caught in the shadows. He was old, shuffling his feet with a slight limp. He turned and slowly started towards us. The only thing I could see was that it wasn't the mayor; this guy was too tall and wasn't shaped like a blimp.

We started jogging towards him. "Oh, thank you. We really need some hel—"

When I turned back to look at Misty, I realized something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Chapter 4 – Zombie Snot

Misty stopped first. I took a couple more steps before turning to face her. "Come on."

I'd seen that look in her eyes twice today. Instantly, knots welled up in my stomach. "Miss, what's up?"

"Aaahh!" Her voice shook.

"What the—" I spun back around, thinking I knew what to expect. It had to be the guy who killed the dog. Even the mayor wouldn't freak Misty out like that.

The fur dangling from his bloody lips told me I was right, except it wasn't a guy. Whatever he or it was, one thing was sure, it was way past its expiration date.

I stepped into the shadow of a tall building so I could see the thing. Skinless, every inch covered in a sticky grayish-brown slime, like charcoal mixed with molasses. And the smell—burnt hair and rotten mayonnaise—even worse than the dumpster behind Harry's Indian and Sushi Hut.

I stood looking at it, completely freaked out. Then it dawned on me that it might be a good idea to get the heck out of there.

The words rattled as they came out, "Le-le-let's-go."

Misty's outstretched hand still pointed at the ghoul staggering towards us; I grabbed her hand and turned. Thankfully our legs worked. We ran eight or nine blocks and didn't stop until we got to her front porch.

"What was that?" Misty asked.

"I don't know." I tried to catch my breath. "I mean, I know, but I'm afraid to say."

Misty seemed winded, but calm, considering what we'd just seen. My knees wouldn't stop shaking.

"What? What do you think it was?" she demanded.

"It's obvious. That guy—err-thing—wasn't alive; it wasn't even all there. But it was taking a stroll down the street. It had to be a zombie."

"I knew you spent too much time watching that sci-fi channel."

"Okay, what's your explanation?" Now my hands were on my hips.

"I don't know." She had a lock of hair between her lips. "Maybe a chemical burn? That could be why they evacuated the town."

"Chemical burn? You can do better than that. That thing looked like part of it was still in the ground somewhere. Did you smell it? That wasn't barbecue I smelled—"

"Nate. I swear sometimes you're disgusting on purpose." She stomped her foot.

"Look, whatever it was, it's bad news. Let's go in, then figure out what to do."

I forced a smile. Misty blew a few stray hairs out of her mouth and said, "Yeah. Better get in before it comes back for dessert."

* * *

I didn't feel much like eating, but we hadn't had a bite all day and Misty insisted. So I forced down some Coco Pebbles. I couldn't even finish the chocolaty sweet milk.

"What now? Lock ourselves in?" Misty asked.

"We could go out and kill it, one limping zombie. No problem. We get my dad's gun, then hunt it down." My fingers tapped on her old aluminum kitchen table.

I was pretty relieved when she said, "Hunt it down? I don't think so. We don't know for sure it's even a zombie. We should cross the river to Greenburg. Keep going to Quincy if we have to." She drank a huge glass of milk in one long gulp, then wiped her mustache off with her sleeve.

"Greenburg? Quincy? No way. Who knows how many zombies are there. Maybe none, but maybe hundreds. What if we get surrounded? We'd have no place to hide."

"Okay, then we secure the house, and wait out your zombie invasion watching movies." Misty's eyes patrolled the front window. "Help has to arrive...soon."

"I saw this movie where they waited out a zombie invasion in the mall. The mall has everything: food, guns, clothes."

Misty picked up the phone, smacked the receiver a couple times, then listened, like she might bash a dial tone out of it. Her nails were covered with dirt and chipped pink polish.

"There's no gun store in the mall. Besides, our mall's open air." That had to be the only time Misty ever turned down a trip to the mall.

"So, the people in this movie, did they make it?" She twisted the phone cord around her finger. Misty had a corded phone. Her dad didn't buy fancy stuff like cordless phones, new cars, or two-ply toilet paper.

"Don't remember. I think one of them got pregnant."

"We don't have to worry about that."

"The baby turned out to be some sort of monster."

"Aren't they all?" Then she suddenly got excited, "Oh, I got it. We'll hide out in Walmart. It's perfect; they've got everything."

Walmart was the pride of Indian Springs (like I said, it was a small town). We'd beat out every town in three counties for the honor of selling discount merchandise. My dad said it was the only reason Mayor Frank had gotten re-elected. Walmart wasn't a bad idea. Except for one thing, "There's too much glass in the front."

"Oh yeah...Could we get some plywood, board up the windows?"

"Might work, plus I bet it has one of those security gate things."

"Then Walmart it is," she said, smiling with satisfaction.

"Okay, but we'll stop by my house first to get the gun and some clothes." I stood up and my leg throbbed where the mayor had bitten me. I wanted to look at it. See if I was done for sure, but I was afraid of alarming Misty, so I decided not to look.

"I should pack some stuff, too."

As I looked out at the sun cowering behind the mountains, I tried not to think of how messed up this all was. "What's keeping you? We better get going," I hollered up the stairs.

Misty's old backpack was bursting (literally in some places) at the seams.

"Hope you got enough clothes," I said.

"Yeah, should probably gotten more."

"That wasn't what I meant. But you can pick out some at Walmart"

"Walmart? For clothes? Don't think so." Misty looked at me as if I was crazy. "I wouldn't be caught dead in anything from Walmart."

I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"We're going to need to find a ride. Something with a trunk," I said, looking out the window at the lonely streets.

"Haven't we been over this? We don't know how to drive and my dad took the car."

"Driving's easy, and I wasn't thinking of your station wagon—more like my dad's Fastback." My dad had a 1967 Shelby GT500 Fastback. Mint condition, in factory powder blue. He only took it out for car shows and the Indian Hills Fourth of July parade.

"That's the first bright idea you've had."

"What happened to the whole cutting me some slack thing?" We'd always given each other lip; it was sorta funny. But lately it'd been getting downright brutal.

As she grabbed her backpack and headed out the door, Misty shot me her little half-smile that raised the dimple on just the right side of her mouth.

I took the big axe and followed. I knew Misty couldn't resist taking the Fastback—no one could, even a girl.

"Speaking of bright ideas, didn't Greg get an electric scooter last Christmas?" Greg was one of Misty's two older brothers.

Misty's older brothers sucked. Not for Misty, they never picked on her; her dad wouldn't stand for it. But they delighted in torturing me. Fortunately, they weren't too bright, and over the years I'd gotten real good at avoiding them.

"It's really a toy," she said. "But it should get us to your house."

There wasn't much room on the scooter with all three of us: Misty, myself, and the huge axe. She let me steer and put her arms tight around my waist. That was the second time she'd hugged me that day, or our whole lives, depending on how you looked at it.

It was only five blocks to my house, but we still managed to run into a little trouble.

The zombie-type of trouble.

"Let's turn back and take another street," Misty said as a trio of female zombies approached at the end of the block. They could have passed for three grandmothers out in their Sunday best, except their pastel and lace-fringed dresses were soaked in blood.

I stopped the scooter. My first impulse was to dump the thing and run back to Misty's house. When I was six and afraid of the dark, my dad taught me this trick: Stand still and slowly count to ten; then things don't seem so scary.

I stared at the zombies and silently counted to ten.

"Nate, what are you waiting for? Free hard candy? Get out of here!"

Okay, so it doesn't work with zombies, but I realized they moved slow—really slow. Heck, one of them was sporting a walker.

"Nah, they're crawling. We can ride around them," I said, casually waving my hand at her.

I didn't wait for a reply. Daylight was burning, and the elderly-undead seemed so slow I really thought we had nothing to worry about.

As we rode past, they turned to follow. I still wasn't worried; they were way on the other side of the street.

A half-second later, I felt a lurch. I flew over the handlebars. At the same time, Misty screamed.

Now I was worried.

I rolled completely over and landed on my feet. Nice move, except I lost the axe.

I turned and saw one of the granny zombies had Misty by the backpack. I don't want to repeat what she screamed. Let's just say she wasn't eager for grandma to get close enough to give her a kiss.

My axe lay in the street, almost right under them. In one move, I swooped down, retrieved it, and brought the blunt end up, smacking it in the chin.

Crunch—something flew from its jaw.

Misty broke loose. The zombie let out a high-pitched scream. I swung the axe back, about to take a whack at its head, when it turned back and bit down on my arm, making a wet, mushy sound.

"Aah!" I cried and pulled my arm free.

Misty had already retreated several paces. I wanted to take another whack at it, but I realized I didn't even know if that would stop it. I mean, sure it does in the movies, but would it work for real? Could I even hit it hard enough? And what about her two bridge buddies, just a few feet away?

The scooter was thrashed, so we ran.

"Thanks, Nate."

"What the heck happened?" I asked between breaths.

"It jumped me."

"It did what?"

"It jumped—well, it was more of a lurch. It just dove at me as we rode past. Those things are strong—slow, but strong." Misty held a clump of hair; I could tell she was trying not to put it in her mouth.

"I didn't think of that. We'll have to keep farther away in the future."

"What are you saying? Do you think we'll see more of them?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but this morning we walked from one end of town to the other; the place was empty." I held the axe behind my back, hiding the arm that had been bitten, too afraid to look. "Now we've gone two blocks, three zombies. Speaking of which, they're still following. Let's take a detour. Make sure we lose them before we get to the house."

We'd started down a side street towards the center of town, easily losing the little-old-zombies when I felt a burning sensation on my arm. "Ouch, that stings."

"What, what is it?"

"I don't know. My arm, it burns. Aah, it really burns." I stopped and grabbed it. I couldn't help but look. It was bright red, but I didn't see any blood—only faint bite marks.

"Nathan, it's turning red!"

"Quick. Some water!" I started to panic. I looked around, but couldn't find any, not even a spigot.

"You musta been bit. You're turning into a zombie!" Misty's eyes bulged as she stared at my arm.

"Just get me something to put on it!" I yelled.

"There's the Pizza Pit. I'll get some water." Misty ran off towards the shops down at the end of the street.

It seriously burned now, like holding your arm under scalding water. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I fought the urge to scream. I wasn't a crier, but this sucked.

Unable to wait for Misty, I used the only liquid I had: saliva. I didn't know what else to do; I just spit on my arm. It helped, so I kept doing it. A second later, I heard the crash of shattering glass.

"Here's some water—Yuck!" Misty returned with a big glass. "What are you doing? That's disgusting."

"Yeah, but it works. Pour that on my arm." The water took the rest of the burn away. It still stung—I mean really good—but no more burn. "Hey, did you break a window in the Pizza Pit?"

"Yeah, I had to get in. The door was locked, so I grabbed a patio chair and viola! A glass of water."

"Wow, you're my hero."

"Shut up."

"Hope they don't find out it was us. That's the only decent pizza in town." I smiled and added, "Seriously, thanks."

"What did that to your arm?"

"It must have been..." I thought for a moment. "The zombie. When I hit the zombie, it bit my arm."

I looked down. I had the world's worst Indian burn. "Miss, did it touch you?"

"No, only my backpack. But what about your arm—"

"Your backpack." I quickly grabbed her and spun her around. This wasn't the time for kid-gloves. "Geez, better take it off. You've got zombie snot or something all over it."

She dropped it like an outta style handbag.

"Wow, that stuff is strong." Part of the material had already dissolved and it seemed to be spreading.

Misty froze and looked me up and down, "Nate, you've been bit by a zombie. You are going to turn into one now."

"No, no, I'm fine. It didn't really bite me. I mean, I think I knocked its dentures out. It kinda gummed me."

"Nate, that stuff's toxic. You've been infected with zombie snot; it's only a matter of time now." She stared at me, deadly serious, and started stepping backward.

Purchase Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb or Return to the book.

#  Priscilla the Great (Book 1)

By Sybil Nelson

Chapter 1- Captured!

I awoke tied to a chair. My eyes felt glued shut. I struggled to pry my eyelids apart. Once open, I shut them again as quickly as possible. A ridiculously bright and obnoxious light glared in my eyes, totally super-sizing my already painful headache.

"Holy hot dogs!" I said, borrowing my best friend's catch phrase.

"Good morning, Priscilla. Welcome back," an eerie voice said from... from everywhere. The deep, sinister voice surrounded me as if it poured out of the walls. I recognized that voice. I knew that man was evil!

"Good morning? I don't see what's so good about it. My head is killing me and that light you're shining in my face makes me want to dig my eyes out with a spoon!" I yelled into space.

"Sorry about that, Priscilla. We were trying to revive you. You've been out for a number of hours." The light faded away, allowing me to open my eyes fully without performing spoon surgery. There wasn't much to see. I sat in a stainless steel chair in the center of an otherwise empty stainless steel room.

The walls were smooth and cold-looking. Even the chair felt cold. I shifted in my seat, trying to warm up my butt cheeks.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, trying to hide the desperation in my voice. I mean, I was really scared. I'd been kidnapped. Really kidnapped. I wondered if they'd done that Amber Alert thing for me.

"You'll find out soon enough."

And then silence.

A few minutes later, a huge dude with an even huger gun walked into the room from a door I hadn't even noticed was there. It was almost like he'd melted through the wall.

He wore black pants and what looked like a sleeveless black bullet proof vest over a muscular chest. He easily could have been my dad's twin. He even had the exact same tattoo as my dad on his left arm, a big circle with a whole bunch of overlapping circles inside of it. It was too much of a coincidence. I knew my dad had been here before. I could feel it.

"How do you know she's the right girl?" a voice said in my head a little while later. No, wait, it wasn't inside my head. It was from somewhere else. And since Mr. Bodyguard didn't look like the talkative type, I knew it wasn't him speaking.

"Look at her. It has to be her. There's no way that resemblance is a mistake."

"But she obviously doesn't have any powers. If she did, she would have been out of that chair a long time ago."

The voices were coming from another room. My super hearing had returned, which meant my other powers would be back soon as well.

After a moment of silence, one of them said something that almost made my heart stop.

"Either way, she has to die."

Die? Oh my God, this was serious. Before I could panic, the calmness took over. I felt my powers surging. I started to formulate a plan.

Chapter 2 - The Most Awful Thing in the World

Wait. Let me back up, introduce myself, and explain how all of this started. My name is Priscilla Maxine Sumner, and I'm a good person. I used to be a good normal person, just a regular tomboy, until the Saturday before my seventh grade year. Then everything changed.

I remember that day so vividly, the day that changed my life, and honestly, I really didn't deserve it. Okay, so I did pour hot sauce into the twins' toothpaste. But they deserved it. They're the most awful five-year-old boys in existence. Trust me on that one. And I did tell my older brother's girlfriend that he liked to sing Christina Aguilera songs in the shower. Even though it's true, hunky football players apparently aren't supposed to sing girly pop songs. Who knew? And when my dad told me to clean my room before I could go to the pool party, I kinda just stuffed everything under my bed. But besides those tiny little things, I'm a really, really good person. No, I'm a great person. But really awful things always happen to me.

So I was standing next to the pool at Cali Crawford's house. She's the coolest girl in the seventh grade. The only way I even got an invite to the party was because her sister happens to be dating my Christina-Aguilera-singing brother.

Dad would only let me wear a one-piece to the party. How boring. He wouldn't even negotiate down to a tankini so I could show off a sliver of stomach. I mean, I'm already built like a stick figure. A bikini would have at least given me the illusion of curves. And you can't stuff a one-piece to create boobs. Believe me, I've tried. The tissue just fell down toward the stomach, making it look like I had cancerous alien tumors popping out of my gut.

Anyway, I was standing there, flat chest and all, when Spencer Callahan looked in my direction. Yes, he looked at me. I don't know why he would waste his effort and cast those perfect blue eyes on a scrawny redhead with no boobs in a boring one-piece, but he did. Not only did he look at me, but he actually stood up and walked toward me. So many thoughts flooded my mind, but the most prominent one was me as the future Mrs. Callahan. Mrs. Priscilla Callahan. We would have three children and two dogs. All girls. Even the dogs. After living with boys all my life, I couldn't take it anymore. Yeah, I had a mother, but she worked so much I sometimes forgot what she looked like.

"Hey, Priscilla. I wanted to ask you something." Oh my God. He was talking to me. And he wanted to ask me something. Did he want to ask me out on a date? It would be my first date. This was so exciting. I felt hot and flushed all over. I mean really, hot. So hot, in fact, even Spencer noticed.

"Do you—" He paused for a moment and his expression changed suddenly. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, you're all red. Are you sick?"

Oh my God. I was so ugly I looked sick.

He reached out and touched my forehead. "Priss, you're burning up," he said, yanking his hand away. "Maybe you should go inside for a little while. Get out of the sun."

"I'm fine, really. I probably just ate some bad... salsa."

"Salsa?" He squinted in confusion and then glanced at the snack table next to the barbeque grill. "There's no salsa here."

"Uh... I bring my own. Love the stuff. Can't get enough of it. Take it everywhere I go."

"You take bad salsa with you everywhere you go?"

"Uh huh, yeah, everywhere. And right now, me and the salsa gotta go to the bathroom."

With that, I turned and tried to strut away as sexily (is that a word?) as possible, but it's pretty hard to look sexy when you feel like you're about to explode.

Once in the bathroom, I sat on the edge of the tub and placed my head in my hands. Though I felt hot all over, the heat was concentrated in my fingers. They were actually throbbing. I supposed I was radiating with embarrassment. Did I really just say I had to go to the bathroom with some salsa?

I filled the sink with water and splashed my face. I even stuck my whole head in the water. It didn't help.

I desperately needed to talk to Tai, my BFF. She would know what to do. She would whip out her iPhone and search the internet for answers, although I doubt she would find anything. This was without a doubt the weirdest thing ever. But it got worse.

I decided I needed to get out of Cali Crawford's house immediately and get to the safety of my own home. I reached for a hand towel to dry off, and as soon as I touched it, it burst into flames. Flames! I tossed it into the sink and watched as it sank beneath the water.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God..." That's when I heard a knock at the door.

"You okay in there, Slumner?" It was Kyle Montgomery. It had to be. He was the only one that called me Slumner. He thought his little nickname was so clever. I thought it was lame. "Spence said you were sick. What'd you do, break a nail or something?"

"Go away, Kyle. I'm fine."

"I knew that. I knew you were fine. You're probably just so embarrassed about how bad I beat you in pool basketball."

"You only beat me by one point and that was because Spencer took his shirt off and totally distracted me." Besides Tai, Kyle was the only person on Earth who knew how I felt about Spencer. Even though Kyle was a complete jerk, I knew he'd never tell anyone. If he did, I'd tell everyone how he was so afraid of spiders that he called me over to his house at least once a week to kill one for him. Wimp.

"Whatever, Slumner. Just finish up whatever girly thing you're doing in there and get back out here for a rematch."

I rolled my eyes. He could be so maddening sometimes. He'd gotten even more obnoxious after he signed a modeling contract last summer. Sure he was cute in a kind of blond prep school boy kind of way, but his jerky personality totally canceled that out.

"Seriously, do you need me to get you some water or something? I don't want you getting heat stroke or anything."

"Just go back to the pool, Kyle. I'll be there to kick your butt in a second."

Amazingly, I didn't flip out any further at this point. That's huge for me. I always flip out. And considering I was trapped in a bathroom mysteriously setting things on fire, I think I have every right to panic. But I didn't. Instead, this calm feeling took over me. It was like someone had opened up my brain and poured smartness in. I needed ice and I needed it bad.

After a few seconds, I opened the bathroom door just a crack to make sure Kyle was gone. The door knob glowed red after I touched it. From the laughter and screaming outside, I could tell everyone was still by the pool. I opened the door a little farther, and after a quick survey, I high-tailed it through the hallway, past the family room, and then made a hard right toward the kitchen. Once there, I opened up the freezer and started shoveling ice down my suit. But that only gave me momentary relief from the heat. The ice melted as soon as it came in contact with my skin, making it look like I was standing in a puddle of my own pee.

I needed to do something before I became the first person in River's Bend history to spontaneously combust. Within seconds, the news would travel through town and then all of River's Bend, population 2,351, would be standing in Cali Crawford's house, shaking their heads at what was left of the crazy little Sumner girl. And they all thought I was crazy because I preferred riding my bike to painting my nails. And when I was little, instead of hosting tea parties like normal little girls, I handed out flyers inviting people to comic book conventions in my backyard. Unfortunately, the only people who ever came were my baby brothers, and that was because I bribed them with chocolate.

Suddenly, I spotted a fire extinguisher sitting on the counter next to the refrigerator. I grabbed it, pulled the pin, and sprayed myself. Ahh, sweet relief. Crisis averted. But then I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"What are you doing?" my older brother Josh asked, staring at the dripping mess.

"I... I... um..." I didn't know exactly how to explain why I was standing in the Crawfords' kitchen covered in fire extinguisher foam. "Well, what are you doing?" I asked, turning the tables on him. "Yeah, what are you doing upstairs in the Crawfords' house without a shirt on?" That was partly a dumb question. I mean, Josh took his shirt off at every available opportunity so he could show off his six-pack abs. Once, at the grocery store, one of the twins spilled their juice box in front of this cute cashier who looked a little like Miley Cyrus. Well, since Josh thought he was as cute as a Jonas brother, he decided he needed to impress her. So, he whipped off his shirt and started cleaning up the mess. As if he ever cleaned up after the twins at home.

Josh started stuttering while turning different shades of red. He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair and shifted from foot to foot.

"Josh, what's taking so long? I'm thirsty," his girlfriend called from the top of the stairwell.

"Oooh, I'm telling Dad!"

"Shut up, freak," was his clever response.

"Freak? I'm not a freak. I'm a genie in a bottle. You gotta rub me the right way." I started singing the Christina Aguilera song and gyrating in the kitchen, but I stopped abruptly when I almost slipped on the foam and water on the floor.

"That's it. We're leaving. If I don't get to have any fun, neither do you." Josh reached for a towel that sat on the kitchen counter. "Uh, Stef, I'll call you later. I gotta take my sister home," he yelled up the stairs. "You're the bane of my existence. Clean yourself up," he said to me, tossing the towel.

I flinched when it landed in my hands. I expected it burst into flames like the other one. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Did I just imagine the whole thing? Maybe it didn't happen. Or maybe it did happen and the episode just passed. Neither scenario was comforting. I mean, if I imagined the whole thing that would mean I was some sort of crazy, hallucinating, psycho. But if I didn't imagine it, that would mean Josh was right. I was a freak.

Chapter 3 - Hot Flashes

"Priscilla gorilla. Priscilla gorilla," the devil twins chanted while dancing around the living room in their matching blue jumpsuits. It was a stupid nickname since my skinny stature in no way resembled a gorilla. Even though it was pretty creative for five-year-olds, I really wasn't in the mood for their antics after the day I'd had.

I wish I knew how to conjure up the fire so I could singe their little blond heads. I thought for a second, but when nothing happened, I just stormed off to my room. I ditched the towel and bathing suit, put on some normal clothing—a Wonder Woman t-shirt and jean shorts—and then called Tai. She was off at space camp, or math camp, or science camp, or whatever hole in the Earth they send really smart twelve-year-olds to, to make them really smarter.

Tai was my absolute best friend since "The Era of Unfortunate Hair" a.k.a. third grade. My mother had just gone back to work full-time so it was my dad's first attempt at the stay-at-home thing. He tried his best but just could not control my thick, unruly head of red hair. And apparently no one told him that there was an unwritten rule about the maximum number of scrunchies someone can wear at once. He had put so many in my hair that it was like they were growing out of my head. I looked like a multi-colored octopus. It was awful.

Anyway, in walked Taiana Houston. Her hair was just as pitiful as mine. She looked like she had gotten beaten in the head by a big lopsided ball of black tumbleweed. For some reason a single solitary braid protruded out of one side, and what looked like half of a beaded necklace dangled out of the other side. She was a black girl adopted by an old white couple who had no idea what to do with her kinky hair. We took one look at each other and fell on our butts pointing and laughing. And after two months of scouring hair magazines and experimenting with different things, we finally got our hair under control.

"How was the party?" she asked excitedly before even saying hello. She knew I had been looking forward to it for two weeks.

"Awful, just awful," I said, holding back tears. I flopped on my bed and twisted the phone cord around my fingers. As if it wasn't bad enough that I wasn't allowed to have a cell phone, I was forced to use one of those ancient home phones with the long curly cord attached to it.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, Priss. Just calm down and tell me about it."

After a brief recap of the day, Tai, my supposed best friend in the world, started laughing.

"Oh, you are the worst friend ever! Why are you laughing at me?"

"Oh my God. Bad Salsa? In all the practice Spencer conversations we've had, I never remember bringing up condiments." Tai continued to laugh. I imagined she was rolling around on the floor, clutching her stomach.

"You keep laughing at me and we are seriously going to have to rethink this friendship."

"I'm sorry, Priss," she said, trying to get control over herself. "Okay, I'm good. Just tell me, what in the world were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking. I was too afraid of spontaneous combustion. I mean, I think I've turned into the Human Torch!"

"The what?"

"The Human Torch. From the Fantastic Four. He can turn into fire."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating that part."

"No, I'm not, Tai! You had to be there. I set a towel on fire!"

"Well, I'm sure there's some physiological explanation. Your body heat probably rose from the embarrassment, causing a spike in your core temperature. And considering the fact that you've been in love with Spencer since the third grade, I'm sure your hormones were going crazy. And I bet you're close to your time of the month."

I turned my head and looked at the calendar on my wall. Snap. It was close to my time. Why did she always have to be right?

"I'm sure it felt like fire, but it was probably something a little less dramatic."

"I'm not exaggerating. Flames, I tell you. Flames!" I threw my hands in the air for emphasis as if she could see me. "Something strange is going on."

Tai was silent for a minute. I think I'd finally stumped my genius best friend. "Fire, huh? I'll look into it. But until I find something, why don't you ask your mom about it?"

"Sure. Right. Talk to my mom. I'll just grow some wings, fly to Brazil, and interrupt one of her drug deals." My mom worked for some big pharmaceutical company and traveled the world giving sales pitches. I usually just told people she was a drug dealer, though, because it sounded cooler and gave me some street cred. Well, in my head at least.

Why was Tai always trying to fix the unfixable relationship between my mother and me? Three years ago my mother didn't show up for my tenth birthday party. That's when I realized she thought her job was more important than her family. Since then we'd barely spoken. There was no way I was going to talk to that woman about something so personal and embarrassing. For now, I'd just consider my episode some sort of hot flash like women get in menopause. That would explain why it came and went. Flashes don't last forever. Kind of like the flash of hope I had that Spencer Callahan could possibly be interested in me. Flashes come and go and... oh, snap, one was coming.

"Tai, it's happening again!"

"Oh, oh, okay, uh... stand up and... and put the phone down and... and don't touch anything until it passes."

I jumped off the bed, dropped the phone, and stood with my hands and feet apart like I was about to get frisked by the police. It felt as though the heat started in my chest and radiated outward, landing in my hands. My fingertips pulsed, and there was smoke coming out of them! Just when I was about to scream because I was so freaking freaked out, a calm feeling came over me. I knew that if I just stayed still and didn't touch anything, the heat would pass and everything would be fine.

But, of course, my life couldn't be that simple. Just as my hands started turning an odd shade of red, there was a knock at the door, followed by, "Priss, it's Dad."

Chapter 4 - Dubai, Brazil

"Priss, are you okay in there?" Dad asked when I didn't respond immediately.

"Um, uh..." I stuttered, not thinking quickly enough to give a good answer.

Then he busted through the door like a cop in one of those Lifetime movies where the hero has to save the teenage daughter of his love interest from a coke-dealing pimp. I wasn't too surprised, though. It wasn't the first time he had knocked my door right off its hinges. Dad was always a little overprotective when it came to the safety of his children, especially me for some reason.

"What's wrong? What's going on?" His eyes were wild as he surveyed my room for some hidden danger.

"I'm fine, Daddy. I'm totally fine," I said, rolling my eyes.

My dad pushed his glasses farther up his nose and adjusted his tie. Yes, my stay-at-home dad wore a tie in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. At six foot five and nearly three hundred pounds of solid muscle, he looked too darn scary if he wore anything less formal. I mean, with his bald head and mysterious tattoos, the man was a spandex leotard away from looking like the next WWE champion.

"What are you doing?" he asked, resting his eyes on me for the first time and noting my awkward stance.

Deciding the only way out of this was a "Prissy Fit," as Josh so lovingly referred to them, I yelled, "Oh my God, Dad. You can't just bust into a girl's room unannounced! I'm a girl. I need privacy. What if I had been doing... girl stuff? You're so embarrassing. I want to die. Just die."

"Sorry, Priss. I thought you were in trouble," he said, turning around to pick my door up off the floor. He could be so paranoid sometimes. He wouldn't even let my school put my picture in the yearbook, saying he was afraid of child predators or something."So, what kind of girl stuff do you call that move there?" he asked.

I looked up at my hands still reaching for the sky. My fingers had stopped pulsing and I felt the hot flash passing. Now I just had to figure out a way to answer Dad without making him totally spazz.

"Uh, it's a new dance move," I said, waving my hands in the air.

"Really?" he said, joining me in my made up dance to imaginary music.

I stopped moving and stared at him, holding in laughter. "You look ridiculous, Daddy." I mean, he really did look crazy. Imagine a body-building secret service agent trying to get jiggy. That about sums it up.

"I look ridiculous? You started it." He wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

"What's going on? What happened?" Tai said over the phone. I looked around for the phone and noticed that it had slipped under the bed. But I heard her so clearly, like she was right next to me. How could that be?

"Did you hear that?" I asked my Dad, thinking maybe he had added some new technology to the antique piece of trash I called a phone.

"What?" he replied completely confused.

Hmph. Guess not. Maybe I had super hearing as well. Oh, that would be awesome. It would come in handy for those sneak attacks from the devil twins.

"Nothing, never mind." I sat down on the bed and crossed my legs Indian style.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look... different to me."

Oh, no. Could he tell I was somehow turning into a freak? Oh, how embarrassing.

"I guess you're just growing up," he said, shrugging off his concern. "We have a video chat with your mom in half an hour; then you can help me finish dinner. I'm making your favorite: spinach lasagna, broccoli casserole, and lemon meringue pie for dessert." My dad rubbed his hands together, excited over his homemade dinner.

"Okay, Dad."

"And don't be late. It's almost midnight in Dubai and your mom needs to get to sleep."

"Dubai? What part of Brazil is that?" I asked, thinking Dubai really didn't sound like a Portuguese word. But, hey, what did I know?

"Um, it's... it's, um, in the east part." He looked uneasy. His blue eyes darted back and forth around the room. Was he hiding something from me?

My dad picked up the door, stepped through the gaping hole, and then leaned it against the doorframe to give me as much privacy as possible. I knew he'd probably reattach it after dinner. I wasn't too worried about it. What I was worried about was the Dubai-Brazil thing. I mean, I wasn't any kind of geography genius or anything, but I knew that Brazil was in South America. There was no way any part of Brazil could be like nine hours ahead of Pennsylvania. It didn't make any sense. An image of a map popped in my brain. It was the map on the wall of my sixth grade teacher's classroom. Why could I suddenly see every detail of it in my mind? There was no Dubai in Brazil. In fact, according to my suddenly perfect memory, Dubai was in the Middle East. Right smack dab in the middle of the Middle East. My heart sank. What was he hiding from me?

Suddenly, I remembered Tai was still on the phone.

"You there, Tai?" I asked after grabbing the phone and resting it between my ear and shoulder. I needed my hands free so I could dig out the globe stuffed under my bed. Maybe I was remembering wrong. I had to be sure. I had to know.

"Priss, Dubai is nowhere near Brazil," she said immediately. She'd heard the entire conversation. "Your dad lied to you," she added.

"Yeah, I know."

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#  My Sparkling Misfortune (The Lakeland Knight)

By Laura Lond

I hid in the nearby bushes and waited. Nothing was happening for so long that I began to wonder whether the whole thing was a sham... Then I heard a loud crack in the air followed by a big splash. The first gormack arrived for a swim.

On my way there, I had decided that I would not try to catch the first one I see. I would just watch how it all happens to be better prepared. The spirit materialized in midair—that's what had caused the cracking sound—and fell in the lake. He swam underwater for a while, and all I could see was the dark purplish glow coming from his body; then he emerged... Huge, barrel-chested, half man, half beast with spikes on his head and along his back, mean piercing eyes and powerful jaws. I would say that he was magnificent if he hadn't eerily reminded me of my monster. Even though the resemblance was not striking, it was bad enough to make me want to hide better.

As he swam with obvious pleasure, his purple glow diminished. I checked my watch. He spent almost exactly four minutes in the lake, then climbed ashore and sat on a rock, probably recovering his strength. When his glow regained its intensity, the gormack stood up, stretched, and disappeared with the same cracking sound.

All right. So now I'd seen it. Things seemed to work exactly as the scribe had told me. The only question I had was, Are they all so big? Because, as much as I'd love to have a creature like the one I just saw in my service, I wasn't sure I could overpower it. I am a strong warrior, make no mistake about that; not many can stand against me in battle. But the way that gormack looked... I just had to be reasonable. After all, there were no second chances in this game.

Two loud cracks interrupted my thoughts. Two spirits at once?? I cautiously looked out. Yes, there were two of them, and they were fighting. Quite viciously, too, I might add. One glowed in blue, the other bright orange, like fire; both had thin swords of the same colors, glowing as well, and the swords clashed with incredible speed and force, raising tons of splashes—they fought in the lake, although close to the shore, on a shallow spot.

These two were considerably smaller than the first, which answered my question. They did not look like beasts, either; if it wasn't for the glow, each could pass for a human, a slender yet strongly shaped man.

They kept fighting. Each seemed intent on not letting the other out of the water, obviously trying to use its weakening effect and ignoring the fact that it was weakening them both. The orange one appeared stronger, he was attacking more and once managed to knock his enemy down. The blue one got back on his feet quickly enough, but I could see that he was losing ground.

I checked my watch. They'd been splashing for a little over three minutes. I had to think fast here. What if I grab one now? Will the other one let me catch him or turn against me? Logically, he shouldn't interfere, but if being captured by a human is considered such a bad thing, who knows, maybe the other gormack will forget whatever disagreement they had and choose to help out. On the other hand, gormacks are evil spirits. "Evil" and "help out" don't go together.

I figured I'd have to risk it.

Three and a half minutes... Three forty five... Three fifty. Now!

I leapt out of the bushes, ran in the water, and grabbed the orange one from the back. I wanted him, of course, since he'd proved to be stronger. After the half-second of the initial surprise, the gormack began to struggle; I held him with all my might. The blue one let out a triumphant laugh.

"That's what you get for messing with me!"

Whew. I was right. He wasn't helping.

The blue gormack hurried to get out of the lake.

"What are you doing, silly mortal?!" the orange one demanded. "Let me go!"

"I don't think so," I answered, fighting hard to keep hold of him. He was still very strong, just as the scribe had warned. I strained my every muscle to its limit, hardly able to breathe. I was sure glad I didn't go for the big purple guy!

"What do you want?!"

Oh, so he wouldn't threaten me? And wouldn't offer anything? He's already asking what I want? The fellow was getting desperate... which meant I could ask for a little more.

"Six years of your service."

The blue one laughed from the shore. "Happy captivity!" he shouted. "I hope you will think of me every miserable day!"

Crack! He was gone.

My gormack was supposed to be growing weaker each second, but I couldn't feel it. He swung me like a rag, trying to break free, and my arms were getting numb, but, somehow, I still held on.

"Six years of service!" I repeated. "I will not release you until you pledge it!"

Did he really stagger, just a little, or was I imagining it?...

I wasn't.

"Very well. Be it as you wish."

He agreed!! My overstrained muscles begged for a break, but I couldn't let go of him yet; that would be a fatal mistake. I had to seal the deal.

"So do you promise to serve me faithfully for six years?"

"Within the laws of both worlds, that of spirits and of men, yes."

Within the laws, well, that was fine. The scribe had told me about that. No spirit could break those laws.

"To act in my best interests?"

"Yes."

"Not to lie to me?"

"Yes."

"And never seek retaliation for being captured?"

"Yes."

"Abyss take you if you break your word?"

"Naturally."

Naturally? Was he leaving some kind of a loophole?

"No tricks! Say, 'Yes, I promise, the abyss takes me if I break my word!'"

He said it.

At last, I could loosen the grip. Oh, my arms, shoulders, back... They'd be aching for days.

The spirit waded to the shore. I cautiously followed, still unable to fully believe it. I did it, didn't I? I had a gormack now. My own, for six full years.

He sat down on the sand. I figured I'd give him time to accept the unfortunate change in circumstances. I could use some rest as well, so I lowered myself on a large rock a couple of steps away and looked at my prize. As I have said earlier, he could easily pass for a man, especially now that he'd stopped glowing—a lean young fellow with well-defined features, dressed in a short tunic, breeches, and tall boots. His hair was still flaming orange, but his skin turned the color of regular human tan. I waited for the glow to return, but minutes passed, and it was not happening. Was something wrong?

"Your glow is gone," I said. "I hope you have not lost all your strength."

He looked up at me and, quite unexpectedly, grinned.

"That would be a disappointment, wouldn't it? Don't worry, it's just because I am settling in the physical world."

Well, at least he was not too upset about it.

"Has this happened to you for the first time?"

"I would think those to whom it had happened once will not come to the lake again."

"You have a point." I looked him over again and noticed that he had no weapon. "Where is your sword?"

"Always with me." With that, the shining orange blade showed up in his hand, and before I could blink it was pointed at me. "Why? You want to taste it?"

Uh-oh. So he was a little upset.

"Hey now. You promised to be loyal to me."

"True." He smiled and removed the sword. "But I never promised not to have fun."

A feisty one. It looked like I'd have to teach him some manners.

"You must do what I tell you, and I'm telling you to be respectful. Is that understood?"

He gave a quick bow.

"Yes, Mr. I-Don't-Know-What-To-Call-You."

Well, he had a point here, too. I had not yet introduced myself.

"'My lord' or 'master' will do very well," I said, "but if you wish to know my name, it is Lord Arkus of Blackriver Castle. Now, what is yours? I assume you have a name, too?"

"Of course. I am Tulip."

"Tulip?? What kind of a name is that for an evil spirit?"

"I am no evil spirit."

I gave him a long, hard look.

"...Don't you joke like that. I appreciate a good bit of humor, but not of the kind that makes one's heart stop."

"But I am not joking. I am not an evil spirit, I am what you call a sparkling."

The world faded before my eyes.

"WHAT?? A sparkling?! Are you telling me I have caught a sparkling?! A goody-goody spirit that helps heroes, watches over little children, and messes up villains' plans?!"

"Well, that's a rather broad definition, but yes, generally speaking, that's what a sparkling does. What seems to be the problem?"

I wanted to scream. And I did.

"I WANTED A GORMACK!!!"

"Oops. Your mistake. You should have picked Ragnar then. The one I was fighting."

I grabbed him by the tunic collar.

"Why didn't you tell me who you are?!"

"I do not recall you asking."

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#  The Troubled Tweens: Jinnie Wishmaker

By D. D. Roy

Grandma's new walking cane swished through the air like a Samurai sword, definitely aiming for Uncle Martin's head.

"You are not taking these children," she said, pointing the rubber end of the stick at his nose.

Uncle Martin took a step back and unfurled a sheaf of paper. "Ma, it's a done deal. I have the power of attorney right here."

Jinnie braced herself against the doorframe as she and Bryan peeked down the hall to the living room. Her brother leaned close, his face next to her ear. "What's a power of a turny?"

"Shhh."

Grandma's cane wavered as her arms started to give out. "This is the only home they've known since their parents disappeared."

Uncle Martin took the cane away, setting it against the wall. "I know. But we need to think of your health."

"I'm healthy as a mule."

Uncle Martin shook his head, rubbing his fat moustache. "You just spent four days in the hospital."

Don't let him do it, Jinnie thought. Please don't let him take us.

Grandma stepped closer to Uncle Martin. Her stride still hitched from her fall at the supermarket. "What will your brother say when he comes back and you've made off with his children?"

Uncle Martin rolled the papers back into a tight coil. "It's been a year with no word, Ma. You know he's not coming back."

Grandma pressed her hand against her chest and lowered herself onto the sofa. "I don't believe that."

She was going to give in. Jinnie backed down the hall. "We have to run away," she told Bryan, grasping his arm. "Now."

Bryan's face went all splotchy, like it always did when he was upset. "To Brazil? To find Mom and Dad?"

Jinnie pushed him toward the bedroom they shared. "If the police can't find them, then we can't either."

"Where are we going?" Bryan plopped onto his bed.

Jinnie snatched her ragged backpack from the corner. "I don't know. Anywhere."

Newspaper clippings about their parents covered her bulletin board. "Protestors disappear in Amazon Basin." "Authorities call off search for activist couple." Jinnie began unpinning the articles and shoving them into her bag.

Bryan slid to the floor and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, sniffing. Jinnie glanced at him now and then as he loaded his electronic sets with elaborate creations made of circuit boards, broken toys, and wire. He was only nine. She'd never been able to toughen him up, but she couldn't go without him. Nobody should have to live with Aunt Barb and Uncle Martin. They were rich, big-headed snobs.

A shadow crossed her as the tall figure of their uncle stood in the doorway.

"You're packing already," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Good little Wishners. But we're going to give you a couple days. We'll send a driver after you." He knelt down by Bryan. "You want to ride in a limo, don't ya? Be one of the cool kids?"

Jinnie froze over the open dresser drawer, her face burning. How could this creepy guy be her dad's brother? Her parents wanted to improve the planet, not own it.

Bryan closed his suitcase. "Does it have a swimming pool inside?"

Uncle Martin chuckled as Aunt Barb pushed her way into the room with a swish of satin scarves and flowing sleeves. She rushed to Bryan, pressing her hands on his cheeks. "You won't have to be poor one more day, baby dear. We're going to take very good care of you." Very came out more like "vewwy." Baby talk.

Jinnie stifled a groan and started tugging shirts from the drawer. Let them think they were packing for them. Her aunt and uncle were like the egg people she'd made one time at school. Hollow on the inside, fancy and decorated on the shell.

* * *

Moonlight lit the hallway as Jinnie eased her door open and peered toward Grandma's room. They'd tried to run away the last two nights, but Bryan kept falling asleep. Uncle Martin's limo would be arriving in the morning, so she'd made her brother drink three cokes this time.

He started jumping on the bed, the battered headboard banging against the wall.

"Bryan!" She quickly closed the door, leaping onto the mattress to drag him down. "Stop the noise!"

He buzzed in slow circles around the room. "Do we know where we're going yet?" His blond hair stood up in every direction, eyes bright with caffeine.

"The museum." Her fifth grade teacher had read a book to them, Mixed-Up Files something or another, and it gave her the idea. A brother and sister had lived in a museum for weeks.

Bryan froze in place. "Whoa. We going to sleep there too?"

"Maybe." Jinnie clutched her backpack, stuffed with her camera and photographs and a few clothes. She really had no idea, but that wasn't going to stop her. "Now let's go."

Bryan followed closely with exaggerated marching steps, dragging his suitcase along the floor.

"Can't you pick that up?" she asked, wincing at every bump and scrape.

"It's too heavy."

Jinnie sighed and grasped the handle. "Here, let's trade." She passed him her backpack.

She opened the door to the bedroom, checking the hallway again. Still silent and dark.

They crept toward the living room, Jinnie straining under the weight of the suitcase. Bryan resumed marching, his sneakers thudding on the wood floor.

"Stop!" she hissed.

They paused again, listening for sounds of Grandma Wishner in her room. Jinnie moved forward, sweat beading across the face, her back already aching. She'd have to set the suitcase down soon.

The clock in the living room suddenly chimed. She hefted the bag against her thigh and wobbled forward. "Hurry, we can get out the door while there's noise."

Bryan started marching again, but Jinnie didn't have time to make him stop. Clearly three cokes had been way too much.

They crossed the living room, and Bryan rammed into a side table.

Jinnie didn't dare say anything. Six chimes, only five to go.

Bryan darted around the table, knees still high. Just go, she thought. Come on.

The door creaked lightly as it opened into the night. "Get through!" she whispered.

Bryan slipped outside, and Jinnie stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed.

"We made it!" Bryan said, his face in shadow. He started darting up and down the front steps.

Jinnie lurched forward with the bag. They couldn't walk too far with this overloaded suitcase. "Please calm down. What do you have in this thing?"

"Electronics. Tools. Books." Bryan peered out into the street.

"What are the books for?" Jinnie didn't have much use for those. She'd pretty much given up on reading in second grade when she got that stupid label. Learning disabled. Whatever.

"I like books."

Jinnie braced the bag against her thighs. "Your funeral."

They both stared across the shadowed lawn, Bryan bouncing lightly in place.

"Stay out of the light," Jinnie said. "Stick close to the houses until we get to the bus stop." The routes ran most of the night in this part of Houston. They could take the 73 down to the station, sleep in the bathroom like she'd seen in a movie once, and then go to the science museum in the morning to scope out a place to hide when it closed. She didn't have a plan beyond that.

They tiptoed past Grandma Wishner's window. The lights were all out. Jinnie held the suitcase with both hands, swinging it away from her body to take each step.

Suddenly the handle broke. The suitcase sailed forward, crashing against the house in a clang of metal.

"Jinnie!" Bryan leapt for his bag.

A light popped on overhead. Jinnie flattened herself against the wall, hoping Grandma wouldn't see them if she looked out. The glass pane slid up with a swoosh.

But Bryan couldn't leave his suitcase alone. He tipped it over, and the contents settled with another clatter.

Grandma leaned out the window and looked down, a white cloth pinned to her head. "What on earth are you children up to?"

Jinnie and Bryan looked at each other. There was no getting out of this one.

"Get on back in here. You don't want me to come out."

Jinnie clutched the broken suitcase as she trudged inside. Grandma waited in their room, arms crossed. When they set down their bags, she opened the closet door. "Take off your shoes," she said over her shoulder.

She turned around with her arms full of sneakers, flip flops, sandals—every pair they owned.

"Now hand me the ones you're wearing too," she said. "There will be no more sneaking out tonight. Not unless you want to run away barefoot."

Jinnie fell back on her bed, burying her face in her arms. She'd failed. Failed again.

Grandma sat next to her, arms loaded with shoes, her weathered face pale and tired. "Jinnie, I wish things could be some other way. I don't want to see you go."

Bryan sat on the floor, untying his knotted laces. "Will it be awful?"

"Oh no," she said. "Think of all the things you'll have—rooms of your own, and clothes, and a fancy private school."

"Nothing is worth living with those people," Jinnie said.

Grandma closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath. "There's no doubt that your Uncle Martin is light years different from your daddy. Sometimes I wonder how I could have raised two boys so opposite. But he is a Wishner. And you're a Wishner. And we've all got to stick together."

"I don't want to stick myself anywhere near them," Jinnie said.

Grandma pulled her shoe pile further up her lap. "I think you'll discover that things are going to change for you very soon. I've protected you, but soon you'll learn you're more powerful than you think."

Jinnie snorted. "Right, that's why we have no say on anything."

Bryan's cheeks bloomed pink as he passed his shoes to Grandma. "Are mom and dad ever coming back?" he asked. "You said you didn't believe Uncle Martin."

Grandma relaxed her arms. The shoes slid down her lap and onto the floor, a cascade of worn canvas, rubber soles, and dirt. "I think all of us are about to have a whole lot more faith in our family."

Jinnie didn't buy it in the least.

* * *

Jinnie scowled out the window of the limo the next day, red and yellow flowers whizzing by as she and Bryan hurtled toward Austin and their new home.

She slid her finger along the ridges of her camera, trying to decide if she should ask Robert to stop and let her photograph the blooms. She couldn't tell if he was a good guy or not. He worked for Uncle Martin. Probably not.

Bryan started flipping the lid on the trash compartment in the console between them. "Do you think they'll be mean to us?"

Jinnie turned away from the window. "Ha. They'll never leave us alone. Like pets." Guinea pigs, actually.

Bryan pulled the collar of his yellow sweater away from his neck. "Are we going to have to dress like this all the time?"

"They're sending us to a private school. It's probably going to get worse. Uniforms." Watching him, Jinnie felt the urge to tug at her own fancy dress. Her aunt left specific instructions about what they should wear for the trip, and Grandma had just silently handed them the clothes that arrived with the driver and the limo.

The window separating their compartment from the front seat rolled down with a gentle hum. Robert glanced back at them. "Almost there. You kids ready?"

They didn't answer. Bryan's cheeks had turned splotchy again.

The sunlight behind the mansion looked as though Aunt Barb had special ordered it. Light spilled across the lake, creating a hot line of gold that led right up to the dock and their back yard.

Robert pressed a switch in the dash and huge iron gates opened silently, leading to a curved driveway that circled before a fountain of a woman pouring water from a pail.

Jinnie stared at the enormous limestone house. Her aunt and uncle opened the double front doors and stepped out onto the marble porch. A gust of wind caught the fluttering scarves of Aunt Barb's outfit, and they whipped around her thin body like a maypole. Uncle Martin put his arm around her, smiling broadly beneath his moustache.

Robert opened Jinnie's door. The dry breeze pushed the loose sprigs of hair from her ponytail into her face.

"Come on up, children!" Aunt Barb called, gesturing with her long arms. "We have a surprise."

A photographer lugged an oversized camera and a tripod out the front door. Jinnie strained to see what sort of gear he had, but Robert pressed behind her and Bryan, pushing them up the stairs.

"Our first family photo!" Aunt Barb said, shifting slightly to angle her hips and shoulders. "Come up here with us."

That would explain the clothes. They had been forced to wear them for over three hours just to take a picture. Jinnie lumbered up the stairs, her feet heavy. Bryan also seemed to hesitate, and she ran into him when he stopped abruptly on the last step.

Uncle Martin laid his hand on Bryan's shoulder, pulling him close. Aunt Barb turned Jinnie to the camera and tugged her hair out of the ponytail. Jinnie welled with resentment as the photographer peered through the eyepiece.

"Smile, children!" Aunt Barb said.

Just as the white light burst upon them, Jinnie thought, this is not and will never be my family.

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#   
The Boots of Saint Felicity

By Jean Cross

Chapter 1 - Three Days to Go

Eloueese Turtlewine stood in her kitchen and gazed out of the window. It was a Tuesday morning. Eloueese Turtlewine often gazed out of a window, preferably her kitchen window, when she was thinking. She had just finished her breakfast. She had cleared and washed and dried and put away her dishes and her folded tea towel lay over the rim of her dry sink. She felt warm and full and ready to turn to the practical matters of the day. Then she noticed something odd. A small piece of paper was wafting slowly, carelessly, most certainly, into her back garden. She stood quite still and watched it brush her cornflowers, rise, fall and run along the tip of the grass, rise again and settle finally on the straw she had arranged to protect her strawberries. The small piece of paper blended so well with the yellowy colored straw that she would not have been able to tell it was there had she not witnessed the last stages of its journey to that spot. But she knew it was there and because she knew it was there, it would have to be removed. It was typical, she mused, that this type of thing would happen on a Tuesday. In her experience Tuesdays always brought trouble. Sometimes the trouble was small. Sometimes the trouble was big.

This proclivity for trouble was only one of the reasons why Eloueese Turtlewine did not like Tuesdays. In her view, Tuesday was a terrible waste of time. The very notion of it vexed her. In fact she was apt to deny that the day existed. She often started the period in question just as she had started this one, by sitting up in bed and proclaiming,

"There's no such thing as Tuesday."

Habitually, as she got up and ready on Tuesdays she'd treat herself to a prolonged mumbly grumble, which in her experience were the best kind.

"Now I'll have to spend the whole day pretending it's Tuesday," she would often tell her towel as she removed it from the shiny brass hook in her bathroom, "just because everyone says it is! I've a good mind to go straight into Wednesday. Now, there's a good old useful day!" she would inform the bread as she sliced. "But," she would reconsider as she mashed her bananas, "if I did that I'd just get ahead of everyone and eventually, I suppose, I'd have to stop and wait for them to catch up. Just like last time. Better to pretend it's Tuesday," she'd concede to the toast as she spread the creamy butter. Her final comment on the phenomenon of Tuesday, for that week at least, came as she sat to eat her breakfast.

"It's just a hole in the week. And I've never seen a hole that didn't cause trouble eventually."

Eloueese Turtlewine didn't much like mornings either, so that little piece of yellowy paper could not have floated into her garden at a worse time in the week. Nor could it have been a worse week. For this was the week that the Splickety Village was hosting The Important Person From Far Away Festival and as a member of The Committee To Organize Everything For The Important Person From Far Away Festival, Eloueese Turtlewine had lots of work to do in preparation for the big event. Some of this work she had scheduled for the void as her diary listed what most other diaries referred to as Tuesday and she was keen to get to that work.

She took a deep breath, marched stiffly across her kitchen, slung open her door and strode into her long, tidy back garden. She went directly to her strawberries, paused to consider how well they were coming along, then swooshed down to pick up the scrap of paper. She was about to scrunch it up when she noticed the words.

You should not

interfere

this time

She looked up. The beautiful bright sky was clear in all directions. She turned left and then right. She could see no one. Nothing stirred but the trees as a summer gust coursed through the valley which stretched out beyond the stone wall at the end of her garden. Her shoulders sank and she sighed. They were about to make a move. This was a big trouble Tuesday after all.

Eloueese Turtlewine put the piece of paper in her waistcoat pocket, took one more look at the sky and returned to her kitchen. There she sat at her table and opened the little drawer tucked just under the middle of the table top. She removed a small piece of paper, wrote a note and left immediately for the post office.

* * *

Bernie Brownfeather was getting ready to leave her house. She had just put the last of fifteen bobbins in her hair. Though it was short, Bernie Brownfeather did not like to take any chances. She had done up her buttons, put elastic bands around the bottom of her sleeves and trousers, made sure the strap on her bag was tightly secured and fastened her shoe buckles on the last notch.

"Bobbins, buttons, bands, bag, buckles... bobbins, buttons, bands, bag, buckles," she repeated to herself as she patted her head, pulled out the front of her cardigan so she could check her buttons, stretched the elastic bands around the bottoms of her limbs, which stung a little when she let them go, making her twitch and grimace, tapped the bag on her hip and swung each foot up behind her back to touch her buckle.

"Bother! What's the other one? I'm going to be late."

She took a deep breath, released it slowly and started again, calmly and deliberately this time.

"Bobbinnnns, buttonnnns," it worked. "Belt", she exclaimed as she snapped her red belt from the back of the chair and quickly put it on murmuring "belt, belt, belt, belt, belt."

Bernie Brownfeather was rushing to school.

The fact that it was a Tuesday morning had little bearing on the matter. Bernie Brownfeather rushed to school most mornings, in fact, Bernie Brownfeather rushed to school every morning. It didn't help that every day her granny caught her just as she was about to bolt out of the door to remind her of what her granny always used to say.

"Now Bernie," she'd say, "remember what my granny always used to say. She always used to say, the hurrier I go, the behinder I get. It's so true Bernie, someday you'll understand."

Maybe so gran, Bernie Brownfeather would think, but I'll never understand why you have to hold me back when I'm late for school to tell me about it. But she never said that to her granny. What she'd usually say was something like, "Thanks gran, love you, have to fly." That was exactly what she said on this, so far, ordinary Tuesday morning and it was true. She was grateful to her granny, she did love her, and she did have to fly to get to school on time.

On the whole Bernie Brownfeather was glad that she was one the flyers of Splickety Village but she was mature enough to realize that flying could be difficult, sometimes dangerous and could really mess up your hair. Forget about wearing hats, Bernie Brownfeather had lost so many hats. If you didn't button your cardigan up tightly it could come flapping off. There was always the danger of bumping into small birds that were difficult to see until they were very close and if you so much as touched them they got so angry about it. More often than not something would fall out of an unguarded pocket, or a shoe would come off and land on someone's picnic.

Bernie Brownfeather had devoted some time to figuring out how to fly safely and without losing things. She had developed a routine she called 'the six bs' to minimize the risk associated with flight. These days she never took off without going through her safety protocol and it seemed to be working. She hadn't crashed or lost anything for a long time. And on this bright Tuesday morning Bernie Brownfeather's journey to school was proceeding smoothly.

* * *

There are three schools in the Splickety Village. St. Felicity's is named after St. Felicity, patron saint of sensible shoes, boots and hikers. The littleyears children of the Splickety Village attend St. Felicity's. Their Head Teacher, David Davenport, is very pleased to have the very boots of St. Felicity in his care. The boots have been housed in a beautiful glass case under the Grand Entrance Arch of St. Felicity's School for Littleyears Children for some time.

Then there is St. Hubert's School for Middleyears Children, named for St. Hubert, the Best Dressed Saint. His fine cloak is kept in a glass case in the Grand Chamber of St. Hubert's and as the principal, Dorothy Silkfingers, will be pleased to tell you, it is a wonder to marvel at.

The third school in Splickety Village, St. Ceciltine the Martyr's School for Biggeryears children is named in commemoration of St. Ceciltine the Martyr who is said to have swallowed his own dagger and died in a just cause. The actual dagger of St. Ceciltine can be seen in the Grand Hall of St. Ceciltine's School to this day, but nobody knows how it got there. The Head Teacher, Precilipe Twinepitter, is said to have repelled an intruder with the very dagger of St. Ceciltine one dark winter evening, but she will neither confirm nor deny the rumor.

* * *

Bernie Brownfeather was high over the Splickety Village when she reached with her left hand and opened a powder compact which had been empty for a very long time and which was strapped to her outstretched right wrist. She was about to initiate daytime landing protocol, or DLP as she had decided to refer to the maneuvers if she was ever asked to write a flight manual to instruct the younger fliers. First, she checked her compact mirror. There were no impediments behind her. Then she picked out her landing spot and began her descent towards it. It was a simple procedure, but she had learned the hard way that landings could get you into trouble if you did not concentrate on what you were doing. Before she had begun using her daytime landing protocol, descents had caused all sorts of embarrassing situations. More than once she had misjudged the final stages and ended up astride someone's shoulders. Just last year, during the Bring The Beets Festival, she had brought down a big tent full of villagers eating doughnuts. On one very unfortunate occasion Bernie Brownfeather had landed on a small copper dog called Misty. Misty couldn't walk anymore and though the vet said it was all in his mind, Bernie Brownfeather blamed herself. It was soon after the crippling of Misty that she began to work on her flying protocols. Now she considered herself to be the safest flyer in the greater Splickety area. She touched ground outside the school gate, as flying inside any of the school grounds was strictly forbidden.

"Bernie, didn't you see us waving?"

"Why do you always look so serious when you fly?"

Tawanda Millington and Lindy Looseplates greeted their friend with questions as was very often the case.

"Listen," she said, "you two know very well that flying is a difficult endeavor and has to be rendered safe before it can be properly enjoyed."

"Then how come your brother makes it look so easy?" asked Lindy Looseplates. But the question was not addressed as a loud noise echoed around the school yard.

"C'mon, it's last clang, we'd better go in." prompted Tawanda Millington as she made the first move towards the front door. In a moment all three entered the building.

Once inside, Lindy Looseplates began to moan.

"I hate jam. I'm just no good at it. I don't see why we all have to do it. It's not fair," she said in a whiny voice as she slumped slowly down the corridor to the jam lab.

"Bernie do something to save me from jam. I'll never make it once I leave school, so why do I have to learn about it now? I can't bear jam!"

She was still going on about it as they turned to enter the lab. But her friend was hardly listening, for Bernie Brownfeather loved jam and was particularly looking forward to school this Tuesday morning. There was a rumor circulating amongst those who pondered such things that Bernie Brownfeather would be chosen to make this year's Festival Jam. Some went as far as to speculate that the jam would be cherry and berry. It would be up to Rose Regent, Jam Teacher and member of The Jam For The Important Person Committee to reveal her final decision later in the day. In jam class they were going to cover the jams that should be made, the jams that should not be made and how to make the jams that should be made. The friends sat down and reached into their satchels for their jam books. It was then that Bernie Brownfeather realized that she had left hers on the table in her room. Tawanda Millington shoved her copy between the pair of them and they shared. Like Bernie Brownfeather's, Tawanda Millington's jam book was old. Her grandmother had used it as a student and it was tatty and stained. Hopefully, Bernie Brownfeather thought, those old stains were from the jams that should be made.

Although Bernie Brownfeather had been looking forward to jam class she had no idea of just how tricky jam could get until Rose Regent began to read from chapter one, The Principles of Wholesome Jam. Not only were there the jams that should be made and the jams that should not be made, but then there were the jams that should be made, but only on certain days and the jams that should not be made unless swans were swimming on Roundypool Lake. Jam she thought, it can get so complicated!

"So", Rose Regent, was saying suddenly, "who can tell me where I should pick the berries for cherry and berry jam if I have picked the cherries on the Cumbersome Corner of the Splickety Road? Let's see, Bernie Brownfeather!"

For a moment Bernie Brownfeather was startled, then the only information she had remembered from her perusal of her jam book the previous evening jumped into her head and she found herself saying,

"Berries for cherry and berry jam should usually be picked along the Long Lane, however if the cherries have been picked on the Cumbersome Corner, some berries from the Ubble Field should be added to sweeten the mix."

"Well done Bernie, splendid. Clearly you know your jam. As Jam Teacher, I've been asked to select a pupil to make cherry and berry jam for The Important Person From Far Away Festival which, as you know, will be held this coming Friday. Bernie Brownfeather, I'm so pleased to tell you that you are that pupil! Well done! I know you'll do a good job and St. Hubert's will be proud. Now if you'll all get your pots, we'll be off to pick our berries and cherries, then we'll have lunch and in the afternoon we'll make our jam. Just in time for you all to take it home for tea. Splendid. Splendid."

Tawanda Millington took her pot for picking berries and cherries from the cupboard and headed off with the rest of the jam class. She was thinking about the lemony frizzcake in her school bag and wondered how long the berry picking might take. She ran up behind Bernie Brownfeather and asked, "Bernie do you..." Whereupon Bernie Brownfeather screamed, threw her pot in the air and shrieked,

"I haven't a clue, I'm sorry I haven't a clue. Oh lors Twan, it's you. Twan, I haven't a clue."

"What the blue blazes is up with you?" asked a startled Tawanda Millington.

"Blue, don't mention blue! Cherry and berry jam is made with blueberries. I've got to make it for the Festival and Rose Regent thinks I can do it and I haven't a clue!"

"OK, OK, try to stay calm. Don't worry, it's just a pot of jam."

"Stay calm!? Just a pot of jam!? Are you kidding?" Bernie Brownfeather protested.

"Clearly it's the most important pot of jam the world has ever known and I'm supposed to make it. Everyone thinks I'm good at jam and I'm not, I just remembered a bit from a book. When Rose Regent was listing the things you need to know to make perfect jam, I was thinking about flying suits."

"Really?" said Tawanda Millington whose newest idea was to procure a flying suit although she couldn't actually fly herself.

"What color?"

"Red, with... oh no! Cherries are red!"

They were back where they started. Before Bernie Brownfeather could work herself into another jam frenzy her friend took over.

"Look", she said, "this is what we'll do, we'll pick fruit, have lunch and then we'll make a pot of jam. Rose Regent will be there to help and we'll have my book to follow the recipe and you like jam so you'll be good at it and I'll concentrate really hard and that will be that. We'll have it done by going home time and we can do it together again for The Important Person From Far Away Festival. I'll come around to yours tonight and we'll practice. There. Sorted!"

Bernie Brownfeather took a deep breath, dropped her shoulders, exhaled and said,

"OK, it's a good plan Twan. That's what we'll do then. C'mon lets catch up on Lindy."

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#  The Mortal Enemy List

By Tess Oliver

Chapter 1

"Sweet!" Ethan's booming voice vibrated the shell tassels on Mom's kitchen curtains. "It's off shore, Bro."

"Yes!" Luke, my oldest brother, slammed his fist on the wobbly kitchen table, and two of my red crunchy berries jumped free from my bowl and onto the floor.

I glared at Luke. "You jerk. I've already counted the berries. Twelve of each color. You could have at least knocked one blue and one red out of the bowl."

Luke had that stupid half grin on his face that always made me want to smack him and had helped earn him the number four spot on my mortal enemy list. He grabbed the cereal box and plunged his hand inside. His thick fingers, full with cereal, ripped the sides of the box on the way out. With care, he picked out two of the red crunch berries and dropped them into my bowl before shoveling the remainder into his mouth. "Now they're even again." Bits of cereal sprayed from his mouth.

My hand could not be stopped. Before I knew it, my bowl slid across the table like an ice skater and landed with a splat in Luke's lap.

"You'll pay for that!" Luke shot up and lunged for me. Milky cereal trickled down his legs.

I fell sideways out of my chair and scurried away on all fours squeaking out a noise that landed somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

Ethan stepped between us and put his hand on Luke's chest. "Dude, you aren't seriously going to waste wave time pounding Quinn."

I pushed my hands off the floor and stood behind Ethan's back for protection. I felt secure enough to peek above Ethan's shoulder and stick my tongue out. Luke growled as he lumbered out of the kitchen.

Ethan peered back at me. "If you ever stick your tongue at Luke over my shoulder again, I'm going to rip it from your mouth." He followed Luke out.

Jay, the third member of the Golden Baboon Club, grabbed four slices of buttered toast and headed for the sand room behind Luke and Ethan. Some people have a mudroom we have a sand room, a cramped, windowless space at the back of the house with showerheads in the ceiling and rough tile on the floor. It's a great place for washing off sand or in Luke's case, wet cereal.

I made sure Luke was out of the house before turning to the kitchen desk behind me. My colored pencils and sketchpad were stacked exactly the way I'd left them. Mom knew not to rearrange my stuff. Dr. Trent, my third doctor, a tiny hunched over lady who wore pink and a lot of flowery perfume, thought that drawing might relieve some of my problem. So the ocean scared the crap out of me, and I lived on the beach with a family of surfers. So I didn't really have any friends. Parents always blew everything out of proportion. Besides, I had a good reason for hating the ocean, and friends were usually just a pain.

I double checked my pencils while I waited for the sand room to empty. I moved the yellow because it was touching the black. I did stuff like that because I worried that if I didn't something bad would happen. It was another part of my problem.

A cloud of board wax fragrance and banana scented suntan lotion floated around the sand room. I grabbed a towel from the rack and pushed out the door onto the weathered back porch. The sun was brighter than Jay's teeth after he used those whitening strips.

My feet flew over the three steps. I landed with a thud in the hot sand and raced toward my favorite spot. My towel covered the ivory sand like a blue stamp. I plopped down and took a deep whiff. Some people loved the smell of the sea. Personally, I placed it only one step above Ethan's sweaty running shoes. I glanced toward the water. My brothers had already paddled out to their favorite spot to wait for some good waves. Not that long ago I would have been sitting out there with them, but for now, dry land was the best place for me.

A cluster of seagulls grabbed my attention. They hovered over the rock jetty. I hated the rocks. I never went on them anymore, but something had the flock's interest and now they had mine. With my luck it was probably just an empty potato chip bag but I would never forgive myself if I missed something cool like a dead jelly-fish or giant crab.

I convinced my feet to inch closer. My bravery paid off. A giant pelican, looking prehistoric and smug, sat still as a statue overlooking the water. I scooted as close to the jetty as I could without actually touching the rocks. The bird didn't move, but I couldn't get a clear enough view to draw him without climbing the rocks. For a second I had one of those mind arguments. But I don't have a devil and angel sitting on opposite shoulders. I have the before DS (Dead Surfer) Quinn who wasn't afraid of stupid things and the after DS Quinn who is a total chicken. That's me now.

Because pelican's were so awesome, the before DS Quinn had a slight edge. Still my feet moved as if sticky wads of gum were stuck on the bottoms. I managed to stay clear of the water. I didn't look down but kept my attention on the bird. Its leg was wrapped in fishing twine, but I knew it would never let me near enough to help.

My pencil flew across the paper. I just needed to catch the shape of the bird then I could fill in the details from the safety of my towel. Everything was going smoothly. I held up the pad to admire my outline and suddenly an icy hand grabbed my ankle.

"Holy crap!" The pelican flapped away, and my gaze shot down as I wrenched my foot free. A face stared up at me from the water. My pencils flew in the air as I stumbled off the rocks. My bare toes smacked one of the rough edges. The nightmare was happening again. I had discovered another dead surfer. My heart was beating louder than the pounding of the waves as I limped away, my stubbed toes leaving a trail of red blood drops. I pressed my hand against my mouth to keep from puking.

"You forgot your pencils," a girl's voice called out from behind.

I froze. My heart was still slamming against my ribs and my toes throbbed. And now I was imagining voices. A dead surfer would not be able to talk or grab my ankle. Still freaked out, I turned around slowly. Suntan lotion stung my eyes and I blinked hard hoping I'd be able to figure out what I was looking at. It was hard to see anything past the red and white striped long johns. They were bright and really corny looking and clashed with the black and white stripes in her bangs.

The skinny striped figure moved closer with my pencils clasped in her outstretched hand. "I hope this is all of them."

I glanced for a second. "Where are the yellow and the green?"

Most of her face was hidden behind a pair of orange goggles. She looked down at the pencils in her hand and smiled. There was this little dent on the side of her mouth when she did that. "Wow, you really know your pencils. I'll help you find the others." She turned to head back to the rocks.

I hobbled after her. "You're an idiot." They were the next dumb words out of my mouth and there seemed to be no way to stop the stream of stupidity. "Why did you grab my ankle?" I motioned wildly toward the water. "And who floats on their back underwater with their eyes open?"

She tapped her goggles. "That's why I'm wearing these." She pulled them down and glanced down at my foot. "Sorry about your toes. That must have hurt." Besides the piano key bangs, the rest of her long hair was the color of those caramels my mom used for apples on Halloween. She tucked it behind her ears and knelt down on the rocks. "I think I see yellow." She reached deep into a crevice and plucked the pencil out.

I snatched it from her hand. "You didn't answer me."

She put her fingers to her temples, squeezed her eyes shut, and put up a hand. "I'm trying to get some vibes from the green pencil."

"Funny," I muttered and stormed off with my bloody toes. "This part of the beach is just for locals," I called back over my shoulder.

She caught up next to me. "Sorry about the green."

A mound of sand nearly sent me face down on the beach. It was hard to march off like a tough guy in the hot sand with stubbed toes. "Don't worry about it. I'll just draw my pictures without trees, plants and grass." I plowed ahead. She stuck with me and seemed to have much less trouble walking.

"I was trying to get a fish-eye view of the world," she said.

"I think you mean bird's-eye view."

"No, then I would've been up on a cliff or rooftop. I was definitely thinking fish-eye. Then I saw your foot, and I wondered what a shark might do if it was sitting there staring up at the rocks and saw a foot."

"I'm glad you didn't use your teeth." I sped up, but she kept pace with me.

She grabbed my arm to stop me. "You sure are mad about it."

"I already hate those rocks and now... It's a long, icky story. I don't really want to talk about it."

"I love long, icky stories. Who hates rocks?"

I held my hand up to shade my eyes. "Those stripes are blinding me. What the heck are you wearing?"

She held out her arms and stared down at the sopping long johns. My gaze traveled down too, but I lifted my eyes quickly before my face became red.

"This is my protection from sunburn," she said.

"Haven't you ever heard of suntan lotion?"

"If you want to trust your skin to something that is completely invisible when it dries, go right ahead," she said.

I glanced around. "O.K. where are the cameras? I'm being Punked , aren't I?" I continued walking and she followed.

"How close do you have to live to be a local?" she asked.

I'd forgotten about my mean comment. I shrugged. "A couple of miles, I guess." The words bubbled out of my mouth weakly.

"Then I guess I'm a local." She waved to the rundown beach house four doors down from my house. The windows were still frosted with salty dust and the roof was barely hanging on. "Hey, Mom."

A woman with red hair and rhinestone glasses peaked around the overgrown shrubs with a giant pair of hedge trimmers. "Did you have a good swim?"

"Yep." She smiled at me from under a curtain of razor cut bangs. "Is that close enough?"

"I'd say you're a local." I pointed to my house. "I live right there. I'm Quinn." Not sure why I did it but my mouth was unstoppable today.

"I'm Bronte, like the famous author sisters. My mom has this thing about them."

"It's definitely different." I walked on and she followed. "Did your dad move here too?

"Nope, just Mom, me and Chester. My dad is missing. Oh I just remembered something." She turned and started walking back to the jetty. I stumbled behind with stinging toes.

"What do you mean he's missing? I thought only kids could be missing. You know, like the faces on the milk cartons."

"This time it's the opposite. I'm here and he's not." She stooped down suddenly, and I almost fell over her. She picked up a small shell, tossed it around on her palm to inspect it, then dropped it back into the sand.

"That's weird. I mean are the police looking for him or did he run away from home?" Bronte stopped and turned to me. Her blue eyes flashed angrily, and I wanted to kick myself for being such a jerk.

I stared down at the sand. "Sorry, that was a creepy thing to say."

"You're allowed one creepy statement a day. But don't make a habit of it." She tromped on and I could not stop from following like a stray puppy.

"Where are you headed?" I asked.

"Back to the rocks. I saw a pelican with fishing twine wrapped around its leg."

"That pelican flew off when you grabbed my ankle. Anyhow, that bird isn't going to just let you walk up to it and unwind the string."

Her long hair had dried now and it bounced around her shoulders as she confidently marched back to the rocks. She reached the edge of the jetty and looked back at me. "I'm sure it returned because it needed help. You can stay here. I know you don't like these rocks. Besides you'll scare away the pelican with your nervousness."

I could feel my face heat but I wasn't sure if it was anger or embarrassment. "Now you've had your one creepy statement of the day," I said.

She climbed up to the top rock and nodded her head once. "Now we're even." She twisted around and hiked slowly across the slimy rocks. I watched her get further and further out over the water. A wave slapped the jutting edges of the jetty spraying her with a mist, but it didn't stop her. Suddenly she crouched down, and all I could see was the top of her head. I felt like a total chicken standing on dry sand not taking even one step onto the rocks. But even the solid, cold lump of shame growing in my stomach didn't make me move closer. Then I saw Bronte heading back to me.

"Told you the bird took off when I threw my pencils," I said smugly.

She held up her hand. A long piece of fishing string dangled from her fingers. That little line creased the side of her mouth as she smiled and pushed past me.

My mouth dropped open as I watched her walk away in her crazy red and white pajamas and long caramel colored hair. "She's definitely different," I muttered to myself.

Chapter 2

I'd kept my cool about the green pencil even though it was really messing with my head. I didn't want the new girl to find out so soon that I was a nutcase. I laid some of my pictures out over my towel trying to decide which one to finish. I stuck with the pelican even though I had barely outlined it before.... My gaze shot up toward the houses. No sign of her.

I was just getting fully into my picture when I heard Bronte's voice again. "Could you hold this for a second?"

The sun blinded me as I looked up. Suddenly my fingers were holding onto a piece of string and from the way it was pulling against my skin, I figured it must have been attached to something. It was. A giant dragon kite was diving and swooping behind my head. I jumped to my feet.

"I need to find something for the tail so it flies better," Bronte called back to me as she headed for the trash can.

"But it's not windy enough." My words began loudly then dropped off on the word enough when I realized how dumb I sounded. Wind or not, her giant kite was staying in the air almost as if its dragon wings really worked. Of course one minute of me holding the thing and it did a nose dive straight into the sand, spreading out like a deflated parachute.

"I just killed your dragon." She was hanging over the side of the trash can with the top of her body inside, digging for something. "That's disgusting," I said. She'd added some things to her outfit. Her feet dangled over the side of the can covered in tall black gothic style boots.

She popped out of the can holding up a shiny piece of foil. Then with amazing ease, she walked back to my towel in the giant lifted boots. She was wearing a black vest laced up the front like women wore in the old days and a black mini skirt. A pair of tattered pink wings bounced between her shoulders with each step. It was sort of an anime gothic crossed with a Santa's elf look, yet somehow, it worked on her. Her long hair hung in two braids down each side. With round blue eyes and a small nose, even her face matched the graphic novel look.

She reached my towel and it took me a second to find my tongue. "Sorry about the kite. Are those wings on your back?"

She looked back over her shoulder at them like she didn't know they were there. "They help put me in a kite flying mood. My aunt is a costume designer in Hollywood so she sends me stuff all the time." She tore the foil into strips. It had mustard on it, which she wiped off on my towel.

"Gross. Now I have some stranger's sandwich gook on my towel."

She totally ignored my complaint and continued to twist the strips of foil into silver twigs. She hiked back to where the kite had fallen and wrapped her shiny trash around the tail of her dragon. The little wings on her back vibrated up and down as she worked. I watched the whole scene wondering if I was really seeing it or if I was still asleep in bed.

A loud whistle from the shoreline startled me. I turned to see all three of my brothers with their boards propped in the sand. They waved at me. It looked like they were laughing. They were, of course, the last people I wanted to see.

"Who are they?" Bronte was standing behind me now squinting down to the shoreline.

I turned back. The kite was already high in the air with its new tail. "That is the Golden Baboon Club, better known as my brothers."

She stared at them for a minute and waved back enthusiastically. "What happened to them? Why are they so big and so blonde?"

Her question nearly knocked me on my butt. Most people asked what happened to me. Compared to my brothers, I was pretty scrawny and my hair was nearly black. I was the misfit of the family, and she asked what had happened to them. All of a sudden they were the oddballs and I was the normal one. My brothers' laughter jolted me out of my wishful thinking. "A lot of bench presses, bicep curls, and a little help from Mr. Peroxide." I pointed to my own hair.

Bronte motioned to the shore with her head. "They're coming this way,"

Great. I make a friend, and now she's going to go crush crazy on one of my brothers. Most likely Jay because he's considered the town's major heartbreaker. My jaws clenched tightly as they got closer.

"Hey, Quinn, who's your new friend?" Luke asked with that annoying grin plastered on his face.

Bronte handed me the kite string which made me even more nervous because now I had to face my brothers and keep her dragon in the air. She reached for Luke's hand. "I'm Bronte."

Luke stared at her. In fact they were all staring at her with goofy, primate expressions like they were inside the monkey cage at the zoo staring out at the spectators. "Are you on your way to a costume party?" Luke smirked.

Beneath the long bangs, Bronte's forehead inched together like she was confused by his question. "No, are you?" she asked.

A loud laugh exploded from my mouth. Luke's fist crashed into my shoulder.

"Ouch!"

"How do you do that?" Bronte asked Luke.

"Easy. Like this." Luke clenched his hand into a fist, and I braced for another blow.

Bronte put up her hand to stop him. She waved her fingers near her neck. "Not that. I mean how do you make your neck to be the same size as your head?"

Now Jay and Ethan laughed, but my sore arm warned me to hold mine inside. I could see Luke's lips forming the B word, but thankfully, Ethan grabbed his arm to stop him. Luke turned on his heels and lumbered away. The other two followed.

"She's actually pretty hot." I heard Jay say as they got farther away.

Unable to wipe the grin off my face, I turned to Bronte. "That was sweet."

Not realizing it was possible, her blue eyes opened wider. "What?" she asked.

"You just slammed Luke. No one ever slams that jerk."

"I did?"

I didn't know what to say. Maybe it was because she had such a doll-like face, but she looked totally innocent like she was not asking the question to be sarcastic. "You mean you were asking a serious question?"

She shrugged, but I was sure I saw a hint of that little line that creases the side of her mouth when she's smiling.

"Sorry about Luke. He wasn't always such a creep. He actually taught me to surf when I was little." Luke had taught me to do a lot of cool things like jump my skateboard off a curb, play notes on guitar and blow milk through my nose. But he stopped teaching me things when I stopped liking the ocean. I was a major disappointment to him, and I was pretty disappointed in him too.

Bronte glanced up the beach at her flattened dragon. "You aren't much of a kite flyer, are you?"

"I'm not great at many things," I admitted.

Her eyes turned down to my towel. "If I tried to draw that pelican, it would have looked like a big gray blob on paper. Yours looks like it could fly off the paper and scoop up a fish."

I shrugged trying to be cool, but inside I was grinning like an idiot, an idiot with a new friend who could fly kites without wind, touch wild birds, and shoot down Luke's monster ego with barely a blink of her long lashes. And somehow, in the little time I'd known her, she'd made me feel like maybe I wasn't such a spastic loser after all.

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#  Haunted: Book 4: The Ghost Miner's Treasure

By Chris Eboch

Chapter 1

"Many dangers you face on this quest. Many trials." The old woman leaned over the table. A wisp of gray hair escaped from her bun and hung in her face. Light streaked through the dirty windows, making craggy shadows in her wrinkles. She stared down at the sticks and bones she'd tossed on the table, her mouth moving silently.

My stepfather, Bruce, stood across the table from her, leaning forward intently. She looked up at him and spoke. "What you seek is not easily found. There are those who would stand in your way. But you also have helpers."

She looked around at the rest of us. I thought her eyes rested on my sister, Tania, as she said, "Some good luck."

Her eyes met mine. "Some bad luck."

I shivered. Did she mean I would have bad luck? Or that I was the bad luck?

"What do you advise?" Bruce asked.

The old woman shrugged. "You will go. You will do what must be done. It is meant to be." Her eyes met mine again, intently. "But be careful whom you trust." Cold crept up my spine, though the room was hot and stuffy.

Bruce leaned forward and asked a question. Mom shifted restlessly and took a step toward him. I glanced at Maggie, the pretty production assistant. She met my look and rolled her eyes.

My breath exploded out. It wasn't really a laugh; I just hadn't realized I'd been forgetting to breathe. I grinned at Maggie, suddenly lighter. I'd gotten caught up in the atmosphere of the dark room and the spooky old lady. But Maggie had reminded me that I didn't believe in fortune-tellers. Bad luck happened, sure, but no old woman could predict it ahead of time.

Of course, a year earlier I hadn't believed in ghosts, either. Things had changed when my sister and I started traveling with Haunted, the ghost investigation TV show run by my mom and stepfather. I hadn't yet seen a ghost, but my sister had. I hadn't believed her at first, but I'd changed my mind after seeing her possessed, and all the other strange things we had faced.

Still, believing in ghosts didn't mean I had to believe everything. I didn't even know why we were talking to this fortune-teller. During the filming of the last show, Tania and I had proven that Madame Natasha, Bruce's "psychic" guest star, was a fake. In the process, we'd accidentally made Bruce look like a fool and hurt the show's reputation. We'd learned our lesson there, and Bruce had sworn off psychics. But here we were.

Maggie touched my arm and bobbed her head toward the door. I nodded and followed her, Tania at my side. We paused outside, blinking in the bright sun. Maggie's dark curls tumbled around her shoulders. Tania looked small and washed out next to her.

Maggie shook her head. "You'd think he'd have learned by now."

"She's different than Madame Natasha. More...." Tania bit her lip and looked back toward the door.

"Sincere?" Maggie asked.

"Creepy," I suggested. "I mean, Madame N was a creep, but this woman is just spooky."

"She does seem to believe what she's saying," Maggie said, "which is more than I can say for Madame Natasha." She shrugged. "But what did she really say? Good luck, bad luck, nothing that can be proven or disproved. It's generally a fair bet that some things will go right and some will go wrong. And of course a ghost won't be found easily. We have yet to prove they even exist!"

I nodded, glad Maggie hadn't noticed the fortune teller looking at me when she mentioned bad luck. Maybe it didn't mean anything after all.

I wanted to smack myself. Of course it didn't mean anything! I'd already decided that. If I wasn't careful, I was going to turn superstitious.

"At least Bruce isn't planning to use her on the show," Maggie said. "He can't stop himself from wanting to believe, but he'll be more careful about keeping the show scientific."

I nodded. I actually felt sorry for Bruce. It was hard to know what to believe. Sometimes I wished I could just believe the things I wanted to believe and not worry about it. But life is more complicated than that.

"So, can we look around the town while they finish?" Tania asked.

Maggie glanced left and right. The town of Vulture had one main dirt street, a few hundred yards long, and not much else. You couldn't even drive through the town; you had to park in a lot by the entrance. A big wooden water tank and a windmill stood on top of the hill. Across the highway, a cluster of weird rock towers rose up in the foothills of the Superstition Mountains.

"I don't see how you can possibly get in trouble." Maggie winked. "Though who knows, you've surprised me before. Go ahead, I'll tell your mom. I'm sure we'll find you."

The old wooden buildings had been turned into stores, with a bakery, fudge shop, antique store, and a "general store" that sold T-shirts and postcards. "Some ghost town," I said. "I thought ghost towns were supposed to be abandoned. This looks more like a tourist trap."

"It really was an old frontier town, though," Tania said. "In the 1800s. Maggie was telling me about it. I guess nobody lives here now, they just come in to run the stores. And on summer weekends and holidays they do shows. You know, guys dress up as gunfighters and have shootouts in the street."

We looked at each other and shrugged. Maybe that would have sounded fun once, but now it seemed like kid stuff. We'd had a lot more excitement in our lives than watching grownups play-act and fire blank guns.

"Well, where do you want to start looking for the real ghost?" I asked.

Tania tipped her head to one side. "It wouldn't take long to search the whole town. But first let's think about what we know about him." She closed her eyes. "Jacob Waltz was born in Germany around 1810. He came to America about 1840 and headed west. He tried gold-mining in California before winding up here in Arizona in 1862."

She opened her eyes again, and I took over the story. "In 1869 he came into town with a sack of ore, almost pure gold. He went straight to the saloon, bought drinks for everyone, and bragged about the mine he'd found in the mountains. The newspapers picked up the story. For the next two years, Waltz lived off that gold and didn't set foot in the mountains. He was probably afraid someone would follow him and find his mine."

Tania nodded. "But when his gold ran out, he went back to the mountains with a burro to carry his riches. Two months later, he was back in town—empty-handed. He couldn't find the mine again. He spent the next five years looking for it, with no luck. He died at sixty-six, penniless, in rags, half starved. Some said he went crazy."

She looked sad, so I quickly said, "What's the most logical place to look for an elderly ghost trying to drown his sorrows over losing his gold mine?"

We glanced down the street and looked at each other. Simultaneously, we said, "The saloon."

We walked past a tiny museum. I said, "You know, helping this ghost isn't going to be easy."

Tania shot me a look. "And the others have been?"

"Well, no, but that's not what I mean. If you want to help him overcome whatever is keeping him here, you have to solve his problem, right? And his problem is that he can't find his mine. So the only way to help him move on is to help him find the mine. But if he couldn't, how are we supposed to?"

Tania scowled. She looks like a fierce kitten when she does that. "Maybe we could convince him that the mine doesn't really matter." She sighed. "No, we know that never works. You're right. We have to actually help him solve his problem."

I wondered why, after encounters with three ghosts, we felt like such experts. But it had been true so far. If a ghost had been worrying about something for a hundred years, a quick word of advice from us wasn't going to change that. I said, "He could also be out now, wandering around looking for his mine. If he is, I don't see how we'll even find him."

"We have to! We have to make things right for Bruce and the show, to make up for what we did with Madame Natasha. I'd feel terrible if Bruce lost his show because of us."

"Me too," I said, "but I don't think the ghost is going to show up just for our convenience."

"We have to find a way."

"Just try not to get me in too much trouble this time."

Tania smiled sweetly. "But if I didn't get you in trouble, you wouldn't have any fun at all."

She walked ahead of me up the steps to the saloon. The sad thing was, I kind of had to admit that she was right.

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Copyrights owners are as follows: Brother's Keeper by MJ Ware, Priscilla the Great vs. Christine the Mean by Sybil Nelson, Fair Price by Laura Lond, The Emerald Key by N.R. Wick, Mr. Kent's Wall of Wonders by D.D. Roy, The Ghost of Vernon Avenue by Jean Cross, Grunge is the New Cool by Tess Oliver, Starboard Academy by Laura Keysor, Squamata's Rumble by KJ Hannah Greenberg, & Sister's Keeper by Chris Eboch

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