The Mapmaker and the Ghost(29)

“Dude, all I’ve heard you do all day is complain about not doing anything. And now I’m giving us something to do … and you don’t wanna? What about being a hoodlum?” No-Bone mimicked Toe Jam in a high singsongy voice. Sometimes, it was just too easy to goad this rich kid who had never had to worry about getting enough food or Christmas presents a day in his life.

Toe Jam punched him on the arm. “Stop.”

“Stop,” No-Bone continued in the same voice.

Out of nowhere, his head cocked down like a bull’s, Toe Jam rammed into No-Bone’s curved middle. Both of them fell into a heap on the floor.

All right, so maybe No-Bone had underestimated the richie’s fighting skills. After all, he probably had a private wrestling ring or something in that giant mansion of his. Still, he thought, very little could actually be a match for his stupendously amazing spine tricks. And to prove this point, he started to curve his body around Toe Jam’s limbs like a snake.





21

TOUGHER, STRONGER, GROSSER


The rosebush was exactly where the girl had said it would be, but Snotshot was eyeing it suspiciously anyway.

In retrospect, it had probably been pretty stupid to let the girl and her brother go. She had to admit, as weak as the girl seemed like she might be physically, she had proven herself to be rather on the smart side. This had all probably been some trick, and Snotshot was angry at herself for falling for it.

After all, a flower? Really? What a stupid, girly thing to be after. She looked skeptically at the lush blue roses sprouting all over the bush. She had probably passed this bush hundreds of times and had never even noticed it before. That’s because she didn’t have time for flowers. Or anything else, really, that a girl her age was supposedly meant to fawn over.

When Spitbubble had come upon Snotshot in the woods, a few days after she had run away from home for good, he had thought he could bully her just because she was a girl. All the kids had, really. She had been forced to prove them wrong. She had had to be just as loud, just as tough, and just as gross as any of them. Louder, tougher, and grosser if possible. That’s why she had chosen the special “talent” that she had. The boogers were enough to make all the boys cringe, even Toe Jam, who was hands down the least likely to be found within a ten-foot radius of a shower.

Luckily, her ex-home life had prepared her for all of this: being tough and being independent. She didn’t want to think about that, though. She had gotten herself out of her old life, and she wasn’t going back. Instead, she focused on the plant in front of her.

Looking around to make sure no one was in sight to witness it, Snotshot bent down to take a small whiff. Immediately, a rush of memories flooded her. Suddenly, she was five years old and digging a hole on a sandy beach. The hole was big and round and perfect, and close enough to the ocean that the bottom of it had filled with cool, salty water. She and her dad were dipping their feet into it, and there was a wild, crazy sound in the air. She soon realized it was the sound of her own laughing, a carefree and ringing laugh that she hadn’t even remembered she had. This was all before, of course. Before her mom had left and her dad had become so sad that it was impossible to live with him.

Her breath caught in her chest, and Snotshot was suddenly whipped back to her present-day reality. She shook her head, wanting to shake herself free of the memory she had just unwittingly happened upon. No, she thought. It isn’t any good to think of those days. They’re gone, and I have to move forward. Tougher and stronger. And grosser, when necessary.

Even better, wealthy, if possible. Gently, since she didn’t want to damage her possible treasure trove and since she had spotted some nasty-looking thorns on the flower’s stem, Snotshot held a rose by its bud as she used the shears the girl had given her to cut it. She placed it carefully in the old jam jar. Then she cut another and another. The jam jar would only hold five, so she left the other few on the bush as they were.

She closed the jar lid tight, just as directed, and she looked at the flowers through the glass. They seemed to give off a faint glow, almost like weak blue Christmas lights.

She held the jar low by her side as she walked back toward the cavern. She didn’t think it was necessary to share this discovery with anyone else. For one thing, there was no need for anyone to know that she had even seen the two kids after the big idiot let them escape.

For another, if the girl had been right and the flowers were worth a lot of money—a possibility that despite her natural skepticism, she realized she was inclined to believe—well then, why should she have to share that with anyone?





22

A DUSTY DISCOVERY


Goldenrod knew Meriwether was not happy with her. He had made that much abundantly clear during his reappearance before they had almost run into Toe Jam and No-Bone.

After listening to a brief lecture from the ghost, which by the way proved to be just as frustrating as a lecture from any solid adult, Goldenrod had pleaded her case to him. What was she supposed to have done? Not only was it the only way she had thought of to get her and Birch safely away from the clutches of Spitbubble’s gang but, she pointed out, it was also the only way she had thought of to get the rose cut in time. After all, it was either today or another whole fifty years.

Meriwether didn’t have much of a response to that.

“Believe me, I want to get it back as much as you do,” Goldenrod had told him. “And I promise I’ll try to come up with a way.”