The Mapmaker and the Ghost(46)

Slowly, Goldenrod nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I trust you.”

“Go help Lint,” Snotshot said simply.

Goldenrod nodded again and then, jar in hand, she and Birch started to run as fast as they could out of the forest.



“Hey, where do they think they’re going?” Spitbubble glared at the vanishing figures of Goldenrod and Birch.

Snotshot turned around to face him. “To help Lint. He’s hurt, Spitbubble. But you already knew that.”

Spitbubble snorted. “Please. Why would they help him? How could they even help him? They’re just two dumb brats. I think you got played.” He pointed to the frame. “Hand that over.”

“What?”

“You know what. That priceless map.”

Snotshot hesitated for only a moment. Then she said, “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Spitbubble asked in his lowest, most menacing voice.

“The map is going back to the museum. I gave Goldenrod my word,” Snotshot said.

Spitbubble let out a short laugh. “Oh, really? How do you propose to get it out of here exactly? Are you going to take me on, one on one?”

Inwardly, Snotshot shuddered a little. She had never been in a fight with Spitbubble, and he was older and bigger than she was. The chances of her actually getting the map out of there were slim to say the least. Outwardly, however, she couldn’t let him see that. Luckily, she was a pretty good actress.

“If that’s what it takes,” she responded coolly.

“Seriously?” Spitbubble asked.

“Yeah, seriously,” she said.

“You really want to do this?”

“If I have to.” Snotshot was beginning to suspect that maybe Spitbubble was stalling because he hadn’t been in as many fights as he let on either.

He sighed. “All right. It’s not usually my policy to hit a girl, but if you’re asking for it.” He looked greedily at the map, but he didn’t make a move.

Suddenly, a streak of courage exploded within Snotshot. It might have had something to do with being called a girl. “I can’t believe you!” she yelled. “I can’t believe you left us there. What good is a rigged-up cavern if all of us end up in jail? What were you going to do, just hang out there by yourself?”

Snotshot expected Spitbubble to give some excuse, any excuse. Instead, he was silent.

“Wait…,” Snotshot said, her mind reeling. “Is that true? Were you not going to let us stay there?”

“Of course I was,” Spitbubble said. “I’ve done everything for you guys. Everything.”

The problem was that Spitbubble wasn’t nearly as good an actor as Snotshot was.

“From where I stand,” Snotshot said slowly, “it looks like we’ve been doing everything for you.” She turned around and started to walk away.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Spitbubble asked.

“Back to the museum. I’m returning the map, and I’m going to face whatever it is my friends are facing.”

“Your friends?” Spitbubble sneered.

Snotshot whipped back around. “Yes, my friends,” she said hotly. “And it’s a lot more than you have.”

“What,” Spitbubble started, “are you talking about? They are mine. I own them. I own all of you.”

“You don’t own me. Not anymore.” Snotshot found that she wasn’t even acting as she lifted the map over her head and started to make her way back out of the forest. The frame was heavy, and she couldn’t move very fast with it.

But, somehow, she wasn’t that surprised when she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind her.





32

THE COOKIE STRATEGY


By the time Goldenrod and Birch had gotten back to the science museum, there was a cop car and ambulance there, and a small crowd had gathered to gape at the large kid on a stretcher and two other kids being questioned by a police officer. All three looked miserable, and Goldenrod couldn’t help but notice that Brains was casting worried glances toward Lint in between answering the cop’s questions.

Goldenrod and Birch had made their way to the front of the crowd and asked the paramedic wrapping up Lint’s leg if they could talk to him for a second.

“He’s our friend,” Goldenrod said, and the paramedic looked at her worried face and nodded.

“All right,” she said. “Just for a minute. Then we’ve got to get him to the hospital. His leg is broken in three places.”

Lint grabbed on to the paramedic’s arm. “But I can run the annual Cookman half marathon, right? It’s not for another three weeks.”

The paramedic raised her eyebrows. “Honey, you’re not going to be running anywhere for a long time. It’s going to take you at least a few months just to walk.”

Lint groaned as the paramedic went to talk to her partner who was driving the ambulance. “My dad will never notice me now,” he said miserably, his face still pale and clammy-looking from pain.

Goldenrod tried to give a reassuring smile to her former Formidable Foe. “It’s okay, Lint,” she said gently. “I can help.”

Lint furrowed his brow a tiny bit but didn’t say anything.