Perhaps she was taking a tiny bit longer than she should, but Goldenrod couldn’t leave the exhibit without getting a quick look at her favorite part. It hung on the back wall: a very long, faded map under a heavy glass frame, an original. The map was beautiful, precise, and perfect, and it made her hope even harder that its maker wasn’t too disheartened with her.
As she scanned the illustrated parchment dreamily, suddenly she gasped. There, on the bottom right-hand corner of the map, was a blue rose. A blue compass rose. When Goldenrod looked over the map again, she realized, for the first time ever, what it truly was. It was a map of her forest. And, not only that, but faint blue lines seemed to be showing various routes to get out of it—if only you knew what you were looking at. Suddenly, Goldenrod understood: one of those routes was the only way to get the real blue rose out.
“Goldenrod,” Birch whispered, “we have to go.” He had been acting uncharacteristically brave all day, but she saw a little hint of worry nestled in his forehead.
He was right, of course, but it didn’t stop Goldenrod from looking longingly at the map one last time. Maybe when all this was over, she could figure out a way to borrow it from the museum and use it before the roses wilted.
As Goldenrod and Birch quietly made their way up the museum stairs, they started to hear the sounds of Spitbubble’s crew up to their no-good deeds. It was time for the Morams to put their own plan into action, which was pretty simple really. Scare them first. And then, if they didn’t leave, get the guard to find them.
The first part of it was easy. Turning on the sneeze machine in the bacteria exhibit was just a flick of a switch, and they had the perfect hiding place—behind a giant cardboard cutout of a human body—to wait.
Goldenrod silently rejoiced when she saw that Snotshot was the one who had come to see what the noise was. She was the one they wanted for maximum effect.
While Snotshot was puzzling over the sneeze machine, Goldenrod and Birch took the opportunity to slip from behind the cutout and scurry to the next exhibit. It was all about the five senses and right by the farthest wall was a giant red pipe with an opening that was meant to be spoken into. To display how quickly sound could travel, the pipe wound all the way around the room and ended in the bacteria exhibit—right around where Snotshot was standing.
Birch put his mouth to the pipe and, using the voice Goldenrod had taught him, hissed, “You must leave the museum. You must, you must, you must.”
Goldenrod was impressed with how scary and ghostlike her tiny little brother sounded. Clearly, Snotshot was too, since she jumped about a mile into the air at the sound of his voice. Her eyes widened, and in a flash she was running back to the Energy Quest exhibit. “Guys, I think we have to get out of here!” she squealed.
“What?” came the sound of Brains’s voice.
“We have to leave. Now,” Snotshot said, her voice shaking.
“What are you—” Brains started.
But just then, there was a tremendous crackle. And then a scream.
“Lint!” They heard Brains’s anguished yell.
31
THE PATH OF THE BLUE ROSE
The giant purple streak of lightning from the ceiling scared Snotshot almost as much as the sound of that ghost had.
When she came to her senses enough to look away from the small, innocent-looking coil that had caused the lightning, she caught a glimpse of Spitbubble hastily pulling away from the coil’s base. He had obviously just been leaning on what appeared to be a small, silver switch.
Spitbubble looked in shock, and even more so as he caught sight of something by the hydropower station. When Snotshot followed his gaze, she got sick to her stomach too.
The unexpected sound of the lightning had scared them all, and it seemed as if Lint had tried to run when he’d heard it. Now, however, he was lying flat on his back on the floor, his face completely pale with agony. It was easy to see why, as Snotshot could clearly make out a small, white piece of bone that was sticking out from his shin. That lint ball he was always carrying was rolling away from him; he must have tripped over it.
Brains was with him in an instant, trying to examine the wound. “It’ll be okay, Lint. It’ll be okay,” he said, a bit too frantically for Snotshot’s liking.
Lint just moaned helplessly, and even louder when Brains gently tried to lift his foot.
“Can you fix it?” came Spitbubble’s deep voice.
“His leg’s broken,” Brains said. “We have to get him to a hospital.”
“No! No hospital. They’ll ask too many questions about us. Can’t you make a splint or something?” came Spitbubble’s less-than-calm reply. When people like Brains and Spitbubble were panicking, this was cause for worry.
Snotshot looked around frantically to see if there was anything she could do to help. And that’s when she saw them—the girl and her brother. “You!” she said. They were looking pale as they watched Lint cry out in pain.
The rest of the kids turned to them too, and Spitbubble opened his mouth to say something. But he was interrupted by the faint sound of a door opening from the other end of the hallway, the door that led to the back stairs.
“The guard. He’s coming,” Brains muttered almost to himself. He was rummaging in his backpack, obviously trying to find something that might work as a splint.
“Okay,” Spitbubble said firmly, “everybody out. Run.”
“What?” Brains said incredulously. “What about Lint? He can’t move!”
“Leave him,” Spitbubble said calmly.
If it was at all possible, Lint’s face became a shade whiter still. He looked up at Brains fearfully.
“Are you kidding? No way!” Brains said. He and Spitbubble stared at each other across the exhibit, the tension as taut as the wires in that big coil that had caused this whole mess.
“I can help,” Goldenrod spoke up. The entire Gang stared at her again, but it was Snotshot she was looking at. “The rose,” Goldenrod said to her. “We can go get it. Can you help me?”
Before Snotshot could even process what the girl was asking, there was the sound of a door opening and closing. Spitbubble was gone. The rest of the Gross-Out Gang looked at one another in shock.
“If she can help, help her,” Brains finally said to Snotshot as the sound of the guard’s footsteps got closer.
Snotshot took one more look at Lint’s agonized expression. “Let’s go,” she said to Goldenrod. The two of them and Birch quickly walked through the same front door from which Spitbubble had made his escape.
Just as they were running down the stairs, they heard the incredulous sounds of the security guard as he came upon what must have been a very unusual scene for a Thursday afternoon at the museum.
Goldenrod led the way to the Lewis and Clark exhibit as they burst through the first floor’s double doors.
“There’s a map,” she explained to Snotshot. “We have to, um, take it from the museum.” The thought made her a little nauseous. But this was an emergency and she hoped that Meriwether—and the museum guard, the police, and her parents—would understand.
“Fine, show me,” Snotshot said, and a few seconds later, Goldenrod was pointing at the wall with the beautiful and faded parchment.
The frame was too big for one non-Lint-sized person to carry and run with at the same time. Goldenrod knew she couldn’t have done it with just Birch’s help either. And since Snotshot already knew what and where the rose and clearing were, it had just made sense to ask her.
And she’d been right. Without a moment’s hesitation, Snotshot had taken the frame down from the wall. She at least has some practice taking things that don’t belong to her, Goldenrod thought.
She and Birch went to help. It was awkward carrying the long frame among the three of them, especially since there was a pretty profound height difference between Birch and Snotshot. But they stuck Birch in the middle and ran as fast as they could, Goldenrod leading the way. They took the back door out of the museu
m and ran down through the wooded area that would eventually lead to Pilmilton Woods.
They didn’t say much to one another as they ran. Once, Goldenrod mentioned to Birch that they were heading into the forest again. He just nodded in response. The rest of the way, they focused on their speed.
As they were nearing the forest’s perimeter, Snotshot called out, “Do you know where the rose is?”
“Yes,” said Goldenrod.
“So … the ghost. Do you know about him?” Snotshot asked.
Goldenrod hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said and then looked back at Birch. His face looked grim, but he didn’t make any remarks about this new development.
“Do you think he’ll turn up?” Snotshot asked, sounding a little frightened at the prospect.
“No,” Goldenrod said. “I don’t think you should worry about him.” This probably wasn’t the best time to confess that Meriwether would never have turned into Snotshot’s worst nightmare without Goldenrod’s help.
In a few minutes, they had reached the forest and, soon after, the clearing. Goldenrod gently put down her section of the map and went over to the spot where the jar was buried. She kneeled down and started to dig with her hands. Within a few moments, she had taken out the glowing jar. The blue roses were still inside it, though looking dimmer than when she had seen them on the bush.
“Now what?” Snotshot asked.
“The map,” Goldenrod said as she walked over to them with the jar. “It will show us the only possible route to get the rose out of the forest. See?” She knelt down in front of the map, where the blue compass rose was now glowing faintly too, probably because it was so near its other half. Only one of the many blue paths Goldenrod had noticed before was visible now, and it was also shining.
“Let’s go, then,” Snotshot said.
“We have to take the map back too. It’s priceless,” Goldenrod said.
Snotshot opened her mouth to speak, when they heard a booming voice instead.
“Priceless? You don’t say. I think that means it should stay right here, then.”
They whipped around to see Spitbubble walking swiftly toward them.
“Oh no,” groaned Birch.
And then, the most extraordinary thing happened. Snotshot turned to the Morams and said, “You run back with the rose. Help Lint. I’ll take care of this.”
“But the map—” Goldenrod started.
“Can you memorize the path?” Snotshot asked.
“Yes—” Goldenrod said. “But we can’t let him take it.”
Snotshot looked down at the frame at her feet. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. Look, I’ll make sure the museum gets it back. You have my word.” She brought her head up and looked Goldenrod square in the eye.
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.
Goldenrod looked around to make sure no one was watching her. Luckily, they all seemed much more int
erested in the interrogation taking place than in the patient visit happening on the side. She did catch Brains’s eye, but him she wasn’t worried about so much. She took the jar with the blue roses out from her backpack, quickly unscrewed it, and delicately touched a petal to the exposed skin on Lint’s ankle. His skin glowed for a moment, and she could tell from the jolted look that appeared on his face that suddenly his pain was gone. He looked down. His leg was all bandaged up, but Goldenrod had a feeling that the paramedic was going to have a bit of a surprise when she unwrapped it.
She and Birch quickly and quietly slipped away before Lint, or anyone else, had a chance to say anything.
As Goldenrod kneaded a particularly stubborn piece of dough, she smiled to herself, thinking about the jar of blue roses that was now safely tucked away in one of her desk drawers.
She had plans to show the flowers to her father, the scientist, and her mother, the gardener, very soon, of course. After all, they wouldn’t keep in that jar for much longer, and they absolutely needed to get properly discovered. But there was just one more thing she and Birch needed to do before they could get to that.
It was the weekend and, since their dad was home, Goldenrod and Birch had convinced him to spend it baking batches upon batches of cookies.
Baking with Mr. Moram was always fun, as he seemed to consider the art more of a chemistry experiment than a culinary one. He loved testing out all sorts of new flavor combinations, or rising agents, or simply a new way to sweeten a sweet. Whenever he baked, he would pour the entire contents of the pantry out onto the countertop to assess the ingredient situation. Then he would line up measuring cups, beakers, pots, pans, and utensils like an army battalion on the opposite countertop. After a brief “pep talk”—this is what Goldenrod chose to call her father’s process of walking round and round the kitchen muttering to himself—he would begin the attack: chopping, mixing, kneading, beating, slicing, dicing, toasting, roasting, and sometimes flambéing on his way to possible pastry nirvana.
The Mapmaker and the Ghost Page 14