A Game of Fox & Squirrels

by Jenn Reese

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  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  For everyone lost in the woods:

  I promise you, there is a way out.

  And for my found family, who was mine.

  CHAPTER ONE

  SAMANTHA LITTLEFIELD SAT alone in the back seat of the car for the whole ride from the airport. Her suitcase and backpack were in the trunk, which meant she didn’t have her books, her comics, her notebook and pens. What was even left? Sam hugged the thin fabric of her shirt and stared out the window. This wasn’t how she should be spending the week of her eleventh birthday. A bear sighting might cheer her up. Or a moose. But only trees blurred by, tall sentinels on both sides of the road as far as she could see. How would she ever sneak past them when it was time to leave?

  In the front of the car, Aunt Vicky asked Sam’s older sister, Caitlin, another question. Aunt Vicky was a large woman, but her voice was small. A moth voice, fluttering and easy to miss unless you leaned in, listened harder. Sam leaned away instead.

  She pressed her forehead to the window glass. It was cooler here than back home in Los Angeles, where the temperature had been in the 90s for months. Oregon was supposed to have “more moderate summers.” That’s what their caseworker—Mrs. Washington—had said, like it was some big selling point. Mrs. Washington had wanted Sam to be excited about getting on the plane, had wanted Sam to stop thinking about leaving her parents. Caitlin had played along. Caitlin always played along. That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Washington! I’m sure we’ll love it.

  But Sam liked the heat. She’d never known anything else. She already missed it.

  The tree-guards along the side of the road laughed, their branchy shoulders rustling. Oh, they were arrogant, those trees. Thinking they were so high and mighty just because they were, well, literally high and mighty.

  Aunt Vicky turned off the main road. The car grumbled and juddered along a narrow dirt path. A blue-green house emerged around the next bend, and with it a fenced yard containing a miniature house painted to match the big one.

  “Chickens!” Caitlin exclaimed from the front seat.

  Sam leaned forward, eagerly scanning the yard. Sure enough, a cluster of mottled white-and-black birds bobbed and strutted in the grass. Chickens! And the tiny house was a chicken coop!

  “We have six chickens,” Aunt Vicky said. “They give us our eggs. You can help gather them. If you want.”

  Sam did not know what was involved with gathering eggs, but even so, she did want. The only time she’d ever touched a chicken was at a petting zoo. Its feathers had been so soft, its eyes so surprisingly fierce in its tiny head. Sam could have petted that chicken forever, but Caitlin had been eager to see the horse. Sam glanced at her sister now, hoping Caitlin’s chicken excitement was mostly real.

  “Gathering eggs sounds cool!” Caitlin said, and Sam almost cheered. Aunt Vicky’s smile brightened immediately.

  Sam wished she shared Caitlin’s skill at talking to adults. It seemed like something you were born with, like blond hair or the ability to touch your nose with your tongue. Caitlin had gotten all the dealing-with-adults skills and Sam had gotten … what? A few freckles, maybe. Some molars prone to cavities. It hardly seemed fair.

  The car rolled to a stop. Caitlin fumbled with her car door, but Sam didn’t move. She had no interest in getting out, in setting foot in Oregon. She’d rather just watch the chickens. One bird was larger than the rest and seemed to know it. Maybe she was a great chicken warrior, the One Chosen Chicken, destined to lead all the other chickens into an epic battle of good versus—

  “That big one is Lady Louise. She’s a bully, but she lays the best eggs,” Aunt Vicky said, unbuckling her seat belt and twisting to see Sam. Aunt Vicky only looked a little like Sam’s dad, despite them being siblings. Her skin was the same shade of sandy white, but she didn’t wear glasses and her hair was brown instead of blond. Brown like Sam’s. There was something different about her eyes, too, but Sam dropped her gaze before she could figure out what it was.

  “Do you … like chickens?” Aunt Vicky asked her.

  Yes yes yes.

  Sam shrugged. It was the fastest way to get someone to stop looking at her.

  Caitlin hopped out of the car. “It’s so beautiful here! The air smells so clean.” She raised her good arm and twirled around. And just like that, all eyes were on Caitlin again. Sometimes not even Sam could tell when her sister was doing it on purpose, drawing all the attention. She was grateful for it regardless.

  Sam quietly extracted herself from the back seat and stood in the gravel driveway. She took a deep breath, trying to smell what Caitlin smelled, trying to feel what Caitlin felt. It didn’t usually work, but she had to admit there was something different about the air here. A taste. A flavor. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.

  An envelope fell out of her pocket. Sam swooped it up quickly, once again admiring the horse and rainbow her friend BriAnn had drawn on the front with bright colored pencils. She was such a great artist. Inside, BriAnn had detailed every single minute of her family’s trip to Oklahoma for her cousin’s wedding, including a sketch of the bride’s flowery dress and her cousin’s tuxedo, complete with arrows and commentary. Sam knew that as soon as BriAnn got back to Los Angeles, she would want to know why Sam wasn’t around.

  Maybe Sam would say she went to Hawaii with her family. A last-minute trip before school started in two weeks. It certainly sounded more believable than the truth.

  The front door of the house flapped open, and a lumberjack appeared. Well, a tall, wiry woman dressed like a lumberjack, wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt even though it was summer. Her hair was short and spiky and black with a tiny bit of gray at her temples. She was smiling as she headed straight for the trunk and the bags Aunt Vicky was unloading.

  “Let me get those,” the woman said. “How was the drive?”

  “Fine,” Aunt Vicky said, and handed Sam’s backpack to the woman. The woman casually slung it over her shoulder as if it didn’t contain Sam’s most treasured possessions and then touched Aunt Vicky’s arm. A look passed between them so fast they probably thought no one saw. But Sam noticed. She bet Caitlin did, too. Were they upset? Had Sam already done something wrong? She shrank against the side of the car, trying to stay out of the way.

  “Can I help carry anything?” Caitlin asked. “Oh, wait. I forgot.” She hefted her broken arm as if she had, until this moment, forgotten that it was broken. That was always how Caitlin handled these situations, by making herself bigger even as Sam disappeared.

  “No, sweetie, I’ve got it all,” the woman said.

  Who was this person who was taking all their things and who hadn’t even been introduced? Aunt Vicky stood by the open trunk, not moving, her eyebrows knit together.

  The woman noticed that Aunt Vicky was in a daze. “I’m Hannah Zhang,” she said to Caitlin and Sam. “You can call me Hannah. I’m your aunt’s wife. Come on in. I made lemonade and
there’s at least one box of cookies. They might be stale, but they’re still cookies, am I right?”

  Mrs. Washington had told them Aunt Vicky was married, and somehow Sam had forgotten. Had forgotten that she’d be staying with two new people, not just one. So many things had happened in the past few days that even big things had fallen through the cracks.

  “Wow, lemonade and cookies!” Caitlin said. “I’m sure we’re going to love it here.”

  This seemed to shake Aunt Vicky from her stupor. She closed the trunk and walked to the house, her feet barely making any noise on the gravel. “Come on, girls, I’ll show you to your rooms, and you can settle in. If you want.”

  Hannah and Aunt Vicky and Caitlin disappeared inside, one by one. Sam stayed by the car, wanting to avoid the chaos that was sure to unfold in the house: the questions, the offers of food, the general awkwardness of standing in a strange place surrounded by strange people. Caitlin would settle things, figure out the rules, and then it would be safer. Quieter. More manageable.

  Instead, Sam watched the chickens pecking at the grass. She listened to the trees laughing. She breathed in the strange, different air.

  Oregon.

  Los Angeles was in California, and Oregon was only one state north. They shared a border, even. But right now it felt as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole into another world. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want any of this. She didn’t even know she had an Aunt Vicky until a week ago. And now there was Hannah Zhang, too, and trees, and chickens, and all her books and pens and pencils and notebooks were inside already, with as many of her clothes as her mother and her caseworker had been able to fit into one suitcase.

  If Sam knew how to drive, she could drive back down to Los Angeles. She could drive to her parents. They would be so impressed and touched that she’d traveled all that way herself. Not even Caitlin could do something like that. To celebrate, they’d walk to Ventura Boulevard and get banana pancakes with walnuts and whipped cream at their favorite breakfast place, and afterward, her dad would drink another cup of coffee and work on the crossword while Sam browsed the used books in the shop next door. And maybe then—

  Aunt Vicky stepped onto the porch, shattering Sam’s daydream. She wore long shorts that fell over her knees and an oversized gray T-shirt with nothing on it, no pictures or funny phrases or logos. Not a single clue to tell Sam who this mysterious aunt was, what she liked, or what sorts of things would make her upset.

  “Are you okay?” Aunt Vicky asked.

  The question startled Sam. Startled her so much that before she could figure out why, she shuffled across the gravel to the house and followed Aunt Vicky inside.

  From the driveway, the house had looked squat and run-down, its slanted roof covered in moss as if the forest were trying to slowly digest it and no one particularly minded. Inside, it was mostly the same. The kitchen was tiny and cramped, with stacks of mugs and plates just sitting on the countertop because there was, apparently, no room for them in the moss-green cabinets. Sam passed a main room with a television and a sofa and a table, and then a door to a bathroom, and then, finally, her aunt pushed open the door at the end of the hallway and said, “This is your room, Samantha.”

  Sam’s chest tightened. The room was smaller than her bedroom back home and already crammed with stuff. A work table had been shoved against the wall and was stacked with plastic boxes, almost all the way up to the ceiling. Aunt Vicky opened the closet to reveal more rows and columns of the same plastic bins. “We’ll clear this out so you have room for your clothes,” she said. “I still have to find somewhere to put everything.”

  Sam tried to see what was in the plastic containers. Art supplies? Thousands of pieces of tiny doll clothes? The pickled organs of everyone else who’d ever stayed in this room?

  “There are two empty drawers in the dresser,” Aunt Vicky said, as if this was some kind of victory. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it all out.” She mumbled the last bit under her breath like a spell.

  The bed was covered in a multihued quilt made from every shade of blue, and two flat pillows sat stacked at the far end in sad white pillowcases. A wrapped package at the foot of the bed caught Sam’s attention.

  “Is this for me?” She picked it up, pulled the long pink ribbon through her fingers.

  “Happy birthday,” Aunt Vicky said. “It was yesterday, wasn’t it? I thought you might like a present. We can bake a cake later, too. With frosting. I’m not sure if we have enough sugar, but we definitely have the eggs.” She chuckled, but Sam didn’t know why.

  Oh, the chickens. Eggs and chickens. Eggs and cakes. Chickens and cakes. Was this the sort of thing people in Oregon found funny? If so, it was going to be a very long visit.

  A visit. Just a visit.

  “Open it,” her aunt said, then quickly amended, “if you want to.” She sat on the edge of the bed, clearly eager to watch the unwrapping.

  Sam ripped off the paper and gasped. It wasn’t a book, as she’d been expecting. A Game of Fox & Squirrels was written in faded type across a battered box. The ampersand was swirly and inviting, and Sam couldn’t help but run her fingertip along its wild, swooping curves.

  Something moved outside the window. A flash of red, fast as a heartbeat. But when Sam looked, she saw only the same old green grass and trees and blue sky.

  “It’s a card game,” Aunt Vicky said. “Works better with a few people. We can play later, if you want.”

  Sam gave Aunt Vicky a quick smile. “Thanks. It looks really interesting.” And she meant it. She traced the design on the box again, and a tingle scurried up her spine. There was something special about this game. She could tell. Maybe something a little bit magic.

  FROM THE RULES FOR FOX & SQUIRRELS

  INTRODUCTION

  Winter is fast approaching, and you, brave squirrel, must prepare!

  Your survival depends on finding and storing nuts for the cold months to come. You will do this by collecting “sets” and “runs” of cards. So simple!

  But there’s a catch. Isn’t there always?

  In this game, that catch is the FOX.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “LEMONADE!” HANNAH SANG. Literally sang, with notes and everything.

  “And at least four—no, five—cookies,” Aunt Vicky added.

  “Hurry up, or I’ll eat them all myself,” Hannah said.

  Sam walked softly to the main part of the house, which seemed to be the kitchen and dining room and living room all in one. Aunt Vicky and Hannah bustled back and forth, pouring lemonade into glasses, finding plates and napkins, pulling boxes from the cupboards. They reminded Sam of the chickens in the yard, always moving.

  Caitlin sat at a long wooden table that seemed to be part kitchen table, part office, judging from all the computer equipment at one end. Her good hand was wrapped around a sweating glass of lemonade. Sam perched on a chair next to her, ready to bolt back to her room if necessary. Caitlin gave her a quick nod of encouragement, and Sam settled a little more into her seat.

  “Cookies?” Aunt Vicky asked, shaking a mostly empty box of Thin Mints at Sam. “I finished off the peanut butter ones last week, before I knew you were coming. Sorry about that.”

  Sam stared at the box of cookies. Maybe this was some sort of fairy test, and if she ate the food here, she’d have to stay forever.

  She shook her head.

  Aunt Vicky rattled the cardboard again. “Okay. There’s still lemonade. And cake later, if you want. But after dinner! We don’t only eat sweets around here, even if it seems like it.”

  “I could live off pie,” Hannah said casually. “There are so many different kinds. I don’t know why you’d need to eat anything else.”

  “I’m a little tired,” Caitlin said with a yawn. “Would it be okay if I took a nap in my room?”

  “Certainly,” Hannah said at the same time Aunt Vicky blurted, “Of course!” They both exploded into action, pulling shades and depositing suitcases and
delivering secondary glasses of lemonade to both their rooms. Sam pressed her back to the wall and tried to stay out of their way.

  “Can I help with the dishes?” Caitlin asked.

  Sam hid a smile. There were no dishes. Such was Caitlin’s brilliance.

  Hannah beamed. “Absolutely not! You go rest after that long flight.”

  The drive had been longer than the flight, but Sam didn’t say so. Caitlin thanked them both for the lemonade and went to her room without even looking back. Sam realized, almost too late, that if she didn’t escape now, Aunt Vicky and Hannah would turn their attentions on her.

  She followed her sister before anyone could stop her. But before returning to her own assigned room, she pushed open the door to Caitlin’s.

  A treadmill, folded up and shoved against the wall, stood guard next to the nightstand. The bed itself was new, the white headboard the only thing in the house that wasn’t covered in a layer of dust. Caitlin was older, almost fourteen and about to start high school. It made sense for her to get the new bed and the room that wasn’t filled with bins and boxes and someone else’s life.

  Caitlin flopped onto the bed, fumbled with her headphones, and closed her eyes. Muffled music tumbled out of them, an upbeat rhythm with a woman’s raspy voice overlaid. Without even opening her eyes, Caitlin said, “Get out.”

  “I just wanted to see your room,” Sam said from the doorway.

  “You’ve seen it. Now get out.” Caitlin’s toe bopped in time with the music.

  Sam tried again. “Is your arm doing better today?”

  Caitlin sighed dramatically but then, much to Sam’s surprise, actually answered. “It’s a pain, but it’s not, you know, actually painful anymore. Just forget about it.”

  As if Sam could do that, could just forget about what had happened. But she knew better than to press Caitlin about it now. And besides, there was a more important question weighing on her mind. “When … when do you think we can go back?”