The Friendship Riddle

by Megan Frazer Blakemore

  “Bought this place,” I said.

  “That was just good luck. I used to have a much smaller place—I took over an old gaming store there.”

  “Wizards and Warcraft,” I said, the name of the store whose phone book ad we’d found the clue on.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I knew the owner, Liam, ’cause—well, he was a friend of Mr. Douglas’s, my favorite teacher. And he needed some illustrations done for his advertisements, and Mr. Douglas suggested me. Then, when Liam was selling, he asked if I wanted it. It was over by the Chinese restaurant. I was hungry all the time.” He patted his belly. He didn’t have much of one.

  “So you did all of this?” I asked. “This was your game?”

  “Mine and Harriet’s. She really came up with most of it. I just made up the clues and put them around town while she was in New York.”

  “Harriet?”

  “She came every summer. She got us all hooked on Doctor Who and role-playing games. Man, she was the best dungeon master. She came up with the best campaigns. Never missed a detail.”

  “Campaigns?”

  “It’s like the mission in a role-playing game.”

  “Like a quest?”

  “Exactly.” He scratched his head. “Harriet always hated going back. ‘You all are living one story up here, and I’m living my story down there, and then I jump into yours like time travel.’ That’s what she said. She wanted our stories to stay tied together, so she had this idea for a scavenger hunt that went through the whole year. She’d send clues and I’d make the cards and hide them and people would find them, and it all ended that June, when she came back.”

  “The cards are beautiful,” I told him.

  “Thanks.” He grinned. “We talked about making our own game, Harriet and me. She would develop the story lines, and I would make the cards. It never happened, of course.” He made a noise that was like a laugh, but also like a sigh. He turned around and took a small framed photograph off the wall. “Here,” he said. “We called ourselves the Allegiance.”

  It was a group of teenagers, all boys except for one girl with hair dyed black and just a hint of a smile. The boys all had long hair—at least chin length. One wore a Pink Floyd T-shirt, and another wore a trench coat. “That one’s me,” he said, pointing to a short boy with a scruffy-looking beard that hardly covered up a nasty patch of acne. “You can see why I was always the troll.” He laughed. “Harriet, she was always half elf, half human, descended from knights.”

  “Taryn Greenbottom,” I murmured.

  “That’s right!” he said. “How’d you know that?”

  Taryn Greenbottom. Harriet Wexler.

  “That’s Harriet Wexler,” I said. It wasn’t a question. I knew.

  “Yes!” he said, still enthusiastic but confused. Then he slapped the counter. “You must have read her books!”

  “One or two of them,” I said.

  He laughed again. “I always knew she’d be a writer. I don’t know why she writes for kids. No offense. Her stories are fantastic, though, aren’t they?”

  I nodded. In the photograph, Harriet Wexler had one arm hanging down; the other reached across her body to hold it at the elbow. Her fingernails were painted black, and her dark hair had a streak of purple in it.

  Harriet Wexler. Harriet Wexler had been a summer person.

  “I sent her a letter once, but she never wrote back. Guess she forgot all about us folks back in Promise.”

  “What was your name?” I asked.

  “It’s Charlie,” he said.

  “No. Your troll name,” I told him.

  “Charlak Rapshidir,” he said. But I already knew that.

  “I don’t think she forgot about you at all.” I zipped my winter coat up. “I have to go.”

  “Wait!” he said. “Don’t you want your final clue?”

  He pressed a button on his old cash register, and with a clang and a click, the drawer popped open. He lifted the plastic cash tray and pulled something out from underneath.

  One golden envelope.

  Thirty-One

  Planning

  “I want a birthday party, after all,” I said.

  We were all sitting down together for dinner at home, which we hadn’t done in ages. After the bee, we’d gone out to eat. Mum had made corned beef and cabbage, which is the only thing she knows how to make. Since she’s Irish, everyone expects her to make it, even though they don’t actually eat it in Ireland. But she learned how to make it. That and soda bread, which actually is Irish.

  “A party?” Mom asked.

  I chewed my salty corned beef and swallowed before saying, “Yes. A party. On Saturday. With boys.”

  Mom coughed, but Mum grinned. “Well, this is a pleasant turn of events!”

  “Saturday is three days from now. We can’t get the room at the hospital.”

  “I don’t want to invite the whole class. Just five people. Lena, Coco, Adam, Dev, and Lucas.”

  “Brilliant!” Mum said.

  “We need to get marshmallows,” I said.

  “For hot chocolate?” Mom asked.

  “Sure. But also for a game.”

  “Chubby Bunnies!” Mum said, clapping her hands together.

  “It’s awfully late for sending out invitations,” Mom said.

  “My friends won’t be busy.”

  I knew they were free because just like me, they were probably always free. And if they had some family obligation, they’d just have to get out of it. We were going to the final destination. We were going to finish this quest.

  I made the invitations on the computer. I used the font that looked like wizards and dragons and stuff.

  Mum took me to school on Thursday, so I was early. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I went into homeroom. Ms. Broadcheck was at her desk. Her shoes were off and her feet were balanced on the desk. “Ruth!” she said when I walked in. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you. You’re early.”

  “So are you,” I said. “And you’re always late.”

  She rubbed her ankles. “You noticed.”

  Everyone noticed. But I didn’t say so.

  She moved on to rubbing her feet. She was wearing the dress with the high belt again. “I suppose I can stop that ruse now. I was running out of excuses.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She dropped her feet onto the floor. “You know your mum asked me to look out for you, right?”

  “Sure. That’s why I’m in this homeroom.”

  “Sometimes watching out, well, sometimes it just makes problems worse, you know? I wanted to give you a chance to sort things out on your own.” Then she made a funny face and put her hand over her mouth like she was going to throw up.

  “Are you sick?” I asked, taking a step back. I didn’t do well with vomit. In second grade Charlotte threw up on the bus on a field trip. We were sitting together, of course, and some of it got on me. I cried the whole rest of the bus ride, even when the teacher wiped it off me with baby wipes. Mom had to come pick me up.

  Ms. Broadcheck laughed. “Only in the morning.”

  I took another step back. Whatever Ms. Broadcheck had, I didn’t want to catch it.

  “I’m pregnant, Ruth,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway. If I kept stepping in, telling kids to be nice to you, telling you where to go and who to be with, you never would have found Lena—because let me tell you, I did not see that friendship coming—or that gaggle of boys.”

  “So you pretended to be late?”

  “Well, I was actually late a lot of the time. I mean, I gave myself some extra time in the morning. You know, the timing worked out quite well. It gave me time to yak before I came into school.”

  I didn’t think teachers should use the word “yak.” Lucas would probably tell her that a yak was an animal, and then he’d have some semi-interesting fact about yaks, maybe about their vomit.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I guess.”
r />   “You’re welcome.”

  We could hear voices out in the hall. I shifted the envelopes in my hand. It had taken me forever to make all the little envelopes. We didn’t have any origami paper, so I’d used wrapping paper instead. “I need to go find some people,” I said.

  “Sure, of course,” she said. Then, laughing, she added, “Don’t be late!”

  I was almost to the door when she said, “Hey, Ruth, don’t give up on Charlotte just yet. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

  There was a time when someone saying something like that would have made my heart soar. Now, though, well, maybe it would be nice. Someday. But I could wait.

  Thirty-Two

  Finale

  We told my moms we were going sledding.

  “Great!” Mom said. She hadn’t stopped smiling since the first guest had arrived. “We’ll have hot chocolate when you get back. It’s from Dean and DeLuca, and it’s fantastic!”

  “And play Chubby Bunnies!” Mum added, tossing a marshmallow into her mouth. “Fubby bunnies,” she garbled the words around the marshmallow. She swallowed and said, “I’ll just be practicing until you get back.”

  “I don’t like sledding,” Adam said when we got outside.

  “We’re not going sledding,” I said. “We’re going to the fire tower.”

  “In winter?” Dev asked.

  “Why?”

  That’s when I showed them the final clue that Charlie had given me.

  “Another clue!” Lucas exclaimed.

  “Where’d you find it?” Coco asked.

  I explained about the book that Mr. Douglas had given me with the story and the map. I had the pewter figurine of the dragon deep in the pocket of my jeans. I told them how the library used to be where the comic shop was, and told them what Charlie had told me. Except about Harriet Wexler. I wanted to keep that to myself, I guess. You can’t share all of yourself.

  “And you’re sure this is where it’s supposed to be?” Dev asked, looking up at the hill filled with pine trees.

  I unfolded the map, my fingers turning pink from the cold.

  “This is the coolest!” Lena said. “It’s our town, but you know, actually interesting.”

  I pointed to a small building in the hills. “There’s a fire tower up there,” I said. “ ‘Towers of fire.’ ”

  “And glory,” Lucas said. “I told you quests were all about fame and glory.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Coco asked. “Let’s go. The quest!”

  “The quest!” we called back.

  The hill was steeper than I remembered it being. Charlotte and I used to play around in the woods back here. She’d be a princess and I’d be a half elf, half knight. She’d pretend to be captured, and then I’d break her free. Or she’d break herself free. She was a very clever princess.

  Maybe someday if I become a writer, I’ll put a Princess Charlotte in one of my books and she’ll read it and she’ll know that everything is okay.

  Lucas slipped and fell down onto his knees. I reached out my hand to pull him to his feet, and noticed Coco had fallen a little bit behind.

  I waited for him and we fell into step with each other. Our boots crunched into the icy white snow. “I never thanked you for helping me,” I told him.

  “It was fun,” he said. But his cheeks were starting to turn pink.

  “Was your dad angry? With your sister?”

  He shook his head. “No. It was really weird. We got home from school and Dad had all these board games out. Like old ones. Scrabble and Trouble and Operation.”

  “Oh, I love Operation!”

  “Me, too! Anyway, we just played them all afternoon. And ate popcorn and drank soda. We never get to drink soda.”

  “Me, neither,” I said. “Did he say anything?”

  “No, just that when he was growing up they used to have family game nights and they would all end up yelling at each other about cheating and sometimes people would be mad for days. He called one game Full-Contact Pictionary.”

  “Weird.”

  “I know, right? Anyway, we didn’t yell at all. He didn’t say it, but I think he was trying to say that being competitive, that’s part of who he is, but he got it, you know, that it didn’t need to be that way for me and Emma.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “Clint? He’s more like Dad, overall, but even he seemed more mellow while we were playing.”

  A big pack of snow slipped off a pine tree and exploded in front of us.

  “Oh, hey,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to give you this. From my piano teacher.”

  From his coat pocket he pulled out a candy wrapped in red foil paper. When I put it in my mouth, it was like sucking on creamy butter and sugar—like one of the elfish foods in Taryn Greenbottom’s world.

  “Listen,” he said. “You know the Valentine’s Day dance is coming up.”

  “Sure,” I said around the hard candy in my mouth. I watched as the snowflakes were caught in the sun and twinkled like stars. It was enough to make you believe in fairies.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?”

  I turned my head sharply to face him. His whole face was red, right up to and under his knit cap. “Do people do that?” I asked. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  He took a step forward.

  Was he going to try to kiss me like Lord Charlesmoore had kissed Taryn?

  “Some people might,” he said to the snow. “They could. Especially if they were, you know, together.”

  “Together? Like, together?” My voice sounded funny, and the words didn’t form quite right with the candy in my mouth.

  “Yes. Like together.”

  “I don’t—”

  “It’s okay, never mind. I didn’t figure you liked me, I just thought I would give it a shot. Clint said I should. And Dev. And Adam.”

  “I do like you,” I said. And as I said the words, I knew they were true.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  He grinned at me.

  “I just don’t think I want to be involved in that boy-girl stuff yet.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not in sixth grade,” I said.

  “Seventh?” he asked.

  “Maybe eighth.”

  He looked up the hill at our friends. The redness was fading from his cheeks, and he was still smiling. “Well, all right, Ruth Mudd-O’Flanahan, but I’m not going to wait around forever.”

  And then he ran up the hill ahead of me calling, “Last one to the fire tower is a stinky troll!”

  The steps of the fire tower had so much snow on them, it looked like a luge track.

  “Now what?” Dev said.

  “We go up,” I told him.

  My foot cut through the snow and down to the step. I brushed off the railing as I went.

  They waited a moment, but then they were behind me. Lena first, then Coco. Then Lucas, Adam, and Dev.

  We didn’t say anything as we climbed. Our boots crunched and cracked. Our breaths made puffs in the air.

  Wind had blown the snow against the small structure at the top of the platform, leaving the other side of the platform clear. We could see all the way out to the ocean, all the way across the sea, it seemed.

  I peeked in the window into the empty room. “My mom told me that during World War Two, women would man these fire towers. They’d sleep here and everything. The rest of the time, it was a man’s job.”

  “There was a big fire here in the 1930s,” Adam said. “My great-grandfather helped to fight it. They had to bring buckets up from the ocean, and they weren’t sure the trees would ever grow back.”

  Dev stomped his feet. “So this is it?” he asked.

  I spread my arms wide. “This is it. We did it!” I pointed at the railing. “This is where they stood in the picture Charlie showed me.”

  “We should take a picture!” Lena exclaimed.

  A picture. Of course. Every quest
needed a bounty at the end. How had I not thought to bring a camera?

  Lena, though, pulled off her gloves and dug her phone out of her pocket. “I’ve never used the timer before,” she said. “But I bet I can figure it out.”

  She balanced the phone on the windowsill. “Get close,” she said. We all huddled against the railing.

  “One, two, three!” she exclaimed, then scuttled over to us.

  We heard three beeps and then a clicking sound. “Stay!” Lena commanded as she ran to check the picture.

  Lucas did not stay. He went back to the structure and tugged on the latch of the door. It popped open with a creak.

  “Paper wasp nest,” Lucas said, and pointed into the room. There, as big and beautiful as the ones in Mr. Douglas’s room, was a giant wasp nest. It was like a giant gray papier-mâché Easter egg, and I imagined the wasps with their strips of newsprint, dipping them in the glue and wrapping them around a balloon.

  “Hey, look!” Lena said. She was pointing to something on one of the wallboards. Written in Sharpie were the words:

  Not all who wander are lost.

  The Allegiance, 1993

  “That was them,” I said. “Give me a Sharpie,” I said to Lena.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a black permanent marker.

  “What else do you have in there?” Adam asked.

  “ChapStick,” she said. “And some artisanal chocolate.”

  “Really?” he asked. “What makes it artisanal?”

  I ran my fingers over the words on the wall.

  “J. R. R. Tolkien, right?” Coco asked.

  I nodded. The first group had used the most famous book quote. What could ours be?

  Harriet. I put my finger on her name. “That’s Harriet Wexler,” I said.

  “The Harriet Wexler?” Coco asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That is so cool.”

  She had written her name in all lowercase letters, small and even.

  I grinned and pulled the cap off the pen.

  “What are you doing?” Dev demanded. “No one said anything about vandalism!”

  I couldn’t very well tell him it wasn’t vandalism, because it was. “Sometimes it’s okay to break the rules a little bit.”