Back on the Map

by Lisa Ann Scott

  “I thought it was going to be a natural history museum,” Chase said.

  I set down my sandwich. “I’m hearing lots of different things about what it was going to be.” I wanted New Hope’s Finest to come back to life and make everyone full of hope again. Help them forget about those dumb doom paintings. How could a painting be the reason everything fell apart?

  I cleared my throat. “Have any of you ever seen one of the doom paintings?”

  Chase and Carly’s nice colors faded as they shook their heads. Mr. Carlson rubbed his chin. “My neighbor got one a few years back. Lost his dog after that. Then his garage fell down.” He looked off into the distance, shaking his head like he was right there in front of the ruined building. “No, most folks who get one hide it in the basement, or tuck it in the back of a closet. I think people would throw them out if Willy Brown hadn’t crashed his pickup right after he tossed his in the garbage. People keep them, but they keep them out of sight. I’ve never seen one.”

  “Any idea what they look like?” I asked.

  Mr. Carlson rubbed his chin. “From what I hear, they’re confusing. Not a picture of anything, per se. Just a bunch of random paint strokes.”

  I tried to picture it in my mind. “Does he leave a note?”

  “Nope. Just a painting, signed with his name. A few people have confronted him, demanding to know what they mean and why he left them, but he’s never said.” Mr. Carlson sighed. “Joe is a troubled man, after everything that’s happened. Doesn’t even answer his door. You rarely see him in town.”

  We finished lunch, and Mr. Carlson gave us more water bottles to take with us.

  “Where’s Mrs. Carlson?” I wasn’t looking for a hug, certainly not. But it seemed like proper manners to say goodbye.

  Mr. Carlson studied his shoes. “She went home to lie down.”

  I hadn’t noticed her leaving. “Is she sick?” She had been okay when we came in.

  “In a way, I suppose. Just missing Mary so much. Happens every so often. She just needs some time alone, and she’ll be all right. Don’t you worry.” His eyes looked tired and sad.

  Sometimes Mama would get like that, when she was alive. But I didn’t like thinking about kind Mrs. Carlson getting so upset that she had to hurry home and be alone. “I’ll make her a critter tonight to cheer her up. A free one, no trade needed.”

  Mr. Carlson smiled. “That would be very nice.”

  I waved goodbye, then we headed to the hardware store and asked Mr. Gaiser for gloves and bug spray on trade.

  His eyebrows shot up when he heard that we were cleaning up the Finest. “Are you, now?”

  I nodded. “We’ll get it all cleaned up and find a new buyer. Mayor said I could.”

  “I hate to discourage you kids, but you’re wasting your time.” Mr. Gaiser handed me four pairs of work gloves and bug spray. He chose a few things from the cart.

  I tried not to groan. Why wasn’t anyone excited? “It’s a perfectly good building. It shouldn’t just be abandoned and neglected. It just needs someone to care for it.”

  “I think it’s too late,” he said. He leaned against his counter, staring out the front window. “The town sure did change once the orphanage shut down. Those kids might’ve been odd, but they brought life to the town.”

  “What do you mean, odd?” I asked.

  “Don’t know how to explain it, but they weren’t like other kids.” He shrugged. “It was so quiet ’round here when it closed. Then when we all thought New Hope’s Finest would be bringing some life back to this place …” He whistled, shaking his head. “That building has brought so much sadness since, I doubt it could ever be something wonderful again.” He was practically drained of color as he said the sad words.

  I gritted my teeth, annoyed by all this doom-and-gloom talk. “We’re sure going to try. Bye, Mr. Gaiser.” I walked out the door.

  “Don’t listen to him. I think it could be wonderful again,” Carly said when we got outside.

  “Thanks, Carly,” I said.

  “I wonder why no one has cleaned it up before?” she asked.

  “Because they were smart enough not to try,” Chase said.

  Chase may have been talking grumpy, but his color was getting deeper. At least a few people were excited about the project, even if they weren’t willing to say so.

  Back at the site, we tackled another corner filled with junk. Looking at it all in a big picture was overwhelming, but focusing on just one small spot made it easier. So we worked and laughed and joked, and the hours flew by. Even though the place was messy, just being there made us all feel good. I could tell by the way everyone’s colors glowed.

  “Why are there so many broken bicycles?” Carly asked, dragging a rusty one over to the bike pile.

  I shrugged. “Why would anyone throw out an old box of records?” I held up a big black disc while my fingers itched and the idea of making wind chimes came back in my mind. I looked up at the tall trees and pictured a long string of records spinning in the breeze. I closed my eyes and saw tires stacked up in crazy sculptures, bicycle wheels connected to each other, climbing to the sky. The ideas were whizzing around my head so fast I had to sit down. I rubbed my temples, hoping to hold off the headache I felt coming on.

  “You all right?” Parker asked.

  I nodded. “Idea overload.” I rubbed a finger over the grooves in the record.

  “We’ll have to come back tomorrow. It’s getting close to suppertime,” Chase said. “Can’t be late.”

  We gathered our things and latched the gate behind us, then shuffled down the road toward home.

  I couldn’t yet explain the vision in my mind, but something big and grand was going to happen at New Hope’s Finest. I knew it just as certain as I knew the sun would rise the next morning.

  CHAPTER 8

  After dinner, I made a special tin can critter for Mrs. Carlson. I used a tiny tin box and a dome-shaped bell Mr. Gaiser used to have on his counter to ring for service. He had traded it to me when the dinger broke, and it made a perfect head. Triangle picture hooks would work for the ears, two marbles for the eyes, and a few chunky screws made perfect legs. I cut up an old guitar string for whiskers. Then all I needed was a tail. I found an old extension cord and cut off the end. Mrs. Carlson was going to love it.

  Tired from the day, I brought the critter to my room and flopped onto my bed. The room was still pink and decorated with ballerinas from when Gert lived in it as a kid. I had never asked Grauntie if I could add my own decorations to the room because I knew what her answer would be: no. No one had ever let me decorate just the way I wanted. Maybe that’s why working on the Finest seemed like a treat instead of work.

  I changed into my pajamas and started reading the Great Americans book I’d gotten from Mr. Hanes. Fixing up New Hope’s Finest was nothing compared to what some of these people had done.

  I’d fallen asleep with the book in my arms, and when I woke, my hand was stuck to the page about Jim Thorpe. I read a bit about him. He was a famous American Indian athlete in the 1920s who won Olympic gold medals in track and played professional football and baseball. The book said he was one of the greatest athletes ever.

  I closed my eyes, wondering what it would be like to be so good at so many things. Imagine being related to someone like him. Maybe I am, I thought. The book said he was a twin, too! Twins run in families!

  I read on and learned his twin brother died when he was nine. With a gulp, I slammed the book shut. I didn’t even like thinking about such sadness. My heart would be totally empty without Parker. Even so, I jotted Jim Thorpe’s name onto my family tree. What a nice new addition. I’m the descendant of a great athlete.

  I tiptoed out of my room. If it was another clear day, we could get right to work, so I quietly opened the front door for a peek at the weather. And what I saw made me freeze. I blinked several times, then swallowed a scream.

  There was a painting on the front stoop. I closed my eyes and shook my
head to clear it, like maybe I’d been seeing things, but, no, it was still there, a canvas of scribbles. I closed the door behind me and went out for a better look. Sure enough, it was signed by Joe C.—Joe Jinx! That scream was stuck in my throat like a fistful of dry crumbs.

  Had my teacher been right? Mr. Hanes had said just talking about one would bring it to you. I picked up the painting. It was probably a foot and a half high, by two feet wide. It wasn’t a picture of anything, so much as it was a bunch of swirls and squiggles. Seemed like the shape of something was hiding in all those whorls, but I couldn’t work it out in my brain.

  My hands shook as I remembered all the horrible things that happened to other people when they got a doom painting. What bad thing would happen to me? I gulped and squared my shoulders. I wasn’t going to give up because of this. Or maybe, just maybe, the work we were doing at the Finest would create something so good it would overpower the doom painting?

  I knew Grauntie shouldn’t see it, though. She’d probably never come out of her bedroom again, she’d be so scared. I wasn’t going to hide it in the house, either—I was going to take it back to the person who painted it.

  I picked it up, holding it against my chest, and ran across the yard to hide the painting in the shed without looking at it again. Then I went in the house and poured bowls of cereal for me and Parker. Grauntie would be up soon. I tried to keep my hands from shaking while I poured milk over our cornflakes, but I still dribbled some onto the counter by mistake.

  “Good morning, Lucky Penny. Can you make me coffee?” Grauntie asked me as she shuffled down the hall toward the couch.

  “Sure.” I reached for the can in the cupboard.

  Parker sat down in front of his cereal and started eating, watching me as I got the coffee ready. He bit his lip when I overfilled the pot with water.

  “We’ll be exploring with Chase and Carly today. Need us to get anything while we’re in town?” I asked Grauntie.

  “Don’t you have school?” she asked.

  “It’s summer break.”

  “Is it, now? All right then. Looks like you two can take it easy today. Have a break. I’ll have a chore sheet for you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” I said.

  Parker and I gulped down our cereal. I gave Grauntie her coffee, and then we were out the door.

  “What’s wrong?” Parker asked as I ran toward the shed.

  “You’ll see.” I stopped in front of the shed. “Don’t freak out.”

  Parker groaned. “Now I will.”

  I stepped into the shed and came out with the painting. “I found this on our front porch this morning.”

  Parker’s jaw dropped. “Is that …?”

  “I think so. It’s signed by Joe C. And we’re taking it back to him, ’cause we don’t want it. We’ll pick up Carly and Chase after, and get back to work up at New Hope’s Finest. We’ve got to create something so amazing there, it cancels out the doom painting.” What else could I do? Just sit around and wait for something bad to happen?

  He nodded. “Makes sense. If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”

  Oh, man. I couldn’t let him know I was actually a little worried. Whenever I got upset about something, he got upset.

  I covered the painting with an old towel we had in the shed, then put it in the trading cart, along with the special critter for Mrs. Carlson. We took off, heading for the edge of town.

  Walking along in silence, I tried to chase the bad thoughts out of my head. But they fluttered around anyway, like the time a pack of moths swarmed our trading shed. Could that painting mean something awful was going to happen with New Hope’s Finest—again? Were we going to get hurt working there? Or maybe it was proof that Parker and I were going to get bounced somewhere soon.

  I stopped walking and pressed my fingers against my temples, closing my eyes. “Getting back on the map is going to fix everything.”

  Parker shrugged. “If you say so.”

  We walked on until we came to a big house with pillars out front. The house probably had been bright white at one point, but now it was dingy, with overgrown trees covering the windows. Moss coated the roof, and most of the shutters hung crooked. If that house could speak, it would probably cry for help.

  The driveway was filled with junk: a big paint-splattered ladder; a pickup truck with flat tires; some construction vehicles. Whatever business Joe Jinx used to be in, it sure didn’t look like he was working in it anymore.

  I tucked the painting under my arm and walked up the path leading to the front door. Grass grew between the bricks, and I had to watch my step because some of them were sticking up. I got to the door and rang the bell.

  No one answered, so I rang it again. And again, this time pounding on the door, too. “Open up, Joe. I’m not leaving until you tell me why you left me this painting.” I rang the bell three more times before the door opened. I stepped back.

  A man stood there, his eyes fixed on the ground. He had puffy blond hair like a cloud around his face, and a matching beard. His skin was smooth, like he was young, but his eyes looked a thousand years old. “You found a painting this morning?” His voice was slow and deep, but soft.

  I crossed my arms, but just looking at his slumped shoulders made it hard to keep feeling angry. “Yeah, on our Grauntie’s front porch.” I held the painting out to him. “Why did you leave it there?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I paint them in my sleep. I never know where they end up.” He scratched the back of his head.

  “But what does it mean?” I snuck a look at the painting again.

  He shrugged. “Bad luck, most people say.”

  I held it out to him. “I don’t want it.”

  He looked at it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “You can paint over it. Paint something nice, while you’re awake. I’m not even sure what this is supposed to be.” I turned the canvas around and squinted at the painting, but couldn’t make sense of it.

  He shrugged, and sadness rushed my heart. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Joe Jinx.”

  I shook my head. “That’s just what other people call you. What’s your real name?”

  He said nothing for a moment, then swallowed hard. “Joe Clark.”

  I set down the painting and stuck out my hand. “I’m Penny Porter, and, no, I’m not lucky, so don’t say it. This is my twin brother, Parker.”

  Joe narrowed his eyes and looked at me. Really looked at me. He must’ve been studying my freckles. Probably trying to count them.

  “I know. I got lots of freckles. Looks like a truck drove by and splattered me with mud. Looks like a dot-to-dot picture. Don’t bother coming up with a joke. I’ve heard them all.”

  “Wasn’t going to make a joke. I knew a kid with freckles like yours, that’s all,” Joe said. “His friends called him Wren, since his face was speckled like one of their eggs.”

  I paused, a good feeling swelling up in my heart. “Didn’t think anyone else had a case of freckles like this.” Except for my dad, if he’d been the one to give ’em to me.

  “Where did you say you live?” he asked.

  “With my great-aunt. Francine Parker.”

  He looked away, like he was watching something in the far, far distance.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve got an idea. We’re cleaning up New Hope’s Finest. The mayor said I could fix it up and find a buyer. Since you like painting, how about you paint inside the building instead of your … other paintings? I’m paying people with goods from my trading cart. I’ve got some good stuff to choose from.”

  He turned to me and pursed his lips. His eyes grew dark. “You shouldn’t even be stepping foot in that place.”

  My eyes widened, surprised by his tone. “I already did, and it’s going to be great.”

  “Don’t go there.” He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’r
e getting into.”

  A shiver raced through me, but I couldn’t let his words scare me. We had to fix up the Finest. “Whatever we do, it’s going to be better than it is now.”

  “Then that must be why I made you a painting. Something bad is going to happen if you work there. I beg you, stay away from the Finest.” And with that, he walked back inside and slammed the door.

  CHAPTER 9

  Parker and I stood there for a moment, like Joe might come out again with an explanation, but he didn’t.

  “Why do we have to stay away?” I hollered. “What’s going to happen?”

  No answer.

  Parker and I looked at each other, a nervous feeling bouncing back and forth between us. “Everything is going to be fine,” I told Parker, and he smiled.

  I left the painting on Joe’s porch, and we headed off to pick up Carly and Chase. They were both sitting on Carly’s front porch, waiting for us.

  Carly swung her feet as she sat on the swing. She hopped off and hurried over with a backpack. “I brought a notebook so I can write down all the paint colors we have. And a marker to write the color on the can.”

  “Good thinking. You’re in charge of that,” I told her.

  We dashed up the steep road to the Finest, and I crossed my fingers that nothing would go wrong. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Joe’s warning.

  We opened the gate and got to work. Carly went inside to make a list of the paint. Parker and Chase unloaded a big pile of boxes. I tried sorting through some old tools and scrap metal, but my fingers were jerking and twitching. I needed to create.

  I sat down by the old records and grabbed a spool of fishing line someone had tossed back there with rods and lures. Those records were going to be part of a wind chime. A big one.

  I looped the fishing wire between the holes in the records, leaving some of them closer together, some farther apart. I tied tiny jingle bells along the string in between each one. It was a good distraction from thinking about that darn painting.