Book Scavenger: Chapters 1-5

One was tall and gangly with bushy black eyebrows peeking from the edge of his backward ball cap.

His hands were jammed in his front sweatshirt pocket, and his stare didn’t waver from his target.

When he paused before the fare gate to remove his Fast Pass from his wallet, a voice from behind spoke his name.

His smile faltered.

It was early afternoon, off-hours for commuting, and the trickle of people coming in and out of the station was slow.

His cry echoed in the cavernous station.

He crumpled from a seated position to a prone one, his back sliding against the wall, leaving a streak of blood to mark his trail.

A boisterous group wearing black-and-orange jerseys rode up the escalator.

The Clue was a substitution cipher—Emily was sure.

They were driving through a valley jam-packed with rows of houses wrapped around hillsides like serpentine belts.

They had nicknamed the minivan Sal, another homage to the great and almighty Jack Kerouac.

When she deduced San Francisco was their next move, Emily should have flung the gold coins in celebration.

A group of girls she barely knew sprawled near her on the grass.

Emily, pretending to read her book and not pay them any attention, had felt wistful and a tiny bit jealous.

What bothered her, she realized as she covertly watched those girls, was that she would never have that circle of friendship.

In a way, it reminded her of Lake Michigan when they lived in Chicago, with a city view in one direction and a tranquil spread of water in the other.

In addition to running a publishing company, Garrison Griswold organized outlandish events, such as an annual Quidditch tournament in Golden Gate Park and a literary bingo game with so many participants it filled a baseball stadium and earned him a spot in the Guinness World Records book.

They had slowed to a stop and idled in a line of cars.

Her dad turned down a street so steep Emily was amazed everything didn’t just lean over and careen downhill through intersection after intersection into a crashing mess at the bottom.

“It feels like a sparsely furnished apartment,” Emily said, dumping her bin next to his.

The sentence didn’t strike her as being a cipher since it was made up of actual words, not a garbled mix of letters.

Emily played around with rearranging the letters, thinking maybe it was an anagram.

“You’ll have plenty of time for sleuthing later, Em.”

At the moving van, Emily dawdled, debating if she should ask the boy about the bucket and the note.

When she tried reading it backward, it was gibberish.

This time the boy had added reindeer antlers to his ensemble.

Even the cowlick on the back of his head stuck up like a wing waving hello.

“The magic square? You had me stumped with the flamingo theater. I was like, what in the world is a—” Emily’s brain caught up with her rambling mouth.

“The magic square? You had me stumped with the flamingo theater. I was like, what in the world is a—” Emily’s brain caught up with her rambling mouth.

If she’d wanted help with it, she would’ve sent it up in that dinky little bucket.

James’s smiling eyes turned crestfallen.

Impulsively, Emily said, “Maybe I could show you. Want to go scavenging this weekend?”

Impulsively, Emily said, “Maybe I could show you. Want to go scavenging this weekend?”

Emily waved a hand dismissively.

He pelted a doughnut hole at the bird.