“Dude, what’s up with this?” Paul said, pointing to his right, where a thick forest of tall trees loomed like an ominous wall. “Look at all that land out there. Why aren’t they building on it?”

“Who cares?” Sofia said, annoyance creeping back into her voice. “Maybe they’re a bunch of idiots.”

Tick understood her mood. Even though the weather was pleasant here—partly cloudy sky, soft breeze, warm but not hot—he felt like they were going nowhere fast. Not to mention the sick feeling he still had from almost being trampled by a raging monster inside a gigantic glass straw.

Paul yawned. “Just seems a little weird that there’s this huge town to our left, but nothing at all to our right. We should open a real estate office.”

Sofia ignored him. “Well, our plan to stay on this road isn’t working. I say we go into the city.”

“Me too,” Tick agreed. “Everything is starting to look the same—I swear I saw that exact building a couple of hours ago.” He pointed to a tall office complex made of dark granite with shiny, black windows that sparkled as if inlaid with gold.

“Whoa,” Paul said, stopping.

“What?” Tick and Sofia asked at the same time.

“That building doesn’t just look familiar—it is the same one we saw earlier. I’m positive. Man, this road is a ginormous circle that goes around the city. No wonder we’re not getting anywhere.”

“That explains all the left turns,” Tick added.

“I thought we were all supposed to be smart,” Sofia said. “It took us how long to figure this out?”

“Come on,” Paul said. “Let’s go into the town and find a sweet old lady who’s willing to feed some starving kids.”

Right on cue, Tick’s stomach rumbled with hunger. “Hope our money works here.”

“I doubt it, but we can try,” Paul said.

At the next road, they turned left, the wall of trees now at their backs.

~

Reginald looked down at the weaselly little hotel owner of Circle City, rocking between his two feet, fidgeting with the buttons on his fancy red vest. Chu was astonished that someone could show so much weakness in front of another grown man. His name was Phillip, and he couldn’t be more than five feet tall, fat, with streaks of black hair pasted in greasy lines across his obviously bald head.

Ah, yes. The comb-over. Delightful. Reginald swore that if he ever went bald, he’d simply invent a way to make his hair grow back. Hmm, he thought. I can’t believe I haven’t done that yet . . .

“What do I get out of all this?” Phillip said, his voice sounding to Reginald like a talking rat high on helium. “And how do I find the kids?”