BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. Part I
  8. 1.
  9. 2.
  10. 3.
  11. 4.
  12. 5.
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. 10.
  18. Part II
  19. 11.
  20. 12.
  21. 13.
  22. 14.
  23. 15.
  24. 16.
  25. 17.
  26. 18.
  27. Part III
  28. 19.
  29. 20.
  30. 21.
  31. 22.
  32. 23.
  33. 24.
  34. 25.
  35. 26.
  36. 27.
  37. 28.
  38. 29.
  39. 30.
  40. 31.
  41. 32.
  42. Part IV
  43. 33.
  44. 34.
  45. 35.
  46. 36.
  47. 37.
  48. 38.
  49. 39.
  50. 40.
  51. About the Author

The rubberneckers dispersed, repeating snippets of Claire’s tirade guaranteed to be incorporated into local vernacular. I let out a giant held breath and turned to help up Tub. There was a dent in the closest locker, but he was gone. I was disappointed, though I couldn’t blame a guy for wanting to flee a monster. I was familiar with the instinct.

Claire, though, was there, and when the bell rang she wasn’t startled. She gave me a level consideration.

“Mr. Sturges,” she said.

“Ms. Fontaine?” I tried.

She nodded sagely as if judging my response adequate.

“You seem a bit different, Mr. Sturges.”

“So do you,” I said.

“Oh, that?” She rolled her eyes. “You should hear me when I bump my knee.”

“I’ll never bump your knee. That’s a promise.”

“I heard Ms. Pinkton today. About your troubles. About the eighty—”

“Eighty-eight percent,” I finished. “Yeah.”

“I’m not half-bad at numbers, Mr. Sturges.”

“I know. It’s very impressive.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“I mean, I can help you, you scaffy skenker.”

“No, please.” I held up a hand. “None of those words. I can’t take it.”

Her smile was glorious and her laugh as loud as ever.

“Let’s meet tonight. Eighty-eight is nothing. I can get you to ninety.”

“You…you want me to come over?”

Her smile faltered.

“I’m sorry. You misunderstood. You can’t come over.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Uh. Well. Great. Thanks?”

“Relax, Mr. Sturges. It’s not you. My house just isn’t a good place to visit. In general. But I could come over to your place. I’ve told Mum that tonight is the final rehearsal, and I know she can convince Da that it’s going to be a late one. You and I can walk together after the final run-through, set up at your house, and get right to the numbers. I know a few tricks that’ll kablooey your brain.”

“I’m—” The concept of turning down any offer from Claire Fontaine was a difficult one. But the truth was the truth: I needed sleep, even if it was just two or three hours, because when the sun went down, the final hunt was on. We had only one night to find the Gumm-Gumms before the Killaheed reached its completion. I sighed and continued. “I’m not coming to rehearsal.”