Book Scavenger Read online

  James shifted his weight, and Emily noticed an important detail she’d overlooked before: her notebook in his hands.

  “Where did you find that?” She charged up the concrete steps, pulled the notebook from him, and hugged it to her chest.

  The antler bells tinkled lightly as James stepped back. With a touch of defensiveness, he said, “It was on the ground outside your door. I knocked earlier but nobody answered. I was going to send it down in the bucket, but then I looked out the window and you looked like you’d lost something and…”

  Emily didn’t know what to make of this guy. He wore reindeer antlers and delivered puzzle challenges via a rusty, old sand pail. He seemed genuinely offended that she might have thought he’d stolen her notebook, but he still seemed friendly. Even the cowlick on the back of his head stuck up like a wing waving hello.

  “Are you hypnotized by my hair?” James asked.

  Emily felt her face heat up, but James waved her off.

  “It’s cool. He likes the attention.”

  “He?”

  “His name is Steve.”

  “Your cowlick is named Steve?”

  “I was going to name him Geronimo, but that seemed ridiculous,” James said.

  Emily laughed, her skepticism chipped away.

  “Nobody would take you seriously with a cowlick named Geronimo.”

  “Exactly,” James said. Then he added, “That puzzle you were working on was interesting. Did you like the one I sent in the bucket?”

  “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. “Wait. How did you know I was working on a puzzle?”

  The spiral spine of her notebook dug into her fingers. She flipped the notebook open, irritation rising with every whipped-over page. Beneath the Ferzu Borg cipher was unfamiliar block-letter handwriting: THIRD BENCH DOWN THE PIER.

  Emily gasped. “You solved it?”

  “You almost had it. You just missed a letter.”

  She didn’t miss a letter. Emily inspected the original cipher and her work. She sucked in sharply when she saw, almost immediately, that James was right.

  She’d missed a letter.

  The cipher text had two Ns and she’d assigned a different letter to each one. An amateur mistake.

  In a reassuring voice, James said, “It’s easy to miss stuff like that. That’s why two eyes are better than one. No offense to the Cyclops.”

  Emily’s cheeks flashed with the heat of embarrassment. “My eyes are fine. I’ve been in a car for two days—that’s all.”

  She looked at the slashing lines of James’s handwriting practically taunting, THIRD BENCH DOWN THE PIER! That was pretty nervy of him. Solving a puzzle that clearly wasn’t his to solve. If she’d wanted help with it, she would’ve sent it up in that dinky little bucket. What a show-off! She knew his friendliness was too good to be true.

  “So what are you, anyway?” Emily demanded. “A poacher? I suppose you’ll want to go capture the book for me now, too?”

  James’s smiling eyes turned crestfallen. “What are you talking about? A poacher? And what do you mean, ‘capture a book’?” He continued apologetically, “The puzzle was staring up at me, chanting solve me.…”

  His antlers seemed to droop. Even Steve seemed to droop.

  “Poaching and capturing a book are Book Scavenger terms. Doesn’t everyone in San Francisco play?”

  James shook his head. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t play.”

  Emily gaped at James. Living in San Francisco and not playing Book Scavenger was like living in a chocolate factory but not eating any sweets.

  “You obviously like puzzles.” Emily eyed James suspiciously. “Don’t you like to read?”

  “Sure,” James said.

  “Then you have to try it. Book Scavenger is all about people who love books and puzzles and games. Plus having adventures and exploring new places.”

  “What do you do?”

  “People hide their used books somewhere public, like a park, and then post a puzzle or clue on the website to lead others to it. You earn one point for each book you hide or find, or if someone finds one of your hidden books.”

  “What are the points for?”

  “The points move you up through the levels. Everyone starts at Encyclopedia Brown, then there’s Nancy Drew, Sam Spade, Miss Marple, Auguste Dupin, and Sherlock Holmes. The higher you go, the more you unlock on the website, like bonus material for different books, secret puzzles, and games. You can also trade in points to buy stuff from the Bayside Press store.”

  “So ‘third bench down the pier’ leads to a book? How do you find it from that?”

  “Books are listed on the website by location. This one is hidden at the Ferry Building. There must be a pier there with benches and—” For a split second Emily paused, took in James’s tilted head and concentrating eyes, and even Steve leaning forward like he wanted to hear more. Impulsively, Emily said, “Maybe I could show you. Want to go scavenging this weekend?”

  The words were out there now, hanging in between them. Emily held her breath waiting for James’s response.

  He smiled. “Sure!”

  Emily felt like she’d drunk a soda really fast—sugar-buzzed but a little sick at the same time. So much for her practiced avoidance of making friends she’d only have to leave. But James was good with puzzles—he’d proven that. And he was funny. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have a book-hunting partner, even if only for a while.

  “Did you hear about Garrison Griswold?” James asked.

  “How is it possible that you don’t play Book Scavenger but you know who Garrison Griswold is?” Emily asked.

  “Everyone knows Garrison Griswold. I even met him at his book carnival last spring.”

  “You met him?” Emily asked. “What’s he like? What’s the carnival like?”

  She had been dying to go to Griswold’s famous San Francisco book carnival since she first heard about it five years ago. Hopefully her family would still be living in San Francisco next spring.

  “He walked around in this burgundy-and-blue-striped suit and top hat with a matching cane. He gave me tickets for the games. And every kid who goes to the carnival gets a free grab bag full of books.”

  “He really is the Willy Wonka of book publishing,” Emily said with awe.

  “It’s awful what happened to him, isn’t it?” James said.

  Emily waved a hand dismissively. “Him not showing up today? I’m not worried. I think his disappearance is part of his next big game.”

  James tilted his head, antlers jangling. “You haven’t heard? They just announced it. Garrison Griswold didn’t disappear. He’s in the hospital.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  “YOU SAID you needed a messenger,” Barry hissed into his cell phone, wincing when it brushed the gauze taped over his split cheek. “That’s all I agreed to.”

  It was maybe an hour after they’d left Griswold in the BART station. Barry and Clyde had jumped on a streetcar and hightailed it to Pier 39, where they could get lost in the crowds. They were on the wooden walkway behind the stores and restaurants. Through a breezeway came the buzz of tourists, the carousel cranking out its song. At the end of the pier, a cluster of people looked down at the sea lions sunning themselves on floating platforms in the harbor, braying like a bunch of rowdy men arguing at the horse races. And there was Clyde, sitting a few feet away from Barry, just out of earshot, cool as a cucumber and shoveling doughnut holes into his mouth.

  “Who is this guy you partnered me with, anyway?”

  A voice barked through the phone. Barry ducked his head like a scolded dog. “It’s all over the news, man!” Barry said. “I’m kind of freakin’ out over here. Even bums on the street know Garrison Gri—you know who.”

  Barry pressed the knuckles on his free hand against an eyeball and listened. “Yeah, we got rid of it. Clyde sai
d he wiped it clean and threw it in the bay.”

  Crazy Clyde stared down a seagull perched on the railing in front of him. He pelted a doughnut hole at the bird. The seagull flapped up and then down to retrieve its prize.

  “Look,” Barry said into his phone. “Can I just get my money? You can find someone else. Or let Clyde take over from here.”

  He listened for a moment and then slapped his thigh. “But that’s not my fault! He didn’t have it on him. I might have been able to talk to the guy about it if the Sundance Kid hadn’t shot him.”

  “We did look everywhere,” Barry argued. “There was only one book in his bag, but it was brand-new.”

  “But you said it would be super old. You made that very clear.”

  “I don’t know. It was by Poe. Gold-something-or-oth—”

  “Well, I didn’t know! You said an old book. If you’d said ‘take any book’—”

  “No, it’s not with Griswold. I threw it in the trash.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? We’ll go back and look. Then you give me my money and I’m out. Right?”

  “Fine. But we can’t go now. That place’ll be swarming with cops. We’ll go this weekend. Tomorrow. That’s the best I can do—take it or leave it.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  ON SATURDAY MORNING, Emily checked the Book Scavenger forums for updates on Mr. Griswold, but the news was still the same: in critical condition at St. Mary’s Hospital after being mugged in a BART station. Any plans for a new game were postponed indefinitely. The words critical condition had worried Emily.

  “It means he’s seriously injured, but beyond that it’s hard to say without more information,” her mom had said. “People recover from being in critical condition all the time.”

  In addition to worrying about Mr. Griswold, Emily couldn’t help feeling disappointed about his game. The timing had been so perfect with their moving to San Francisco. She was glad she’d made plans to go book scavenging with James that afternoon. It would be a good way to distract herself from constantly refreshing the Book Scavenger forums for game rumors or updates on how Mr. Griswold was doing.

  But before she could actually go to the Ferry Building, she had to ask her parents for permission. They were hanging the family motto her dad had years ago stenciled onto scrap wood: LIVE, TRAVEL, ADVENTURE, BLESS, AND DON’T BE SORRY. By Jack Kerouac, of course.

  “Please?” Emily pleaded again.

  “Not today, Em,” her mom said around the nail gripped between her lips while she hammered another one into the wall.

  “We need to get the lay of the land before we let you go off by yourself,” her dad said. Knowing the objection Emily would raise, he rushed on to add, “Even if James goes to the Ferry Building on his own all the time. Your mom and I have a full day of unpacking and settling in. Of course, there is another alternative.” Her dad tipped his head toward Matthew’s door.

  Emily sighed. She was hoping to avoid that alternative. Funny, if she traveled back in time a few years, it would have been Matthew dragging her along for an adventure. That was back when they were inseparable, when they were both into geocaching, a treasure-hunting game that uses a GPS to find hidden stashes of goodies, and the early days of Book Scavenger. Then Matthew went into the sixth grade and his classmate wanted to start a band, so her brother took up the guitar. Once he discovered Flush, he was all music, all the time. Treasure hunts were beneath him. Good-bye, best friend and partner in crime; hello, pain-in-the-butt brother.

  Emily took a deep breath and knocked on her brother’s door. She could feel the bass of a Flush song through the soles of her feet. Matthew’s guitar screeched wrong chord after wrong chord as he practiced along with the music. She knocked again. The song abruptly stopped and then restarted from the beginning.

  She pushed his door open and shouted his name but, if he’d heard, he didn’t turn around. Emily tapped him on the shoulder, and Matthew spun, surprisingly plucking the right chord for once. He wore his favorite Flush T-shirt, the one with the band’s name printed above a toilet.

  “What?” he shouted over the music.

  “Want to go to the Ferry Building?” Emily shouted back.

  “Nope.” He turned back around and raised the neck of his guitar.

  “Matthew!” His stereo sat near her on the floor, and she kicked her toe at the power button, turning it off.

  “What?” he said. “You asked if I wanted to go and I don’t. Maybe if you asked if I wanted to make five bucks…”

  “Look, I can’t go without you. James says we can take cable cars to get there. I know you’ve never been on one before—don’t you want to explore San Francisco a little?”

  Matthew repetitively plucked a guitar string, thinking.

  “Fine,” he said.

  They joined James on the porch, and the three walked up the hill. Matthew held out his smartphone, taking a video as they walked. He panned a faded striped sofa on the sidewalk with a FREE sign, a Giants pennant fluttering on a rooftop deck. About a block away from the peak of the hill, a hum like a massive swarm of bees rose above the distant sounds of traffic.

  “What is that?” Emily asked.

  Before James could answer, they reached the top and Emily could see for herself. Tracks ran down the intersecting street, vibrating with cables even though no trolley was in sight.

  “This is where we’ll board,” James said. “There should be a cable car any minute now.”

  The street they’d walked up dipped downhill after the cable car tracks. A cluster of tourists on motorized, standing scooters approached. Matthew recorded the Segway riders rounding past them in a single-file line.

  “They’re doing a tour of Lombard Street,” James explained. “A famous curvy street that’s up that way.”

  “’Frisco is sweet,” Matthew said.

  “Don’t call it ’Frisco,” James said with a shake of his head. “Locals hate that.”

  “Noted.” Matthew zoomed in on an old-fashioned light-up sign jutting out from an ice cream shop across the street.

  “I can use some of this footage for my Flush videos.”

  “Flush?” James raised his eyebrows.

  Emily rolled her eyes. “He means fan videos. My brother thinks the members of Flush actually know him and pay attention to what he does.”

  “Oh, they do. They know me as FiveSpade.” Matthew tapped his screen, and his recording stopped with a ding. “Trevor—that’s the drummer,” he explained for James’s benefit, “once commented on a video I posted on the Swirlies site. And then he shared it on his own blog. It was stop-motion animation with LEGOs—pretty sweet, if I do say so myself.”

  “But none of that means Trevor or any of Flush actually know you. You talk about them like they’re your best friends.”

  James, who was standing between Emily and Matthew, had been swinging his head back and forth between brother and sister as their debate went on. Before Matthew could retort, James blurted, “Steve likes your hair.”

  Matthew tucked his chin down, considering James. “Oh yeah?” He smoothed his lopsided Mohawk with one hand. That morning he’d added three shaved lines over his left ear. “Who’s Steve?”

  James pointed to the tuft of hair standing up on the back of his head.

  Matthew studied the cowlick, then nodded.

  “Steve’s got good taste,” he said.

  A bell clanged, and a red-and-tan trolley crested the hill, stopping at the intersection with another clang of the bell. Emily was unsure where to board or who to pay, but James led the way, stepping up at the front and showing a pass to the conductor. They sat on the wooden benches that ran along the outside of the cable car, facing the sidewalk. Matthew wanted a good video of the ride, so he stood next to them rather than sat, with one arm hugging a pole.

  When the cable car jerked into motion, Emily curled her fingers around the edge of the bench. There was no seat belt or anything. Once they’d rolled down a couple of blocks, she relaxed a
nd realized she wasn’t going to fall off.

  Everything James pointed out had a story attached to it. A dry cleaner’s run by his uncle who pretended to sneeze quarters. A gigantic cathedral with a labyrinth but not the cool kind made out of hedges. A market where his grandmother buys oysters for Chinese New Year.

  “How long have you lived here?” Emily asked James.

  “My whole life.”

  “You’ve never lived anywhere else?”

  “Not even a different home. My family has lived in our building forever. I think my grandfather bought it in the sixties. My bedroom was my mom’s when she was a kid. Even before that building, my family has been here since my great-grandparents came from China.”

  Emily tried to imagine that—year after year in one house, one neighborhood, one school, with memories that went back for generations. She couldn’t wrap her head around that. All she came up with was a crazy patchwork mishmash of all the different places she’d lived: their sunny tiled kitchen in New Mexico, their fireplace in Colorado that you could flip on with a switch, the slanted hallways in their Connecticut house, the carpeted staircase in their South Dakota house that she and Matthew bumped down on their rear ends.

  “The longest I’ve lived in one place was almost three years,” Emily said. “And I don’t even remember that. It was right after I was born.”

  “Seriously?” There wasn’t a jeering tone to James’s question, but Emily bristled anyway. Sometimes she forgot how weird her family seemed to other people. Matthew had been listening, his arm looped casually around the post as if he were waiting for a bus instead of hurtling down a steep hill. Well, the cable car didn’t exactly hurtle; it was more like clattering down a hill.

  Her brother jumped in, eager to give the rundown of their moving history. He loved doing this—he almost sounded braggish about their family’s oddballness.

  “I was born in Arizona, Phlegmily was born in Washington. Then it was Massachusetts, and about the time we lived in New York, our parents realized—thanks to a few states they lived in before the Phlegm and I existed—they’d already lived in a fifth of the US. So they thought, Why not live once in every state? After New York, we did South Dakota, Illinois, Connecticut, Colorado, New Mexico, and now we’re, like, totally vibin’ Cali, brah.” Matthew shook a fist with his thumb and pinkie raised. “Shaka-brah, brah.”