How could words be dangerous?
More important, Eddie still wasn’t sure if there was a connection between the supposed curse and the book his mother had found in the barn. Certainly, the biggest clue of the day had been the bookstore. Now at least Eddie knew where the book had come from. He wondered if the blond boy who smelled like bug spray would be at school tomorrow. It was possible that they might even be in the same classes. If he could get up the nerve, Eddie would have another chance to ask for his help. As he went downstairs for dinner, he decided that’s what he would do.
5
The first day of school, Eddie kept embarrassing himself.
During homeroom, Ms. Phelps made him introduce himself. As he’d already learned, new kids were rare to Gatesweed. Everyone already seemed to know each other. Eddie was so nervous and spoke so quietly, Ms. Phelps forced him to repeat everything he said. Twice! His face burned when his new classmates rolled their eyes at him.
In the cafeteria line, Eddie meant to ask the lunch lady for a tuna melt, but he stammered when he ordered and accidentally called it a tuba melt. Everyone behind him started laughing; one boy made farting noises.
Finally, after lunch, he bumped into a girl, knocking her book bag off her shoulder. He’d been thinking about the code and didn’t see her coming around the corner. “I’m so sorry!” said Eddie, helping pick up the bag. He half expected her to start complaining, but instead she barely looked at him.
“It’s fine. I can get it,” said the girl.
She wore a faded black T-shirt, worn-out black jeans, and boots that looked as if they’d been boiled. Her stringy hair hung down either side of her face, tucked behind her big ears. Her skin was pale, but her eyes were dark circles. She looked like a character he imagined would live in a Nathaniel Olmstead book. He realized he was staring, and he felt his face turning red. But before he could introduce himself, the girl blinked at him, fixed her bag, and walked briskly away.
“Nice one,” said someone from across the hallway.
When Eddie turned, he saw the blond boy from the bookstore standing near Eddie’s locker with his arms folded across his chest. He wore a navy blue polo shirt and dark jeans; he no longer smelled like bug spray. Eddie felt his stomach clench. Last night, he’d imagined that the boy would be here at school, but after yesterday, Eddie thought he would have to track him down to ask for his help. Now he felt unprepared.
“You might want to stay away from her,” said the boy.
“Who—who is she?” said Eddie as he put away the textbooks he’d been given that morning.
“Freaky Maggie Ringer. She lives up near the Olmstead estate.”
Eddie blushed. “Why do you think she’s a freak?”
“Look at her.”
“Because she dresses in black?”
“Well … yeah. And she doesn’t have any friends.”
Eddie knew what that felt like. “That doesn’t mean she’s a freak.”
“If you say so,” said the boy. He tugged at his belt loop anxiously. After a moment, he said, “I’m Harris. Harris May. From the bookstore yesterday?”
“Uh, yeah, I remember you,” said Eddie. “I’m Eddie.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you lived here?” said Harris. “In Gatesweed,” he added.
“I didn’t really have time,” said Eddie. “You sorta took off.”
Harris blushed. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I never saw you before. Everyone knows everyone else in this town, but sometimes weird people pass through. … I thought you were—”
“One of them?” said Eddie. “Gee, thanks.”
Harris laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just … Wally was watching you.”
“Wally?” said Eddie.
“The one cop this town can afford to keep on its force,” said Harris. “He doesn’t like Olmstead hunters.” “Olmstead hunters?”
“Fans. They’re my mom’s biggest customers. Nobody else ever really comes to Gatesweed. When you mentioned the Olmstead Curse stuff …” He sighed. “Wally had stopped by in the morning, before you showed up. He spent, like, an hour interrogating me about the new graffiti in the park. He thinks I had something to do with it.”
“Did you?”
Harris smirked. “No,” he said simply. “It’s actually really annoying. Every few months something else appears. Wally usually blames me.”
“‘The Woman Is Watching’ … Does the graffiti have something to do with the Olmstead … Curse?” Since Harris just mentioned the word, Eddie figured it was okay to say it now too.
“That’s sort of hard to explain … and the bell’s about to ring,” Harris said, glancing down the hallway. “Which way are you walking?”
Eddie shrugged. “Not sure. Mr. Weir’s English class?”
Harris nodded. “This way. Come on.”
Eddie closed his locker and spun the combination. His heart raced, partly because he thought he might start finding answers to his Olmstead questions, but also because Harris actually seemed pretty nice. He didn’t want to screw things up by saying something stupid like “tuba melt” again.
Leading them down the hallway, Harris continued, “So you really don’t know anything about the stuff written in that book you showed me?”
“No,” said Eddie. “Other than the fact that it’s some sort of code I can’t figure out by myself. I showed it to the librarian in town yesterday. She started acting really weird.”
“What did she do?” said Harris, surprised.
“She said she couldn’t help me,” said Eddie.
“Did you show it to anybody else?”
“Only my parents. They’re the ones who gave it to me,” said Eddie. “Do you know anything about the code?”
Harris shook his head. “Not the code …” He paused for a few seconds, then quickly and quietly said, “You have to promise not to tell anyone I said anything. It’s really important, because I could get in a lot of trouble. … Some people in town don’t like that my mom still sells Olmstead books. They’d rather just forget Nathaniel Olmstead ever existed. Stupid. Sort of hard when his books are, like, everywhere. There’s been talk about shutting down the bookstore. Wally’s looking for any excuse.”
Eddie didn’t hesitate before answering, “I won’t say anything to anyone about anything.” The hallways were starting to empty. He noticed the room number he was looking for on the door to his right.
“You don’t have anything to do after school today, do you?” said Harris.
“Not yet.”
“Good.” Harris smiled. “I hope you rode here on that bike I saw you riding yesterday. You’re going to need it.”
6
After the last bell, Eddie called his mother and told her he was hanging out with a friend, then the two boys rode their bikes up into the Gatesweed Hills. Black Ribbon Road carved a twisted path through their dark valleys. They headed in the direction from which his family had come on moving day. Eddie wasn’t sure where Harris was taking him, but at this point it almost didn’t matter—he was having fun. In Heaver-hill, the roads had never zigzagged like this, and the kids had never asked him to come along.