The Mapmaker and the Ghost Read online

  When he looked back up at Goldenrod, she was smiling at him. “Yeah, you’re right. You know, you do make a really good Clark.”

  Toe Jam’s head snapped up. “You mean William Clark?”

  “The very same,” Goldenrod said.

  “He was an explorer. I’m related to his partner, you know,” Toe Jam explained, rather needlessly, to Birch. By this point, Birch had gotten the whole story of what Toe Jam’s family crest meant, how Goldenrod had been inspired to take on this whole mapping business in the first place, and even the slightly creepy notion that a ghost had been haunting this very forest. “Meriwether Lewis was my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-uncle,” Toe Jam continued. Birch had observed that for all his love of everything disorderly and dirty, Toe Jam still had a touch of his parents’ pomposity in him.

  Goldenrod rolled her eyes a little as she walked over to check Birch’s notebook.

  “I think we’re done here,” Birch said.

  Goldenrod nodded. “I can hardly believe we’ve mapped this entire forest and documented every single plant or creature we’ve come across,” she said proudly, “and all in two weeks! This would have taken me at least a month alone. I definitely couldn’t have done it without you, Clark.”

  Birch beamed.

  Goldenrod then turned to Toe Jam. “Or you, Sacagawea. Really, you definitely helped out by knowing the forest so well. I’m glad your grandma lifted the ban.”

  Toe Jam shrugged, but Birch thought he could see a smile as he looked at the ground.

  “This is even better than what I had before,” Goldenrod said. Birch was glad to hear it. Originally, Goldenrod had considered going back into the forest to try and recover her green backpack, but then Toe Jam found out from the others that Spitbubble had destroyed it. Birch hadn’t enjoyed seeing his sister’s crestfallen face when she’d gotten that bit of news.

  “So, what’s next?” Birch asked.

  “Well, we still have the western, eastern, and southern parts of town to do. I don’t think it’ll take as long as the forest, but the map wouldn’t be complete without them,” Goldenrod said.

  Birch nodded. “Think we can get it done before summer vacation ends?”

  “We have three weeks. It’s not a lot of time. But I think if you and I hustle …”

  “Hey, what about me?” Toe Jam asked.

  Birch looked over at him, surprised. “I thought your grandmother said you only had to help us with the forest.”

  “Oh … yeah. She did,” Toe Jam said. “Right. Never mind.”

  Birch and Goldenrod exchanged a glance.

  “I actually don’t know if we can get this done in three weeks with just the two of us, though,” Goldenrod started slowly. “So, if you’d like to help, Randy … well, we’d be more than happy to have you.”

  “I … well, maybe. I mean now that I’ve started it, it wouldn’t really seem right not to help finish.”

  Goldenrod smiled. “Cool.”

  Birch smiled too. Sure, Toe Jam could be showy sometimes, but Birch had actually grown used to him, sort of even liked having him around. And secretly, Birch had always really liked picking the sock fuzz from between his toes too.

  “And maybe if we discover an animal or something, we can name it after me this time,” Toe Jam said as the three of them started packing up their stuff.

  Goldenrod shot him a look. “Let’s not get carried away, Randy. Okay?”

  35

  THE GARDEN

  When Goldenrod, Birch, and Randy returned to the Moram house that afternoon, it looked as busy as it had been over the past week. There were parts of the front lawn and garden that still looked like the surface of a scorched planet, but most of it was being restored to green again.

  Randy immediately went over to a corner where Brains and Lint were quietly laying down some new squares of grass. Old Sue’s husband, who also happened to be the town judge, was a good friend of Mrs. Moram’s and had given the restoration of her garden as one of a few options for their community service. Brains had chosen it almost immediately. Goldenrod supposed it meant that he must have some semblance of a conscience somewhere in there. And, obviously, Lint was going to do whatever Brains did.

  Goldenrod smiled secretly as she watched Lint bend and move with ease, his leg as muscular and strong as ever. She wouldn’t be surprised if he won his family’s annual half marathon this year. After all, he would have plenty of time to practice, given that he wasn’t going to be spending much of it stealing protein bars. Come to think of it, Goldenrod hadn’t seen his lint ball make an appearance over the past couple of days either. Perhaps he’s lost his taste for them, she thought amusedly, and then felt a slight jolt of affection for the kid. Just the day before, Lint had returned Goldenrod’s yellow baby sock to her. He had even rinsed it out.

  “Jonas.”

  Brains looked up from his work as Goldenrod’s dad walked over to him.

  “If you’re interested, I would very much like it if you were to come into my lab sometime next week. I’ve heard about some of the, er, work you’ve been doing. And I could really use your help with this new project. We’re trying to find greener sources of energy for Pilmilton, you know,” Mr. Moram said.

  “Seriously?” Brains asked in surprise.

  “Seriously. If what I’ve heard is true, well, some of the ideas you’ve had are very impressive. Though, um, not stealing from a museum. You shouldn’t do that,” Mr. Moram added hastily.

  “I would really like that, Mr. Moram,” Brains said quietly. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Moram was whisked away then by order of Mrs. Moram, but when Brains looked up to see that Goldenrod was watching him, he gave her a small smile.

  Goldenrod smiled back. Maybe, like her, he also had happy memories of the last time they had been in her mother’s garden together.

  As Goldenrod watched the three members of Spitbubble’s Gross-Out Gang digging, her thoughts flitted for a moment to Snotshot. When she had been brought into the police station for questioning, it had been discovered almost immediately that her father had been frantically searching for her ever since she had run away from home. Within hours, they had been gleefully, and apparently somewhat tearfully, reunited, though Goldenrod could barely imagine liquid leaking from some part of Snotshot’s face that wasn’t her nose. Knowing that the judge had gently suggested that Snotshot be sentenced to some sort of service in her own town, Goldenrod wondered what she was doing now. Perhaps wiping the snot off of little kids at a day care center, Goldenrod thought to herself with a smile. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  As for No-Bone, he actually was working with little kids—choosing to volunteer at a gymnastics school that was a couple of towns over. From something Goldenrod had overheard Brains saying, it seemed like the school had even helped to locate an old friend of his in China, whom he was now happily exchanging letters with.

  “Goldenrod, could you help Cassandra with that bush?” her mother said as she tossed a pair of orange gardening gloves at her and woke her from her reverie.

  “Sure,” she said. As Goldenrod put on the gloves, she couldn’t help but smile at her mother’s giddy expression. It had a lot to do with her garden being so diligently worked on under her careful supervision, for sure, but Goldenrod knew that there was something else that was keeping her so elated these days. As the much-read piece of stationery from the Horticultural Society stated, the discovered blue rose was going to be named just as Goldenrod had requested: Rosa janine, after the very best gardener and lover of flora that she had ever known. After all, her mother had named her after a flower, so it only seemed fitting to name a flower after her mother. Besides, she couldn’t very well name a new species of flower Goldenrod.

  Giving Mrs. Janine Moram this piece of news had finally been the trick to getting her to smile again. And now that it looked like her garden would be even more spectacular than it had been before, she was pretty much in a constant state of euphoria.

  �
��Birch, could you come over and help your dad with pulling up some of this old grass?” Goldenrod heard her mother’s cheerful voice as she made her way over to where the old lady was packing some dirt around a small bush.

  Cassandra looked up at Goldenrod’s approach and smiled. “And how did it go today?”

  “Well, Pilmilton Woods has officially been mapped in its entirety,” Goldenrod said.

  “Bravo,” Cassandra said. “Is it ready to show your friend Charla yet?”

  “Almost.” Goldenrod smiled. “I might as well get the rest of Pilmilton in there too. I think she’s gonna love it.”

  “Good,” Cassandra said and then lowered her voice so as not to be overheard by the others. “Did you see him?”

  Goldenrod nodded. “I said good-bye,” she whispered back. “He’s gone now.”

  “He must have been very proud of you, Goldenrod.”

  “I hope so,” Goldenrod said.

  “Meriwether Lewis may have dealt with grizzly bears and blizzards and even getting accidentally shot in the thigh by one of his own men … but even he never had to deal with Spitbubble.”

  Goldenrod laughed. “Well, at least Ms. Barbroff proved that she really, really doesn’t like hoodlums after all,” she said, shaking her head in awe of the fact that her ex-teacher had turned in her own son to the police for his part in the museum escapade.

  “And you have to admire her for her consistency,” Cassandra said.

  “I do,” Goldenrod said as she knelt beside the old lady. Not surprisingly, Spitbubble had most certainly not chosen the judge’s option to help the Morams with restoring their garden. Goldenrod couldn’t imagine that he would be at the gymnastics school with No-Bone either. In fact, it didn’t seem likely that he would be facing the rest of the Gross-Out Gang anytime soon. Toe Jam had told Goldenrod and Birch all about what Snotshot had discovered during her confrontation with Spitbubble—that he wasn’t really planning on letting them stay in the forest—and his former crew was none too happy about it. Can’t say I blame Spitbubble for staying away, Goldenrod thought. After all, they are a pretty formidable group. I wouldn’t want any of them going up against me … again.

  “All right.” Goldenrod turned her attention back to Cassandra. “So what do you need me to do?”

  “Go in here and get your hands dirty.” Cassandra paused for a moment as her eyes twinkled. “I think having this blue rosebush here will be a good reminder for you, Goldenrod. Just in case you ever think you have to leave your own backyard in search of adventure again.”

  Goldenrod laughed as she helped Cassandra pack dirt around the bush.

  She knew the old lady knew, just as well as she did, that to truly seek adventure, one will always, always have to leave the backyard.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The quest to get this book into your hands has involved the invaluable help and advice of many fellow adventurers who are owed a lot more than my thanks. One is my agent, Marissa Walsh, who took a chance on me and then worked tirelessly to get this book in front of the right person. That person turned out to be Stacy Cantor Abrams, my vastly talented editor at Walker, who saw more in the story than I could ever have seen as a solo explorer and who helped shape it into practically everything that it is.

  Speaking of Walker, I think even Lewis and Clark would have been hard-pressed to find a crew that is as dedicated, kind, and talented as the one that has been guiding me through these uncharted territories. A huge thanks to Kim Burns, Katy Hershberger, and Kate Lied—Legendary Adventurers of marketing and publicity. And to Nicole Gastonguay, epic senior designer, for making these pages look so much more magical than I could have even imagined and for the coup that was snagging cover illustrator Gérald Guerlais and “mapmaker” Gideon Kendall.

  I owe a lot to those who have traveled alongside me through many more treks than just this one: An enormous amount of gratitude to my amazing friend Katie Spessard, who has read and edited almost everything I’ve ever written and whose taste, sensibilities, and constructive criticism have made me a far better writer than I could possibly be without her. Being an unpublished writer (or even a published one) means that there are moments when only the most sincere words of encouragement and love can keep you going; for those I am forever grateful to Jenny Goldberg, for being so very good at them, and to Graig Kreindler for being my sense of direction both literally and metaphorically.

  A big thanks to two of my favorite writing teachers of all time, Lamar Sanders and Mollie Fermaglich, who not only built my entire foundation of telling a story but also were the first people not obligated by blood or friendship to like my work. To Lisa Hsia, for being a great mentor—and an even better friend—and the kind of boss who takes the whole I’m-quitting-because-I-want-to-work-on-my-novel thing with a very straight face and a lot of words of encouragement.

  Goldenrod’s quest began in two different writing workshops, so I must thank all those who helped set her on her way from the very start: Carolyn MacCullough, Theresa Drescher, Sharon Garbe, Gabriela Pereira, Nell Mermin, Jenny Ziomek, Kim Kowalski, Mary Fried, Tara Devineni, Bridget Curley, Kelly Sullivan, Julia Kim, Rhonda Atkins, Jennifer Stark, Sarah O’Holla, Andie Levinger, Laura Quinlan Hug, Irene Borland, Kathleen Admirand-Dimmler, Josh Farrar, and Irwin Walkenfeld. Thank you to the Apocalypsies and the Class of 2K12, two groups of fantastic debut authors who have made this past year so much fun as well as far less lonely.

  And, of course, my journey would never have started at all without my family. I owe many, many thanks to my parents, Haleh and Hossein, who always made me feel like having a writer in the family was something to be proud of. To my sister, Golnaz, for sharing my sense of humor (and oftentimes her wardrobe). And, finally, to the one person who believed in me beyond anyone else. To my aunt, Homa, who is forever my compass and without whom I can’t imagine having made it through this quest or any other.

  Text copyright © 2012 by Sarvenaz Tash

  Map copyright © 2012 by Gideon Kendall

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

  form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage

  and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This electronic edition published in April 2012

  First published in the United States of America in April 2012

  by Walker Publishing Company, Inc., a division of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.

  www.bloomsburykids.com

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Walker BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Tash, Sarvenaz.

  The mapmaker and the ghost / Sarvenaz Tash.

  p. cm.

  Summary: The summer before starting middle school, when eleven-year-old Goldenrod Moram

  sets out to make a very accurate map of the forest behind her home, she discovers a band

  of troublemakers, a mysterious old lady, and the ghost of her explorer idol.

  ISBN 978-0-8027-2341-3 (e-book)

  [1. Cartography—Fiction. 2. Maps—Fiction. 3. Forests and forestry—Fiction.

  4. Ghosts—Fiction. 5. Gangs—Fiction. 6. Community life—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.T2111324Map 2012 [Fic]—dc22 2011010978