The Entirely True Story of the Unbelievable FIB Read online

  Pru knew Mrs. Edleman had partnered them just to get back at her for wandering off at Winterhaven House the day before, but there was nothing she could do about it. So she sought ABE out at recess that day to figure out a time and place for them to meet.

  She found him on the blacktop. He was standing apart from the other kids, hands in his pockets again, rolling a piece of sidewalk chalk beneath his feet. The chalk left marks on the broken pavement that reminded Pru of strange writing scratched on an ancient stone.

  “So, I guess we should plan to meet and go over the story Mrs. Edleman assigned,” Pru said as she walked up to ABE. No point beating around the bush.

  “Okay, sure.” ABE appeared pleased to have someone to talk to. “That would be great.”

  Pru did her best to ignore ABE’s obvious relief at not being alone. It wasn’t her job to help the new kid adjust, even if he did seem kind of lost.

  “Well, we can’t meet after school because I have detention this week and next.” Pru folded her arms across her chest. “Here’s a little hint for you. Don’t compare Mrs. Edleman to a hairy, lumbering beast. She takes it all personal for some reason.”

  “Oh. Um . . . okay. Sure. I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

  “Anyway, let’s meet tomorrow. Do you know where the library is?” Pru knew ABE had just moved in, but Middleton was small and the library was hard to miss. It was also central enough that you could walk there from just about anywhere in town.

  “Yeah. I saw it on my way in to school today. I’ve been wanting to go, actually.”

  “Okay, good. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.” With that, Pru walked off. It wouldn’t do to be seen talking to a boy for too long. Sixth grade was weird. Everyone had come back from summer all filled with gossip about who wore what and who liked who. Pru didn’t have any interest in that nonsense. She was better off with her investigations.

  The thought made Pru glance upward. If she were to be completely honest—and complete honesty was something she tried to avoid, as a general rule—but if she were to be completely honest, she’d have to admit that she’d only mentioned the clouds to Mrs. Edleman the day before to get under her teacher’s skin. But now the clouds really did seem ominous. They sealed the sky shut so that even though she was outside, she couldn’t escape the sensation of feeling confined. It put her in mind of how she felt in the darkened hallways of Winterhaven House, with its hidden treasures and unexpected encounters.

  She jumped at a sudden clap of thunder, then looked around quickly to make sure no one had seen her startled reaction. As she turned, she noticed the bushy tail of a squirrel as it darted from the playground area to the trees that bordered the schoolyard. Odd that a squirrel had come so close to where kids were playing.

  Odder still that the squirrel seemed familiar, with its scruffy tail and the nick in its left ear.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Saturday dawned gray and gloomy again. Pru walked to the library. The dark clouds had spread as far across the sky as she could see. They left Pru feeling unsettled and anxious as she found ABE on the second floor. He was waiting with his books already open and spread before him.

  “Hi,” he said. He started to stand up.

  Pru grunted something by way of a greeting before dropping into her seat. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t really ABE’s fault that they’d been assigned to work together. Mrs. Edleman wasn’t there to be grouchy to, though, so accommodations had to be made.

  ABE hovered over his seat a moment before settling back down. “So, um, I guess maybe we should get started?”

  “I guess.” Pru hefted her messenger bag onto the table. “We should probably start with the story Mrs. Edleman assigned us.”

  “I actually read it last night. It was pretty good!”

  “Are you kidding? You did homework on a Friday night? But that’s the best night for TV.”

  “Oh. Actually, I don’t really watch a lot of TV . . .” ABE abandoned the sentence. Perhaps he saw the look of astonishment on Pru’s face. “Sorry. You’re right, let’s read the story.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Pru pulled out her own notebook and also began reading the Norse myth Mrs. Edleman had assigned.

  THE STORY OF LOKI AND THE BUILDING OF ASGARD’S WALL

  Across the Rainbow Bridge lies the realm of Asgard, where the gods of the Vikings live.

  In the early days, the city of the gods was vulnerable. It had no wall to protect it from the wild giants of nearby Jotunheim. Then one day a builder presented himself before Odin, Allfather of the gods.

  “I will build your wall,” the builder said, “and I will do it before two winters pass.”

  “For what price?” asked shrewd Odin, god of wisdom and war.

  “I ask for the most beautiful goddess to be my wife, and I ask for the sun and the moon, too.”

  “Is that all?” mocked Odin. The other gods also raised their voices in outrage, all save one. Sly Loki appeared thoughtful.

  “Give us a moment to consider your generous offer,” Loki said, and he ushered the builder from the hall.

  With their guest gone, the gods turned to the trickster. Though Loki was the blood brother of Odin, he was himself a child of giants and the other gods looked on him with suspicion. Loki, the Sly One, the Sky Traveler, the Shape-­Shifter. He had always been different from them, even as a youth, with his clever mind and mischievous ways.

  “What is in the twists and turns of your mind, Loki?” Odin demanded. “Would you give this stranger all the light, beauty, and warmth of the world?”

  “I would not,” Loki said. “But think! Suppose we accept this offer but demand that the task be done in just one winter, not two?”

  “Impossible,” the gods and goddesses exclaimed.

  “Exactly. And if the builder fails in his task, then he gets no payment, none at all. So! We will have part of our wall built, at least, and at no cost.”

  Then the other gods congratulated Loki for his agile mind. They brought the builder back and Odin gave him the terms.

  For his part, the builder demanded that if he must complete the job in so short a time, he should be allowed the aid of his stallion to help transport the stones for the wall.

  “That was not in our bargain,” said Odin. “It cannot be so.”

  “Odin, you are too stubborn,” Loki interrupted. “Give him the use of his stallion. What harm can it do?”

  In the end, Odin agreed, but later he warned Loki that the trickster would bear the consequences if his scheme went wrong.

  The next day, the builder began his work and the gods retired to their own halls. As the wolves of winter howled, the gods remained in their warm homes and did not see the builder’s progress. It would have brought them no joy if they had.

  Each morning, the builder’s stallion dragged great mountains of stone to the builder, who then cut, shaped, and placed the stones with a skill beyond any mortal. If the gods had seen him work, they would have known that the builder was a giant in disguise.

  Three days before summer, the gods emerged from their halls and their feasting and stared in horror at the great wall surrounding their city. Only the gate remained unfinished, and it lacked just one stone!

  The gods turned upon Loki, forgetting their earlier admiration. They told Loki that he had brought this woe upon them, and that he must fix things or face their wrath.

  Loki fled the hall. When the gods followed him, they found not Loki outside but a beautiful mare.

  The mare ran to the builder’s stallion. With a toss of her mane, she led the stallion on a merry chase for three days. And for three days, the builder raged and cursed and searched for his stallion in the green fields and mountain paths, for he knew he could not move the final stone alone.

  The first day of summer came, and the wall remained unfinished. The builder returned and demanded payment. He threw off his disguise and threatened to bring down the hall.

  But by then the gods had guessed the builder
’s nature and had sent for Thor, the god of thunder and their greatest warrior. Thor had been in the world of Midgard, where mortals live, for he was fond of mortals and was their protector.

  Thor had no love for giants, though, and they feared him greatly. When the giant rose up, Thor cast him down. Thor’s fury roared like thunder, and the skies echoed his rage. Thor swung his hammer, and the giant fell.

  Months later, Loki returned to Asgard. He brought with him a magnificent foal with eight legs, named Sleipner, which he gave to Odin. Odin was much pleased, and peace was restored to Asgard for a time.

  “I don’t get it,” Pru said when she had finished. “Where did Loki get the baby horse?”

  ABE’s cheeks reddened. “Well, Odin did warn Loki that he’d bear the consequences if something went wrong.”

  It took a moment for Pru to understand the double meaning of the word. “Ew!” she exclaimed when she realized people could “bear” a child and that mares could “bear” a foal. ABE’s blush deepened, but a moment later they both found themselves laughing.

  Still laughing, Pru reached for her messenger bag to grab a pen. She accidentally grabbed the bag by the wrong end and spilled its contents onto the table and ground. Groaning, she retrieved her things from the floor and sat back up to gather what remained on the table. As she did, she saw that ABE held her special card.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” Pru yanked the card away. She’d still not had any luck puzzling out what “THE UNBELIEVABLE FIB” was, and she didn’t know what the sender meant by Be grave in your search, and avoid having stones in your head. But it was still her card.

  “Sorry.” ABE instantly looked down. Whatever ease had begun to grow between them vanished. One of ABE’s feet began to tap a nervous rhythm on the ground. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just, I really like riddles and stuff. They’re one of the few things I’m good at. I’m kind of literal about things, and that helps with riddles. So I saw your card and I just . . . sorry.”

  “Never mind.” Pru softened a bit. Most kids in her class just talked about how good they were at everything. ABE’s attitude was refreshing.

  “It’s a good one, though. The riddle on the back of the card? I like it. Did you make it up? It took me a minute to figure it out.”

  “No, I didn’t make it—wait.” Pru stopped replacing items in her bag. “You know what the card means?”

  “I think so. I mean, I don’t know what ‘THE UNBELIEVABLE FIB’ is. But I think I got the other part. It said to be ‘grave,’ right? And avoid ‘stones in your head.’ Well, headstones are what you put on actual graves, so I thought it must mean—”

  “The cemetery.” Pru leaned back in her chair and let her arms drop to her sides. How could she have missed that? It wasn’t just a card she’d received.

  It was an invitation.

  Pru tried to ignore the flutter of hope that stirred in her chest. She had to answer the invitation, and she couldn’t wait a moment longer. But she couldn’t bring herself to go to the cemetery alone.

  She glanced at ABE.

  Her dad used to say that desperate times call for desperate measures. “Come on,” Pru said, deciding. “We have to go.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  PRU ONCE READ A DESCRIPTION OF MIDDLETON IN A hiking guide (her dad had loved to hike). The guide had claimed that Middleton was aptly named, resting in the center of two extremes: wealth and power above, death below.

  Pru had thought that description a little dramatic. Still, the guide was (technically) right. Middleton lay on an isolated stretch of the New England coast, surrounded on all sides by a heavy forest. The town itself lay midway up a hilled slope. At the crest of the slope, closest to the coast, sat Winterhaven House, enthroned on its high, hilly cliff. At the base of the slope lay Middleton Cemetery. Wealth and power above, death below.

  The grounds that lay beyond the heavy iron gates of the cemetery were rolling and green, and Pru’s dad was buried there.

  She hated the place.

  Mrs. Edleman had once explained that storms form because warm air rises and leaves an empty space for cold air to rush in—or something like that. Pru hadn’t been listening too closely. Still, the idea had made some sense to her. Pru’s dad’s death the year before had left an empty place inside her. Sadness, anger, fear, and even resentment had filled the empty space and created a tempest of emotions. As a general rule, Pru avoided places that reminded her of death. This trip was necessary, though.

  “Sorry, but can you explain it to me again?” ABE asked. He had to jog a bit to catch up to Pru, who was walking very fast. “Why exactly are we going to the cemetery?”

  “Think of it like a game. The card is a clue, and now that we figured out what it means, we have to go where it tells us.”

  “Oh, okay.” ABE nodded. Then, after a moment, he shook his head. “No . . . wait. I’m still not getting it. Why do we have to follow the clue? Who are we playing this game with?”

  Pru didn’t want to admit that she didn’t quite know the answer to those questions. She also didn’t want to think too hard about why it was so important to her to respond to the card’s invitation.

  If she did, she’d have to admit to herself that ever since her dad had died she had wanted to believe that his death wasn’t real. She wanted to believe it was an “UNBELIEVABLE FIB.”

  Then the card had come and, now, the understanding that the card was inviting her to the cemetery. Despite her best efforts to stay calm, her mind conjured images of finding her dad there in the cemetery. He would confide in her that his death had been an elaborate ruse as part of a case he was working on—something involving mobsters, or government conspiracies, or parent-­teacher conferences, or something equally evil. He would tell her he missed her too much to keep the lie going, so he’d sent the secret card to call her to him. She wasn’t about to tell ABE all that, though.

  “Look . . . either you want to come with me or you don’t. It’s up to you. But if you want to come, stop complaining.” She set off at an even faster clip. A moment later, with a sigh, ABE followed.

  There were two ways to reach the cemetery. They could either follow the main road downhill as it led through the woods to its main gates, or they could travel along the hiking trails that crisscrossed the forested area surrounding the town.

  Because she was still supposed to be in the library for a while longer and didn’t want to risk her mother seeing her walking along Main Street, Pru decided to follow the hiking trails. Her mom never hiked. There were ticks.

  Pru led the way to the back of the library, where a break in the crumbling stone wall that surrounded the yard gave easy access to the woods beyond. A clap of thunder accompanied their entrance into the trees. Pru glanced up, grateful that the still heavy October foliage blocked out the view of the sky and the dark clouds overhead. The clouds had, if anything, grown darker since they had first appeared days before, and the thunder had grown more frequent.

  It turned out that ABE had noticed the odd weather, too. “Does the sky seem strange to you?” he asked.

  “Of course not.” Pru tried to sound like the exact same thought had not just occurred to her. “It’s just cloudy.”

  “I guess . . . Except, there’s all that thunder. I mean, there’s a lot of thunder.”

  “So? There’s a storm coming.”

  “Yeah. It’s just . . . thunder is the sound lightning makes, right?”

  “So?”

  “Well, I’ve been in your town for two days and it’s been thundering pretty much nonstop the whole time. But I’ve been looking and the thing is . . . the thing is, I haven’t seen any lightning. None.”

  Pru’s step faltered. The sky rumbled again, as though somehow it knew they were talking about it. She swallowed.

  “You’re just being paranoid. There’s nothing strange about the sky. Nothing at all. Everything is absolutely, perfectly normal.”

  As it happened, it was immediately after Pru spoke those words th
at a somewhat shabby-­looking squirrel with a small chunk missing from its left ear scampered to a low-­lying tree branch just ahead and, quite un­expectedly, began to talk.

  “I am the nigh omniscient Ratatosk,” the squirrel said, demonstrating an impressive vocabulary, particularly for a squirrel. “And you two beardless, chittering simpletons shouldn’t be here. No, no, no!”

  The squirrel spoke in the quick, squeaky sort of voice one might expect a squirrel to use—if one were in the habit of expecting squirrels to speak.

  “You’re in extreme peril. Imminent jeopardy! Terrible danger, one might say.” With that, the squirrel leapt to another branch and quickly disappeared from view.

  Pru stared after it, speechless.

  “Uh, Pru, did that squirrel just talk?” ABE said in a high-­pitched voice that would trouble neighborhood dogs.

  Pru’s mouth worked, but she couldn’t quite find any words.

  ABE rambled on. “I’m pretty sure that squirrel just talked! Also . . . I think it insulted us.”

  Finally finding her voice again, Pru spun on ABE. “Did you do that? Because I’ve heard about ventriloquists, you know. I know how some people can throw their voice. If you’re trying to make a fool out of me, I swear, I will kick you so hard.” She meant it, too. Pru had a reputation. Everyone in her class knew: get Prudence Potts angry and nobody’s shins were safe.

  She was also pretty good with her elbows.

  One look at ABE’s face, however, told Pru that she could keep her elbows in reserve. He looked as shocked as she felt. As the squirrel’s words sank in, Pru began to scan the woods around them. “Terrible danger,” the squirrel had said.

  “What do you think it meant?” she asked.