“What do you know about this?” he asked, feeling agitated and impatient. “It’s a sign of what?”

To their right was a community center and adjoining it an enormous skateboard park with a half pipe, a full pipe, jumps, and four tubs—a landscape of smooth concrete basins, like empty swimming pools, interconnected by ramps and tunnels, where a dozen kids were practicing stunts.

Amanda said meekly, “Rhyming is…it’s one of the signs of—witches.” With that, she rose up onto her pedals and zoomed off, turning in to the skateboard park.

The park was full of skaters,

Full of concrete alligators,

Kids in hoards, riding boards.

Sun was sinking, growing later.

Finn shook his head violently, side to side, trying to clear his thought and push away the rhymes. What had she just said? He couldn’t remember. All he could hear were rhymes. One thought found its way through: Amanda knows something she isn’t telling me. Finn raced to catch her.

This is weird,

Like a man with a beard.

Green skin and pigs’ eyes,

Frog legs and fireflies,

A dark cave with loud cries.

A girl with tears in her eyes.

Finn caught up to her. Amanda’s eyes were red. She’d either been crying or affected by the speed of her riding.

“Amanda…”

“I can’t tell you,” she said.

A motorized minibike zoomed noisily around the corner and dropped into the skate park. The rider was thin and wore a black leather top and pants and a black helmet with a silver-mirrored visor that hid his face.

The minibike came straight at them, showing no signs of slowing. On the contrary, it was on a collision course.

Amanda rose up onto her pedals and dropped her bike into the first big concrete bathtub.

Finn followed. They climbed the opposing walland flew up, airborne.

The minibike followed.

Finn rose from his seat, balanced the bike in the air, tipped forward, and dove into the next big concrete basin.

Amanda dropped into the half pipe to the left.

Separated like this, the minibike driver had to choose; it came at Finn.

The other boarders and bikers stopped what they were doing and watched the contest.

Amanda flew down the steep wallof the half pipe, picking up speed and launching into a high jump. Finn, parallel with her now, yanked his front wheel in midair and changed direction upon landing. He joined her, following inside the full pipe.

As the minibike entered the full pipe, Finn found the screeching whine of its motor deafening.

Out the end of the pipe, riding together now, Finn and Amanda raced to the bottom of the third tub, pushed down onto their seats by centrifugal force. As they raced up the opposing side, they lifted, tipped their weight in unison, and reversed their bikes. Aimed back down into the deep basin, the minibike whining toward them, Amanda bravely reached over with her left arm and grabbed Finn by the forearm. Finn returned the grip.

“You ready for this?” she asked.

“On three,” Finn said.

They released their brakes on the count of three, zooming toward the oncoming minibike, their arms extended and ready to clothesline the rider.

The bikes flew down. The minibike wound its way toward them. Amanda and Finn screamed in unison. At the last possible second, the rider dumped the minibike in a flurry of sparks, slipping under their clasped arms and between the two bikes.

The few onlookers let out a wild cheer.

Amanda and Finn stopped at the top of the basin and looked back.

The driver, lying next to the minibike, appeared okay. He (she? it?) stood up, brushed off, and gestured toward the two. Finn felt a pulse of cold fill him. A familiar cold.

Amanda shouted something that sounded like a foreign language. She crossed her arms and then threw them forward toward the rider, and the cold stopped abruptly. The leather-clad rider was lifted from the ground and thrown to the concrete.

“Ride!” Amanda hollered at Finn. “Ride, and don’t look back!”

Finn pedaled off, wondering if he’d just seen Amanda do that.

“Who are you?” he shouted, as their bikes reached the street.

“We’ve got to split up,” she said. With that, she pedaled furiously away from him.

23

At dinner that night, Finn brooded at the table, unable to take his mind off recent events: Maybeck’s sleeping sickness, Amanda’s mysteries, the letters they’d found secretly hidden at both It’s a Small World and Splash Mountain.

Watching him, his mother wore a look of curiosity, while his father, in typical fashion, ate quietly. Finn stabbed at his food and moved it around on his plate, hoping it might appear eaten.

“How was school today?” his mother asked. Every night, the same question. Next would come: did you do anything fun today? What are your friends up to?

“Did you do anything fun today?” she asked brightly. She couldn’t stand it when Finn was quiet like this.

“I don’t know,” Finn answered honestly. “It’s all right, I suppose.”

“You can do better than that,” his father said. His father always thought Finn could do better at everything. He seemed always to be riding Finn about his grades or his performance on the soccer field. He talked about college scholarships like they were some kind of religion.

“I’m good,” Finn said, pushing back his plate. “May I be excused?” Another part of the secret code. He had no chance of leaving the table without these passwords.

“No snacks later, sweetheart. This is dinner.”

“I know,” Finn said. He stood up from the table and grabbed his plate. Suddenly his head went all rubbery, as if all his blood was draining from him at once.

He thought he might pass out.

“Finn?” His mother’s voice, but in the next county.

Then there was her painted mouth moving above him, her voice sounding detached and several octaves lower than normal, like a tape playing at half speed. She’d rushed to his side.

The lights in the room dimmed. A power failure? He saw his father, chewed food in his open mouth, looking…scared.

“Finn, dear?” his mother said.

“I’m…fine,” he replied.

His mother hovered over him. He felt his parents taking him under his arms and leading him upstairs. Finn’s feet flapped and dragged. He felt useless.

They led him toward his bed.

“No! No! I don’t want to go to sleep!” But his eyes felt so heavy….

He closed his eyes, and it happened again.

24

Finn awoke on the same park bench where he’d first met Wayne, at the end of Main Street, across from the fire station. It was nighttime, though the park remained open.

He looked down to see his arms and legs faintly glowing: he was his DHI self Some kids saw him, and he knew he was in for trouble if he didn’t get out of there.

A flash of light to his right. Finn strained to see through the thick crowds—always so many people!—and…

Yes, there it was again: another flash of light. For an instant, the crowd parted and he saw Philby waving.

Finn dragged himself heavily across the street, still feeling sluggish, leaving the curious kids behind, and caught up with Philby.

“I thought that was you,” Philby said, pocketing a flashlight.

“You don’t look so hot,” Finn said.

“Have you tried a mirror?”

“Another brownout?” Finn asked.

“I assume so.”

“We’re early,” Finn said.