The woman was staring at Ollie as if really seeing her for the first time. “Why—?” A horrified understanding dawned on her face that Ollie didn’t understand. “How old are you?”
Ollie was still backing toward her bike. “Eleven,” she answered, by reflex. Almost there...
“Eleven?” the woman breathed. “Eleven. Of course, eleven.” Ollie couldn’t tell if the woman was giggling or crying. Maybe both. “It’s his kind of joke—” She broke off, leaned forward to whisper. “Listen to me, Eleven. I’m going to tell you one thing, because I’m not a bad person. I just didn’t have a choice. I’ll give you some advice, and you give me the book.” She had her hand out, fingers crooked like claws.
Ollie, poised on the edge of flight, said, “Tell me what?” The creek rushed and rippled, but the harsh sounds of the woman’s breathing were louder than the water.
“Avoid large places at night,” the woman said. “Keep to small.”
“Small?” Ollie was torn between wanting to run and wanting to understand. “That’s it?”
“Small!” shrieked the woman. “Small spaces! Keep to small spaces or see what happens to you! Just see!” She burst into wild laughter. The plastic witch sitting on the Brewsters’ porch laughed like that. “Now give me that book!” Her laughter turned into a whistling sob.
Ollie heaved the Schwinn around and fled with it up the trail. The woman’s footsteps scraped behind. “Come back!” she panted. “Come back!”
Ollie was already on the main road, her leg thrown over the bike’s saddle. She rode home as fast as she could, bent low over her handlebars, hair streaming in the wind, the book lying in her pocket like a secret.
3
OLIVIA ADLER’S HOUSEwas tall and lupine-purple and old. Her dad had bought the house before he and Mom had ever met. The first time Ollie’s mom saw it, she said to Ollie’s dad, “Whoareyou, the Easter Bunny?” because her dad had painted the house the colors of an Easter egg, and ever since, they’d called the house the Egg. The outside had plum-colored trim and a bright red door. The kitchen was green, like mint ice cream. The bedrooms were sunset-orange and candy-pink and fire-red. Dad liked colors. “Why have a gray kitchen if you can have a green one?” he would ask.
Ollie loved her house. When her grandparents visited, they would always shake their heads and say how white walls really opened up a place. Dad would nod agreeably, and then wink at Ollie when Grandma wasn’t looking.
Mom had given the rooms names.
“Dawn Room,” Ollie remembered her mother saying, holding her hand and walking her through the house, waiting while Ollie’s stumpy legs climbed the stairs. Ollie must have just been learning to read, because she remembered looking up at the sign on each door and trying to sound out the words: “D-a-w-n.Dawn.” Her mother’s hand was warm and strong, callused from climbing and paddling. Ollie could still remember her small fat fingers secure in her mother’s thin brown ones.
“That means when the sun comes up, Olivia.”
Ollie’s mom was the only one who called herOlivia. “If you have a brother, we’re going to name him Sebastian. Two beautiful names. Why make them shorter?”
Ms. Carruthers had tried to call OllieOliviaat the end of fifth grade, and a few teachers had tried since, but Ollie refused to answer. All the best heroines of Ollie’s books were stubborn as rocks, or roots, or whatever the author liked to call them. Only her mom called her Olivia and that was that.
“Dusk Room,” Ollie’s mother said, tilting the sign on the door so Ollie could see. She and Dad had painted the signs themselves. Dad’s were perfect, with suns and moons and tiny flowers. Dad was crafty; he painted and knitted hats and baked. Ollie’s mom liked digging in the dirt and running and flying and adventurous things. Her signs were exuberant blobs of paint in which the letters were barely visible.
“Dusk means when the sun goes down!” Ollie’s voice piped in delighted reply.
“And this one?” said Ollie’s mother at the end of the hallway. The door to this room had an old-fashioned keyhole and a doorknob shaped like a dragon.
“Your mother found that doorknob in some yard sale,” her dad told Ollie once. “She had to have it. ‘For my daughter,’ she said.”
“Ollie’s room!” Ollie cried triumphantly. Her mother had laughed and scooped her up and run with her upside-down all the way back to the kitchen.
–
Ollie had to pass the Brewsters’ house on her way home. During the day, the skeleton in their attic looked silly, but now, at dusk, it looked sinister. Its lit-up green eyes seemed to follow her. The witch on the front porch grinned and cackled. Ollie hurried past, trying not to look over her shoulder.
Just a crazy person. I just met a crazy person. That’s all. That doesn’t mean I have to be scared of everything now, come on...
And stole something from a crazy person,another part of her replied.They put people in the slammer for stealing stuff. Juvenile detention. You’ll have to graduate high school in prison pajamas.
It was easier thinking that than the other thought.What if she knocks on the door at midnight, with that same look in her eyes, wanting the book back?
Ollie heaved her bike into the toolshed and clattered through the front door. The streaky shadows on the lawn seemed to chase her indoors. The weather was changing; the wind that had rattled the leaves by the swimming hole was now tearing down the mountain, swinging arcs of sunset shadows across the Egg. Rain began to spatter the driveway. The warm weather was over.
But inside the Egg, everything was bright and normal. Ollie hung her jacket on its peg, pocket heavy with the weight of her prize. She reached for the book, then thought better of it. If she didn’t show it to anyone, she could alwaysdenytaking it. Would anyone believe her?
Would they believe the woman by the river?
