" 'Ey, Knucklehead! Wake up, I got it!"

Lee jerked awake, gasping, "I di'n't do it, Ma! I swear! OW!" He banged his forehead against the ceiling, groaning. "Poindexter! Warn me next time you're gonna wake me up like that!"

"Bro, get down here! You're not gonna b'lieve it!"

Grumbling, Lee slipped down with a loud thunk from the top bunk. "This better be good. Did you figure out how ta turn broccoli into pizza or somethin'?"

"Better!" Ford rushed over, holding a dozen or so paper squares taped together in a mishmash. "Look, what's Fiddle's burn look like?"

Lee squinted, rubbing his eyes. "When ya put it like that…. Lotsa squiggles an' lines. Some kinnergardener drawin' a sick horse."

"C'mon, Lee! Even you know this one! Just look at it a second! Mebbe take a few steps back." Ford hopped back a bit, his grin threatening to split his face.

Blearily, Lee peered at the patchwork lines with their weird, animalish outline and off-kilter drunk-lined boxes that didn't even meet right at any corner- "Holy shardgulls! Ford, it's 'merica!"

"It's a map! Somebody's been drawin' a map all over Fiddleford! An' look here," Ford paused just long enough to point to a spot. "There's a big ol' triangle here!"

Lee whistled. "Dang, Ford. Poindexter pulled it off again! But that's a ways away. I bet you we'd have to walk all night to get to…" he squinted at the map. "That's California, right?"

"Oregon, actually. It's gonna take more walkin' than that. We're gonna hafta do better."

Fully awake now, Lee beamed at his twin. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"Only about ten seconds sooner, but absolutely. Think you can scam Ma an' Pops?"

"Pops fer sure. Ma's gonna be harder." Lee cracked his neck. "But ain't nothing I can't handle. You break the news to Fiddle, he's gonna wet himself an' you're better talkin' ta scaredy cats."

"You got it." Ford folded up the photo map and headed for the door. "Seeya later, shardigator!"

"In a while, glassodile!"

….

"You're crazy!" Fiddleford shrieked. "Oregon? Oregon? Do you have any idea how far that is? How're we s'posed ta get there? Who's gonna drive us that won't think we're crazy? I'm not goin' back, Ford! You promised!"

"You're not goin' back, calm down. Look, you gotta see it too. There's nuttin' else it could be." Ford draped the makeshift map over Fiddle's bed. "It's 'merica, plain as day, and it says go to Oregon."

"Where in Oregon? Why? What are we gonna find there?"

"Where's a good question, Fiddle. Ya got any new marks overnight?"

Fiddleford swallowed. "I… I don' wanna look."

"Welp, then I guess we're goin' ta Oregon an' we'll just walk 'roundabouts where the triangle is 'til we find somethin' weird."

"We can't get there anyhow! Mom an' Dad won't let me!"

"Sure they will. My Ma's gonna call any minnit now an' tell your Ma 'bout the free camp in Oregon you should go to."

"What free camp?"

Ford grinned. "The one Lee's makin' up. By the time he's through with our parents, we'll have three bus tickets, a li'l bit of spendin' money, an' one week in Oregon to figure out why you're all marked up."

Fiddleford fidgeted with his sleeves. "I don' like it. This is goin' too far. Where we gonna stay if there ain't no camp?"

"Out in the woods like the pioneers, 'course. Make sure to pack lotsa warm stuff an' food."

"This is crazy. Crazy." Fiddle chewed on the sleeve of his sweater. "Ain't no way this is gonna work."

"Yeah, you tell me that when yer Ma hands you a bus ticket. Meantime, new marks, yes or no?"

Reluctantly, Fiddleford raised the sweater over his head, wincing. Most of the burns looked a little better for the burn cream they'd used on him, but there was a fresh mark by the triangle. Two, to be precise. Two letters charred into his skin.

"Gee Eff. What's that stand fer?"

"Got me, you're the ones figurin' this all out." He pulled his sweater back down. "Still don't think Mom's gonna let me go."

"Then you don't know Lee." Ford clapped a hand on Fiddle's shoulder, yanking his hand back at his friend's cry of pain. "Sorry! Sorry. I forgot. I think Ma's got somethin' in medbox. I'll bring it when we go." He made a beeline for the window. "Be ready, Fiddle. An' don' chicken out! We got this for ya. It'll be a piece'a pie!"

…..

"Don't be stupid, kiddo, nothin's fer free."

"I know, Ma, that's just what I said." Lee pulled a dour face. "Too good ta be true, I said. Some highfalutin' scam. But then I took another look at the flyer, and whaddayaknow?" He held up a crudely drawn camp flyer. The word "Free!" was written on it several times inside big yellow stars. "There's no way it's a scam. Think about it, Ma. Scams would at least spend a few bucks ta make a pro-lookin' flyer to sucker in more bozos. This looks jus' like what a free camp would do. Get one'a their kids to make it."

Mrs. Pines took the flyer, eyeing it suspiciously. "Good eye, kiddo. But there's always a catch."

"Yeah, jus' one. They don' pay fer us ta get there."

"Hah, I knew it."

"But Ma, it's free. A whole week. They feed us, house us, and put up with our yellin' an' screamin' fer a whole week."

She shifted, rubbing her thumb over the waxy paper thoughtfully. "Whole week," she muttered. "Just a bus ticket?"

Lee shrugged. "An' mebbe ten bucks each ta get us through."

"Ten? Yer mental. Two bucks is more'n enough."

"Aw, Ma! What'll we get with that, a t-shirt? C'mon, eight."

"Get off it, Kid. When I was your age, two was a fortune! Four bucks.

"A whole week to yerself! That's gotta be worth at least six."

Mrs. Pines ground her teeth. "Ya got moxie, Stanly. Five bucks, take it or leave it."

"Thanks, Ma!" Lee hugged her waist. "Five bucks says you won't regret it."

Mrs. Pines chuckled. "I'll take that bet and my five bucks back from each'a you if you make me lift so much as a finger for ya."

"Done! So gimme twenty for me an' Ford, and-"

"Whoah, whoah, whoah. Kid, who said anything about a twenty?"