The Pricker Boy by Reade Scott Whinnem Page B

hawthorn into your home. To do so will bring death to a family member. And the trees are said to attract fairies. Those fairies get very upset if the tree is harmed in any way and will bring sickness to the house of the offender.” She studies the hawthorn berries in her hand for a minute, then absently tosses the pieces to the ground. Ronnie stares down at them fearfully.
    Vivek is walking around the boulder inside the triangle. He gasps. “Oh boy! Something scary! I mean, something scarier than Emily!” He jumps back from the stone.
    I move around to where he is standing, and what I see makes me feel icy cold inside. Two words have been scratched into the back side of the stone: I ’ M SORRY .
    “I don’t like talking stones,” Vivek whimpers.
    Ronnie crouches down next to the boulder. He reaches his hand toward the letters but quickly pulls it back before his fingers reach the stone. His other hand closes around his wrist, covering his scar. “Looks like it was carved by a rock or a piece of metal. Who would have done this? And why?”
    “That’s what I want to find out,” I say.
    “Is this some joke?” Robin asks, directing her words right at me. “If so, then you’re sicker than I thought.”
    I shake my head. “Oh for crying out loud.”
    “Well, look, Stucks, who did that? Who wrote that? This might be your idea of fun, but I don’t like being scared. I—”
    “The universe doesn’t revolve around you, Robin!” Her face goes a little pale, and I resist the urge to add, “I told you that you couldn’t hack it out here.”
    “All I’m saying—”
    “Is that you’re a baby! So go back to the house! I don’t care.”
    “Nobody’s going back,” Emily says calmly. She steps between us, facing me. “We agreed to do this together, remember?”
    “Stucks, you make me want to puke,” Robin says.
    “I’ll hold your hair back for you!” Vivek shouts. We all laugh. Even me, even Robin. The color comes back into her face. “Onward,” Emily says. She steps toward the path on the other side of the Hawthorns. She picks through the thorny branches carefully, handing them back to Vivek, who hands them to my cousin, who then hands them to me. I hand them off to Ronnie.
    I hear Ronnie curse. I look behind. One of the thorn branches has caught Ronnie’s left arm, dragging a ragged cut. Tiny bits of blood form, and one drop falls and hits the ground. He looks up at me.
    “Not me,” he says. “Why did I have to be the first one cut?” He covers his cut with his free hand, then scuffs with his shoe at the spot on the ground where he had seen the blood fall. “I don’t want it to be me, not my blood.” His foot works furiously, trying to dilute the spot of blood with leaves and dirt.
    “Don’t you start,” I say. “We’re all together. Nothing’s going to happen to you. And look.” I show him a scratch on my own arm. “I got cut too. We’ll all get cut a dozen times before we’re out of here. Don’t sweat it.”
    “But that’s my blood on the ground,” he pleads.
    “So he’ll get you first,” I say. I’m joking. Kind of. Part of me wants to see the expression on his face, and he doesn’t disappoint.
    “Me first? But I don’t wanna be first.”
    He’s so pathetic I have to fight the urge to laugh. But I’ve tortured him enough. “Okay, we do it like we did as kids. If you think he’s after you, then you leave, I dunno, your favorite comb in the Hawthorns. And then he goes away. Widow’s walk. Simple, right?”
    Ronnie nods. “Okay. But I don’t like this, Stucks. I don’t like the way my story is turning out.”
    The farther we get from the Hawthorns, the thicker the thorns get. As they get thicker, they have more opportunity to do their work. Emily and I are wearing jeans, so we’re more protected than the others. Ronnie is wearing long pants, but he can’t keep them clean, and he’ll catch hellfrom his grandfather when he gets home. Robin and Vivek are wearing