Chapter 6

chapter six Rover runs. He runs like he did the first time I climbed into his saddle—wild but focused, untamed but agile. And I ride like it's that first time, squeezing the saddle grip so hard I'm afraid it might snap. He's hurtling through Wakefield, navigating the pitch-black roads and alleys and cut-throughs with some sixth sense. After one particularly massive leap and perfect landing, I catch him glancing back at me, giving me a look like, Did you see what I did? Did you think it was cool? Am I the best boy? Yes, he is the best boy. And leaving Rover is gonna hurt like nothing ever hurt before. The only way to make sure it hurts less—is to make sure I'm back to see him again. And that he comes back the same way. "You be safe out there, OK, Rover?" I say as we reach our destination. He purrs, and I pat his side and promise him I'll do the same.

Hey, it's me, Jack. I'm here again. —So, Warg entombed Bardle in this strange rock structure. She said it's not their custom, the monsters', it's just hers. A way of remembering. And I'm glad she did. This way I feel like I can still talk to him sometimes.

Over the past few months, whenever I had a lousy day, I would come here and sit by the stone and just talk out loud. It helped. And, yeah, talking to a rock is super weird. But, I mean, there are weirder ways to grieve... I pick at the grass. Pulling out clumps, letting them slip through my fingers, watching the wind carry the green blades.

"Bardle," I finally say. "I have to do a thing. The craziest Mission: Operation yet. But I don't want to. Which is weird, because epic missions are my thing. I should be ALL ABOUT THIS." Saying the words aloud makes me realize that my fear has zero to do with the dangers of the journey. Sure, the whole thing sounds impossible and there's a high likelihood it will lead to death, but that's not why I'm scared. I'm scared because the ONLY WAY to go and do all of THAT is to leave behind all of THIS. It's got me nervous. Anxious. My wrist is itchy. The Cosmic Hand. "Bardle," I say. "This thing you left me with, the Cosmic Hand? It's itchy. And, buddy, that is a supremely messed-up thing to do—give someone a big important gift, right as you die— and not tell them that it's gonna be really itchy." I shake my head and laugh a little. "I mean, that's like if your great-grandaunt gave you one of those itchy wool sweaters for your birthday,

made you promise to wear it every day—and then just croaked..."

I've moved tons of times. Never cared. I liked moving. But now? Wakefield, the tree house— it's the first time I've ever had a real home. That's why this is so hard. Because I want to go on an epic adventure. But I also want to stay here and have nothing change ever. I can't have both, though. To do the epic quest, I have to leave. And leaving feels like tearing down everything we've built here. Ending it. I'm just not ready. Looking at the Bardle rock has me recalling the time he tried to do a BMX bike jump even though he'd probably never seen a bike before. And then I'm howling with laughter, delirious, as I remember him sprawled out on the ground in a goofy heap, grumbling, "No more bike jumps." "Are you laughing at my rock?" I turn around. It's Warg. "No. Not at all. I mean—I'm laughing near it." "What is so funny?" Warg asks.