“So nothing about how we should leave?” said Wylder.
“You read it. He just said to get out.”
“So what are we doing?”
Addy was practically sprinting down the corridor while Wylder tried to keep up. His still-damp pants made that swishing sound as his thighs rubbed together. The train was through the mountains now. The view out the windows was flat, flat, flat. No more snowboarding for Flynn.
Thinking about Flynn gave Wylder a sick feeling. He pictured the gator’s jaws closing. How could he stand to meet his hero again now? He wouldn’t know how to apologize. What did you say to the guy whose life you had ruined? Gee, sorry you tripped on my backpack and lost your hand. Good luck tying your shoes. In about seventy-five years they’re going to invent Velcro, and that’ll help.
At least he and Addy were on the same side now: they both wanted to leave. He was feeling friendly toward her after the meal, and of course, she had totally saved the day by picking the comic out of the pool. He hadn’t noticed before, but she looked kind of pretty in her Nelly getup.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” He blushed. “Just, you know, time we went home.”
“Yeah.” She hurried ahead.
Time to let the story go back to normal, he thought. Give Flynn back his hand so he can save Isadora from the gator. Time to go home and explain to his mom where he’s been and why he hasn’t answered her hundreds of texts.
Addy plunged past a woman holding a baby.
“Mind where you’re going, missy! You very nearly caused me to topple.” She was still frowning as Wylder squeezed carefully past.
“Teach your friend better manners!” she told him.
“Me?” The idea of teaching Addy to behave made Wylder smile all the way to the bathroom.
Addy’s theory was that the portal had to be somewhere in the bathroom, since that’s where they came in. The door was locked. They waited outside. The train jiggled gently, and the food inside Wylder jiggled in sympathy.
“What’s that?” He pointed to the metal sign beside the door. “WC—what does it stand for?”
“Water closet,” she answered, with a hint of her old you-are-so-stupid manner. “It’s another word for washroom. Uncle Vim tried out lots of new names for a washroom, but he couldn’t decide which was the funniest. So he just went with the one they use in England.”
“What other names did he try?”
“Silly stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Ohhhh, like lavateer. I think that was one. Loo-loo lemon. Flush factory. Pipe room. What’s so funny?”
Wylder was laughing so hard he leaned against the wall to stay up.
“Flush factory? Nice.”
“You’re as bad as Uncle Vim. By which I mean juvenile.”
The door opened, and a green Janitor ServiDude came out.
“YER ROOM’S CLEAN,” it announced. Wylder noticed that it had a squeegee mop circling underneath itself, so that it cleaned the floor as it rolled along.
The bathroom looked the way he remembered—a sink; a stack of towels; and the impressive toilet, a white marble throne with colored pipes twisting and branching behind it like tree roots. Flush factory, he thought.
Addy turned the handle of the closed door. “This is where we both came through from ComicFest,” she said. “When I open it, we’ll step together, okay?”
“And be home in Toronto.”
“Yes.”
“And everything will go back to normal in the comic?”
“I hope so.”
“Should we … uh, hold hands or something?” he asked.
“Ew!”
“Right. Course not. I don’t want to either.”
His cheeks felt hot.
“Ready? Set? Go!” She pushed open the door.
“Huh,” said Wylder.
Addy took a deep breath. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? The train corridor?”
“Yup.” Wylder swallowed hard.
Addy closed the door. “Your turn.”
CLICKETY-CLACKETY. CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLACK.
She held out her hand. Wylder took it, warm and dry.
They said it together: “Ready, set, go!”
He opened the door for a second and slammed it shut.
“Sludge!” Addy tapped on the wall. “The portal has to be here somewhere.”
“Let’s look. Really look.”
There was no portal. They tapped on the walls, the floor, the pipes. They climbed on top of the sink to reach the ceiling. They opened everything that would open, looked inside and found nothing. They even checked the toilet tank.
“Now what?”
Addy shrugged. For once, she was out of ideas.
“So we’re stuck here? We’re …” Should he say the word? “We’re … trapped?”
Playing inside a new world was great—as long as you could get out again. Being trapped there was a whole different thing. Trapped. Not a good word.
Wylder swallowed.
Addy was muttering to the rat, ducking her face into her shoulder bag.
CLICKETY-CLACK. CLICKETY-CLACK. CRUNCH-CLICK!
A new sound.
The bathroom door was opening. Addy perked right up. She put a finger to her lips, shifted the bag on her shoulder and brushed something off her cheek. She pressed her back to the wall next to the door, with Wylder opposite. There were tears on his cheek too, he realized, wiping them away.
The door opened enough for a head to peep through.
A head with stringy damp hair. Addy grabbed the hair with both hands.
“You sneak!”
“Owww!” whined Nevins. “How did you get out of jail?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Help!” he shouted.
Nevins squirmed and struggled. Addy pinned him down. She was skinny but strong.
“Helllp!”
“Shut up!” Addy covered his mouth with her hand but pulled it back in an instant. “Ew, gross! He slimed me!” She wiped her palm on her dress and stuck her elbow into Nevins’s bawling mouth.
He made growling noises.
Addy glanced at Wylder. “Why did he think I was in jail?”
“Maybe he’d tell you if his mouth weren’t full of elbow.”
Addy grabbed the creep’s wrists instead, digging in her nails. How did he know who she was?
“Lightbulb!” she said. “He thinks I’m Nelly.”
“Yeah. That must be it.”
“Meaning that Nelly is in jail. On the train, somewhere.”
Nevins writhed around, trying to buck Addy off. The comic fell out of her pocket. Wylder jumped for it and helped her hold the bigger boy down. The train wheels were louder from floor level.
“What kind of trouble could Nelly get into?” he asked, panting a little bit.
“Who knows? She used to be a sneak and a pickpocket, so maybe …?”
“I thought she was supposed to be you.”
“She’s nothing like me.”
Wylder knew better by now than to disagree.
“More plot mess,” said Addy. “We just have to get out of here. You have the comic, right?”
