James Dashner: The Journal of Curious Letters

Glancing around to make sure no one had hung around to torture him some more, Tick adjusted the red-and-black striped scarf he always wore to hide the hideous purple blotch on his neck-an irregular, rusty-looking birthmark the size of a drink coaster. It was the one thing he hated most about his body, and no matter how much his parents tried to convince him to lose the scarf, he wore it every hour of every day-even in the summer, sweat soaking through in dark blotches. Now, with winter settling in with a vengeance, people had quit giving him strange looks about the security blanket wrapped around his neck. Well, except for the jerks who called it the Barf Scarf.

He set out down the hall, heading for the door closest to the street that led to his house; he lived within walking distance of the school, which was lucky for him because the buses were long gone. He rounded the corner and saw Mr. Chu, his science teacher, step out of the teacher’s lounge, briefcase in hand.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Higginbottom,” the lanky man said, a huge smile on his face. “What are you still doing around here? Anxious for more homework?” His straight black hair fell almost to his shoulders. Tick knew his mom would say Mr. Chu needed a haircut, but Tick thought he looked cool.

Tick gave a quick laugh. “No, I think you gave us plenty-I’ll be lucky to get half of it done by Monday.”

“Hmmm,” Mr. Chu replied. He reached out and swatted Tick on the back. “If I know you, it was done by the end of lunchtime today.”

Tick swallowed, for some reason embarrassed to admit his teacher was exactly right. So, I’m a nerd, he thought. One day it’ll make me filthy dirty rotten rich. Tick was grateful that at least he didn’t really look the part of a brainy nerd. His brown hair wasn’t greasy; he didn’t wear glasses; he had a solid build. His only real blemish was the birthmark. And maybe the fact that he was as clumsy as a one-legged drunk. But, as his dad always said, he was no different from any other kid his age and would grow out of the clumsiness in a few years.

Whatever the reason, Tick just didn’t get along with people his own age. He found it hard to talk to them, much less be friends. Though he did want friends. Badly. Poor little me, he thought.

“I’ll take your lack of a smart-aleck response-and the fact you aren’t holding any books-as proof I’m right,” Mr. Chu said. “You’re too smart for the seventh grade, Tick. We should really bump you up.”

“Yeah, so I can get picked on even more? No, thanks.”

Mr. Chu’s face melted into a frown. He looked at the floor. “I hate what those kids do to you. If I could…”

“I know, Mr. Chu. You’d beat ’em up if it weren’t for those pesky lawsuits.” Tick felt relieved when a smile returned to his teacher’s face.

“That’s right, Tick. I’d put every one of those slackers in the hospital if I could get away with it. Bunch of no-good louses-that’s what they are. In fifteen years, they’ll all be calling you boss. Remember that, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Why don’t you run on home, then. I bet your mom’s got some cookies in the oven. See you Monday.”

“Okay. See ya, Mr. Chu.” Tick waved, then hurried down the hall toward home.

He only tripped and fell once.

“I’m home!” Tick yelled as he shut the front door. His four-year-old sister, Kayla, was playing with her tea set in the front room, her curly blonde hair bouncing with every move. She sat right next to the piano, where their older sister Lisa banged out some horrific song that she’d surely blame on the piano being out of tune. Tick dropped his backpack on the floor and hung his coat on the wooden rack next to the door.

“What’s up, Tiger?” his mom said as she shuffled into the hallway, pushing a string of brown hair behind her ear. The cheeks of her thin face were red from her efforts in the kitchen, small beads of sweat hanging on for dear life along her forehead. Lorena Higginbottom loved-absolutely loved — to cook and everyone in Deer Park knew it. “I just put some cookies in the oven.”

Righto, Mr. Chu.

“Mom,” Tick said, “people stopped calling each other ‘Tiger’ a long time before I was born. Why don’t you just call me ‘Tick’? Everyone else does.”

His mom let out an exaggerated sigh. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve ever heard. Do you even know what a tick does?”

“Yeah, it sucks your blood right before you squish it dead.” Tick pressed his thumb against his pant leg, twisting it with a vicious scowl on his face. Kayla looked up from her tea set, giggling.

“Lovely,” Mom said. “And you have no problem being named after such a creature?”

Tick shrugged. “Anything’s better than Atticus. I’d rather be called… Wilbur than Atticus.”

His mom laughed, even though he could tell she tried not to.

“When’s Dad gonna be home?” Tick asked.

“The usual, I’d guess,” Mom replied. “Why?”

“He owes me a rematch in Football 3000.”

Mom threw her arms up in mock desperation. “Oh, well, in that case, I’ll call and tell him it’s an emergency and to get his tail right home.”

Lisa stopped playing her music, much to Tick’s relief, and, he suspected, to the relief of every ear within a quarter mile. She turned around on the piano bench to look at Tick, her perfect teeth shining in an evil grin. Wavy brown hair framed a slightly pudgy face like she’d never quite escaped her baby fat. “Dad whipped you by five touchdowns last time,” she said sweetly, folding her arms. “Why don’t you give up, already?”

“Will do, once you give up beating that poor piano with a hatchet every day. Sounds like an armless gorilla is playing in there.”

Instead of responding, Lisa stood up from the piano bench and walked over to Tick. She leaned forward and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “I wuv you, wittle brother.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick, Mom,” Tick groaned, wiping his cheek. “Could you get me something to clean my face?”

Lisa folded her arms and shook her head, her eyes set in a disapproving stare. “And to think I used to change your diaper.”

Tick barked a fake laugh. “Uh, sis, you’re two years older than me-pretty sure you never changed my diaper.”

“I was very advanced for my age. Skilled beyond my years.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular Mozart-well, except for the whole music thing.”

Mom put her hands on her hips. “You two are just about the silliest kids I’ve ever-” A loud buzz from the kitchen cut her off. “Ah, the cookies are done.” She turned and scuttled off toward the kitchen.

Kayla screamed something unintelligible then ran after her mom with a huge smile planted on her face, dropping tea cups all over the floor and hallway.

Tick looked at Lisa and shrugged. “At least she’s not burning things.” Kayla had been caught several times at the living room fireplace, laughing with glee as she destroyed important objects in the flames. Tick headed for the staircase. “I’ll be back in a minute-gotta use the bathroom.”

“Thanks for sharing that bit of exciting news,” Lisa quipped as she followed Kayla toward the kitchen.

Tick had his hand on the banister when his mom called back for him. “Oh, I almost forgot. You got a letter in the mail today. It’s on your bed.”

“Ooh, maybe it’s a love letter,” Lisa said, blowing a kiss at Tick.

Tick ignored her and ran up the stairs.

The bed squeaked as Tick flopped down next to his pillow where a tattered yellow envelope rested, his full name-Atticus Higginbottom-and address scrawled across it in messy handwriting. The stamp was an old picture of the Eiffel Tower but the postmark smeared on top of it said, “Macadamia, Alaska.” The upper left corner of the envelope had no return address. He picked up the envelope and flipped it over-nothing there either. Curious, he stared at the mysterious letter for a moment, racking his brain. Who could possibly have written him from the state of Alaska? No one came to mind.