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she now called Wreath’s Rusted Estates. Worried that it was too early to show her face in town, she longed for a shower and a real meal and was willing to trade precious cash for cleaning supplies.
    She had spent most of the first stifling forty-eight hours huddled in the van, exploring only briefly before scurrying back like one of the mice she saw every time she turned around. At least she preferred to think of them as mice. Some looked big enough to be rats, and they grew when she sketched them in her notebook.
    On the fifth morning, Wreath emerged from the van, forcing herself to look around, happy to hear the familiar
tap-tap-tap
of the woodpecker. After a brief walk through scattered car bumpers, stacks of old tires, and briars that lay across her path like booby traps, she pulled out pen and paper and catalogued what she had seen.
    MY NEW HOME:
    1. Isolated
.
    2. Woodsy
.
    3. Dirty
.
    4. Smelly
.
    5. Horrible
.
    6. Mine!!!!
    She huddled back in the van, allowing herself a few ounces of water each day and a scant amount of food. For four days she had eaten berries growing on vines and peaches on a gnarled tree near the back of the property. Even with wormholes in them, they were delicious, and she hoarded them like the finest groceries.
    Finally, she could stand it no longer. On the seventh day, she gave in to the urge to go into town.
    Assignment: fact-finding mission
, she wrote.
Explorer: Wreath Willis
.
    Assess threats
.
Find a shower
.
Gather usable objects
.
Map the area
.
    Before she settled into sleep the previous night, she had made plans for the day, going through them again and again. She stepped out of the van and observed her new hideaway with a tiny degree of pleasure and a medium helping of pride.
    The sun blasted the hot van by the time she woke up, and she wolfed down the last of her peanut butter crackers and drank a few sips of water, nauseated with excitement and fear of the day ahead.
    She pushed her hair back with a black headband and pulled on a pair of track shorts and a T-shirt she had found in the backseat of one of the cars. The shirt looked almost in style—
vintage
, it would be called by fashionistas—and only had one small hole under the arm.
    Walking past nearby vehicles, Wreath found a large utility truck with big side mirrors and surveyed her appearance, satisfied that she looked pretty good for someone who hadn’t had a bath in days. Her hair wasn’t shiny but her dark eyes had a hint of sparkle, and her skin was smooth and clear.
    Her pack slung over her shoulder, she headed for the state park, mentioned by the lady who’d given her the ride and the subject of a brochure from the Not-So-Welcome Center. The park claimed to be “spacious” with a swimming area, cabins, trails, and, most importantly, showers. Sticking to the edge of the woods, a thrill ran through her when she found the entrance road, tree-lined and peaceful. A runner sprinted down into the park, waving at Wreath as she zipped through the gate.
    The spirit of the moment encouraged Wreath, although she had not expected to encounter others so quickly.
    Trying to look as though she, too, was out for a little exercise, Wreath was put off by the large sign at the entrance, demanding all visitors register at the office. The jogger had not stopped, so maybe she could slip by.
    But Wreath didn’t like to disobey rules.
    Three or four rental bikes and a soft drink machine sat out in front of the office, which looked like an old-fashioned log cabin. A bulletin board held announcements and business cards for everything from babysitting to dirt work. She wasn’t sure she knew what dirt work was, but maybe she could get a job babysitting.
    She looked down at herself and wondered if anyone would trust her with a child.
    Probably not.
    With a deep breath, she stepped inside the building that looked like an old-fashioned log cabin from the outside. A TV mounted in the corner was the first thing to catch her eye, a weather