Free Witherwood Reform School by Obert Skye

kidnapped?”
    â€œWell, our dad dropped us off here, but I don’t think we’re supposed to stay.”
    â€œThat’s a new one.”
    â€œWhat’s a new one?” Tobias asked.
    â€œYou being from outside,” he replied. “Most of the things I make up in my head are from here in Witherwood.”
    Tobias and Charlotte looked at each other.
    â€œWe’re not made up,” Charlotte insisted.
    â€œThat’s not new,” the boy said. “The things I make up always say that.”
    â€œI hit you with a book,” Charlotte reminded him.
    â€œMy imagination’s done worse,” he informed them. “I’m Fiddle, by the way. Of course it’s not like you didn’t already know that.”
    â€œWe didn’t,” Tobias said, staring at him.
    Fiddle seemed a couple years older than Tobias and smiled every time he talked. He had green eyes, and his long dark hair hung from his head like thin spaghetti. He wouldn’t stop playing with the cube in his hand. He looked friendly in the way that some squirrels do. He also looked a little wild, much the way some other squirrels do.
    â€œYour ears are different,” Fiddle told Charlotte. “Interesting.”
    Charlotte pulled her hair forward.
    â€œWhy does your shirt say hope ?”
    It was a fair question. Charlotte seemed more likely to wear a shirt that read CONCERN or I WONDER; the word hope didn’t fit. But Charlotte had been given the shirt a few years ago, and it brought her comfort. Not comfort in the sense that it was comfortable to wear; in fact, the shirt was too small. It was the kind of comfort that comes from a warm memory or a safe, quiet spot in a loud, hazardous world.
    Fiddle stared at Charlotte for a few moments. When she didn’t answer his question, he turned his gaze to Tobias. “So why are you in my room?”
    â€œShouldn’t you know?” Tobias asked, still curious about being called imaginary. “If you made us up, we shouldn’t be a surprise.”
    â€œYou’re not,” Fiddle said. “I heard you call out, but I hear so many voices, I’m never sure who to believe.”
    â€œWell, do you know where a phone is?” Tobias asked.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œYou don’t know what a phone is?” Charlotte asked, confused. “You call people with it.”
    Fiddle lay back on his bed and continued to fidget with the puzzle cube. “I don’t know where one of those is.”
    â€œSo why do you have this nice room?” Charlotte asked. “Ours is awful.”
    â€œI have this room because of my last name.”
    â€œAnd what’s your last name?” Tobias asked.
    â€œI forget at the moment, but my uncle says it’s a good one.”
    â€œWho’s your uncle?”
    â€œHe lives in that square building,” Fiddle answered. “The one in the middle of the gardens. He always says, ‘Fiddle, you are placed where you are because of your name.’ Maybe my last name is Nicebedroom.”
    â€œFiddle Nicebedroom?” Charlotte laughed.
    â€œNope, that’s not it,” Fiddle said, sighing. “I think it starts with an upside-down M . Did you guys know I sleepwalk?”
    Both the Eggers kids shook their heads.
    â€œI’m not positive I do, but my uncle has mentioned there’s something wrong with me. I’m trying to figure out what it is.”
    â€œMaybe they should lock your door,” Tobias suggested. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to be sleeping so close to your room.”
    â€œYou can’t be too safe,” Fiddle agreed.
    â€œWe should go,” Charlotte said to her brother. “I don’t want them to notice that we’re missing.”
    â€œYeah,” Fiddle said. “Beware of the voices.”
    â€œLike in your head?” Tobias asked.
    â€œNo.” Fiddle laughed. “The voices! The guards