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potential.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    Max patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I will, however, leave you with a bow and arrow…just in case.”
    ***
    Henry lay in his sleeping bag in the darkness. The bow and arrows did not make him feel safer. In fact, he was sort of worried that he might roll over onto them while he slept. He’d eased this fear by putting them about ten feet away, but then he worried that they wouldn’t be close enough if he woke up in the middle of the night in danger. Then he remembered his bull’s-eye had been total luck and having the bow and arrows nearby probably wouldn’t do him much good anyway—unless he was just naturally lucky with bows and arrows, in which case they would do him some good. So he had to weigh the odds of rolling onto sharp, pointy arrows versus the odds of waking up with a ferocious beast about to make him a meal. Henry had to admit that the more realistic danger would be waking up with an appendix full of arrows, so he kept them out of rolling range.
    He stared up at the stars. They were beautiful. He didn’t really see them very often. He tried to identify the different constellations, like Sagittarius, the archer. He couldn’t see anything that looked much like an archer with a horse body, but maybe you needed to chug a few cans of Red Bull first.
    He tried to find the one that looked like a crab. Were there crabs out in the woods? Probably not. Even if there were crab-spawning ponds around here, the crabs wouldn’t make it this far away from the water.
    There was also Aries, the ram. Even at his maximum level of “I’m gonna get eaten!” paranoia, Henry wasn’t worried about being attacked in these woods by a wild ram.
    Of course, it would be a terrible irony if he found himself impaled by a ram, the one animal he was almost positive wasn’t lurking in these woods. Maybe he should fear them.
    No, it wasn’t going to happen. His chances of encountering a ram were about the same as his chances of encountering a ghost.
    Crap. There were probably ghosts everywhere in these woods.
    Ghosts watching him right now.
    Ghosts of those who’d died badly, who sought vengeance for the way they’d exited this plane of existence. Ghosts who were searching for a soul to possess, perhaps that of a sixteen-year-old boy lying helplessly outside with only a sleeping bag as protection against the spectral dangers.
    Henry stopped looking at the stars and rolled over on his side. He was way too old to be worrying about ghosts. In fact, though he often wondered why he wasn’t lucky enough to have a girlfriend, it was possible that this provided a very specific clue as to the root cause.
    Something rustled in the trees.
    Henry sat up.
    The rustling continued.
    It’s just an armadillo , he told himself. No big deal. You see squished armadillos on the side of the road all the time and they aren’t going to cause you any harm.
    He scrambled out of his sleeping bag and fumbled around in the dark until he found the bow.
    There was a sudden beam of light.
    A ghost!
    A ghost or a flashlight! One of the two!
    Psycho killers with flashlights!
    He hurriedly grabbed an arrow and notched it. Then he spun around.
    A dark-haired girl his age stood there. She was the most beautiful potential psycho killer Henry had ever seen.
    WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP!
    If you need to start a fire, you can burn the pages of this very book. Yes, you’ll hurt the author’s feelings, but that’s okay. Your life is more important. (If you’re reading this as an e-book, setting it on fire is not recommended.)

Chapter Seven
    â€œHey, whoa, whoa,” she said, holding up her hands to show that she was not carrying a knife or a throwable cactus. “Chill. Put down the bow.”
    Henry set the bow and arrow back down on the ground. This could be some sort of test that Max had set up, but even so, Henry thought