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aloud. “I wonder if you have one for Mrs. Fishback? She was a child once. And for Sister Mary Many Pockets? For me? You don’t have one for me, I bet.”
    â€œWhy do you say that? Have you imagined another World?”
    He had imagined another world: a green backyard with a swing set and his parents and the boy from the Chinese restaurant—but he couldn’t help but get interrupted by the thought of Mrs. Fishback with her bloody nose, probably cursing him this very moment for being a numbskull.
    â€œI’m a numbskull,” Oyster said. “I’m difficult. I’m too much trouble.”
    â€œYou are?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWho says so?”
    â€œThe nuns and Mrs. Fishback. They’d rather I weren’t around.”
    â€œThe nuns and Mrs. Fishback? What about your parents?”
    â€œI don’t have any.”
    â€œRight, right, of course,” the Mapkeeper said, as if she’d just been stupid for asking the question. “Did this Mrs. Fishback and the nuns all say that you’re trouble?”
    â€œNot out loud,” Oyster said. “I mean, the nuns can’t talk. But they feel it. I know they do.”
    â€œOh,” the Mapkeeper said. “And what do you think?”
    â€œI want to escape.” Oyster was shocked that he’d said this aloud. He’d thought it, of course, but he was surprised to hear the words bounce around the shop. “I want to go and be a hero, and prove to them that I’m worthy.”
    â€œWorthy of what?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Oyster said. Honestly, he didn’t.
    The Mapkeeper started to shuffle down the row, dragging her oxygen cart, her eyes scanning the labels. “Well, it so happens that if your name is in the book—and your name is in the book—then your map is here.” Oyster followed her closely, his ears pounding.
    â€œOyster R. Motel. Oyster R. Motel.” She stopped. Oyster nearly bumped into the oxygen cart.
    â€œHere it is.” She pulled over a nearby step stool and climbed to a shelf so high that Oyster couldn’t see what was up there. His view was blocked by some mammoth scrolls sticking out here and there overhead. Some of them were so big that Oyster thought if they fell, they’dmost likely smash his head. The Mapkeeper was reaching in, up to her elbow, and patting around. Was his cubby empty? Maybe so. Probably so. Who would keep track of his Imagined Other World? Not worth the time, most likely.

    But then the Mapkeeper said, “Aha!” And she pulled out something small and tight, the size of a pack of Life Savers.
    â€œOh,” Oyster said. “Is that all?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “I’m afraid so. Haven’t done much imagining about your Other World, have you?”
    Oyster shook his head.
    â€œAnd how did you chip that tooth?”
    Oyster ran his tongue over the tooth. “I fell down on my face. And I got in trouble too.”
    There was a quiet moment. Oyster felt awful. He could feel the moment swelling with misery. His map was so puny, so sad, really.
    â€œLook here, Oyster R. Motel,” the Mapkeeper said. “You should learn to have a little more faith in yourself. You’ve got a great imagination. You just haven’t unleashed it.”
    Oyster nodded. He couldn’t look at the Mapkeeper, but he could feel her looking at him, regarding him very seriously.
    â€œPeople think they want this thing or that. Sometimes they just want and want and want. They can become lousy and rotten from wanting. But truly, once you find out what you really, really want, Oyster, you’ll learn that you’ve already got it. Do you understand?”
    â€œNot really,” Oyster said.
    Then the Mapkeeper leaned in close to Oyster’s face. She said, “I have three rules.”
    â€œYou do?” Oyster looked up into the Mapkeeper’s pruned face, into her keen, narrow