My Top Secret Dares & Don'ts Page 7

  “Kestrel, these are my students: Zak Winters, Elise Kim, and Cassie Alvarez.”

  “Hi,” I say. “Is this for the toads too?”

  “Yep,” says Zak. “The fisheries conservation group and the city built the underpass. Now we’re helping to finish the job by adding protective netting and signs.”

  “I know this is a dumb question,” I say, “but why do toads need an underpass?”

  “Not dumb at all,” says Cassie. “This used to be a standard walking path, so when the toads started on their migration route from the lake to the forest, they’d get crushed by all the joggers, walkers, and bikers. Imagine thirty-five thousand toads trying to cross these busy trails.”

  I am. “Ew!”

  “Exactly. There’s another underpass that goes beneath the main road out front. The underpasses should help more of them survive. Western toads are a blue-listed species.”

  “Blue-listed?”

  “It means they’re at risk and we need to pay closer attention to how human activities are impacting their populations,” says Zak.

  “Once the juveniles hop out of the water, we’ll start collecting data on their migration patterns,” explains Elise. “We’ll track as many as we can as far as we can.”

  “It’ll be groundbreaking work. No one’s ever done that in this area before,” says Dr. Musgraves. “It’ll be fascinating to see where and how far into the forest they go. All right, gang. Let’s pack it in for the night.”

  Once the students gather their gear, we cross the field and start up the trail. We reach the parking lot of the lodge as the last peachy glow of daylight slips behind the mountain.

  “Good luck with the toads,” I say to the professor and his students in the lobby.

  “Be sure to come back down to the lake once the migration starts,” says Dr. Musgraves. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  I hurry out to the patio, a semicircular courtyard lined with cedar planters, each one bursting with red and white geraniums. The mosaic limestone patio has about fifteen round cedar tables, though all but one is empty. A couple about my parents’ age is sipping wine, their faces lit from beneath by the citronella candle in a Mason jar. Behind them sits a large metal grill. It isn’t smoking. I missed it. I missed the salmon.

  “Your mother’s been looking for you,” says a soft voice.

  “Hi, Grandma.” I comb my hair with my fingers. “I . . . uh . . . went for a run. I forgot my phone.” My grandmother reaches into the pocket of her black jacket and pulls out her phone. It’s no secret who she’s calling. “She’s here,” she says. “Uh-huh. Okay. Okay. Right.”

  My mother is telling my grandmother to make sure I get something to eat and to come up and get a coat if I am cold and all the other things you say about kids you don’t think are capable of taking care of themselves.

  After another few “okays,” my grandmother ends the call. She turns to me. “Hungry?”

  “A little,” I lie. I’m so hungry even the geraniums look appetizing.

  “Grab a seat. I’ll be right back.” She heads inside.

  I choose a table on the outside edge of the semicircle that sits under a string of round paper lanterns. Grandma Lark returns in a few minutes with a glass of lemonade and a plate of salmon, watermelon slices, and a salad. She places the plate in front of me. “I had Talia heat up the salmon. I hope it’s not overdone.”

  I can’t answer because I am busy chugging lemonade. I drink almost the entire glass in four gulps. Ahhhh! While I dig into the peachy-pink fish, Grandma Lark refills my lemonade then takes a seat beside me. She doesn’t say a word. The salmon is lukewarm, yet still moist and flaky. I let each piece of watermelon slide slowly around in my mouth, enjoying the cold, juicy sweetness. I finish every bit on my plate. Dabbing my lips with my napkin, I sit back. Grandma Lark is glancing up, so I look up too.

  “Whoa!” I sound like Wyatt, but I can’t help myself. It’s as if heaven has spilled a shaker of salt across the cobalt sky. “So. Many. Stars.”

  “It’s quite a show once you get away from the city lights.” She points to the southwest. “There’s Arcturus. And to the east, Vega. They’re summer’s brightest stars.”

  I turn to find one glittering star, then the other. “They’re so bright!”

  “Forty-two years and I never get tired of stargazing from here.”

  I drop my head. “You’ve lived here forty-two years?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Grandpa Keith and I bought this land when we got married. The only thing on it at the time was an old hunting cabin. We cleared the land and built the lodge ourselves. Log by log. Stone by stone. Much of it is recycled materials from cabins and old buildings. We wanted to make as little impact on the natural surroundings as possible.”

  “I like that idea.”

  “Keith used to say it was important to live in harmony with nature, not to beat it into submission. It took us a lot longer to do it that way, but”—her eyes lovingly wander up the side of the building—“there’s no hurry when you’re breathing life into a dream.”

  “Dad said it was a great place to be a kid. I can’t imagine why he’d ever want to leave.”

  “He didn’t,” she says. “Not at first, anyway. After he graduated from high school, he stayed to help run the lodge, but we could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Cole wanted to go to college, but he was worried about leaving us on our own. Also, I think he was a bit frightened of the unknown. Your dad was always hesitant to try new things, even though time and time again he’d proven he could do whatever he set out to do. You know that Eleanor Roosevelt quote?”

  I shake my head.

  “ ‘Do one thing every day that scares you.’ ” She leans forward, the low-burning candle in the Mason jar giving her chin a buttery glow. “This was our business. Our dream. Not your dad’s. It wasn’t his passion, and we could see that. So we pushed him out of the nest. We might have pushed a little too hard, especially your grandfather. Words were said, feelings were hurt . . . then we made the worst mistake ever.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We let too much time pass before we spoke again. You know how people say time heals all wounds? They’re wrong.” Her tone is suddenly sharp. “Time heals nothing. If the wound isn’t closed, time only makes it worse. It leads to infection. Your grandfather and your dad couldn’t seem to heal things. I tried to help, but . . .”

  So it was more than work that was keeping Dad at home. I knew it.

  “You should talk to Dad, Grandma, and tell him you want to start over. You can’t hide from each other forever.”

  “That’s good advice. For all of us.”

  I know what she means. I start to play with the corner of my napkin.

  She tips her head. “You want to tell me about it?”

  “I got in a fight with Mom tonight.”

  “I figured.”

  “She can’t . . . She gets me so . . . Sometimes I want to . . . What? Why are you laughing?”

  “I’m sorry.” She puts a hand to her mouth. “I’m not laughing at you. Honest. It’s that you reminded me of how I used to feel about my mother when I was your age.”

  I give her a doubting look.

  She takes the challenge. “You think she doesn’t have faith in you. You think she’ll never see you as anything other than a little girl. You think she doesn’t take you seriously. You get so frustrated you can’t even finish a sentence.”

  Yes, yes, yes, and yes!

  “She treats me like . . . She acts as if . . . She won’t even . . . arggh!” My forehead hits the table.

  “Try to be patient,” says Grandma Lark, rubbing my shoulder. “You’re her oldest. She’s new at this tween stuff.”

  I groan. “So am I.”

  “Give it some time. She’s got some growing to do.”

  I glance up. “Don’t you mean, I have some growing to do?”

  “Nope.”

  I giggle at that.

  “You want some dessert?”r />
  “No, thanks. I’m full.”

  “It’s double chocolate mousse pie.”

  Double chocolate?

  “We could share a slice,” she says.

  That does sound good. “Okay,” I say. “Maybe a tiny one.”

  She goes inside and returns with a slice of chocolate pie that’s at least a foot tall! We dive in with our forks.

  “This is pure bliss,” I say, letting the decadent chocolate melt in my mouth.

  “Talia is the best baker in town,” says my grandma. “Although it probably helps that I’ve never met a chocolate I didn’t like.”

  I snicker. “Me either.”

  As we take turns devouring Talia’s decadent pie, I begin to feel better. About myself. My mom. My life. Even though I am not sure what will happen with any of it, I’m glad to be eating pie with my grandmother on the patio under the starry sky. I hope Grandma Lark won’t have to close the lodge. I see myself here—years from now. That probably sounds funny, considering I’ve been here a week, but I do. Some things are meant to be.

  Grandma Lark motions for me to take the last bite. I close my eyes so I can focus on nothing but the smooth, rich flavor of chocolate on my tongue. When I open my eyes again, I see a twinkle above my grandmother’s head.

  It’s not a star, though. It’s a girl. She is standing on the third-floor balcony. Hand on one hip. Watching us. When she sees she’s been spotted, she steps backward, but it’s too late. I know that pose. That hair. That diamond bracelet. It’s Veranda Tolliver.

  9

  Dare to Fight for What Matters

  I slide my key card through the slot, wait for the green light to flash three times, then open the door. A single light is on in the Alpine Suite. My mom is on the sofa. She is leaning on an elbow, resting on the arm of the couch. Her head is down, her forehead cradled in her hand. I shut the door and her head comes up. Her eyes are red. My brother’s bedroom door is open a crack. The light is off.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I say quietly, so I don’t wake Wyatt.

  “Sorry too.” She pats a spot next to her on the sofa.

  I sit, folding one leg under me. I latch on to a gold pillow with a cross-stitch of a moose. Hugging it to me, I play with the fringe and wait for the lecture.

  “You’re right,” she says quietly.

  “I am?”

  “Your dad’s schedule is out of balance. He’s not home as much as he should be. I’ll talk to him about it when we get back, but I don’t know that he will change.”

  I loop a piece of fringe around my finger.

  “But I can promise you one thing, Li—Kestrel,” she says. “I will change. I won’t make excuses for him anymore or pretend everything is perfect.”

  “Thanks.” I know my mom is in a tough spot. She doesn’t want me to think badly about my dad, so she defends his behavior, but that makes me mad at her, too.

  “I’m also sorry if you thought I was patronizing you by not telling you about the lodge’s financial situation,” she says. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s only that . . . well, I had special plans for you this summer.”

  “Special plans?”

  “Yes, I wanted you to focus on getting to know your grandmother, not worry about business.”

  “Can’t I do both?”

  She nods. “I suppose you can. You are quite a capable girl.”

  Whoa! I am almost certain that is the first compliment she’s given me here.

  “Besides, Mom, I am getting to know her,” I say. “And I am learning how much this place means to her.” I am also discovering how much it’s starting to mean to me.

  She rubs her forehead slowly, with two fingers, the way you do when you don’t know what to do.

  “I won’t tell anybody the things you tell me,” I say. “You can trust me, Mom.”

  “I know that. You’re the one person around here besides your grandmother I am absolutely certain I can trust.”

  “There must be others, too,” I say. “What about Dinah and Jess? Nita and Madeline? Breck and his mom?”

  She is shaking her head at every name I mention.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  “It’s possible Dinah’s computer was hacked. It’s also possible someone who works here leaked the guest list. That same someone could be behind the bad reviews, too. We have to consider the possibility that one of Lark’s employees is sabotaging her business.”

  “Sabotage? I can’t believe Dinah or Jess would do anything like that.”

  “I don’t want to believe it either.”

  “But why—?”

  “I don’t know, but until we do we can’t trust anyone.”

  I wonder about Breck. He seems nice, but maybe he’s trying to learn information from me to use against my grandmother.

  “You asked me how the books are. The truth is”—her eyes probe mine—“I think you already know, but I’ll tell you anyway: Business is way down. If things don’t pick up in the next few months, Grandma Lark will have to close the lodge.”

  I was hoping Breck was wrong. “We can’t let that happen,” I say. “We have to save this place, Mom—we have to.”

  “Li—Kestrel, I’m doing everything I can.”

  “I know. I want to help too. Please let me.”

  She nods.

  “That means you can’t keep things from me,” I say. “I want to know the truth, even if it’s bad.”

  Mom gives me a slight grin. “All right.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  I am holding her to that. We are a team now.

  “You can call me Little Bird again,” I say. “I was mad before. It’s okay.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “If you don’t, you’ll be calling me Li—Kestrel forever. Besides, I would kind of miss it if you stopped.”

  She taps my knee. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s been a long day and we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  Mom goes to close the drapes. I bolt the door.

  “Oh, before you go to bed,” says my mother, “there is one more thing.”

  “Yeah?” She has a mission for me! I can hardly wait.

  “You’re grounded.”

  “What?”

  “You know the rule. You always tell me where you’ll be going and when you’ll be back. It doesn’t change because we’re in another country.”

  “Mooooom!”

  “I know you were upset when you stormed out of here, but after you calmed down you should have called me.”

  “But . . . but . . .” If I tell her I forgot my phone and that I was lost in the woods, she’ll barricade me in the lodge for the rest of the summer. She ought to be grateful I’m alive. I could have gotten strangled by blackberries or eaten by mutant mosquitoes or attacked by a bear. This is so wrong! I am about to tell her all of this when I hear my grandmother’s voice in my head.

  Be patient with your mom.

  “Fine,” I grumble. “How long?”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days!”

  She has that You want to argue and make it four? expression, and since I do not want to make it four days, I shut up.

  Great. Grounding means no electronics, so I have to give up my laptop and cell phone. Before I turn in all of my stuff, I text Annabeth and Langley to tell them about my totally unjustified and completely unfair punishment. But the truth? It’s not so bad. There will be plenty to do around here trying to save this place. Plus, do I want to know how much fun my friends are having at home without me? This will be the best grounding of my life. Not that I’m going to tell my mother that.

  This is the worst grounding of my life!

  I toss another shriveled-up geranium into the bucket. This has to be dead flower one billion and one. I’ve been clipping for almost two hours! This place has too many geraniums. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m hot. Worse, I have no clue how hot, because Canada uses the Celsius scale instead of Fahrenheit. It’s 32° C. If
you’re American, that sounds nice and comfortable. It’s not. Breck says it’s around 92° F. I wipe the sweat for my forehead with my side of my garden glove and drag my bucket to the next planter. It’s all I can do not to jump into the swimming pool next to me. Ahhhhh!

  Two days ago, Mom and Grandma Lark gave me “a few chores” to do around the hotel as part of my grounding. A few? I have been slaving ever since. I dried three dozen glasses for Breck’s mom (and broke only one). I completely reorganized the brochure rack in the lobby for Jess. I cleaned all seventy-two slots, which meant dumping out several small dead spiders and one large live one. Eeek! I restocked the housekeeping carts with soap and shampoo for Nita, the head housekeeper, not to mention scrubbing fifteen of the twenty-eight toilets in this place. Thank goodness my grounding ends tonight. I’d never survive another day. Running a lodge is not as glamorous as it sounds!

  “Hi, Kestrel.”

  Sitting back on my ankles, I push up my blue baseball cap. The sun is in a full eclipse behind Rose’s head.

  “Hi,” I say, squinting.

  She looks cool in a white one-piece halter swimsuit. A matching sarong skirt ties at the hip. Rose is juggling a towel, a water bottle, and a cream tote bag with an embroidered gold beaver inside a red circle.

  She tips her head. “I’m Rose, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “You do? Most people confuse the two of us. How did you know?”

  “Uh . . .” I didn’t think she was going to quiz me! “Let’s see . . . For starters, your bangs are a little longer than hers. You also stand differently. Your voice is a little lower than your sister’s.” And a lot more friendly, I want to add. “Oh, and white is your favorite color. Veranda wears mostly pink and red.”

  “Wow!” Rose holds out her water bottle. “Here. You look hot.”

  “I’m okay,—”

  “I haven’t opened it.” She thrusts the bottle into my hand, and the jolt of the icy chill against my swollen fingers gives me a surge of energy.

  “Thanks.” I open it and take a big, long drink.