My Top Secret Dares & Don'ts Read online

  She starts rummaging in her beaver bag. “Somewhere in here I’ve got some sunblock, too, if you need another coat—”

  “Stop bothering the gardener, Rose,” drawls Veranda. She breezes past in a scarlet-red bikini, a red floppy hat, and red sandals.

  “She’s not the—”

  Eeee-rrk! Veranda is sliding a chaise lounge closer to the pool. “Come on, Rose.”

  “Bye, Kestrel.” Rose scurries after her sister.

  The more I get to know the Tolliver twins, the more differences I see between them. Rose must know it too. I hope she finds the courage to step out of Veranda’s shadow. She deserves to walk in the sun.

  I go back to deadheading geraniums, but keep sneaking glimpses of the Tolliver girls. Not that they are doing anything special. Veranda is lying in the sun with her sunglasses on and her earbuds in, tapping her red toes against the edge of the lounger. Rose is reading and sneaking glimpses of me over her book.

  “Oh, waitress!” Veranda snaps her fingers at Madeline, who is walking through the pool collecting empty glasses and dishes. “I’d like a Lemon Fizz soda.”

  “Lemon Fizz? I’m sorry, we don’t have that,” says Madeline, balancing a tray of dishes on her shoulder. “But I can get you—”

  “You do so have it,” clips Veranda.

  Madeline adds another glass to her full tray. “I’m sure it’s discontinued, so you’re not likely to find it anywhere around here. I’d be happy to bring you some of Talia’s homemade lemonade, instead—”

  “It is discontinued, but my dad knows the owner, and they make it for me.” Flinging her arm out in front of her, Veranda twists her wrist this way and that, admiring the way the zillions of diamonds in her gold bracelet shimmer in the sun. The bracelet catches the light, sending a blinding beam directly into my eyes. “Daddy had it flown in special on his corporate jet. It’s in your fridge.”

  “It is? I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do,” says Veranda, as Madeline rushes to obey her command. She flutters her hand like a queen commanding her royal subject. “Don’t forget. It’ll always be there once we own this place.”

  I am still blinking spots away when Veranda’s words sink in. Dropping the water bottle, I hop to my feet. “What do you mean, once you own this place?”

  “We’re going to buy the lodge.” Veranda wiggles her toenails, painted the exact same shade of red as her sandals. “Why else do you think we’re staying here?”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  Truth is, I had never given it much thought.

  “The Fairmont is soooo much nicer but we’ll remodel. You have to make the best of whatever situation you’re in, right?” Veranda slides her fingertips along the chair rail then shakes them out, as if getting rid of the dirt, even though I can clearly see the chair wasn’t dirty. “Somebody once told me that. I forget who it was, though.”

  I am fuming. She knows perfectly well who said it. I did!

  Rose glares at Veranda but doesn’t say a word.

  I am frozen with shock.

  Cory—the lodge landscaper—and my grandmother are coming this way. “Kestrel, honey,” says Grandma Lark, “you didn’t have to do all of them. I only meant the four planters in front.”

  I take big strides to close the gap between us. “Are you going to sell this place to the Tollivers?”

  “I’m . . . I’m not sure. . . . Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Are you or aren’t you?”

  “Kestrel, I don’t know. And this isn’t the place to discuss it.”

  “You can’t, Grandma!” I shout. “You just can’t! This is your dream. How could you sell it to them?” I know I sound like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum, but I’m hot and tired and I want to know the truth.

  “Come with me.” Grandma Lark puts an arm around my shoulder and guides me into the building. When we are inside, and alone, she says, “I know this may be hard for you to understand, but selling to the Tollivers may be my best option.”

  “But—”

  “If I sell, my employees will likely be able to keep their jobs, I’ll get a nest egg to retire on, and the lodge will be preserved. The Tollivers have promised to do all the necessary repairs and upgrades I can’t afford to do to keep the lodge going,” she says. “On the other hand, if I wait and business doesn’t improve, the bank will foreclose. My employees will lose their jobs. I will lose my investment. And it will all have been for nothing because the Tollivers, or someone else, will end up buying this place for a song so they can turn it into condos.”

  She may have a point, but I am still upset. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re thinking of selling to them?”

  “They know I have offers.”

  “So that’s it, then.” I yank off my garden gloves. “It’s done.”

  “It’s not done. I haven’t made a decision about selling yet.” She makes me look at her. “But if and when I do, I’m going to need your support.”

  No! Absolutely not! How could she even ask me that? I cannot imagine her selling this place to anybody, especially not the Terrible Tollivers. It’s unthinkable. She is standing there, waiting for me to say something encouraging. I can’t do it. The best I can do is dip my head, but I do not mean it. It is a lie. I will never support her selling to them. Never!

  “Thanks for your help today,” says my grandmother. “Why don’t you go on up and shower. It’s almost time for you to walk Wyatt back from day camp.”

  I turn away, then spin back. “Grandma?”

  “Yes?”

  “Whatever happens, I want you to know something.” There is a lump in my throat. “I love it here. I’m so glad we came to visit you. And if I were old enough and rich enough, I’d give you every cent you need to keep it.”

  Her face softening, she squeezes my arm.

  As I walk to the lobby, my hands become fists. I will find a way to save the lodge. This is my family heritage and I am not about to let the Terrible Tollivers, the bank, or anyone else take it away.

  “Kestrel!”

  I crane my neck. This cannot be real. She can’t be here. But she is. She is!

  I swoop toward her. “Langley!”

  10

  Don’t Cheat

  What are you doing here?” I screech.

  Langley hooks a lock of ginger hair behind her ear. “Your mom called my mom and asked us to come. She said she needed some marketing advice.”

  “She did?”

  “Uh-huh. She said it was your idea.”

  “She did ?” It was my idea. I didn’t realize she’d heard me.

  The door to the back office opens. My mom appears. Spotting me, she comes around the front desk. “I see you’re in time to greet our newest guests.” My mother holds out a white rectangle to me. My phone! I am confused because, technically, there are still four hours left on my grounding. “Early release for good behavior,” she says quietly, hugging me.

  I hug back.

  Langley and her mom want to get cleaned up, and I have to get Wyatt, so we all agree to meet in the dining room later. Racing upstairs, I take a cool shower and get dressed. I put on my A-line, buttercup-yellow sundress, and tan ankle-wrap sandals. Brushing my long hair back, I put it into a low ponytail and tie it with a yellow elastic band. I rub sunscreen on my arms and face and add lip gloss before heading downstairs.

  “Hi, Jess and Dinah,” I say, on my way past the front desk.

  “Hiya, Kestrel,” says Jess. He’s wearing a green bow tie with matching suspenders. With his red hair, he looks a bit like a leprechaun.

  “Cute outfit,” Dinah says to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Looks like I’m not the only one that thinks so,” she says gently.

  I don’t have time to ask her what she means. George is galloping ahead to open the door for me, so I keep going. Flying in from I don’t know where, Breck practically body-slams him to get there first. Bowing slightly, he pulls back on the handle of the oak door. “Miss Adams,” he says, out of b
reath.

  “Mr. McKinnon,” I say.

  I skip all the way to Lost Lake, which is strange because I run. I never skip.

  “You’re late,” Wyatt says when I get there. He’s perched on a tippy gray picnic table with his chin in his palm, his elbow on his knee, and his feet on the seat.

  “Sorry. Langley and her mom showed up out of the blue. How was camp?”

  Jumping off the table, he rips his name tag off his shirt. “It stank.”

  “Wyatt!” A couple of the camp counselors are nearby.

  “Well, it did.”

  “Come on.” I pick up his camouflage backpack, and we head across the field. Once we are out of earshot, I ask, “Okay, what happened?”

  “Nothing,” he mumbles, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

  “Come on, don’t be like that. Tell me.”

  “No, I mean nothing happened. All week, I’ve been waiting for us to do the zip line or go river rafting or have some kind of rippin’ adventure. Instead, we sing dumb songs and collect lake water in jars to look at under the microscope. Big whoop. I want to carve a canoe or do archery. Why can’t we do fun stuff like that?”

  “I’m no expert, but I’m guessing they don’t want to give knives and arrows to eight-year-olds.”

  He grunts.

  “It’ll get better,” I say. “Give it a chance.”

  Wyatt holds up a red-and-black braided lanyard about a foot long with a flat rock dangling from the end. “I made this.”

  “That’s nice. Um . . . what is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I laugh. The kid cracks me up sometimes.

  “I hate day camp, Kes,” he says. “I want to quit.”

  Mom won’t be happy to hear that. She’s already paid for the month. It’s not good news for me, either. If Wyatt bails on camp, guess who is going to be stuck babysitting him 24/7 for the rest of the summer?

  “We’ll talk to Mom,” I say in my best big-sister voice, “but—and this is a suggestion—you might want to wait to pack it in until after the toads show up.”

  “Toads?” His face lights up.

  I tell him what I learned from Dr. Musgraves about how the Western toads will migrate from the lake to the forest. I explain how the professor and his students helped with the amphibian fence and underpass to keep the toads safe on their journey. “Want to see the fence?”

  “You bet!” cries Wyatt.

  We do an about-face. We follow the plastic tube down to the beach, where another barrier—netting held by stakes—has been put up several feet from the backside of the fence, probably to keep the toads in and the people out. I lead the way down to the trail to the underpass. We don’t see Dr. Musgraves or his students, but there are some signs up that weren’t there before. Tall, bright orange rubber stakes have been driven into the ground—one on each side of the footbridge. Attached to each is a long yellow sticker that reads in bold black letters, TOADS CROSSING.

  “Cool!” squeals Wyatt.

  “Dr. Musgraves says the toads will be coming out of the water soon. They’ll follow the fence up here and go through the underpass and into the woods. I was thinking since you were going to be down here all day you could keep watch and let me know when the toads come on shore.” I snap my fingers. “Oh, that’s right, you’re probably not coming back to camp. Never mind.”

  He leans out over the footbridge to check out the underpass. “I guess I could try it again. I mean, it wasn’t completely warped. We did have corn dogs and curly fries for lunch. And I got to see a banana slug crawl over Garth’s shoe.”

  “Okay, but only if you’re sure.”

  Wyatt grunts, which means it’s a deal. He isn’t going to quit day camp. Crisis averted. For now.

  After dinner, I give Langley a tour of the lodge. We stop at the front desk to say hi to Jess, still in his bright green bow tie and suspenders. By her smirk, I can tell Langley is thinking exactly what I was thinking: leprechaun!

  “I know what’s going through your minds.” Jess slides his thumb under one of the suspenders. “How do I fend off the ladies looking so good?”

  We laugh. “Jess, this is my friend Langley.”

  “As in the city?” he teases.

  “I could hardly believe it when I saw my name on the freeway sign,” says my best friend. “I should have gotten a picture.”

  I nudge her. “We’ll get one on the way home.”

  As we continue the tour, I tell my best friend that my grandmother may have to sell the lodge. “I’m so sorry,” she says, staring up at the arched ceiling. “This place is incredible. It should stay in your family. Try not to lose hope. Our moms will figure out something.”

  “I’m not sure a new website or a fancy brochure is going to turn business around in two months,” I say. “I wish I could figure out a way to make the Terrible Tollivers, and everyone else, who wants to buy this place, go away.”

  “You mean, like, put a spell on them?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of putting banana slugs in Veranda’s bed. Wyatt knows where to get them.”

  Langley chuckles, until she sees the worry lines on my forehead aren’t disappearing. Hooking her elbow through mine, she says, “We’ll think of something. Hey, I know. Let’s go running tomorrow morning. We’ve got to get some training in, and I do my best thinking when I run.”

  Same here. “Okay.”

  “After that, can we go shopping in the village?”

  “Absolutely. You’ll love Skitch. It’s my favorite store. It has the cutest hand-painted ceramics and canvas prints. Oh, and Cows. You’ve got to have Cows ice cream.”

  “Have you taken one of the ski lifts up Blackcomb or Whistler?”

  “Um . . . Wyatt has gone up Whistler Mountain with Mom, but . . .” I want to be honest, but how can I tell her I am terrified to set foot inside one of those little boxes of death and travel six thousand feet up? She’ll think I’m nothing but a big chicken. And she will be right. “. . . I haven’t,” I say. “Not yet.”

  We are at the little library.

  “Oh!” gushes Langley. “Great frog lamp. I want one for my room.” I knew she’d like it. After a quick look around, she asks, “Is it time for Pick-a-Book Peekaboo?”

  As usual, she has read my mind. We’ve been playing this game since we made it up in the fifth grade. The rules are simple. You pick a book shelf in the library that you don’t know very well. You close your eyes tightly (no peeking). You run your finger horizontally across the vertical spines. You can stop any time you wish. You can take as long as you want. But once you open your eyes, you have to read the book you’re touching; the entire book. I’ve found some truly epic books this way—books I would never have chosen based on looking at the cover or reading the flap. I’ve also chosen some yawners, too, but that’s the risk you take.

  “You first,” says Langley.

  I decide to go to the farthest of the three freestanding shelves. The small gold sign reads PARANORMAL/HORROR. It’s not a genre I usually read. It’s perfect. I stand at the end of the shelf and shut my eyes. I slowly slide my index finger across the book. About a dozen books or so in, I pause. Is this the one? I run my fingers over it. It’s got a thick spine. It’s smooth—plastic covering. If I open my eyes, if I choose this book, I have to read it. That’s the rule. I’m not yet ready to commit. I keep moving.

  “No peeking,” says Langley from over my right shoulder.

  “I never peek,” I say, and it’s true. I don’t cheat. Ever. Not even if it means getting a better grade. That’s not to say I haven’t cheated in the past. In sixth grade, Clarissa Bickers let me copy off her test paper in math. I got an A- on the test. The next day I was covered in stress hives from the neck down. I could not stop itching for an entire week. It was the worst seven days of my life. I should have taken the C. Cheating is now permanently on my list of Don’ts.

  My fingers stop on a rough texture. A fabric cover?

  “. .
. what’s down here?” I hear a woman say.

  “Just a dinky library.”

  My eyes fly open. I’d recognize that sarcastic voice anywhere.

  “Hey, Kes!” squeals Langley. “You’re not supposed to—”

  Grabbing her arm, I pull her into the corner. “Shhh!”

  Langley gives me a confused look, but obeys.

  “I want a quick look, Veranda.” It’s Mrs. Tolliver. “Oh my, this is dreadful. Those chairs look like they were upholstered with your father’s pajamas.”

  I can feel my blood start to simmer.

  “Hey, a frog lamp,” says Veranda. “That’s kind of—”

  “Hideous,” finishes her mom. “Veranda, stand up straight, will you? And why are you wearing that top?”

  “I thought you said I could—”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, coral is not your color?”

  “I don’t see why we have to stay here anyway,” says Veranda. “I want to stay at the Fairmont. They have that great lounge with all that delish food. Plus, David and Laurel always get me those espresso truffle thingies I like—”

  “You know why,” says her mother. “Your father wants this deal. We’re trying to make a good impression to help push things through.”

  I nearly snort out loud. A good impression? She’s kidding, right?

  “The people here are mean,” says Veranda.

  “Really? I think Jess has proved most helpful, and Dinah is pleasant enough—”

  “I meant that girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “You know the one—long, dark hair, always wears those tees with dumb sayings, so tiny I could fit her in my purse.”

  Raising her eyebrows, Langley points at me. Nodding, I cross my eyes.

  “She was on that bear tour Rose dragged me on,” Veranda is saying. “She puked all over me.”

  “I did not puke on her,” I hiss. “I puked near her. There’s a big difference!”

  It’s Langley’s turn to shush me.

  “I don’t see what Breck sees in her,” mumbles Veranda.

  Uh-oh! Veranda is on the other side of the shelf! I hope she didn’t hear me. I hunch farther down, taking Langley with me.