My Top Secret Dares & Don'ts Read online

  “I know it’s been a less-than-ideal vacation,” says Mrs. Tolliver. “But don’t worry. We won’t be staying in this . . . this old tree house much longer.”

  “It is kind of like a tree house, isn’t it?” says Veranda, missing her mom’s insult. “The wood is beautiful. I guess I will be a teeny bit sad to see it go. I mean, I know I will.”

  “Not me,” says her mother. “Let’s get going. And how many times have I told you, Veranda, to stop dragging your feet? It’s quite annoying.”

  “Hey, Mom, let’s get some dessert.”

  “Dessert? You never want dessert.”

  “I know, but I hear the chocolate pie is amazing. We could share a slice.”

  “You know chocolate isn’t good for your skin.”

  “Okay, something else, then. You pick. I’ve hardly seen you all week—”

  “Your father and I are expected at the Ralston’s party, and he doesn’t like to be late—”

  “We’ll be quick. Ten minutes.”

  “Maybe another time. We’d better get going. . . . Will you please pick up your feet?”

  Langley and I remain still until the swift clomp of heels and the scuff of sandals against hardwood fade away.

  “Who were they?” asks Langley.

  “Veranda Tolliver and her mom.”

  “You mean—”

  “The Terrible Tollivers.”

  “I wonder what she meant about being sad to see the wood go,” says Langley.

  “Veranda said something to me about remodeling the place,” I say, a shiver going down my spine. “Knowing Veranda, she’ll probably want to cover the entire lodge in pink wallpaper.”

  Shivering, Langley runs her fingers along the edge of a log shelf. “You cannot do it, Kestrel. You can’t let your grandmother turn this beautiful lodge over to those horrible people.”

  “I won’t,” I vow. Now if only I knew how to stop her.

  Langley is studying me. “Can I ask one more question?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What’s up with Breck and you?”

  11

  Dare to Break a Rule (or Two)

  I wake up a few minutes before my alarm clock goes off. I am always doing this—opening my eyes right before the alarm sounds. I think it’s an instinctive thing. I hate the beep-beep noise of alarms, so my brain has found a way around it. Kind of a cool superpower, I think. Kind of a weird quirk, Langley says.

  Still, superpower or quirk, I am the one in the lobby at seven thirty on a Saturday morning, ready to go running, and where is my best friend? Not here and not ready to go running. While I wait, I polish the courtesy apples in the bamboo bowl, straighten the stack of walking maps, and pop off a few dead daisy heads from the bouquet on the front desk. Come on, Langley! Where are you?

  Dinah comes rushing through the lobby, her skyscraper-high heels rapidly tapping against the mosaic stone floor. She is carrying her floral tote bag, stainless steel travel mug, and black nylon lunch bag. Her face is flushed. A few strands of hair have escaped her perfectly slicked high ponytail. This is not the always-calm, ever-efficient Dinah Sterling I am used to seeing.

  I hang on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

  “Uh . . . nothing . . . nothing’s wrong. Running a bit late, that’s all.”

  “But I didn’t think your shift started till eight.”

  She is digging in her bag. “And how are you this fine morning, Kestrel?” she asks in her I’m asking to be polite, but I don’t really want to know voice.

  “Copacetic.”

  Dinah finds her keys, unlocks the office door, and goes in. Seconds later, she scurries back out. “Forgot my name tag.” Back into the office she goes. She steps out. “Argh! My coffee.” After the third trip to the office, Dinah finally brakes to a full stop. She exhales and looks at me. “What?”

  Still melting on the desk, I look up at her. “You tell me.”

  “Believe me, I’d love to, but I can’t.”

  I knew it. There is something going on.

  When she leans to tap the power button on the computer, her sleeve smacks her coffee tumbler.

  I catch it before it topples over. “Dinah, slow down.”

  “It’s so unexpected. . . . There’s so much to do. . . .”

  “For a new guest, you mean?”

  Her red lips break into a grin. “It is exciting. We’ve never had anyone so important—”

  “Hey!” It’s Langley. “Sorry. I overslept.” She grabs her right ankle and bends her knee, stretching out her quadriceps. “You ready?”

  “As soon as Dinah tells me the secret she is dying to tell me about the important person that’s coming.”

  “Ooooo, a secret VIP!”

  “There is no secret VIP,” says Dinah, unconvincingly.

  I nudge my best friend. Between the two of us, I am positive we can get Dinah to spill it.

  “You wouldn’t actually be telling us if you gave us a hint,” I say. “A teeny tiny hint.”

  “We could play twenty questions.” Langley is catching on. “Is it a girl?”

  “Nice try,” says the front desk clerk, her professional façade firmly back in place. “My lips are zipped. Go for your run, ladies. I have work to do.”

  It’s a warm, windless morning. Lacy clouds are stretched across the sky like vanilla taffy. We keep to the sidewalk on Painted Cliff Road and follow it toward the village. We run side by side until we meet another jogger coming the other way, then Langley slides in behind me until the other person passes.

  “I wonder who’s coming to the lodge,” Langley huffs.

  “Do you think our moms know?” I ask.

  “Not mine. My mom doesn’t know anybody famous unless you count the news anchor on channel seven—Tabitha Travers. She met her at the grocery store once . . . well, crashed into her cart is more like it.”

  “I bet Grandma Lark is in the loop. She’ll tell me.” Stopping, I rest my hands on my knees and gulp air. “Ready to head back?”

  Langley is breathing hard too. “Uh-huh.”

  We back to the lodge, though we have to stop a few times because it’s uphill and some of us—okay, both of us—haven’t been running as much as we were supposed to this summer. We turn into the driveway of the lodge, shuffling down the center of the cement. Langley’s phone is ringing. We slow to a walk so she can answer. It’s Annabeth. Langley puts her on speaker.

  “Hi, Annabeth!” we say together, huddling around the phone as we walk.

  “Hi, guys. I miss you so much,” she says.

  I know what it’s like to be left out. “Me too,” I say.

  “Me three,” says Langley.

  Beep, beep!

  A black car is creeping up the driveway behind us. Langley and I move to the side to let it pass.

  “Whoa!” we say together.

  “What is it?” asks Annabeth. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re never gonna believe it,” says Langley. “We’re right outside Kestrel’s grandmother’s lodge, and a limousine pulled up.”

  “No!”

  Langley and I look at each other. Dinah’s secret VIP!

  “She’s here!” I say.

  “Or he’s here!” cries Langley.

  “Who’s here?” calls Annabeth. “Don’t hang up!”

  Langley and I take off after the car at full speed. It stops under the entry. Langley and I brake too. Breck is coming out of the lodge, rolling his luggage cart.

  “What’s going on?” asks Annabeth.

  “The car door is opening,” Langley whispers, giving Annabeth the play-by-play. “A man is getting out. He’s huge. He must be football player. He’s dressed in black—black sunglasses, black shirt, black pants. Hold on. Someone is getting out on the other side. Also huge. Also dressed all in black. They are both looking around.”

  “Bodyguards!” says Annabeth.

  “One of the guys is going to the lodge door,” Langley says into the phone. “He’s opening it. He’s motio
ning to someone in the car to come on out. He’s getting out of the car. It’s a man. He’s tall, but not as muscular. He’s got blond hair. He’s facing the other way, so I can’t see his face. He’s wearing jeans and a red, white, and blue sweatshirt. He’s turning this way—no way!”

  “What’s going on?” cries Annabeth.

  “It’s him!”

  “Who?”

  “Caden Christopher!” I squeal.

  “The singer?” She snorts. “No way. You guys are making this up. Caden Christopher is not there.”

  “He’s here, all right,” croaks Langley.

  “I need proof,” says Annabeth. “Snap a pic.”

  But we can’t comply. We can’t move. Or think. Or talk. Langley and I can’t seem to do anything but gawk as the most popular teen singer in North America bounds past us and into the lodge.

  “Kestrel, for the fourth time, you do not need to leave this room.”

  “But, Mom, I think I lost my . . . uh . . . earring. Yeah, that’s it.” I slide one dangling silver cat earring out of its hole and into my pocket. “See?” I head for the door. I bet it fell off in the hall. I’ll just go check—”

  “Halt right there, young lady. Don’t think Mrs. Derringer and I don’t know what Langley and you are up to. We were twelve once too, you know.”

  Twirling, I throw a hand to my heart. “Mother, I am shocked!”

  “Very nice performance.” She is standing near the door to the deck, holding a mug of coffee. “You ought to consider a career in acting.”

  “Great idea, Mom!” My brain is going full throttle. “I could ask Caden Christopher for advice. You know, he did that movie for the Disney Channel where he was half boy, half robot. I could bop down to his room and see—”

  “You will not bop anywhere. Get over here.”

  I get. Slowly.

  “Raise your right hand.”

  “Mother!”

  “Raise it.”

  I raise it. Slowly.

  “Repeat after me. I, Kestrel Lark Adams, do solemnly swear . . .”

  “I, Kestrel Lark Adams, do solemnly swear . . .”

  “That I will not bother Caden Christopher.”

  “Is this necessary?”

  “I fear it is.”

  I sigh. “That I will not bother Caden Christopher. Satisfied?”

  “And I will not tell anyone that he is staying at Blackcomb Creek Lodge.”

  “We already told Annabeth.”

  “Besides Annabeth.”

  “Okay. I will not tell anyone, besides Annabeth, that he is staying at Blackcomb Creek Lodge, even though keeping something like this bottled up inside is likely to emotionally scar me for the rest of my life.”

  She starts to say something but has to dash to the bedroom to answer her ringing phone.

  I collapse onto the sofa, grab my phone, and text Langley: Any luck?

  She answers: No. Eagle eyes won’t let me out of her sight. You?

  Same problem.

  What are we going to do?

  I have an idea, but it’s going to take both of us to pull it off. It also means breaking the vow I took thirty seconds ago. Normally, I try to follow the rules, but every now and then you have to bend them a bit. And if the most famous singer in the world doesn’t qualify for a rule bend, I don’t know what does!

  I text Langley back: Let’s meet for breakfast. I’ll text you when Wyatt is up and we’re ready to go.

  Mom is back. “I’m going downstairs to meet with Langley’s mom. We were up late last night coming up with a marketing plan. We’re going with a fresh website, new marketing materials, and a better social media presence. We’re also going to contact the lodge’s regular guests to give them a special fall and winter rate, plus offer some great deals to everyone else on the website.”

  I’ve never seen my mother so animated. I am used to seeing her put chicken in the oven and carry laundry upstairs. She used to be an accountant full-time, then went part-time when I came along and quit altogether after Wyatt was born. I never thought much about her life except to note how it was pinned to mine—you know, taking me to cross-country meets and picking me up from school, that kind of thing.

  My mom smiles at me. “And your suggestion about the review thing? We love it. We’re going to do that, too.”

  “Review thing?”

  “Remember how you said Annabeth’s dad countered a bunch of fake negative reviews about his café with lots of positive ones from trusted customers?”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t realize she was listening.

  Mom glances at her watch. “You’ll get Wyatt to breakfast and keep an eye on him until lunch?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Dinah has a list of activities going on in the village. Maybe you can get him interested in something besides video games.” She takes a twenty-dollar Canadian bill out of her wallet and hands it to me before leaving.

  Once Wyatt is up and dressed, I text Langley and we head down to meet her in the dining room. The elevator door opens on the first floor and we see a packed luggage cart.

  “Breck!” I cry. “I wanted to—”

  “I know nothing,” he says. “And even if I did know something, I couldn’t say what that something is.”

  I follow Wyatt off elevator and watch Breck push his full luggage cart past us. “Oh, come on. Grandma Lark knows she can trust me. Just tell me this: Is he staying on our floor?”

  “Sorry, Miss Adams, I am unable to supply that information,” he says in his polite bellhop voice. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” he mumbles, punching a floor button. “I have better hair than he does, and at least I can sing on key—”

  The elevator door closes.

  Is it me or did Breck sound jealous?

  Langley is waiting for us at the entrance to the dining room. As we go through the buffet line, I stay two steps behind my brother to make sure he doesn’t drop any sausage, lick any spoons, or drown his Belgian waffle in a gallon of blueberry syrup. Wyatt gets his waffle and goes easy on the syrup. Langley and I get scrambled eggs and toast. I set a glass of apple juice and a little container of strawberry jam on my tray and follow her to a table near the window. Dr. Musgrave’s students Cassie and Zak are a few tables down, typing away on their laptops and drinking coffee.

  “Wyatt, do you want to do go-karts or the trampoline after breakfast?” I ask.

  He grunts.

  “You’d better pick one or you’re going to be stuck shopping with Langley and me.”

  “Go-karts.”

  Langley leans over to me. “How can we find out which room he’s in?”

  “Front desk computer,” I whisper. “If you can distract whoever is on duty, it’ll give me time to get into the computer.”

  “When?”

  “This afternoon. Jess goes on duty by himself at four. He’ll be easier to distract than Dinah.”

  “I’m in.”

  We fist-bump to seal the deal.

  A breeze sends my napkin onto the floor. As I am bending to get it, Elise Kim rushes past. “Guys, come on!”

  Cassie and Zak slam their laptops shut.

  “Let’s go, let’s go,” cries Elise, spinning. “They’re here.”

  I straighten. “Do you mean the toads? They’re here? Aren’t they early?”

  “Yes on all counts!” Elise calls over her shoulder, running for the door.

  I start to tell my brother, but he is already out of his seat.

  Scooting back my chair, I tap my best friend on the shoulder. “Come on, Lang. We’ve got to go.”

  “But breakfast—”

  “You can eat anytime. How often do you get to see thirty-five thousand toads!”

  “Thirty-five thousand toads?” Langley grabs her toast. “Is that a band?”

  12

  Don’t Step without Looking First

  Wyatt, Wait!”

  Twenty feet ahead of us on the trail to Lost Lake, Wyat
t whirls and throws his arms out in exasperation. “Kessss!”

  “I know, I know. Take it easy. We’ll get there. The toads aren’t going anywhere.”

  “They are so!”

  True, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Langley is wearing sandals and has to stop every so often to get the pebbles out of her shoes. She is leaning on me right now so she can take off her left sandal and shake out whatever’s in there.

  “You go ahead,” I yell to Wyatt. “But keep us in sight!”

  “I will.” He won’t, but we aren’t far from the park.

  “So let me get this straight.” Langley drops her shoe and slides her foot into it. “These are real toads you’re talking about, as in ribbit-ribbit?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ick! They’re slimy and gross and they have warts, you know.”

  “They do?” I break into a slow jog.

  She falls into step beside me. “Haven’t you ever seen one?”

  “No.”

  “Then why in the world do you care?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because everyone else cares. I mean, a whole bunch of people went to an awful lot of trouble to build a special fence and an underpass to protect the toads so they could make it to the forest safely. When you see how much it matters to other people, I guess it sort of starts to matter to you, too. Does that make sense?”

  “Actually, it does.” In a flash, Langley spurts ahead, and I have to pour it on to catch up to her. After a few more turns, the trail delivers us to the parking lot of Lost Lake. We trot past the cars, and I scan the area for my brother. Got him! He’s barreling across the open field toward the beach.

  “That way!” I call.

  Langley has seen him too. We make a beeline for Wyatt, which is easy because we can see his footprints in the dewy grass. Approaching the outer perimeter of the amphibian fence, my brother slows. Then stops. He is standing there, waiting for us, I’m sure. We quickly close the gap. Suddenly, Wyatt’s arms shoot straight out from his sides. Whipping around he points at us with both hands. “Kes, stop!”

  “What do you mean? The toads are—”

  “STOP!”

  I freeze. Langley pulls up too.

  “Okay, we’ve stopped,” I say, my hands on my hips. “Now what?”