by Wendy Mass
“Oh, sorry!” she said, assuming she’d stumbled upon a private gathering. She turned to go.
“Wait, come join us,” a kind voice said. “Pull up a chair.”
She traced the voice to an older man at the end of the row of chairs. He patted the arm of an empty chair next to him. She was about to politely decline but then thought better of it. She wasn’t ready to go back to AJ yet, and the group—a mix of young and old—didn’t look too scary. Plus she could take them in a fight.
“Thanks,” she replied, sitting down. She leaned her head back and looked up. Lots of stars, but not really any different from the ones at camp. “Um, what are you all looking at?”
“Wait for it…,” the man said. “There!” the crowd gasped and applauded. Daisy looked where the man was pointing but saw nothing unusual. “There!” someone else shouted. Again, applause.
“It’s a meteor shower,” the first man explained. “On account of the dust and ice left behind from that comet everyone’s talkin’ about that’s heading toward Earth so fast. You know, the one that’s bigger than the one that wiped out the dinosaurs? It’s got such a long tail that we’ll be seeing shooting stars for the next week!”
“Um, cool?” Daisy said, not about to admit that she hadn’t heard any mention of this potentially apocalyptic, life-ending collision. She listened politely as the group explained that the comet nears Earth every seventy-five years. Once she knew what to look for, she did manage to spot a few bright streaks of light as they zoomed across the sky. Her heart wasn’t in it, though. To stargaze, a person needed to focus on the heavens, and she couldn’t pull herself away from her situation on the ground. She’d come to a decision. She would go back to being the best young spy in the world, and when she turned eighteen, she’d find out her name and whether she had a brother, and then she’d decide what—if anything—to do about it.
Unless this comet destroyed everything that walked on two legs.
Her vid com vibrated in her pocket. It wasn’t AJ’s frequency, or her grandmother’s, so it had to be one of the three boys.
Daisy let it ring.
She let it ring the whole ride home the following day. AJ tried to engage her in conversation, but she only gave one-word answers. She didn’t complain when he put on country-western songs and sang along at the top of his lungs. She only barely cracked a smile when he pointed to a sign in front of a Steak & Ribs Shack on the highway that read HORRIFYING VEGETARIANS SINCE 2002! And when the RV finally pulled into the long, winding driveway that led to the compound, she had AJ drop her off at the stables even though she still had enough time to make it to the Kickoff at the factory and surprise everyone.
She rode faster than usual through the fields and into the woods. On Magpie’s back there was no room for error. Letting her mind wander could mean whacking her head into a branch. She couldn’t think of anything other than where each hooved foot would land. She definitely couldn’t think of everyone soon celebrating the first batch of Harmonicandies. How they’d all be cheering, and maybe Philip would teach everyone to play a song with it, and, like, a hundred people would all be playing the same tune at the same time on a chocolate harmonica, and they’d never forget that moment. Even if she could have made it there, what would have happened when people wanted to take her picture along with the other kids? She didn’t even look the same now that she was back to her normal brown hair. The Daisy of the contest was a temporary Daisy, like a tattoo that comes off in the bath. They’d be taking pictures of a ghost.
Nope, she definitely couldn’t think about any of that. She rode harder and faster, slowing down only when Magpie began to pant. She set the pace back at a trot so both horse and rider could cool down before stopping to drink.
When they arrived back at the stables, Courtney was on her way out. She wore a stained apron and a tall white chef’s hat. She yanked it off and stuffed it in her apron pocket when she saw Daisy. “Don’t ask,” she said with a grimace.
“Wouldn’t dare.” Daisy always respected the need for secrecy when it came to going undercover for assignments. “Only you could look good in a chef’s hat,” she added.
Courtney followed them into Magpie’s stall. “How was the gig?” she asked.
“Pretty good.” Daisy began unhooking the saddle and bridle. “I’m excellent at making lanyards now. And picture frames out of Popsicle sticks.”
Courtney laughed and stuck her chef’s hat back on. “I can make a mean chicken Marsala.”
Daisy smiled, which felt good. Grammy was right about one thing. It really was nice to be able to talk about her life with the girls, at least with Courtney. Even though they couldn’t go into detail about their jobs, even this much made her feel a little less isolated.
“I had fun making your friend Philip squirm,” Courtney said.
Daisy had nearly forgotten about that whole thing! She couldn’t help smiling at the thought of him squirming. “Thanks again for that. I owe you one.”
“No problem,” Courtney said, taking the bridle from Daisy and hanging it on the post. “You know you could have done what he’d asked yourself, with your vid com.”
Daisy smiled. “I know. But sometimes ya gotta make them work for it.”
“Good one,” Courtney said, nodding. “He was kind of cute, though. A little uptight, but not bad to look at. Now that I think about it…” She tilted her head and examined Daisy closely. “With your hair dark like this, you two kind of resemble each other. Maybe you have a secret brother out there!”
Daisy stared at Courtney, openmouthed. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” she demanded.
Courtney laughed. “I’m only kidding. I’m sure Philip Ransford the Third is not your brother.”
Daisy shuddered at the thought.
“Your vid com’s been buzzing since I got here,” Courtney said, gesturing to Daisy’s backpack on the bench. “Whoever’s been calling you must really want to reach you. You’re not wearing your transceiver?”
Daisy shook her head and reached for the bucket and sponge. “I’ll check the messages later.”
Courtney took the sponge from Daisy’s hands. “I’ll wipe down Magpie for you. You check your messages.”
“Fine,” Daisy grumbled, still not planning to do it. She had no interest in hearing how wonderful the Kickoff was.
“Oh,” Courtney added, squeezing the water out over the bucket, “I almost forgot. A man called the house asking for Daisy Carpenter. I assume that was the name you used on one of your assignments?”
Daisy’s voice caught in her throat. “Who was it?”
“He said his name was Henry. And that it was a chocolate emergency, whatever that means. I’m not sure what he thinks you can do about it.”
“Me neither,” Daisy said, trying not to let on that the message worried her. Maybe one of the boys had put him up to it. “When did he call?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
She pulled her vid com out of her bag. All the recent calls had AJ’s face next to them, not the boys’ and not Henry’s. Reluctantly, she called AJ back. “Miss me already?” she asked.
“Hardly,” he replied. “Have you unpacked yet?”
“No. I just finished my ride. Plus my bag is still in the RV. Why?”
“We read the coordinates wrong. The dead drop is much farther away than we thought. We’ve got to hit the road again.”
“What, right now?”
“Not right now,” he said. “That’d be crazy. I’ll pick you up outside the barn in ten minutes.”
Daisy groaned and slammed the cover of her vid com shut.
“Cheer up,” Courtney said, plopping her chef’s hat back on. “I’d go on a gig with AJ anytime. He’s totally cute.”
Daisy shuddered for the second time in five minutes. “Gross.”
PART FOUR
PHILIP
CHAPTER ONE
Late Sunday night
Five Lies I’ve Told in the Last 24 Hours and W
hy I Told Them:
Lie #1. I told Marietta, our latest cook in a long string of cooks, that the pancakes she made me for breakfast did not taste like a brick.
Explanation: If I told her the truth, that I think one of them cracked a corner of my tooth, she might quit. Since between me, Reggie, and my father we can’t boil an egg, she really has to stay or we’ll starve.
Lie #2. I told Reggie that I would compete in the Nation’s Most Talented Kid competition that Dad signed me up for, because I was afraid he’d tell my father that I had no intention of doing any such thing.
Explanation: After Dad found out that I could play the violin so well, he didn’t make me stop… for about three days. Then he said I really needed to be spending my time on educational pursuits that have a chance of helping me succeed in the future, rather than indulging in a hobby like playing an instrument. In his words: “Hobbies are just an excuse to waste time doing something other than what you’re supposed to be doing.” And since I’m still furious about how he lied to me seven years ago and told me I was banned from the candy factory when I wasn’t, I told him that my skills at the violin are almost unheard of at my age but that he didn’t have to worry about my grades slipping. All he heard was the first part, though, about me having a skill others did not. He immediately found the information about the contest and has already arranged for me to fly out to it with Reggie.
Leave it to my father to find a way to make me hate the violin by making me compete against a kid who can solve a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded and another who juggles fire, ALSO blindfolded. Not sure what kind of parents would let their kid do that and then sign him up for a contest, but if they’re anything like my dad, and there’s prize money involved, I have my answer. I have almost finished my original composition—half of the music I wrote before the contest, the other half since then—and I would play it at the contest if I were going. Which I’m not.
Lie #3. I told Logan I can’t come to the factory tomorrow because I have a dentist appointment.
Explanation: While the potentially cracked tooth and the amount of candy I’m eating make a visit likely in the near future, I do not have one scheduled. After I froze up during a few post-contest-winning interviews, the publicity department gave me a training session on how to handle myself better with the press and with the candy industry bigwigs. Still, it has been a few months since I’ve had to deal with all that, and the hoopla about the Harmonicandy coming out makes me want to stay far away from the factory. I feel bad about lying to Logan, since he’s so trusting, but my tooth was sore from the pancake and it was the first thing that came to my mind when he called to ask if I was coming.
Lie #4. I told myself I would stop eating so much candy.
Explanation: When getting dressed for the fund-raising dinner Dad dragged me to, I couldn’t get my belt to close and had to loosen it by a notch. Still, I have seven candy-free years to make up for and a friend (I have a friend!) who owns a candy factory, so I know I’m not going to stop anytime soon. Plus—and this may be the most compelling reason—I have the success of the Harmonicandy to consider. It would be a bad business move if I didn’t have a full understanding of the candy industry, and that includes firsthand knowledge of the products. All of them. Especially the sour ones. Those are my favorites. And also taffy.
Lie #5. I let Daisy believe I didn’t know where she was. This may count more as a lie of omission than a straight-out lie, but I’m including it anyway because five is a nice, round number. And now I sound like Miles. Ugh.
Explanation: I didn’t want her to think she wasn’t being a good spy, but she was wearing a Camp Tumbleweed sweatshirt. So basically, I boosted her confidence without her even knowing it or taking credit.
Philip closed his small notebook and slid it onto a high shelf. Some kids kept track of how many pogo-stick jumps they could land without falling off. Others counted how many lightning bugs they spotted at dusk. Philip tracked his lies. It didn’t seem like that strange a thing to do. When his language arts teacher told the class they’d be expected to hand in a journal about their summer break, she probably didn’t expect it to be quite like Philip’s. This one was for his eyes only.
He turned to examine the contents of the next box, when the door to the room began to creep open. The door to the room did not ever, ever creep open. Philip froze. His heart wasn’t pounding double-time because it was the middle of the night and he was scared, but because other than himself or his father’s personal assistant, Reggie, no one else had walked into the room for nearly seven years. After Philip’s mother had passed away, his father had stashed all her stuff in this room and locked the door. If the busy man even remembered the spare room existed, he never mentioned it. Philip doubted tonight was the night his father suddenly felt the need to visit.
The intruder couldn’t be Reggie, either, because after driving Philip and his father home from the charity dinner that night, Reggie had complained of a headache and said he was going straight to bed. The maids never went farther down this hallway than his father’s office, and anyway, they wouldn’t be cleaning at this time of night.
Yet the door continued to open.
Philip’s initial reaction was to hide. But when he got down on his knees and started to crawl toward the largest stack of boxes, he felt foolish. This was his room more than anyone else’s. It was private. And somewhere deep inside him, he knew it was where he felt closest to the mother he barely remembered. He would protect the room, and its contents, even if he hadn’t looked at most of his mother’s stuff too closely until tonight. He felt bad that he’d made such a mess. And he hadn’t found what he’d been looking for. He began to doubt it existed at all. But right now he had a bigger problem.
He scrambled to his feet. His eyes darted from Daisy’s communicator, resting atop a shelf, to his violin and sheet music on the desk across from him. He’d only have time to cover one. Seeing no choice, he threw off his jacket and launched it on top of Daisy’s vid com. He could claim that the violin was his mother’s (his original one had belonged to her, after all), but Daisy’s spy gadget couldn’t fall into enemy hands. He didn’t even know half the things it could do. He puffed out his chest and waited for the intruder to show him- or herself.
A jeans-covered leg came first, followed by a blue shirt. And then…
“Yo,” his older brother, Andrew, said, stepping inside. “I figured I’d find you here.” He looked around the room and grinned. “Love what you’ve done with the place. You should probably air it out, though.” He waved his hand in front of his nose. “Smells pretty ripe in here.”
Philip’s mouth hung open. Before Andrew could say something about how no one looks smart with their jaw hanging open, Philip snapped it shut. “When did you…,” he sputtered. “How did you…”
Andrew shut the door behind him, making the room feel even smaller than it already did when Philip was alone.
“I decided to come home from college for the summer,” Andrew replied. He then tried to lower himself onto the room’s only chair, but a large stuffed panda was in the way. He pushed it off. That panda had been Philip’s sole audience member for more than five years. He cringed when it hit the floor.
“You get to bask in my presence for two whole months!” his brother continued. “How lucky are you?”
“So lucky,” Philip said, finding it hard to breathe. He wished he’d taken off the stupid tie that now felt like it was choking him.
As stealthily as possible, he sidestepped until he was blocking Andrew’s view of the violin. One of his notebooks was open to a page full of musical notes, and he did not want to have to explain anything. Trying to keep his voice light, Philip said, “I thought you had a summer job lined up with one of Dad’s friends out of state.”
Andrew shrugged. “Didn’t work out.”
“Really?” Philip asked. Things always worked out for Andrew. He was the golden child, the one everybody wanted to be like. Clever, handsome, athletic. If the job hadn
’t worked out, it must have been the other guy’s fault.
Andrew didn’t elaborate, and Philip didn’t ask again. Instead, he said, “But what are you doing here?”
Andrew yawned and leaned back in the chair. “Told you, I just drove in. Planning a summer of relaxation. Read, play tennis, see some old friends.” Then he chuckled. “Guess we both know I never had time to make many of those. Can’t win at everything and expect people to—”
Philip cut him off. “No, I mean, what are you doing here? In my room?” He backed up a few more inches toward the table.
“I didn’t know this was your room,” Andrew said. “Okay, I’m kidding. I know this is where you come to play that violin of yours.” He scratched his head. “Don’t understand that kind of music at all. Sounds like a wailing cat, no offense.”
Philip’s jaw hung open again. “You… you know about that?”
His brother nodded. “Not much gets past me.”
Philip should have known. As clever and sneaky and manipulative as he himself was, his brother was the master. Of course he knew about the violin.
“You can stop guarding the table now,” Andrew said. “I’m not going to pick up your violin and start playing. Trust me, you inherited all the musical talent.”
Philip stepped away from the table. He felt his shoulders relax a bit. He’d hidden his violin playing for so many years it was a relief to get it out in the open with the final member of his family. “Dad knows about it now, too,” he said.
“I bet he’s thrilled,” Andrew said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “We all know what a fan of the arts he is.”
“Yeah, he’s never even asked to hear me play. If the violin can’t win me anything, he’s not interested. He’s making me sign up for this Nation’s Most Talented Kid contest. It’s in a few weeks, but I’m not going to do it.”
“Why not?” Andrew asked. “From what little I know of the violin, you’ll win for sure. That’s what we do, you and me. We win contests! Then we gloat and brag and frame our certificates and proudly display our trophies and medals!”