Beat the Odds

by Megan Atwood

  Copyright © 2016 by Megan Atwood

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Darby Creek

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

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  The images in this book are used with the permission of: © Amy Dunn/Dreamstime.com (teen); © Andycash/Dreamstime.com (digital clock); © Vidakovic/Bigstock.com (Abstract technology background); © iStockphoto.com/archibald1221 (circle background): © freesoulproduction/Shutterstock.com (game pieces).

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 12/17.5.

  Typeface provided by Adobe Systems.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  The Cataloging-in-Publication Data for Beat the Odds is on file at the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4677-7507-6 (lib. bdg.)

  ISBN 978-1-4677-8102-2 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-1-4677-8832-8 (EB pdf)

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1 – SB – 12/31/15

  eISBN: 978-1-46778-832-8 (pdf)

  eISBN: 978-1-51240-500-2 (ePub)

  eISBN: 978-1-51240-498-2 (mobi)

  To my parents, always.

  CHAPTER 1

  “In here,” Ana whispered to her little sister. She opened her closet and pushed Izzy through to a clothes nest she’d made in the back. Izzy covered herself in clothes like usual and Ana watched her big eyes disappear under a sweater. She moved out of the closet, closed it, and hooked her backpack straps around both door handles.

  Her foster dad stormed into the room, red faced. The smell of alcohol swirled around him. Scotch. Philip Davenport drank only the best. She had to stop herself from wrinkling her nose when his breath hit it.

  Ana pretended to be looking for something on her desk.

  “Where is she?” Philip could make Ana’s huge bedroom feel as small as Izzy’s hiding spot. Already she’d begun shaking, and she had to stop that too. He fed on weakness.

  “How should I know?” she snapped. “It’s not my fault your house is big enough to hide an army.”

  She and Izzy had been here for almost a year. Put into a seemingly perfect home in the rich part of Minneapolis. The Rivera sisters went to the best schools, had the best clothes. And Ana knew she had to get them out of here.

  “She wet the bed again. She’s eight years old. She needs to learn a lesson!”

  Anger coursed through Ana’s veins. With each “punishment,” Izzy’s bed-wetting got worse. As if Philip thought hitting Izzy would solve the problem.

  Ana knew she should keep quiet, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Maybe if you didn’t bully her, she wouldn’t have those problems. Did you ever think of that? That you’re the reason she’s so scared?”

  Ana could feel the anger radiate off him. He’d gone quiet—way more terrifying than when he was yelling. She knew what came next.

  *****

  Ana couldn’t find a comfortable position to sit or lie down. So she stood in front of her desk as she booted up her laptop. Her back stung and ached. She could feel the welts through her shirt. It didn’t matter though. What mattered was that the camera had been recording.

  Anybody looking at her desk would only see a laptop, a printer, a few school notebooks, and some pens and pencils in a holder. But one of those pens was actually a camera.

  For the past couple of months, Ana had been swiping Yvette Davenport’s credit card to order gadgets online—a lock-picking set, a Swiss army knife, even some pepper spray. One good thing about Ana’s foster mother: she never paid attention to her credit card charges.

  The pen was Ana’s latest buy. She’d also bought a similar pen that made audio recordings. She’d stashed the audio pen in Izzy’s room and kept the camera here.

  The pen’s camera had ten hours of battery life and streamed all its footage to a website. The website Ana was pulling up on her laptop now.

  She loved this system. If anyone checked her browser history—or monitored her computer activity in some more high-tech way—this would show up as a website about sloths. The company that made these pens thought of everything. Including control-freak foster parents.

  Ana opened the video the pen had recorded. It didn’t take long to edit it down to the events of the last few minutes. Proof. She finally had proof. A thrill shot through her even as the marks on her back burned.

  She could expose Philip Davenport for who he really was. Not a respected lawyer at a top firm. Not a person who gave back to the community, donated to charities, served on boards.

  A monster.

  She popped a jump drive into her laptop, transferred the evidence onto it, and deleted the original recording from the website. Ana knew her foster dad often checked her computer when she went out. There wasn’t much chance he’d find this cleverly disguised website, but Ana was hedging her bets.

  The footage would be safer on her secret jump drive.

  She put the jump drive into her backpack—the backpack Philip had gotten from one of his clients, Huffmann Industries. She felt like a walking advertisement, carrying the thing around. But she’d refused the fancy brand-name backpack her foster mother, Yvette, had wanted to buy her. So she had to use this instead. At least it wasn’t sequined or made of eel skin. Ana’s foster mother had very expensive, very bad taste.

  Which wasn’t the only one thing Ana hated about her.

  Once Ana had tried telling Yvette about what was happening. That had been almost a year ago, just a few months after the Rivera girls had come to live with the Davenports. Yvette had said Ana must have made a mistake—had a bad dream. She’d patted Ana’s back, right on the spot where Philip had hit her.

  “It’s best to pretend nightmares like that didn’t happen. Because in the larger world, honey, no one will believe you.”

  Just remembering those words sent a shiver down Ana’s spine. Mostly because they were true. Her foster parents were model citizens, as far as anyone else knew. Ana and Izzy were just two girls in the system. No one would believe them. Not without proof.

  Well, now she had the proof.

  She just had to decide what to do with it.

  The rest of what Yvette had said came back to her: “After all, you wouldn’t want anyone to think you weren’t happy here. Would you? Because if anyone thought so, you and Izzy might be taken away. And if you go back into the foster care system, there’s no guarantee you’ll stay together. So don’t forget how lucky you are to be here, honey.”

  Ana’s jaw clenched. If she brought this footage to the police or to child services, she and Izzy wouldn’t have to stay with the Davenports. But they might get sent somewhere else just as bad, or even worse. And Yvette was right—Ana had no control. She couldn’t be sure that she and Izzy would get placed in the same foster home. And if they ended up in different places, how could she protect Izzy?

  If she had enough money to survive on her own, she would’ve already left.

  Just then Izzy came out of her closet hiding place.

  “Hey, kitten. How are you feeling?”

  Tears immediately coursed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry he took it out on you!”

  Ana had to fight back tears herself. But she bent down and wrapped her arms around her little sister. “Shhh, shhh,” she said and rocked her back and forth. �
�I’ve had way worse. I think he might be losing some of his edge.” She forced a smile.

  They had to get out of there. And they had to stay together. One way or another.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ana couldn’t sleep. She went to her closet and dug through her pile of clothes where Izzy had hidden earlier. When she reached the floor under the pile, she pried up the loose floorboard that hid her stash of money. She’d managed to save this by doing odd jobs—in secret, because her foster parents didn’t allow her to work—and by selling some of the nicer stuff they’d bought for her.

  Ana counted out the bills. She had exactly $2,700. If she and Izzy bolted now, she could make that money stretch for a couple of months. She could get a fake ID and pay for a cheap apartment where nobody asked questions. Of course, the Davenports would have the police looking for them, not to mention social services . . .

  One thing at a time, though.

  She grabbed her laptop and went over to the nook in her gigantic bedroom. The window in her nook looked over the Lake of the Isles. Ana loved to sit and stare at the lake while she did homework or daydreamed. Right now, she was going to look for ways to get a fake ID. And then for bus tickets to a different city. Somewhere small enough to be inviting. But big enough to hide her and Izzy from the Davenports, the foster system, the police.

  And then the new email showed up in her inbox. It was from someone or someone called The Benefactor. The subject read line said “Contest.” Ana frowned. Was this the name of a new bar or something? How had she ended up on the mailing list?

  A contest often meant money, though. She opened the email.

  It was the strangest email Ana had ever read.

  This email is for Ana Rivera, junior at Kenwood School in Minneapolis. You have been selected to participate in a contest. We will give you ten tasks to complete. Each task is worth $1 million . . .

  If she completed all the tasks before any of the other competitors finished, she would win $10 million. If she didn’t finish, or if someone else finished first, she’d get nothing. She had two days to make her decision. If she chose to join, she just had to sign a contract at the Contest’s website.

  And then there was this:

  We know you and your sister are in a difficult situation. We hope you will make the right decision to give both of you a fresh start.

  Ana’s eyes locked on those last two sentences. Of course, anyone could figure out she had a sister. And taking a guess that her situation was less than ideal . . . well, the language was pretty vague. This “benefactor” was probably just taking a guess. Figuring she was a spoiled rich teenager who would automatically hate her life, no matter how good it was.

  This was probably a scam. Someone probably knew the Davenports were rich and was just trying to get some money from Ana.

  But it wasn’t asking for money. It hadn’t asked for a credit card number or anything like that.

  And if it was real . . .

  Just then, another email appeared in her inbox. Another one from the Benefactor. Frowning, she decided to open it.

  Dear Ana,

  Login: Izzy

  Password: escape

  CHAPTER 3

  Without warning, hope sprang up in Ana’s chest. Ten million dollars. With money like that, she could get herself and Izzy out of the house. She could get a fake ID, afford rent, afford everything they needed. She could pay people not to ask questions. And eventually—college. A real home. A real life.

  Ana swallowed. She didn’t care who this Benefactor was or how they knew about her. If this was real, and she thought it really might be, it was her ticket out of here.

  She typed in the URL for the Contest’s website.

  A screen popped up, asking for her login and password. She entered the words she’d been given and watched as a black screen came up. Four columns had the numbers 1-10 written underneath them. She saw her name on there but the other three all said “Anonymous.” Timers sat underneath all of the “names,” timers that were counting down. A timer had appeared under her name with the time 23:59:20. She watched in fascination as the timer went down to 23:58:59.

  Another screen popped up.

  You will complete each task before the timer ends for that task. If you complete the task in that time, it counts as completed. If not, the task is void and you are out of the Contest. To win the $10 million, you must finish all ten tasks before the others in this contest do. You will be paid in cash. You must tell no one about this. We will know if you do. If you do, all tasks are void and punishment is severe. You may not ask questions. You must do exactly as the task demands. Do you agree to these terms?

  Two boxes, one yes, one no, appeared under the words.

  Ana clicked on the “yes” box right away. The pop-up screen disappeared.

  Words appeared letter by letter.

  TASK 1

  You will receive a banner at your house. At 2:30 a.m. tomorrow morning, bring the banner to 4501 Arch Street in East St. Paul. Stand under the light post in front of the building. Wait until you see movement in the far right window on the third floor. Then attach the banner to the light post and walk to the end of the block. After fifteen minutes, retrieve the banner and leave the premises.

  What?

  Ana sat back in her chair and twisted her lip. She honestly couldn’t think of a weirder thing to do. This was worth $1 million?

  She stood up and paced. Standing outside in East St. Paul in the middle of the night could put her at risk. What if this was some kind of joke—or worse, some kind of trap? A chance to ambush her? But why? Why would anyone go to so much trouble, and target her specifically?

  She could bring the pepper spray she’d bought a while ago. It was a nifty little grenade-type device, so you didn’t have to wait until someone was right up in your face before you used it. You could just pull the pin and throw it. It was her nuclear option, in case Philip ever got completely out of control. In case Ana and Izzy just needed to run for their lives and get the biggest possible head start.

  But maybe, if this Benefactor was legit, she wouldn’t need that kind of Hail Mary.

  Ana closed the laptop.

  For $10 million, she would absolutely go to East St. Paul and put up a banner.

  It was time to enter this contest.

  CHAPTER 4

  At breakfast the next morning, Yvette said, “Ana, there was a package for you with the paper this morning.” She pursed her lips. “It didn’t have any postage on it. You know, don’t like the idea of one of your friends coming so close to the house and just dropping things off.”

  Ana felt the blood rush to her face. She looked at the kitchen counter and saw the package sitting up there. That had to be the banner.

  This contest was for real.

  Yvette went on. “Oh, and don’t forget—we have the dinner tonight for your father’s award ceremony.”

  Ana flinched. Your father. She hated it when her foster parents pretended they were her real parents. Almost as much as she hated having to smile at these events that honored her foster dad. This time it was Philanthropist of the Year. What BS.

  They dragged her along to fancy occasions for the same reason Yvette bought designer handbags. For show. Look at us, we’ve taken in this girl. Aren’t we generous? Aren’t we the perfect family?

  Well, not for much longer.

  After she’d eaten, Ana grabbed her package and went upstairs to open it. Sure enough, there was a banner inside. When Ana unrolled it, three words stared up at her.

  JAMES. WE’RE WAITING.

  What the . . . ? Who was James? Who was waiting on him? And for what?

  Ana shrugged off the questions. Maybe this would make more sense once she did the task.

  *****

  Sunday afternoon was the only truly good part of Ana’s week. Yvette had pilates, and Philip had golf with some friends. For a few hours, Ana and Izzy could be together without their foster parents breathing down their necks.

  They went
to the park, and after Izzy was out of breath from swinging, they sat on a bench and played their favorite game.

  Ana gave the coded note to Izzy. “All right, kitten, decode this one.”

  The note read: Irrigation made it possible for people to grow crops, even in dry areas. Living in harsh conditions makes people think hard for solutions. Only when people are faced with hardship do they work to find answers. Very often, this is called “the mother of invention”—necessity. Every time humans are faced with problems of survival, they step up to the plate. Years of working to get food taught us this. One of the best ways to see what you’re made of is to be put in a dire situation. Understanding this makes everything clear.

  Ana watched Izzy’s mouth moved as she worked out some of the harder words. Then she pointed her fingers at the first letter of each sentence and sat up triumphantly.

  “I. Love. You!” she practically yelled.

  Ana squeezed her. “I love you too!”

  Izzy laughed. “You tricked me into saying I love you!”

  Ana yanked her hair playfully. “And now you can never take it back!”

  Izzy made a face at her. But then she said. “We should make up code words for the words we use all the time.”

  Ana nodded. “Good idea. She took the pen and started a list. “OK, ‘I love you’ can be ‘Eggs over easy.’ ” Izzy giggled. “ ‘Philip and Yvette’ can be . . . ‘Twins.’ And ‘home’ can be . . . ”

  Izzy jumped in. “Home can be ‘corazón.’”

  The Spanish word for “heart.” Izzy barely knew any Spanish, since she’d only been a baby when they lost their parents. And Ana didn’t remember much either, though she had distant memories of Spanish being spoken around her. But this was a word they couldn’t forget. Ana smiled, though her eyes stung. “You’re pretty good at this.”

  Izzy beamed. “Let’s do some more!”

  Ten minutes later they had come up with code words for “school,” “friend,” “car,” “man,” “woman” . . . and half a dozen other terms. Ana wasn’t sure Izzy would remember all of them. But she knew the most important ones would stick in both their minds.