A couple of days later, he tried to kill me on the pedal boats. Then there’s the time I was biking with Ivory and two delivery guys unloaded a Dance Dance Revolution machine right in front of me, making me wipe out. Guess who ordered it? Jett Baranov. The worst part is, we didn’t even get to keep the machine, because it turns out he wasn’t allowed to buy it in the first place. Thanks a lot, Jett.
Rich people think they can do anything they want. Not that I’ve got anything against rich people. I used to think my family was sort of rich—until I met Jett. If I had his money, I’d throw my money away. Dad played five seasons in the NFL, but how do you compete with the guy who invented Fuego? Practically the whole world would have to shut down if there was no Fuego. Just about the only place that doesn’t need it is the Oasis, because of the no-technology rule.
They’re actually pretty proud of that here. I don’t love it, but I’m stuck with it. A lot of football players have trouble with their aggressive instincts after they retire. According to Dad, he never could have gone from nose tackle to car dealer without Ivory as his mentor. Plus, my father credits the Oasis food with keeping him in shape. In my opinion, that’s because there’s no food in it, but I’d never say that in front of him. Ivory hasn’t calmed him down that much.
This place was easier to take before Jerk Baranov got here. I know it sounds like I hate Jett because he’s rich. That’s not it at all. The reason I hate him is because he’s so hateable.
Armando says Jett and I have a lot in common, because we both don’t like the Oasis. He’s missing the point. I don’t like the food here, but I eat it. I don’t enjoy meditation, but I put up with it. I don’t sit there whistling so everybody thinks there’s a gas leak. I’m not in love with Awakening, but I do it. I don’t sleep through the whole time like Jett does if Matt isn’t there, prodding at him.
That’s another thing—Matt. At first I thought he was an uncle or a big brother. No, he’s an employee. Jett’s such a loser that he needs an extra guy whose whole job is to make sure that his life is smooth and happy. Who gets that? Not me, that’s for sure. And Jett’s so ungrateful that he doesn’t even appreciate it. He spends most of his time bickering with Matt and making him go down the zip line just to watch him barf at the bottom. I’ve seen that a couple of times. It’s actually pretty funny—but it isn’t. You know?
I may not be the best guy in the world at following rules, but Jett acts like rules don’t even apply to him. One day, I see him out by the Bath, tossing what looks like a wadded-up piece of paper over his shoulder.
Is he littering? Nobody litters at the Oasis. This place is super environment-friendly, not that I care all that much. But I do care, because of who’s doing the littering, so I rush over there and pick it up.
It’s a candy bar wrapper! A Snickers, which happens to be my favorite. But there’s no candy at the Oasis—no way, no how. Around here, sugar is like public enemy number one. Just nope.
How did Jett get his mitts on a candy bar?
I catch up to him and spin him around by the shoulders. It’s true! He still has a piece of the bar in his hand! And he’s chewing! I can smell caramel!
I think he says, “What’s your problem?” but I can’t be sure because his mouth is full.
“Where did you get that Snickers?” I demand, glaring down at him.
He pops the last piece into his mouth, chews, swallows, and has the nerve to demand, “What Snickers?”
I unfold the wrapper and hold it about an inch away from his face. “The one that came from this.”
He looks me right in the eye. “I never saw that before in my life.”
The urge to punch him is almost irresistible. “You’ve got a secret stash somewhere! Is Matt buying it for you?”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Come to think of it, Matt wouldn’t have access to candy either. The whole Magnus philosophy is that you give yourself to the Oasis 100 percent. Once you’re here, you’re here until checkout day—kids and adults too. Not even the pathfinders leave, except Ivory on her bike. And she’s not the type to get bribed by a twelve-year-old.
On the other hand, Jett is the son of one of the wealthiest, most powerful people on earth. If he can summon up Jet Skis, hovercraft, and Dance Dance Revolution machines, maybe he has some secret source who can get him anything else he wants. Even a Snickers bar smuggled into the no-food zone.
So I make up my mind that this little rat isn’t going anywhere without me right on his six. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not working for Magnus, helping to keep his Oasis chocolate-free. But if Jett has a way to get his greedy paws on candy bars, then I’m getting my fair share.
I get my chance later that very same day. Janelle is stretching the net across the pool for a game of water volleyball when I catch a hint of movement from the woods. There goes Jett, slinking along just inside the cover of the trees. Wimp—he’s too chicken to face me in the water because he knows I’ll spike the ball right down his throat.
But there’s something about his body language. He’s not just walking; he’s moving with purpose. And the fact that he’s keeping out of sight means he doesn’t want anybody to know where he’s going. Like, for example, to his secret candy stash.
I leap out of the pool, throw my T-shirt on over my soaking-wet skin, scuff into sneakers, and take off after him.
“Where’re you going, man?” Armando protests.
“Be right back,” I toss over my shoulder. It’s kind of a jerk move, since I’m the best water volleyball player at the Oasis, not to mention the best at every other sport. That’s something even Baranov can’t match. I’m the only one who’s the son of a professional athlete.
I hustle after Jett and slow to a walk, matching his pace, staying about thirty yards behind him. I keep expecting him to cut deeper into the woods, but he never does. Instead, he crosses the entire property, heading toward the main road. My mind is whirling with wild theories. He’s meeting his candy supplier. He’ll flag down a Hershey’s truck and trade a wad of cash for a wheelbarrow piled high with chocolate bars. Just the thought of getting in on all that candy makes my mouth water. It was tofu day at lunch. Enough said.
But instead of heading out to the road to meet his connections, he emerges from the woods into a cluster of small maintenance buildings just beyond the main welcome center. I duck behind a bush and watch as he goes to the oldest, most broken-down unit—an ancient shed with peeling paint.
There’s a padlock on the door, but it must be broken, because it comes apart when he touches it. He disappears inside, sliding the door closed behind him. I emerge from my hiding place and stand outside the shed for a moment. I can practically feel the heat radiating from it. It has to be the worst place on earth to store candy bars. Everything would be half melted after thirty seconds in there.
But if it isn’t his candy stash, what’s going on in there?
I throw open the door and barge in. “You’re busted, mister!”
If I expect Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, I’m way off.
Jett is crouched over a water-filled paint tray, feeding bits of raw hamburger to some kind of lizard. Startled, he straightens up and the meat falls from his hand. It never makes it to the water. The lizard snaps it out of the air, wolfs it down, and looks for more.
If Jett’s scared, he deserves an Academy Award for the way he covers it up. He says, “Brandon, meet Needles. Needles, this is Brandon.”
“But where’s the candy?” I blurt. I know how stupid that sounds, but it’s hard to get my brain to accept the evidence of my eyes.
“You flunked science, didn’t you?”
“I know the difference between a candy bar and a lizard!” I rage.
“Like the lizard doesn’t have nougat,” he agrees.
“Did you get your daddy to bribe Magnus to let you bring your little pet here?”
He snorts a laugh. “If this was my pet from home, do you think he’d be living in a paint tray?”
The lizard chomps down on my finger with stunning force.
“Yeeow!” I howl in agony. I try to snatch my hand back, but the lizard comes with it. That’s how firmly his jaws are clamped on my finger.
Jett grabs the lizard by the head and tries to pry its mouth open. “Bad Needles!” he scolds.
“Hurry up!” I bellow. “It really hurts!”
The door is hurled open and in runs Grace Atwater, her face white with shock. “What—”
“This thing’s trying to kill me!”
She joins the tug-of-war on my finger, and between the two of them, they manage to get the jaws apart. I whip my hand away and grab Jett by the front of his shirt. That’s when I see that my finger is covered in blood. My anger disappears in a wave of queasiness and I have to sit down on the floor and keep my head at knee level so I won’t pass out. It’s a trick I picked up from Dad. In his NFL days, he learned that if you took a really big hit, that’s how you made sure you didn’t faint.
I wrap the damp fabric of my T-shirt around my finger and squeeze tightly. “I’ve got to go to the healthfulness center! Get me to Nurse Laurel!”
“You’re fine.” Grace is setting that monster back in the paint tray.
“Fine? I could have rabies!”
“Only mammals get rabies,” she informs me. “Does Needles look like a mammal to you?”
“You know, Grace,” Jett says seriously. “He’s nipped us before, but it never broke the skin.”
I examine my finger. The worst of the bleeding is over, but it’s still oozing from at least twenty tiny punctures. I have to put my head down again. “Lucky me,” I groan. “Why do I get the honor of being first blood?”
“Don’t you guys get it?” Grace crows. “Our little Needles is growing up! Maybe his body isn’t much bigger, but his teeth are maturing.”
“Is that all you can say? What kind of a psycho lizard is he?” Besides the evil kind, I mean. Seriously, though, I’ve got a neighbor who has a bearded dragon. It nips from time to time, but nothing like what this thing tried to do to me.
“We don’t know,” Jett admits. “We’d google him, but no internet.”
I see his point. “Ask one of the pathfinders.”
Even though she doesn’t say a word, Grace’s face turns bright red. It tells me what I should have realized the first minute I walked into the shed. “I got you. Pets are a no-no.”
“Please don’t tell anybody!” Grace pleads.
I beam at her. “I don’t know. Keeping secrets. Breaking rules. Lying to pathfinders—it doesn’t sound very whole to me. When I walk into that meditation center, I don’t want an illegal lizard on my conscience.”
“Think of poor Needles!” Grace persists. “He’s too little to survive on his own out there!”
I hold up my throbbing finger. “With those teeth, he could bring down a rhino.”
She’s about to launch into full begging mode when Jett cuts her off. “Will you keep your mouth shut for a Snickers?”
I jump on this. “I knew it! You’ve got a candy connection! Who is it?”
He shrugs. “What do you care so long as you get what you want?”
I change my strategy. “One candy bar isn’t going to do the job, you know. I’ve got a really big sweet tooth. I’m going to need a steady supply. Let’s say—two bars a day.”
Grace is even more upset. “There’s no candy at the Oasis! It’s against the rules!”
“So are pet lizards,” I remind her. “Three bars a day. Want to try for four?”
“Three bars a day,” Jett says quickly. “It’s a deal. I’ll need some time to make it happen, though.”
“Don’t take too long,” I warn him. “When my mouth isn’t eating candy, it does other things—like talking about what I saw in a certain storage shed.”
With that, I turn my back and walk out of there. And I thought this was going to be a lousy day.
It goes to show how wrong a guy can be.
12
Brooklynne Feldman
I know the kids here don’t like the Oasis as much as their parents do. Why would they?
The unplugged thing is a big part of it. For most of us, giving up our phones is worse than being shipwrecked on a desert island. You’re shipwrecked, but first, your best friend and constant companion is washed away at sea.
I’m not even kidding about that. In real life, I check my phone so often that when I first arrive at the Oasis, I feel its absence like a death in the family. After a while, you stop reaching into your empty pocket for it. I’ve been coming here every summer since the place opened, so I speak from experience. You get used to it—but it’s never good.
The food is another problem. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve seen the newspaper reviews. Critics love it. Dieticians love it. Health gurus love it. Kids hate it. It isn’t just the meat thing. A lot of kids are vegetarians. A lot of kids like to eat healthy. But this is extreme health, bare-knuckle cage-match edition. Let’s face it: Who wants a carrot stick when you could have a brownie? Who chooses blanched broccoli over nachos or french fries?
It’s harder for me than any of the rest of them. I have to wake up an hour before everybody else, so no one figures out which cottage I’m coming from. They see me at Awakening or the meditation center or the dining hall and assume I’m just like them. I’m sure they notice that I don’t show up for everything. Okay, I don’t show up for much. I have my reasons for keeping my distance. Although it does hurt sometimes when I overhear kids calling me weird.
This summer is a little different because of Needles. I don’t usually let myself get too close to people, but this time around it just worked out that way. Probably a bad idea, but it’s kind of fun having a pet. Needles gets under your skin—and not just when he sinks his little needle teeth into your finger. Besides, Grace has a point that he’s not big enough to survive on his own. So he needs us. Maybe that’s why it’s such a nice feeling—the being needed part.
Anyway, I really like Tyrell. I’m not so sure about Grace. I always get the feeling that she’s judging me. For sure, she’s not a big fan of my lousy attendance at Oasis activities. As for Jett, I’m not sure what to think. He’s got a real attitude, but sometimes I get the feeling that, deep down, he’s not into being that way, like he’s only acting. And in the end, he always comes through for Needles, which is the most important thing. Also, he hates the Oasis more than everybody else put together. That might be because he comes from a super-wealthy family, so he’s used to getting his own way. And that doesn’t happen here. Don’t I know it!
I guess I’m a little bit afraid of him—or at least more afraid of him than I am of the others. So the next morning at breakfast, when Jett sets his tray down beside mine, I’m instantly on my guard.
“Why did you lie to us?” he demands.
No “Good morning, Brooklynne.” No “How are you doing today?” That’s another thing about Jett. He gets right to the point. No chitchat.
“I didn’t lie to you,” I defend myself.
“You said the key to the launch is on a hook in the welcome center. Well, it’s not there. No hook either.”
I think fast. “The pathfinders must have moved it. What do you need the boat for?”
He looks disgusted. “I have to go back to Hedge Apple.” He launches into this crazy story about how he’s being blackmailed by Brandon Bucholz. Brandon knows about Needles and is threatening to sell us out to the pathfinders unless we buy his silence with candy bars.
I almost laugh in Jett’s face, except when I think about it, it’s not funny at all. Brandon may be a big doofus, but if he spills the beans about the lizard in the paint tray, I know for a fact that Magnus will
make us turn Needles loose—which Needles would never survive. It makes no difference that Magnus is the sweetest guy in the world. He’s 100 percent devoted to his Oasis philosophy, and pets don’t fit into it.
“I’ll go with you,” I volunteer.
“Neither of us can go anyplace without a boat,” he points out, the accusing tone back in his voice.
“I’ll find it. You probably just looked in the wrong place.”
I think he wants to argue with me. But he needs the key so he keeps his mouth shut.
The key is exactly where I knew it would be, and it has nothing to do with the welcome center. Jett and I plan our trip for late afternoon. This time we decide not to tell Grace and Tyrell. Ivory and a few of the other pathfinders are holding a kite-flying tournament, and if those two don’t enter, it’ll be suspicious. Nobody will miss Jett and me, since we don’t show up most of the time anyway.
We meet at the hidden dock. When I produce the key, Jett shoots me a piercing look. “Where was it?”
I give him my story about how the hook fell out and the key bounced under the counter. I add, “Guys always expect everything to be laid out for them. It’s part of that never-asking-for-directions thing.”
He draws himself up to his full height—which is still shorter than me. “Nobody asks for directions anymore. Fuego Nav can tell you if there’s a swarm of gnats hovering over the road you’re driving on.”
I can feel his suspicious gaze as I start the launch and guide it out into the river. Maybe that’s why I’m so uneasy around Jett—not because of his wisecracks, but because he’s smart. All the more reason why joining Team Lizard was a bad idea for someone in my situation.
Too late to change that now.
About halfway to Hedge Apple, we spy a couple of the kites from the competition soaring above the trees.
I point. “I think that red one with the long tail is Grace. She wins every year.”
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