Now You See Me ...

by Jane B. Mason

  What am I doing? Lena wondered, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She felt like the camera was tugging at her finger, pulling it until …

  She pushed the button. And to her total surprise, the Impulse whirred and a piece of film emerged from the slot in the front.

  “Hey, I thought there wasn’t anything in there!” Abby said.

  “There wasn’t!” Lena exclaimed. She pulled the undeveloped picture out of the slot and turned the camera around. “This is so weird. It doesn’t have film!”

  “Maybe there was one last exposure jammed in the works,” her dad suggested, glancing at the girls in the rearview mirror.

  “Maybe …” Lena mumbled.

  NOW YOU SEE ME …

  by Jane B. Mason &

  Sarah Hines Stephens

  To the jam junkies, the thrift mavens, and the

  shutterbugs we love (you all know who you are!)

  — JBM and SHS

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Preview

  Poison Apple Books

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  “No way!” Lena Giff exclaimed. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There — right in front of her — was the thing she’d been trying to find for almost six months. She was so surprised, she thought she might be imagining the small gray box sitting on the dusty shelf. “Abby! Abby, get over here!” Lena called. She waved her best friend toward the dark corner of the store.

  On the other side of the thrift shop, Abigail Starling’s micro-braided curls appeared above the edge of an enormous basket of neckties. She’d been rummaging through, looking for a few that would make good headbands. And from the look of it, she’d struck gold. She had several silk ties draped around her neck, and clutched two more paisley-patterned strips in her hand.

  “What’s up?” Abby called back. Dropping the ties, she began to pick her way through the cluttered store to see what kind of treasure Lena had unearthed. Abby was an experienced thrifter and could practically smell a good find.

  While Abby stepped gingerly past broken candelabras and spindle-leg chairs, Lena reached beyond the stack of dusty National Geographic magazines to retrieve the find of all finds. When she felt the smooth plastic under her fingertips, she sucked in her breath.

  Just a few days ago she had considered giving up on her quest. It had been feeling fruitless, all the searching through junk shops and flea markets for something so specific. And since she and Abby had a “no eBay” rule about treasure hunting, there had been a lot of legwork involved. But now (could it be?!), the search was over. The very item she’d been looking for was being rescued from a shelf next to a cast-off yellow duffel bag….

  “The Impulse!” Abby squealed when she saw the Polaroid camera. “I can’t believe it!”

  Lena couldn’t believe it either, even though she was holding it in her own two hands. It was lighter than expected, and smaller.

  “Does it work?” Abby asked excitedly. Her hands were balled into fists and her arms were clamped tightly across her body, as if her excitement might actually leap out of her chest.

  All Lena could do was nod. It was the one, all right — the exact model she’d been looking for since March. Cautiously, she pushed the button on the top that turned the camera on and popped up the flash. She peered through the viewfinder, then opened the little door in the front where you inserted the film cartridge.

  The good news: The camera wasn’t loaded with a corroded film and battery cartridge that had gone gooey and mucked up the works. The bad news: There was no way to know for sure if the camera was functional. Lena would have to trust her luck, buy it, and test the camera out when she got home.

  “It looks okay,” Lena said in a near whisper, turning the rectangular contraption over. She was so excited, her fingertips were tingling and the hair on her arms was standing up. She’d made some good junk finds before, but this took the cake. And judging by the look on her best friend’s face, Abby, the undisputed Queen of Secondhand Scores, thought so, too.

  Abby threw up her hands. “Unbelievable. First the lunch box.” She waved her tin treasure in the air. “Then the skirt, and now this. We are talking serious pay dirt here. I mean, this day could go down in thrift history!”

  “Thrifstory?” Lena said with a grin, her green eyes twinkling. Taking a breath, she lifted the camera’s strap over her strawberry-blond head. The small box felt surprisingly comfortable hanging around her neck — like it belonged there. The square eye of the viewfinder looked up at her almost expectantly, and Lena felt a sudden urge to get out of the store and get home with her treasure. They hadn’t looked through all the store’s rooms yet, but the feeling was insistent. Like if she didn’t go soon some magic clock might strike midnight, and the camera would turn into a pumpkin and she would be left sitting all alone with one shoe. Or something.

  “Let’s cash out,” Abby suggested before Lena could say anything. It was not like her to propose leaving a secondhand shop before every stone (or used suitcase) had been turned. But it was just like her to read Lena’s mind. The two girls had been best friends since third grade and spent a ton of time together. They even finished each other’s sentences. “I just need to gather my haul.”

  While Lena clutched the camera and fidgeted nervously, Abby darted into another room of the old house-turned-store and emerged with the fashionable finds she had stashed in a corner. Trailing neckties, she ambled across the room and plunked everything down on a large rolltop desk. A gray-haired woman wearing a housecoat looked up from a tattered novel.

  “We’re ready to check out,” Abby said cheerfully.

  The woman didn’t return her smile, and didn’t speak. She simply nodded wearily, picked up a pencil, and switched on the register.

  “You first.” Abby nudged Lena forward. “You’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  Lena stumbled up to the desk and reached up to remove the camera strap from around her neck. The camera felt heavier now, and though she placed the Impulse on the desk, she didn’t let go right away. When she did, she realized that her palms were sweating. She felt as if she were getting a tooth filled or waiting for a shot in the doctor’s office.

  Probably just excitement, she told herself. Was this what it felt like to win the lottery? Maybe it’s adrenaline. Or shock. Finding the camera certainly seemed too good to be true….

  “Where’d you get this?” the woman at the register spoke for the first time, and Lena flinched, wishing she hadn’t. Her voice was loud and harsh. She squinted at Lena and gave the camera a poke with her pen like it was some sort of poisonous insect.

  Lena felt her excitement begin to slip away. “I … I …” she stammered, feeling foolish. She took a step back, bumping into Abby.

  Abby’s arm collided with the pile of loot on the desk, and half of it slid to the floor.

  The woman ignored the fallen items. “Where did you get it?” she screeched. Her steely eyes were narrowed behind her reading glasses and aimed, laserlike, right at Lena.

  Lena pointed toward the shelf in the back room where the Impulse had been waiting.
“Right over there,” she replied. She looked nervously from the back room to the camera, and then to the front door. She felt sick. She desperately wanted the camera. What if she didn’t get it?

  Take it and run, a voice in her head told her. There’s no way she could keep up. But Lena was not a thief! She might drive a hard bargain (not as hard as Abby), but she didn’t steal.

  While Abby picked her treasures up off the floor, Lena tried to calm herself down. Everything was going to be fine. She’d seen shopkeepers act weird before — they did all kinds of things to convince you your items were worth more than you wanted to pay. That’s all that’s happening here, she thought. She braced herself for a ridiculously high price and wiped her clammy palms on her shorts.

  The woman’s sharp gaze rested on the camera for several long moments. Then, out of the blue, her face softened. She looked almost … sad. But in a flash, her expression changed again. A gnarled hand reached out with alarming speed. “Well, it’s not for sale!” she growled, snatching the camera and shoving it under the desk.

  Lena felt as though she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her. Finding the Impulse really was too good to be true! She wanted to protest, but couldn’t. Her bubble had burst. She couldn’t speak. Or move. Or do anything. She might have just stood there deflating for the rest of the day if Abby hadn’t piped up behind her.

  As usual, Lena’s best friend had her back … and (in this case) a boatload of potential purchases. “It was on the shelf,” the bolder girl pointed out.

  “Well, that was a mistake,” the woman snapped. She obviously didn’t appreciate being questioned.

  Abby didn’t flinch. “Well, I guess these are mistakes, too,” she replied calmly. With a flourish, she whisked the 50s dress, huge square-dance crinoline, suspenders, Boy Scout uniform, ’NSYNC lunch box, five ties, and the stack of CDs she had amassed off the rolltop and set them on a rickety table nearby. Half a second later she was arranging the dress on a hanger, prepping it to go back on the rack.

  Lena almost smiled. The girl was unflappable. Abby had no intention of leaving her finds behind, Lena knew. And if her stomach wasn’t still in a knot, she might have enjoyed the showdown. After all, it appeared to be a pretty even match. The old woman looked fierce, but Abby was a contender.

  The woman’s steely eyes followed Abby as she started to walk the merchandise back to where she’d found it. Then, with a heavy sigh, she looked around the crowded, dusty shop. Shaking her head with resignation, she reached back into the desk for the camera.

  “You really want this old thing?” she asked. She caught Lena’s eye and held her gaze. Her voice was gentler now, and Lena noticed laugh lines around her eyes. Maybe the old bat wasn’t always this cranky. Maybe she was just having a bad day.

  “Yes, I really do,” Lena replied with an emphatic nod.

  “Well, all right,” the old woman breathed. “I’ll let you have it for five dollars. Maybe it’ll be good to be rid of it.”

  The woman smoothed a few wild gray hairs toward the knot at the back of her head while Lena dug into her pocket and swallowed a victory cry.

  Five dollars! I guess I’m stealing after all! She handed over a five-dollar bill and bit back a smile. She would have gladly emptied her whole wallet for the camera if she had to. But she knew it was never good to let the seller see how much you want something. She should simply consider the five-dollar price tag a bonus and keep her excitement to herself.

  The moment the bill left Lena’s fingers, she grabbed the camera and slipped the strap back around her neck. She let the Impulse rest against her side. The weight, though nothing like her digital camera, was at once familiar and comforting. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was hers. The Impulse was finally hers!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Exhilarated, the girls emerged from the dim shop into the early autumn sun. Lena’s dad was leaning against the hood of the family station wagon, waiting patiently. When he saw the big bags of stuff they were carrying, he shook his head and scuffed through the thin layer of fallen leaves to open the car door.

  “Your parents are never going to let me take you with me again,” he told Abby, laughing as he bent over to make room in the backseat.

  “Breathe easy, Mr. G.,” Abby replied, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “My parents are familiar with my thrifting, er, problem — they won’t blame you.”

  Lena hoped not. It would be a total bummer if Abby couldn’t come treasure hunting every end of summer. Their weekend farm-town visits during peach, berry, and apple season were September highlights. And Phelps, the town they were in now, was Lena’s personal favorite. The funky farm village just outside the larger city of Narrowsburg, where they all lived, was known for its antiques and luscious fruit.

  Lena felt a chill as she climbed into the car, which surprised her. She’d been sweltering all day. But now, standing in the shade, she was practically shivering. She wished she’d brought a sweater.

  Abby folded herself into the car behind Lena, her face aglow. Lena tried to ignore the shivers so she could bask in the celebratory mood that emanated from her friend. Even though Abby hadn’t been able to talk the store owner into throwing in the ties for free, Lena could tell that she was feeling victorious. Considering that half the backseat was covered in new treasures and she was only out eighteen bucks, she should.

  Abby was a professional thrifter. Both girls had been honing their skills for three years, and now, at age twelve, they were experts at finding bargains and negotiating deals. But Abby took it to the next level. She could sniff out a good find like a hound dog, and was a fierce negotiator when it came to price.

  How funny that it all started by accident, Lena mused as she sat back and tried to absorb the warmth of the sunshine streaming through the window. They’d been having one of many playdates at Lena’s house when Mr. Giff announced that the strawberries were ripe and he had to go to Phelps for a couple of flats. (Mr. Giff was a jam-making nut who would drive through four states for a good berry or the last peaches of the season.) Back then the girls were too young to stay home alone, so they had no choice but to go along. They’d complained loudly, but the trip turned out to be a total blast. They loaded up on berries, then hit Mr. Giff’s favorite thrift store, where they found a whole collection of old Barbie dolls for practically nothing. That was all it took to get them hooked on bargain hunting.

  Now the trio picked the country towns clean at the end of each summer. And this year — including today’s trip — was no exception.

  “I’ve got all my flats tucked in safe and sound,” Mr. Giff announced from the front seat. “You girls get everything loaded up?”

  “Sure did, Mr. G.,” Abby replied as she closed the door. “We’re ready to roll.”

  As the car pulled out of the little parking lot, Lena stared out the window, her hands folded on top of the camera. She was still thrilled to have it, but could not deny the cold whisper of worry that had descended upon her. The old lady’s reaction to selling the camera had definitely been severe. Lena wondered again what had prompted her to get so … angry. And what had made her sell the camera after all? Did she need the money? Business must be slow in sleepy Phelps. But then why would she sell the camera for so little?

  Never mind, Lena told herself. The important thing is that the camera is mine! She forcefully steered her thoughts out of the shadows toward happier things — like all the fabulous stuff she was going to photograph with her new camera — and watched the familiar trees and fields flash past outside her window.

  Beside her, Abby inspected her loot. “Check this out,” she said, pointing to the tag on the square-dancing skirt. “Josie-Do’s, get it? Like do-si-do?” The skirt had so many layers, Abby was practically hidden behind it. She had to smash it down to look at the rest of her bargains.

  “So, what do you think I should put in my lunch box?” she asked, running her slender fingers over Justin Timberlake’s face. “My nail polish collection?”

&n
bsp; “You could use it for, you know … lunch,” Lena suggested.

  “Brilliant!” Abby sang. “See? That is precisely why you are my best friend — nonstop great ideas.”

  Lena smiled distractedly and turned back toward the window just in time to see a large U-Pick strawberry patch that was closed for the season. Long, mounded rows ran from the side of the road toward the horizon, surrounded on three sides by huge wild rose hedges. It looked just like a dozen other berry fields Lena had seen in the area — nothing special.

  But before she even knew what was happening, Lena had raised her new camera to her eye.

  What am I doing? Lena wondered. Aside from the long shadows cast by the hedges, the field was fairly flat and featureless. Kind of lonely looking, really, filled with withered berry plants and a boarded-up stand. There was no stark contrast to capture, no strong figure, no story in the frame. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She felt like the camera was tugging at her finger, pulling it until …

  She pushed the button. And to her total surprise, the Impulse whirred and a piece of film emerged from the slot in the front.

  “Hey, I thought there wasn’t anything in there!” Abby said, looking up and leaning over to peer at the vintage contraption.

  “There wasn’t!” Lena exclaimed. She pulled the undeveloped picture out of the slot and turned the camera around. Sliding the button to release the little door, she looked inside. Sure enough, the battery/film compartment was still empty — no used cartridge, nothing. “This is so weird. It doesn’t have film!” She shook her head, baffled, and handed the camera to Abby for additional inspection, leaning sideways so she wouldn’t have to take off the strap.

  “Maybe there was one last exposure jammed in the works,” her dad suggested, glancing at the girls in the rearview mirror.

  “Maybe …” Lena mumbled. She squinted at the shot. “But I doubt it’ll turn out. I mean, the film has to be expired. And it wasn’t even in a cartridge.” Not to mention the fact that she took the picture out the window of a moving car. Blur city.