Kelsey the Spy

by Linda J Singleton

  “Actually I have my own paper.” Becca rips paper from a binder and slaps it on the table. “I don’t need any from Kelsey so return the notebook, Tyla.”

  “Not until I read a few pages,” Tyla says with a gleam in her dark eyes.

  “No!” I lunge for her but she steps up on her chair, waving the notebook high over her head like it’s a game of keep-away.

  Safely out of my reach, Tyla flips through the pages. “So much writing—almost every page is filled! Are you writing a book?’

  “Give it back,” I say with a desperate look at Becca for help.

  But Becca glances uneasily back and forth between Tyla and me, saying nothing.

  I ball my fists to show I’m serious. “Hand me the notebook, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Tyla laughs. “I’m faster and taller than you, so you can’t get it from me until I decide to give it to you. You’re only a temporary Sparkler, so you may not understand that in a close group like ours, keeping secrets is rude.”

  “So is stealing someone else’s private property,” I say.

  “Borrowing,” she corrects. “Here’s a personality tip—if you act selfish, people won’t like you.”

  “I am not selfish! I bring extra desserts to lunch and share them with you. All you ever share is a bad attitude!” I glare at Tyla, hatred running lava hot through my body. “My notebook is personal. Return it now.”

  “Why should I?” Tyla dodges when I grab for the book.

  “Because it’s mine! Give. It. Back.” My voice echoes around the room and the cafeteria quiets, heads turning toward us.

  “Not before I find out what’s inside. What are you hiding?” She flips it open and starts reading, “Secret 1—”

  “Stop!” I shout. “Do not say another word! No one can read it.”

  “Oh, really?” Tyla arches her brows. “Not even Becca? You’re spending so much time with her that I assumed you’d tell her everything.” She turns to Becca, whose face blushes bright red. “Have you read it?”

  Becca shakes her head no.

  “Doesn’t that make you wonder what she’s hiding?” Tyla points at me.

  “Um … no.” Becca squirms uneasily between us.

  “You have no idea what’s in here?” Tyla dramatically waves my notebook in the air. “What if she wrote mean stuff about you?”

  I expect Becca to defend me, but she’s looking down at her tray, stirring her fork in mushy mashed potatoes.

  “She can’t have enough secrets of her own to fill so many pages. I bet she wrote about all of us.” Tyla turns to each of the Sparklers, her words slithering suspicion around the table.

  Chloe, who has always been friendly to me, narrows her eyes. “Kelsey, did you write about me?”

  Only one secret, I think. And it’s not that embarrassing.

  “Look at her guilty expression!” Tyla pounces. “I’m so right about her. She wrote secrets about us.”

  “Not me,” Chloe says confidently. “I don’t have any secrets.”

  But she does, I think. They all do.

  In the short time I’ve been around the Sparklers, I’ve learned more than they realize by listening and lip-reading.

  Spy strategy 14: When the truth won’t work, create a believable lie.

  “Tyla, I’m flattered you think my notebook is so interesting,” I say calmly and even manage a faint smile. “But it’s not. I just wrote down my weird dreams. Haven’t you ever heard of dream journaling?”

  “This says ‘secrets,’ not ‘dreams,’” she argues.

  “The secrets are only about my dreams.”

  “Like I believe that,” she snorts, still holding my notebook out of reach.

  “Honestly.” I cross my heart with one hand and cross my fingers behind my back with the other.

  “Liar!” Tyla accuses so loudly that now everyone in the cafeteria, even the lunch workers, stare at us. “You wrote lies about all of us.”

  “I didn’t!” I argue. Everything I wrote is true.

  “Easy to prove,” Tyla says smugly, then opens my notebook.

  Panic hurts worse than a punch to my gut. My notebook is like Pandora’s box. If the secrets are released into the world, the knowledge will cause chaos. But Tyla is holding the book tightly as the other Sparklers, even Becca, lean closer to listen.

  “Secret 1,” Tyla says loud enough for everyone in the cafeteria to hear. “I wore my Scooby-Doo pajamas to my first sleepover.” She giggles. “Not much of a secret, just pathetic fashion sense. Oh, but there’s more!”

  “Please stop.” I’m begging now.

  “But this is so much fun.” Tyla dodges my grab again, then continues. “It was after midnight and I woke up thirsty, so I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. That’s when I overheard—”

  “Stop right there!” a sharp voice interrupts. “Give the notebook to Kelsey.”

  A hand touches my shoulder, and I turn around to find Tori and Ann Marie standing protectively behind me. When we were young, our Turbo Trio always defended each other. Back then, we were scrawny and usually ended up scraped and bruised. Now my athletic friends are tall and fierce.

  “Go back to the other jocks,” Tyla says with a dismissive hand flip.

  “Kelsey is our friend,” Ann Marie says. “Mess with her and you have to mess with us.”

  “Seriously? You’re threatening me?” Tyla glares. “Butt out. This doesn’t involve you.”

  “It will if you don’t return Kelsey’s notebook,” Ann Marie warns. “Now.”

  “No one tells me what to do,” Tyla scoffs. “I don’t even know you.”

  “And you don’t want to.” When Tori puts her hands on her hips and juts out her chin, she seems even taller and tougher. “We don’t like you upsetting our friend.”

  “Kelsey’s an honorary Sparkler and one of my closest friends,” Tyla says in such a phony voice I want to vomit. “Can’t you see we were just joking around?”

  “Kelsey isn’t laughing.” Ann Marie’s scowl deepens.

  “Some people need to grow a sense of humor.” Tyla rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t really going to read her notebook.”

  Ann Marie glares. “So you won’t mind giving it back.”

  “Sure, sure.” Tyla flings the notebook at me.

  I hug it to my chest and turn to Ann Marie and Tori. “Thanks.”

  Ann Marie leans close to whisper in my ear. “Dump these glitter clones and sit with us.”

  I glance at Becca, hurt that she didn’t defend me. I don’t want to stay where I’m not welcome. But if I leave, I may never come back—the ultimate win for Tyla. I shake my head at Ann Marie. “I’m okay here.”

  “Really?” Tori scowls at the Sparklers.

  “It’s just temporary.” I touch the borrowed crescent moon necklace I’m wearing. “I’m only here to help out with the fund-raiser. Next week I’ll go back to sitting at our table.”

  I watch Becca, hoping she’ll say I don’t have to be “temporary,” that I can sit with the Sparklers whenever I want. But she’s looking down at her lunch tray as if cafeteria food is fascinating.

  Ann Marie pats my shoulder. “Stop by my house soon. It’s been too long since you’ve been over. Mom was asking what’s up with you.”

  “I will,” I promise as I zip my notebook securely in my backpack.

  After Tori and Ann Marie leave, there’s an awkward silence at our table. Sparklers chew and sip drinks, their gazes sliding away from me as if I’ve turned into a Medusa and one look will turn them into stone.

  Finally Becca looks up from her tray and gives a nervous laugh.

  “Oookay. Let’s get back to fund-raiser business.” She taps her pencil against her food tray and looks around the table. “I’ll start by making the booth schedule.”

  Conversation resumes like everything is fine, and the cafeteria noisily buzzes back to life too. But something has changed … me, I think. I’m an outsider among strangers. When lunch ends, I hurry away
without saying good-bye to Becca.

  To avoid a repeat of the notebook keep-away game, I lock my notebook securely inside my locker, burying it beneath books and a sweater, then slam the locker shut.

  I’m still shaking like I’m suffering from PTSD: post-Tyla stress disorder. I can’t concentrate in my classes and mentally replay the lunchroom drama. My old friends stuck up for me, not my new ones. Not Becca.

  Why didn’t she try to help me? Does Tyla intimidate her that much? Or is she more loyal to the other girls than to me? She said I could trust her with my secrets—but can I trust her with my friendship?

  When my last class ends, Becca is waiting for me outside the door.

  Anger and hurt steam inside me. I can’t pretend that everything is okay.

  But before I can speak, Becca says, “I’m really, really, really sorry.”

  “You should be,” I say as I walk away from her.

  “Let me explain.” She follows, hurrying beside me. “Please don’t be mad.”

  “Friends stick up for each other. You did nothing.” My backpack bounces on my back as I walk faster. “But it doesn’t matter now because Ann Marie and Tori helped.”

  “It matters,” Becca says miserably. “I hate myself for wimping out, and you probably hate me too.”

  “No, I don’t.” I stop in the middle of the hall, kids moving around us, and lower my voice. “But why didn’t you stick up for me?”

  “I tried to.” Her lower lip trembles. “When I got my own paper, I thought Tyla would return your notebook. But she didn’t, and the more you both argued, the more nervous I got. I didn’t want to choose between friends.”

  “Sometimes you have to,” I say harshly. “I didn’t expect Chloe or Sophia to defend me, but you and I are in the CCSC together.”

  “I panic when people argue. I’m not used to it. Even when my parents were splitting up, they never argued—at least not in front of me. I want everyone to like each other.”

  “You want everyone to like you,” I accuse.

  “What’s wrong with that? I try to find good in everyone. Even mean people have some reason why they act mean.”

  “Like Skeet.” I remember the bully who had a crush on Becca until he moved away. “He was a total jerk.”

  “Not to me because I tried to understand him. He had it rough at home and no adults to help him with his anger issues.”

  “So what’s Tyla’s excuse?” I say.

  “She’s insecure—that’s why she pretends to be perfect. But understanding her motives doesn’t mean I forgive her. She was horrible to you.”

  “Worse than horrible.” I shudder over the memory of my notebook in Tyla’s hands. “I don’t want to be part of any group that she’s part of—even temporarily.”

  “It’s only until the fund-raiser on Saturday. Please don’t quit,” Becca begs. “I’ll tell Tyla she needs to apologize to you.”

  I arch my brow. “You’ll stand up to her?”

  “Yes. I swear on my kitten and all the animals in Wild Oaks and the CCSC,” Becca promises. But I doubt she’ll do it.

  Still, we slip in the familiar rhythm of talking about random stuff like animals, clothes, and homework as we walk to our lockers. I’m complaining about my English homework (reading two chapters and writing an essay question) when I stare at my locker.

  Right away, I get this weird vibe. Something’s not right.

  I swivel my head to look around the hall. Is someone spying on me? But I don’t see anyone suspicious. Shrugging it off, I reach for my locker. As my fingers touch the lock, the metal door sags open.

  “I know I shut it.” I frown at Becca.

  “Not tight enough,” she says with a shrug.

  “But I locked it, then slammed it shut.”

  A horrible thought jumps into my head.

  I yank the door open wide. I pull out papers, textbooks, a brush, and my sweater, frantically searching—until nothing is left in my locker.

  My notebook of secrets is gone.

  - Chapter 11 -

  A New Mystery

  “Someone stole my notebook!” I frantically peer around but know it’s no use. Whoever broke into my locker is long gone.

  “I thought your notebook was in your backpack,” Becca says.

  “I didn’t want anyone to take it again so I hid it beneath my sweater.” I shake out my sweater and only a loose button dangles. “It’s gone—and I know who took it.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Becca warns.

  I ball up my sweater and toss it back into my locker. “We both know it was Tyla.”

  “Not for sure.” She bends closer to look at my locker. “Your lock isn’t broken. The thief knew your combination.”

  “Or had access to the office where all the locker combinations are on file,” I point out. “Doesn’t Tyla help out in the office during sixth period?”

  “Well … yeah. But that doesn’t mean she stole your notebook.”

  “According to the book, Criminals and Crimes, when someone has motive, opportunity, and means, they’re the prime suspect. Check the guilty box by Tyla’s name.” I make a check mark in the air with my finger. “She wanted my notebook: motive. She works in office during sixth period, which gives her free rein of the school: opportunity. And when she doesn’t get her way she’s mean.”

  My gut twists as I imagine Tyla reading my notebook and laughing over secrets that might seem funny to her but can hurt other people.

  So many secrets—and Tyla could expose them all!

  I cover my face with my hands. “What am I going to do?”

  “I’ll help you find your notebook.” Becca puts her arm around me. “If Tyla has it, I’ll get it back for you.”

  “She’s probably reading the secrets right now.” I sag against my locker. “Tyla will blab to the whole world. I’ll turn on the TV news tonight and see Tyla’s smug face telling a reporter about a British actor named Reggie who helped his sister steal their father’s grandfather clock and hide it in our Skunk Shack.”

  “Not if I get to Tyla first.” Becca presses her lips with determination. “She rides the bus home, so she’ll be waiting in front of the school. I’ll go right now.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I say.

  “No.” Becca wags her finger at me. “You’ll only argue with her.”

  “I want to stomp on her like a bug and grind her into the ground until there’s nothing left but bone ash and a bad smell.”

  “My point exactly. Wait for me at the Skunk Shack. Leo’s probably there already, wondering what’s taking us so long. I’ll join you as soon as I can.” She smiles confidently. “With your notebook.”

  Minutes later, I’m riding my bike up steep Wild Road. My brain whirls with my bike wheels. Becca will get the notebook, I think over and over, hoping it’s true. But what if the secrets have already leaked into the world?

  Thirty-eight secrets, beginning with that fateful sleepover. I didn’t tell Becca which friend invited me to that sleepover, but it’s easy to guess it was Ann Marie. While her parents’ divorce is a non-secret after all these years, only a few people know her parents told her at Disneyland, and rehashing that horrible time would be upsetting.

  Other secrets are more explosive: Leo’s real age, the drama teacher’s romance with a rock star, and how Sophia got a leading role in the school play. Also, Tyla will be furious if she realizes I know where she really gets her expensive clothes and that Chloe calls her “Tyrant Tyla” behind her back.

  What will Tyla do with all the secrets?

  I turn into the wooded trail leading to the Skunk Shack. The trail used to be bumpy and overgrown, but since we’ve been using it to get to our clubhouse, the trail has smoothed out. It’s peaceful in the woods with birds fluttering and chirping from high branches and slivers of sunlight shining on spring grass. I’m always a little surprised at how well the shack is hidden. Only a glint from the window hints that it’s hidden beneath an umbrella of trees.
>
  I park my bike by the table-sized stump Becca loves to sit on. Leo’s mechanical gyro-board is propped nearby, and his vest is folded neatly on the stump. Why did he leave his vest outside?

  Curious, I go inside the shack, but he’s not there.

  Bang! Thud!

  I look up at the ceiling, my first thought full of panic as I envision a wild animal attack. But then I realize it must be Leo.

  I run back outside and look up at the roof.

  “Leo, what are you doing up there?” I call out.

  His blond head peeks over the roof’s edge. “Accessing solar energy through enhanced elevation.”

  “Huh?” I rub my forehead. “Can’t you just talk like a normal kid?”

  “Why would I want to?” He squints at me like I’m the weird one. “I climbed up here for sunshine.” He leans farther over the edge, hanging by one hand while he shows me a thick metal dish with dozens of tiny wheels on the bottom and weird black bumps covering the top. “This is my latest surveillance tool. I call it FRODO.”

  I loved his bird drone, key spider, and dragon drone, but this invention looks as dull as a dinner plate. “Frodo? Like from Lord of the Rings?”

  “Of course not,” he scoffs. “It’s an acronym for futuristic robotic odor detection operative. FRODO navigates targets through olfactory sensors.”

  Understanding Leo’s techno-speak is like talking to an alien from another planet. “But why do you have it on the roof?”

  “I told you—to access the sun. Its operational system is powered by solar energy. I’ll come down and show you.” Leo disappears over the roof. Footsteps clatter, then there’s a thunk as Leo jumps to the ground. Holding FRODO under one arm, he takes a comb from his pocket and smooths back his mussed hair, then looks around. “Where’s Becca?”

  “Confronting a tyrant.”

  “What?” he asks as we walk into the shack.

  “It’s complicated.” The door thuds when I close it behind me. “But when Becca comes back, the crisis should be over.”

  “Crisis?” He sets down his robotic wheeled plate and comes over beside me. “Is there something I can do?”

  I go over to the table and sink into my wobbly chair. “No.”