Skylar Robbins: The Mystery of the Hidden Jewels by Carrie Cross (well read books TXT) 📕

model that he’d sculpted of his own head.

There was a big art piece on another wall that he made out of an old railroad sign and chunks of a train car he’d found at the junkyard. He welded it all together into a cool abstract that he called, “Train.” When we first moved in he made a huge table out of scrap wood that sat in the middle of the room, covered with his “treasures.” Sometimes my mom called it “his junk.” This made both my dad and me mad. I loved his treasures and liked to collect my own. The first time she made the junk comment my dad told her she was too practical and needed to learn to think outside the box. He meant she should try to see things differently, and told her she should try new things: Explore. Be adventuresome! My mom tried a new recipe for dinner that night to prove that she could think outside the box.

“I love this room,” Alexa said, looking around. “Your dad’s so cool.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “He really is. I’ve always loved his gadget room. I used to dig around in it in our old house when I was little and I’d always discover some hidden, unexpected thing. Like once I found a folded-up hundred-dollar bill in the caboose of his old train set. He’d just stuck it in there for fun and when I found it, he split it with me and let me put fifty dollars in my savings account. My grandpa and my dad both taught me to look everywhere for clues. I never know what I’ll turn up if I search hard enough.”

“I wish my dad was creative and knew how to teach me things like yours did,” Alexa said wistfully. “Mine’s such a—he’s so boring.” I knew she was trying hard not to call him a jerk.

“Maybe you need to teach him how to see things differently.”

“Maybe I can someday,” Alexa said hopefully, looking around the room.

Neat stuff that my dad dug up in the desert rested on shelves: fossils, ancient rocks, and an Indian arrowhead. He loved art, and the walls were covered with oil paintings, collages he’d put together, projects I’d made since kindergarten, and a scientific chart of the elements. Another wall was hidden by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves containing Encyclopedias, chemistry journals, over a hundred issues of Scientific American, construction manuals, and how-to books for do-it-yourselfers.

Across from the bookshelves there was a long desk topped with messy stacks of my dad’s papers, a computer, and a printer. I turned on the printer and scanned the taped-together map. Moments later a grainy gray picture popped out. Alexa looked at it and frowned. I adjusted the brightness and contrast and hit print again. The machine spit out another page. The torn pieces of map had become one, and I had a good copy in my hand. “Sweet,” Alexa said.

“Except there’s a chunk missing,” I answered, looking at the map.

Alexa bent over the photocopy. “We’ll figure it out. Without the missing piece,” she said confidently.

“X marks the spot,” I said, pointing at it. “But where do we start to look for X?”

“Can I see?” Alexa picked up the map and stared at it. “Let’s go back upstairs,” she suggested.

We went back up to my office to work on the clue. I spread the map out on my desk and stared at it with the annoying woodpecker tapping at my brain again. The footstep pattern, the circles in and around them, the hexagon, and the rectangle had a familiarity that bugged me. Knowing that I had the ability to figure it out and that the answer was hiding in my brain was driving me crazy. The map sat silently on my desk, teasing me. After staring at it some more, the disturbing feeling that this was a familiar pattern got worse.

“Can I look at it again?” Alexa picked up the map, staring at the paper and then stepping sideways around my little office as she looked out all of the narrow windows. I scanned the yard and gazed down into the canyon. The sun began to set, casting long shadows and an orangey glow across the mountains. Suddenly Alexa caught her breath. “Skylar—come here!”

“Girls? Dinner,” my mom called.

My head whipped from one side of the room to the other. I looked at Alexa and then toward my door. We were completely out of time.

 

23

A Rusty Metal Box

“Just a second,” I shouted, hurrying over to where Alexa stood at the window.

“Look! Down there.” She pointed toward the greenhouse, then at the rectangle on the map. “And there.” Alexa pointed to a tree near the gazebo, and then to one of the circles on the map. I looked into the backyard. The back of my neck prickled. Suddenly the circles, the hexagon, and the rectangle in between the footsteps made sense. They stood for trees, the gazebo, and the greenhouse. Alexa had just figured out where to take footstep number one.

My mom shouted for us again and I groaned, knowing we couldn’t wait another second to go downstairs.

“It’s OK,” Alexa said. “We’ll get right back to it after we eat.”

We gobbled down dinner as fast as we could, desperate to get into the backyard and follow the footstep map before it got too dark. My parents kept interrupting our fast chewing with questions. “So did Dustin give you an answer about the dance?” My mom twirled spaghetti around her fork.

“Mm-hm,” I said, chewing a huge bite. “He’s going.”

My mom smiled. “He’s pretty smart after all, isn’t he?”

I rolled my eyes and took a swallow of milk. “I guess he’d rather go to the dance with me than Emelyn.” This gave me a rush.

“Who’s Emelyn?” my dad asked.

“This flirty blonde girl from Florida. She asked him to ditch fifth period and go to the mall so she could steal a game for him, but he turned her down.” I chewed a mouthful of salad.

My mom set down her fork. “How do you know that?”

“He must have, because I have fifth period with him and that’s when he said he’d go to the dance with me.”

“I mean how do you know she asked him to go to a store and accept stolen merchandise?” She looked at me quietly while she waited for me to answer.

Uh-oh. I had just opened my big mouth a little too wide in front of my mom, the professor. Now I had to give her a complete answer or I’d get grilled on the details. The sun started to disappear behind the mountains. We didn’t have much time.

“I overheard her in the bathroom. She told her friends she was going to ask Dustin to ditch his next class and go to Gamers, where the clerk is her brother’s friend and would hide the security camera for her if she wanted to take something. Fifth period is Science, and he came to class, so he didn’t go with her.” I twirled spaghetti and waited for her next question. I knew what it would be.

“Did you report her?” my mom asked. Both of my parents had totally stopped eating and were staring at me. I heard Alexa swallowing milk.

“No.” I had such a huge ball of pasta on the end of my fork there was no way I could get it in my mouth. I started untwirling.

“Why not?” my mom asked. My father took a bite of salad and looked at me thoughtfully while he chewed.

“A, I didn’t know if she was really going to steal something or if she was just bragging to impress her friends. B, I had no evidence and I would have had to cut class to get proof. C, it’s the first month of middle school and I don’t want to be known as the school snitch.”

There. That ought to do it.

My mom stared at me until I squirmed. “Those are not legitimate reasons, Skylar, and you know it. If one of your classmates is admitting to shoplifting and encouraging others to join her, it is your duty to report her.”

“Samantha,” my dad looked at my mom with a concerned expression on his face. “Let’s not force Skylar to be a tattletale when she’s not even sure whether this girl stole anything or not.” I stopped eating. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore. I knew what was coming.

“She tried to get another student to cut class. We know that for a fact.” My mom set her fork down carefully and looked at my dad. “Tattling is a non-issue.” Whatever that meant. “Haven’t we always taught Skylar not to compromise her ethics, no matter what anyone thinks?”

“Yes we have. And we’ve also taught her not to leap to conclusions, jump the gun, or snitch on her friends, especially if there’s some doubt as to what they’ve really done,” he answered calmly.

“Emelyn’s not my friend,” I mumbled.

My mom’s lips disappeared and her eyebrows tightened. She hated it when my dad argued with her, especially in front of other people.

Alexa kicked me under the table. “Are you almost done?” I knew she felt uncomfortable listening to my parents fighting. Sometimes they acted like I wasn’t even there.

“Yeah. Can we please be excused?”

“Sure. But clear your plates first,” my dad said.

My mom just sat there looking at him while we scraped our chairs back and picked up our dishes. “I’ll drive Alexa home now.”

“It’s too dark out to search the yard anyway,” Alexa said as we ran up to my room to get her stuff. “You’ll have to follow the map without me.” She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Then she looked at me and her face softened. “You can do it, Skylar.”

An hour later I was propped up in bed trying to write my essay. My parents’ bedroom was right below mine and I could hear them arguing. My mom told my dad she wished he wouldn’t disagree with her in front of me. He made a comment I couldn’t hear. I turned down the volume on my iPod and took the Soundtrap out of my detective kit. After putting in the earbuds, I held the microphone an eighth of an inch from the floor. Their voices sounded fuzzy, but I could still make out what they were saying.

“Kids that age are going to cut class, lie, cheat, and steal things whether Skylar tattles on them or not,” my dad said calmly. “You’re asking her to butt her nose in where it doesn’t belong. As long as Skylar’s not doing it, don’t make her be the bad guy at school. She’ll end up making enemies and the other kids will continue to do what they want anyway.”

I held my breath waiting for my mom’s reply. Would she push my dad and force me to tell on Emelyn? That’s all I needed. I could see the caption under my picture in the yearbook: “Skylar Robbins: Ugly-Sweater-Wearing Pacific School Snitch.”

“I guess you’re right,” she finally answered. Then they started talking so quietly I couldn’t hear them anymore. Turning off my Soundtrap, I stood up and took a deep breath, relieved that their fight seemed to be over. Wondering why my mom and dad didn’t seem to argue unless it involved me, I finished my essay feeling small and guilty.

Then I hid under my covers and called Alexa. She didn’t answer her cell so I texted her: My parents just got in another fight about me. It sucks. But my dad talked my mom out of forcing me to snitch. So that’s good, I guess. I’m sick of worrying about stupid Emelyn Peters. I’ll search the yard before school and see where the map leads. Thanks for figuring out where it starts.

I didn’t know how I’d be able to sleep. The treasure map hidden inside my bedside stand was pecking at my brain.

The second my alarm went off I rolled out of bed, tossed my nightgown on the floor, and scrambled into sweats and my pink sneakers. Grabbing my Porta-detective kit, I crept downstairs. Relieved to find the kitchen and dining room empty, I sneaked into the backyard undetected. It didn’t look anything like the map, so I tried to imagine the view from my office.

“That tree there is this circle,” I mumbled, “and the hexagon on the map must be the gazebo, so I have to go over there to start.” Even though the footsteps on the map seemed to lead toward the greenhouse, I figured I better follow them in order in case there were extra clues hidden along the way. I