3 abandoned mansion

Even though they hadn't decided which house to buy, my mom told me I'd better not wait until the last minute to pack. She suggested I go through my cup- boards and make bags of toys to give to the homeless shelter. I figured the sooner I packed, the faster she'd have to make up her mind about the mansion on the hill. She couldn't let me sit around in an empty room, right? So the next morning I took my creative writing notebooks and my journal out of a desk drawer and piled them in a box with my art supplies. I cleaned out the drawer in my bedside stand, packing several old notepads, a candle, and some favorite rocks and seashells I'd picked up on the beach. Using a thick black marker I labeled this box, "Skylar— personal and private."

Then I packed my book collection. I had so many favorites it took three boxes to hold them all. Picking out a bunch of games and toys I'd outgrown, I put them in another box and marked it, "Donate." Looking out my bedroom window, I saw the tree house my dad built, my swing set, and mom's garden. Our backyard, our house, our neighborhood. Everything I'd grown up with was about to change. I pictured the warped board in the middle of my tree house floor. I always had to be careful not to trip over it on the short walk to the other side of the "dining room." This was where I liked to eat my afternoon snack while watching the neighborhood through the pink Super-Zoom binoculars my grandpa gave me for my birthday. Leaning out the window eating peanut butter crackers, I'd look up and down my block hoping to see something mysterious. Or maybe some cute boys playing ball in the park down the street. Staring into the backyard, I realized I'd better spend as many afternoons in the tree house as possible while I still had the chance. Then I thought about another dining room: the one we ate in on Sunday nights when my grandfather came over for dinner. My mom called it, "the formal dining room." That cracked me up since it was smaller and more cramped than where we usually ate, but when Grandpa came over, out came the linen tablecloth and the silver that needed that smelly gray polish to clean. Not that my dad's father wanted anything fancy. Not even. Grandpa used to joke that he was "nothin' but a street cop," and then his blue eyes would crinkle around the edges like my dad's. His favorite part of dinner was dessert, just like me. Sometimes he'd sneak us a couple of Oreos before dinner, and when I was younger we'd pretend we were in a commercial together. We'd twist off the tops, look at each other while we quickly dunked our cookies in the same glass of milk, and then we'd stuff them in our mouths while we laughed.

My grandfather always made everything fun. I remembered going to my favorite seafood restaurant with him when I was six years old. "Don't worry, I'll keep Skylar busy," Grandpa said, winking at my mom as we followed the hostess to our table. Goody! We got a window seat. Waves crashed right next to us on the other side of the glass, spraying white foam into the air like someone had just turned on a gigantic fountain. It was exciting and I talked too loud. "Use your restaurant voice please," my mom said. Grandpa held up one finger, catching my attention. "Let's play Silent Detective," he whispered.

I nodded fast, wiggling in my seat.

"I see something…blue." My grandfather's merry smile and folded arms challenged me to figure out what it was. If I said anything out loud, I would lose. After looking around the restaurant for a second, I pointed out the window at the ocean.

I raised my eyebrows but Grandpa shook his head. Too easy. I tugged on my ear, signaling that I needed my first clue. He pointed at me with both index fingers, and then moved them closer together. Something smaller.

A lady sitting near us wore a light blue blouse. Grabbing a tuft of my shirt, I tilted my head in her direction and mouthed, "Her top?" while raising my eyebrows.

Was I right?

Grandpa blinked twice, signaling no. Brought his fingers together again. Something smaller than that.

I looked slowly around the restaurant. A big, multi-colored bouquet sat on a table near the entrance. Bright blue peacock feathers poked up in between green ferns and some weird-looking red-orange flowers. I pointed at the bouquet and flapped my arms like a bird. "Peacock feathers?" I mouthed silently.

Blink, blink. Wrong again.

I needed my second clue and tugged my ear again. If I couldn't guess it after two clues, I would lose the game. My grandfather touched his fingertips together and pulled his hands toward his body: Silent Detective language for something closer. I concentrated on our table. Nothing on it was blue. I looked at my dad's colorful tie. No blue there either.

A busboy set down four glasses of ice water and my mom reached for hers and took a sip. Her ring sparkled. Grinning with my success, I pointed at the blue gem on her finger and watched Grandpa touch his nose and smile. I'd won Silent Detective. "I'm proud of you," he said, reaching forward just as the waiter came to take our order. Grandpa pulled a quarter out of my ear, and I got to keep the prize.

My eyes started to sting like they always did when I was trying not to cry. I missed my grandfather, and I was going to miss my tree house.

There wasn't much packing left to do so I got back to it. In a far corner of my bedside drawer, my fingers touched a flat white box. I'd slept with it beside me for three years. The item inside meant more to me than anything else I owned, so there was no way I was going to risk misplacing it by packing it in a carton. Picking it up off the fluffy cotton pad, I wrapped the oval in tissue and zipped it into the secret compartment in my purse where I knew it would be safe.

When my nightstand was empty except for my cherry Chapstick, I took a break and grabbed my iPhone. It was a hand-me-down from when my dad got the latest model. He gave his old one to my mom, and I got hers. A crack sliced the screen and it needed a new cover, but it worked and that was all I cared about. I called Alexa. "You will not believe this awesome house we may be getting." I sat on my bed and hugged my knees, fantasizing about moving into the small bedroom in the turret.

"Will you still get to go to Pacific?" If we didn't start seventh grade together it would destroy us both. But it would be way worse for her.

"If we buy this house. It's in Santa Monica Canyon, not far from here. Just up a really steep hill."

"I won't be able to take it if you have to go to a different middle school," Alexa said, and I knew how much she meant it.

"Me too. My mom said if we get this house I'll still go to Pacific."

"I hope." I pictured Alexa shaking thick strawberry blonde curls away from her pretty face and smiling in relief. "Then you'll still get to see Dustin, too."

Oh, yum.

Dustin Coles is definitely the cutest boy going into seventh grade. I smiled, imagining his wavy brown hair and straight white teeth. He was the fastest runner in school, and the P.E. teachers always chose him to be team captain. Even in class Dustin always seemed to be the leader. The other boys looked up to him and the girls all tried to sit next to him. He's one of the few boys who are taller than I am, he's super nice, and he never, ever laughs at Alexa.

"I just have to convince my mom to buy this house. She's not that into it. I'll call you later. I better go." I bit the side of my thumb.

"Please talk her into it. My fingers are crossed."

"So are mine."

The following weekend we went back to the abandoned mansion with Ms. Knight. If we had to move, the turret house was the one for me. I just had to convince my mom.

"First of all, Mom, it's huge, it's cool, and it has a greenhouse." We both love to garden so I was hoping for a smiling nod, but she just raised an eyebrow at me. "More importantly," I said, trying to sound intelligent, "it's close to Pacific, and UCLA, and dad will have plenty of space to set up his gadget room." Leaving my old block was hard enough. Starting middle school with a bunch of people I didn't know would stink beyond belief. "And it's safe. Since it's in a cul-de-sac, right?" I took a deep breath and waited for my mom's reply.

She looked at me, shaking her head a little. "Being in a cul-de-sac doesn't guarantee your safety. Plus, it's dirty, it's in shambles, and it's covered in bird and rat filth," she said, glancing back and forth at my dad and me like we were nuts.

"We can get a cleaning crew in here. And replacing the curtains and repainting the walls will be affordable," my father reasoned. "That ballroom downstairs would be perfect for a home laboratory," he said slowly. "It's big enough to conduct experiments and there's plenty of room for all my—stuff." I grinned hugely. He was definitely on my side. My mom didn't look convinced. Until his next sentence. "I could work in there after hours instead of at the lab. I could be home for dinner every night." This made her smile. For a split second.

"It also needs new flooring, new appliances, new windows…." She ticked the items off on her fingers. "This isn't going to be cheap."

"We can afford it now, Honey. Remember?" my dad reminded her.

She nodded thoughtfully, and then looked at me. "But how are you going to ride your bike up this hill?"

"I'll push it if I have to. Or maybe you can take Alexa and me to school on your way to work and her mom can take us home." I had never been so determined to get anything in my life. Getting an A in English or learning to do a handspring were things I could accomplish on my own. I hated having to ask someone else for something I really wanted, but I would have promised my parents anything it took to get them to buy this house. I couldn't believe it even came with a mystery and clues to hidden jewels! My detective tools would definitely come in handy.

I never imagined the amount of danger I was about to put myself in, or how much I would need Alexa by my side. Not to mention the secret agents that had joined my agency after I solved my last mystery, like agent # 009 Sea Princess and # 007 Shining Onyx. The more boys and girls I had working on clues with me the better.

Ms. Knight held up one finger. "Now if you'll follow me outside, I'll show you the backyard, the gazebo, and the greenhouse."

"Yes," my mom agreed. "Let's see the greenhouse."

I hurried to catch up, reaching for her arm and smiling. "Mom, the greenhouse can be your spot like mine is the turret room." She rolled her eyes at me, but she still looked as though she liked the idea.

We followed Ms. Knight across the weed-covered lawn and over to the greenhouse. She walked up two stairs and struggled with the rusty door handle. I peered through the dirty windows and saw a bunch of dead plants and a filthy counter with cupboards and drawers underneath it. Some of the drawers had been pulled out and were lying on the floor. She got the door open and my mom and I walked inside and looked at a grubby workbench and rusty tools hanging on hooks. The floor was made of dirty wood planks that were stained and split. The greenhouse stunk, like something had been wet for too long. I thought it was pretty gross, but my mom looked into every corner like this moldy place was amazing. When she jotted notes on her clipboard, this time she actually looked happy

"And finally," Ms. Knight held her hand out as if she were offering something to us, "the gazebo."

"The what?" I asked.

"Ga-ZEE-bo." My mom pronounced it slowly, like I hadn't heard her.

"OK, but I still don't know what one is."

"Gazebos are cool little outdoor rooms. Come on, let's go look at it." She seemed excited, like we were about to explore a new store that carried all her favorite things at half price. Ms. Knight led us over to a small, six-sided structure made of white-painted wood. There were benches attached to the inside walls with faded cushions on them, and a little table sat in the middle. The roof of the gazebo ended in a point, matching the top of the turret. A bird's nest perched on one of its beams. The nest was layered with twigs and pine needles and torn pieces of dirty white paper.

"What do you do in a gazebo?" I asked.

"They're just cozy open-air rooms where you can have tea or brunch." Now my mom had a big smile on her face. "Or you can sit in here on a nice spring day and read. Of course it needs new cushions and a fresh coat of paint," she told my father, and I laughed.

My dad winked at me as I asked, "So when are we moving in?"