Free Deadly Little Secret by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page B

Mom?”
    “Not that I know of, why?”
    I shrug, too embarrassed to explain to my dad that someone left me a gift from a lingerie store.
    “Are you sure everything’s all right?” he asks.
    I nod, somehow mustering a smile.
    “So how come the phone’s off the hook?” he asks, pushing for information.
    “Oh,” I say, just noticing it, even though the dial tone blares like a siren between us. “Wes thinks it’s funny to prank me.”
    “But he wasn’t the one who called you earlier,” he says; it’s more of a statement than a question.
    “No. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
    “Camelia?” he asks, reaching out to touch my shoulder.
    I’m just about to cave completely when he says, “Dinner’s on the table. Get the tempeh while it’s still chewable.”
    “I’m not really hungry.”
    “Well, come anyway. It’ll make Mom happy. She’s been a little blue lately.”
    “Why, what’s going on?”
    “Nothing really—just some stuff with her sister. She’s convinced herself something isn’t right with her.” He twists his hips, producing more cracks. “We can talk more after dinner—catch up on stuff. I’ll make us some hot chocolate. The real kind, with cream and sugar. No soy products whatsoever.”
    “Sounds good,” I say, hoping I’m doing the right thing by not telling him what happened.
    Not yet at least.

23

    Instead of father-daughter chatting with Dad after dinner, I tell him that Kimmie’s in crisis mode and wants me to come over, pronto. Luckily my parents don’t give me a hard time, which only makes me feel worse. I honestly hate having to lie to them like this. To compound the guilt, Mom even packs me up a care package, complete with granola-flaxseed bars and carob-walnut cookies (it’s the thought that counts), and then drops me off in front of Kimmie’s house.
    Kimmie is one big question mark when I show up on her doorstep—one big green question mark, I should say. There’s a thick layer of olive green mud mask on her face and, oddly enough, she’s wearing a pair of matching green footie pajamas—whether to coordinate or by coincidence, I have no idea.
    “Did your mom tell you I was coming?” I ask, noticing Nate camped out on the stairs to eavesdrop, a notepad and a pencil in his hands.
    She shakes her head, her wet hair swept up in a towel.
    “Well, I needed to talk, and I told your mom it was an emergency. You were in the shower.”
    “Say no more.” She grabs me by the arm and ushers me past Nate.
    We head up to her bedroom, and she closes the door behind us. “So, what’s up?” She takes a seat on the corner of her bed.
    “Something really weird is going on,” I say, plunking down beside her.
    “Weird as in John Kenneally asking you for my number? Of course, that probably wouldn’t be too weird, would it? The boy did lend me a brand-new, sharpened, number two pencil in English yesterday.”
    “Can we please forget about John Kenneally for five measly minutes?”
    Kimmie’s mouth drops open, as if the idea of it appalls her.
    “Did you notice anyone following us at the mall the other day?” I continue.
    “No, why?” She furrows her eyebrows, creating cracks in the mud mask.
    I pull the pajamas from my backpack.
    “Wait, are those granola bars?” Kimmie spots the Tupperware containers Mom packed in my bag.
    “Focus,” I say, showing her the gift-packaging. “This is the same outfit I picked out at the store. Someone left it outside my bedroom window.”
    “ Someone , or Wes?”
    “Why would Wes buy this for me?”
    Kimmie shrugs, inspecting a granola bar. “His family has way more money than they know what to do with— hence Wes’s staggering allowance. Maybe he was trying to be nice. Are these hazelnuts?”
    “Then, why not just offer to buy it for me?” I ask. “Why leave it outside my window?”
    “Maybe he has a crush on you and wants to be all mysterious.”
    “That’s doubtful.”
    “It’s possible,” she says,