Free The Summer of Moonlight Secrets by Danette Haworth Page A

I don’t see a hostess, so I walk in. I kind of like having the place to myself. Unwrapping my peppermint, I sit down at a table in the middle. Too hard. I leave the plastic wrapper on the table and move on. Hmm, this one is too soft. I weave my way around and take a seat by the windows. Ah, just right. I put my feet up on the chair across from me and stare out the window.
    â€œUm, the kitchen’s closed.” The guy appears out of nowhere.
    My feet jerk to the floor. “Do I have to leave?”
    The guy shrugs. “Sorry, dude. We’ve got to vacuum and change out table tents …”
    He’s waiting for me to get up.
    I sigh and push my chair back, then spot the French doors. I bet I could see the moon really well from the dock. “Can I go out there?”
    He glances over his shoulder, then back to me. “I’m about to lock those doors,” he says. “But just come back in by the pool.”
    Cool. I swing a French door open and a gust of wind pushes me. I hear a dead bolt fall into place behind me, followed by a top lock and a slider. Geez, who do they think’s coming in?
    A huge porch wraps around the dining room, but it’s got an overhang, and I won’t be able to see the moon or the stars. I move off the porch, down the steps, and into the darkness; it’s the best way to see the light.
    Yep, Big Dipper, Little Dipper, bunch of other stars I don’t know the names of.
    I stare at the full moon. Man in the moon. Green cheese moon. Turn-me-into-a-werewolf moon. That would be cool.
    Full moon.
    It hits me—I don’t know—like a pain in my chest. I told Dad about this once before; he said it was growing pains. But I kept complaining about it, so the doctor had me X-rayed, said I had a good heart, and sent me to a counselor, who said I had a sad heart and needed to talk about it.
    I didn’t want to talk to the counselor, but he was eager to fix me. Finally, just to satisfy him and get the sessions over with, I told him I missed my mother, that I felt her in my bones, that I had some sense of her even though I was only, like, two when she left.
    After a while, he proclaimed me cured .
    I stare at the moon. Man, something hurts. I head back in to Dad.

24
    Allie Jo

    I am squished so low in the gazebo I think my knees are going to bust. What is so interesting about that moon? It feels like Chase has been staring at it for hours. I can just make him out through the lattice.
    Oh, my gosh, I need to pull my legs out, but I don’t dare because he might hear me. Streaks of pain race along my neck from tilting my head at a weird angle, but I hold this position. I am aware of everything—my heartbeat, my breathing, the crickets, the frogs. I feel like I did when I drank Mom’s coffee once; every single nerve throbs with energy. It’s kind of exciting.
    Go, go, go! I can’t be crimped down like this for much longer. A caterpillar climbs onto my flip-flop and crawls over my toes. It tickles, but I don’t dare move.
    Tara taps my shoulder and I almost yelp. Craning my head around, I glance at her and she gestures toward the pool, where Chase is slipping through the hotel door, back inside.
    I bolt upright and shake my foot. The caterpillar goes flying. That’s practice for when he becomes a butterfly later.
    â€œWhew!” I laugh and turn to Tara. “He didn’t see us! That was great.” It was her idea to hide from him.
    She peers over the lawn, then gets up and sits on the bench, sopping wet. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. I guess her mom didn’t pack a lot of outfits.
    Even though it’s muggy outside, the springs are seventy-two degrees all year round. I touch her arm. “You must be freezing!” I say.
    She seems to think about this as she rubs water droplets off her arms. “I’m not used to swimming without my coat.”
    â€œYour coat?”
    Her eyes widen