Free Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula by Elise Stokes Page A

me this was no trick.
    Pancakes are on the horizon, I thought, stretching and inhaling deeply. It occurred to me then smells seemed more intense, distinct, than they had yesterday. Is it my imagination, I wondered, or am I getting worse? Pushing down panic, I climbed out of bed.
    While throwing on jeans and a T-shirt, I revisited the decision I had come to before dropping off to sleep last night. Today, I would take Emery into my confidence. Hopefully, he would have answers. Hopefully, he could help me.
    I walked into the kitchen, trying to ignore the fact that I could smell more than pancakes.
    “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Dad greeted cheerfully, flipping pancakes at the range. “Pancakes always get you out of bed. Are you ready for these?” He offered me a plate with a couple of pancakes hot off the grill.
    “Thanks.” I took the plate, feeling saliva collect in my mouth. What Dad said was true, but pancakes didn’t usually make me drool like a Saint Bernard.
    What is happening to me?
    At the table, I sort of grunted at the boys and grabbed the syrup. No rudeness intended; my strange pancake obsession required full concentration. Stuffing a huge gooey piece in my mouth, I almost moaned. It was like every tastebud on my tongue sang. Chomping down on the delectable morsel, I looked up from my plate and into Emery’s amused face.
    “They’re good, aren’t they?” he asked, staring at my packed cheeks.
    I swallowed hard. “Terrific.”
    “ Very ladylike,” Nate teased.
    Cramming in another huge piece, I gave him a close-lipped smile, appreciating the harassment. It made me feel less crazed.
    Nate nodded approvingly. “Nice.” His comeback would have been similar.
    “Cassidy, please pass the syrup,” Chazz asked politely.
    Apparently, he thought someone at the table had to show decorum. His salivating sister sure wasn’t. However, his attempt would have been more effective if his face and pajama top weren’t already drenched in syrup.
    While handing him the bottle, I was careful not to make contact with his sticky hands.
    “Thank you.” He smiled, syrup dripping from his chin.
    Mom carried four glasses to the table. “Orange juice?” she offered.
    Setting the glasses down and taking a seat, Mom thoughtfully watched Emery sipping the juice. “Emery, I’ve been thinking about tomorrow—”
    I tensed, knowing that tone.
    “Nate and Cassidy will be at school,” she continued. “It wouldn’t be much fun for you to spend the day here with me. I thought maybe you’d like to be Nate’s guest tomorrow.”
    My mouth dropped open. Is she insane? He’d be a total laughingstock. I glimpsed alarm cross Emery’s face and interpreted the look to mean he wasn’t so keen on the idea either. I felt compelled to intervene on his behalf.
    “Mom, you can’t just bring someone to school with you,” I corrected, giving her a look that said, Be reasonable.
    “Well, of course you can.”
    “Why would you think that? I’ve never known anyone to bring a guest to school.”
    She gave me a determined smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll work it out.”
    “Emery has already graduated,” I blurted out. Mentally, I added a big oops at the end.
    Of course, Nate caught the oops . He decided to answer Mom’s questioning look. “Emery told us, in my room …” He briefly paused to let the emphasis sink in. “…that he has already graduated from high school.”
    Trying to appear innocent, I took a bite of pancake while Nate continued, “He’s also graduated from college. Did you get that, too, Cassidy?” He grinned challengingly.
    Grinning back, I took the challenge. “Yes, I did.”
    Nate laughed. “You have no pride.”
    I shrugged.
    Mom and Dad were so surprised by Emery’s academic achievements that they didn’t catch my spying confession.
    “Is this true, Emery?” Mom asked.
    Emery summarized his accomplishments. He presented them carefully, weighing each word. He didn’t appear embarrassed or