âWell, all you can do is your best. You train, sleep, think positive thoughtsââ
Trixieâs little angel eyes suddenly got bigger and bluer. âThereâs also sabotage; they do it all the time in sports, you know.â
âYeah.â Babs grinned from ear to ear. âSabotage.â
My ears perked right up at that word. Iâd always loved that word, sabotage .
Trixie pointed at Babs and laughed. âOh, my God, you should so totally see your face right now. I was kidding, Babs. Kidding.â
Babs pretended to laugh. âYouâre funny, Trix.â
Yeah, real funny. I wondered how far Babs would go to help her. I was beginning to feel more sorry for Babs than I did for Marta.
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TRUE FACT: Followers are more dangerous than leaders. Just look at the dude who killed the Beatle.
Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are
Since Iâd become the younger, prettier version of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, my parents were being so much nicer to me. It almost seemed a little fake, like they wanted to bask in the glow, if you get my gist, but we canât all be deep.
âYou ready?â Dad asked me.
âBorn ready.â I got up, licked the maple syrup off my hands.
I couldnât waitâit was just the two of us. Mom had taken Pen and Felix to Malibu. It was just me and Dad.
I followed him over to his desk in the living room and put my chin on his shoulder while he studied the plans heâd made of the property, based on the original drawings of the mansion built in 1915. Watching them come to life reminded me that my dad was actually pretty cool, despite the Teva rock-climbing sandals he paired with socks and shorts when it got warm. Talk about a fashion faux pas that, I donât mind saying, strained the father-daughter bond in a dangerous way.
âWeâve already dug down eighteen feet over there by the house.â He pointed to a spot right near all the bulldozers. âNothing.â
My eyes flew over the map. âWhat if the tunnels are so deep, you canât even hit them with a machine?â
Dad considered, glancing at the plans, nodding like crazy. âA deep hole and a ladder that takes you into a low tunnel. Genius. â Dad took a deep breath. âThat could explain why we havenât hit it yet. Weâve been looking for a concrete structure coming all the way up to the surface.â
I picked up the tool belt heâd made just for me, and we walked out into the sunshine and the quiet street traffic. âImagine if we can find them in time for our massive Halloween party.â
Dad gave me one of those looks. âWhat massive Halloween party?â
I grabbed his arm and screamed, âWe live on the Houdini Estate, dude; of course weâre going to have a massive party, and I want to invite the whole class, even the total dorksââ
Dad interrupted. âI was a total dork in middle school.â
âExactly. I want it to be like a giant welcome-to-the-neighborhood party.â
My dad slipped his arm over my shoulders. âSo living here is a lot better than Malibu, huh?â
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TRUE FACT: In Malibu you were considered dirt poor unless your last name was Spielberg. If you didnât live in the Colony or at the very least on the water, popularity was a losing battle. If your dad redid old mansions wearing Tevas, it wasnât even a battle.
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I turned to look at the land behind me, at the trees, the rock walls, palm trees, and the natural springs that bubbled up from underground somewhere. I thought about the tunnels and the ghosts and the magic that were just waiting for me. This was where I belonged. âI love it.â
âAnd the whole Marta thing at school.â He checked out the turquoise bead necklace Iâd lifted from Momâs jewelry box and wore like a badge. âHow are you doing with that?â
Over the mountain two red-tailed hawks began their dip-and-dive dance. I