Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2019 by Shannon Greenland
Cover design by Sarah Pierson
Cover copyright © 2019 Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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ISBN 978-0-316-52479-7
E3-20190628-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
FOREWORD
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
DISCOVER MORE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JIMMY PATTERSON BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
For my parents, who made my childhood full of fun and adventure.
FOREWORD
Best friends are the ones who share your deepest secrets, complain with you about school, laugh with you so hard your belly hurts, and go on epic adventures with you, sometimes without even leaving the house. Your friends understand you in a special way because they’re going through a lot of the same things that you are, and they know you almost as well as you know yourself. I’ve had some of my friends for a long, long time, and even though we don’t see each other every day, our bonds are still strong and always will be.
Scouts is a wonderful story about good friends who nevertheless might be on the edge of drifting apart. Growing up and having different interests can sometimes do that. One night, they decide to go on a seemingly simple trek to check out a crashed meteor, but instead they find danger, thrills, heartbreak, and joy… and discover just how deep their friendships really go.
Everyone needs friends like the Scouts, and after reading this story, I hope you’ll feel like they’re your friends as well.
—James Patterson
CHAPTER 1
1985—The Here and Now
The walkie-talkie crackles on my bedroom desk. “Annie, come in. Beans here.”
I snatch up the gadget. “This is Annie. Over.”
“Don’t forget your walkie. Over.”
I roll my eyes. So typical of Beans. Like I would ever forget my walkie. “Yeah. Over.”
Unzipping my backpack, I start cramming in all the stuff I’ll need for our camping trip: ball cap and toothbrush (I hate dirty teeth), chore money (last time I counted, I had twenty-three dollars and thirteen cents), box of matches, flashlight, can of Pringles, and I finish it all up with my sleeping bag.
I’m digging under my bed for some spare batteries when Mom peeks in my open door. “Annie, do you want to take… is that your new yellow dress crumpled on the floor?”
I look out from under my bed and cringe. Whoops.
With a sigh, she sits down on my bed. “What am I going to do with you, Annie? Your room is a disaster.”
“I’ll clean up when I come home. Promise.” Standing, I give her my best smile because I so don’t have time to clean up right now. The Scouts are waiting.
Mom looks me up and down for a second, taking in my cutoffs and Guns N’ Roses tee, before letting out another sigh. Uh-oh.
“I think we need to talk.” She pats the spot next to her on the bed. “Sit down for a second.”
My shoulders drop. “What? Why? Am I in trouble?”
“No,” she says. “It’s just… it’s just… well—”
I hold my breath. What’s going on?
“You’re getting older now. You’re not a little girl anymore. Your friends aren’t little boys, either. Before too much longer, those boys are going to want to do different things and they might not want you to come along. You’re going to want to do different things, too.”
“What? No!” I snap, knowing that’s never going to happen. “They’re my only friends!”
“I know.” Mom runs her fingers down one of my two dark braids. “But maybe it’s time you made some friends who are girls.”
Dad sticks his head in the open door, just back from work and still wearing his suit and tie. “My goodness, you two look so alike.”
Everyone always says that, and it’s true. Mom’s Native American genes definitely dominated over Dad’s Caucasian ones. But it’s especially true right now because we’re both wearing our hair in braids with bandanas. Me because it’s what I always do, and Mom because she’s been painting our kitchen.
My mom gives my dad a look. “Honey, I was just telling Annie that we think she should start making some friends who are girls.”
Dad looks confused for a second. “Oh, yeah. Right.” His gaze takes in my stuffed backpack. “I didn’t realize you were camping out with the Scouts tonight.”
I nod. I love when he uses our club name, even if we’re not real Scouts.
“Where’re you going to be?”
“Rocky’s.”
He gives me a warning look. “Stay at Rocky’s. Do not go anywhere else.”
I nod again so I don’t have to answer him. I’m more of a lie-by-omission type of person. When it comes to actually speaking a lie, I stink at it. Now, Fynn—he’s the good liar in our group. He can open his mouth and tell you whatever you want to hear, and you’ll believe it. Yeah, that’d be a good skill to have.
Dad looks at my overstuffed backpack again. “I’m serious, Annie. Only Rocky’s. No wandering off.”
“How was work today?” I ask him.
Dad points his finger at me. “Do not go on Mr. Basinger’s farm. And definitely do not climb up his silo again!”
I nod again. So much for changing the subject.
Sure, Old Man Basinger hasn’t exactly warmed up to us Scouts yet—he yells at us, rides his tractor waving a shotgun, even threw a peach at us once—but we know how to skirt around him.
I look between my parents. �
��Can I go now?”
Dad’s lips tilt up into a little smile. “Not before I give you something.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small object. “Hold out your hand.”
I don’t hide the giant smile that creeps onto my cheeks as I bounce off the bed and hurry over. Dad always gives the best presents. I hold out my hand and watch as he opens his.
A purple pocketknife drops into my palm!
My eyes widen. “For real?” I can’t believe Mom agreed to this.
“I think you’re old enough.”
I stand up a little taller. I can’t wait to show the Scouts!
Dad chuckles. “Okay. Go. Have fun.”
“But we’re not done talking about the boy/girl stuff,” Mom says. “We’ll finish up later. Just think about what I said.”
I definitely will not be thinking about it, but I nod anyway as I grab my pack and walkie-talkie, yell, “Love you!” and fly downstairs. I climb onto the BMX bike that Dad and I built last summer and hit the street, taking off toward Rocky’s house.
Rocky’s dad’s Trans Am is up on blocks, as it always is. Sometimes he lets me crawl under and help him with stuff. He’s cool that way. I wish my dad could do stuff like work on cars. All he does is wear a suit and go to an office.
Though he did help me build my bike, so there is that.
Rocky’s sister is shooting hoops outside their garage when I pedal up. Everybody in his family is an athlete, which is why I love hanging out over here. One of them is always up for playing basketball, catch, football, or soccer.
His dad played football for UT, and Rocky’s been playing forever, too. A lot of people in the neighborhood say Rocky’s got raw talent and could go pro someday. That’d be neat—having a superstar friend and all.
Rocky’s already outside waiting on his bike, dressed in his usual jeans and muscle tee. He catches a wheelie off the ramp we all built in his side yard and meets up with me on the street.
“You are such a girl,” he jokingly complains.
“I can do anything you can do, and better, so what exactly are you getting at?”
“Hello?” He holds up his wrist, which doesn’t have a watch. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Um, let me remind you that Fynn is typically the one we’re waiting on, so that has nothing to do with being a girl. Besides, my parents wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
I feel my cheeks heat as I think back to the conversation. “Nothing,” I say, pedaling off. “Let’s just go.”
We hang a left and come up on Beans’s house, and Rocky and I brake to a stop in front and wait.
A couple of seconds go by, and then Beans opens the door and steps out. His mom follows right behind him, sticking her finger in his face and saying something. I listen real close and make out “B minus” and “no more TV” and “your father’s going to be very disappointed.”
Beans is a straight-A student. I’m sure a B minus to his mom is like a D to mine.
I watch as Beans stands in his high-water jeans, staring down at the porch, and my chest aches. I hate what he must be feeling. I don’t know why his mom is always railing on him. And I don’t know why she doesn’t buy him clothes that fit. I mean, they’re the richest family in the neighborhood.
She finishes whatever she’s saying and then turns to look across their front yard at me and Rocky. She straightens up and gives us a big wave, like she wasn’t just all up in Beans’s face. “Y’all kids be good.”
“We will,” we say, and watch as Beans climbs onto his bike and quietly pedals the length of his driveway to meet us.
When Beans’s mom closes the door, he immediately ruffles his Afro to rub out the side-part that she always puts there.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Fine,” he snaps, and then does this thing where he peels his lips off his braces before racing off.
He’s been snapping a lot lately.
“Beans’s mom is so strict,” I whisper to Rocky.
“I know,” he says. “Let’s just go.”
We hurry to catch him, pedaling furiously up the hill, and squeal to a stop in front of Fynn’s house. There’s a new car in front. A Buick. Sounds from the backyard filter around.
“I’ll just stay here,” Rocky says.
“What?” I drop my bike. “Why? Come on.”
With a sigh, Rocky gets off his bike and slowly follows me and Beans. As we round the corner of Fynn’s house, we see everyone sitting on Fynn’s deck, finishing dinner and laughing. Fynn’s mom, another woman who looks just like his mom, and a girl about our age. With all their blond hair and preppy clothes, they look like a staged magazine ad.
And here’s me with my bandana, Beans in his high-waters, and Rocky with his muscle tee, looking like a bunch of hoodlums (to use Mom’s word) leaning up against the fence that surrounds their backyard.
“Hello, son.”
I turn to see Rocky’s dad coming out the back door of Fynn’s house, and my head snaps over to Rocky.
Rocky mumbles hello but totally avoids eye contact with me. And before I can ask him what the deal is, Fynn comes off the deck toward us, high-fiving Rocky’s dad as he passes.
When Fynn’s standing right in front of us, I look between my two friends. “Anybody going to tell me what’s going on?”
Fynn furrows his brows. “With what?”
“Hello?” I wave my hand in the direction of the back door. “Rocky’s dad?”
Fynn looks at Rocky. “I thought you told them.”
Rocky shrugs but still doesn’t say anything. I glance over at Beans, and he looks as clueless as me.
“His dad and my mom are dating,” Fynn tells us with a smile that so doesn’t match Rocky’s attitude.
“That’s kind of neat,” Beans says. “If they get married, you two will be brothers.”
Fynn nods. “Cool, huh?”
I look over at Rocky. “How long?”
“Couple weeks,” he mumbles.
I want to be irritated he didn’t tell me, but clearly there’s something going on. Rocky’s mom died several years ago, and he doesn’t talk much about it, but I suspect this right here has got to stink. I think about my own parents, and yeah, it would totally bum me out if one of them died and the other started dating someone.
But at least it’s Fynn’s mom, who is usually really nice and not strict like Beans’s mom.
The laughter from the deck filters over again, and the girl who was sitting beside Fynn gets up and comes bounding over, blond curls bouncing.
“Wow,” I hear Beans breathe, and I cut him a look right as Rocky must spot her, too, because he straightens up from the fence.
Wide-eyed, both Beans and Rocky stare as she comes toward us—tank top, miniskirt, bow in her hair, and ankle socks. It reminds me of those Pert shampoo commercials where there’s obviously a fan off-camera blowing the girl’s hair. This is exactly how Mom would have me dress if she could get her way. The “perfect” girl.
Well, there are a lot of “perfect” girls at school who are also perfectly mean. I don’t get it—what’s so great about being pretty?
“Hi.” The girl grins, all dimples and lip gloss and freckles. “I’m Scarlett, Fynn’s cousin.”
“Hi!” Beans squeaks, and then clears his throat.
“Hey.” Rocky pitches his voice low, and I roll my eyes.
Fynn pulls a tissue from his back pocket and blows his nose. “Scarlett lives in Chicago. She’s going into the eighth grade. She’s here for the week while her mom goes off and gets married.”
Wait a minute, “for the week”? I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means.
“Are you going to come watch the meteor shower with us?” Beans asks, and I shoot him the evil eye. This was supposed to be our secret adventure night! Just the Scouts.
She nods. “Fynn says we’re camping out, too. Let me just get my purse.”
Her purse?
She races inside, and I watch
as her miniskirt bounces with each step. We’re supposed to be climbing a silo. I hope she’s changing.
“What are you doing?” I grumble at Fynn. “Why did you invite her?”
He refolds his tissue into a neat square. “My mom said I had to bring her along.”
“But this is our first-day-of-summer camping trip. We do it every year. Just. Us,” I emphatically point out. What’s wrong with him?
Fynn just shrugs. “Sorry. Mom said.”
“She’s a girl,” Rocky whispers.
I frown. “I’m a girl.”
“Yeah, but she’s a real girl. A woman.”
A woman? She’s going into the eighth grade!
“She’s going to be here the whole week?” Rocky asks with so much wonder in his tone that I start chewing my thumbnail.
“Yeah.” Fynn sighs, all put-out, and walks his used tissue over to the garbage.
Well, at least I’m not the only one none too thrilled with her arrival and intrusion on our week.
CHAPTER 2
Scarlett’s bike has pink and purple tassels, a white basket, and an annoying horn—and she can’t keep up. Me and Beans take off to Basinger’s farm, leaving Rocky and Fynn back with her. They know where we’re going. They’ll catch up.
At least Scarlett put on some pants. Even if they are neon-pink spandex. Now she won’t flash everyone with her undies when she’s climbing the silo.
We drop our bikes, tucking them under our usual hiding tree, and we take a second to survey Basinger’s land. I honestly don’t know where it starts and stops; there’s so much of it. It’s a dairy farm with two barns, lots of cows, hay fields, and a few houses scattered around, where Mr. Basinger’s sons and their families live.
The good thing about the silo we plan on climbing is that it’s an old one they don’t use anymore, and it sits in a back pasture, pretty much out of view. It’s also the tallest thing in the area. Perfect for stargazing.
On the way here, I tried to ask Beans about what went down with his mom, but he just gave me a snippy “Nothing.” But Beans tells me things he doesn’t tell the others, and so before Fynn and Rocky catch up, I try one last time. “Hey, anything you want to talk about? You know I’ll keep it between us.”
Scouts Page 1
