He shrugs. “Is there such a thing as abbreviation letdown? Landon’s letters don’t challenge her anymore. I think she wants to turn the campfire into a camp fire so we all have to go home.”
I hesitate. “There’s something you guys should know.” Now that the moment for my big confession is here, I’m tongue-tied. I’ve been keeping this secret for so long that I can’t come up with the words. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose two. “You know how you never see me with my parents? Well, actually, you kind of do. Magnus—he’s my dad.”
Tyrell stares at me. “No way!”
I feel my face turning as red as his splotches as I give them my history, starting with the summer after the divorce, when I was six, and Marvin Feldman became Magnus Fellini. By the time I’ve mumbled my way to the end, Tyrell and Grace are staring at me in open-mouthed astonishment.
“Why would you keep something like this a secret?” Grace demands. “If I was Magnus’s daughter, I’d be shouting it from the treetops! You’re so lucky!”
I try to explain. “I don’t see him as the famous Magnus Fellini. To me, he’s just Dad—you know, Marvin Feldman. And the Oasis is just where I spend my summers, because that’s what it says in the custody agreement.”
“Okay,” Tyrell acknowledges. “But Magnus is like royalty around this place. That makes you royal too.”
“Please don’t say that,” I beg. “I don’t want to be special. I just want to be me.”
Grace nods. “That makes sense. There’s only one part I don’t understand. You’ve kept this hidden since you were six. What changed? Why are you suddenly coming out with it now?”
“Because Jett found out,” I reply bitterly. “He barged right into our cottage and saw me there. I know he’s going to spread it all over the Oasis, so I’m beating him to it.”
Tyrell frowns. “Why would Jett go into your cottage?”
“He didn’t know it was my cottage. He just knew Magnus lived there. So it’s anybody’s guess what he was planning. Nothing good, that’s for sure.”
Grace shakes her head in disgust. “Jett Baranov is out of control. Do you know the last thing he told us? That Ivory is brainwashing guests to steal their money.”
“Seriously?” I marvel. “Maybe this place is getting to him. Or do you think it’s all an act? You know, so he can get into enough trouble to get kicked out.”
“Hold on a minute.” Tyrell steps in. “I don’t know about brainwashing, but I’ve seen Ivory doing some pretty messed-up stuff. Jett might be reading too much into it, but I don’t think any of us is in a position to say he’s losing it.”
At that very moment, a lone figure comes barreling from the direction of the river. It’s Jett, but I hardly recognize him at first. His eyes are wide as dinner plates, his hair is standing on end, and his clothes and face are smeared with mud. He looks wildly around the campfire group, spots us, and comes rushing over.
Tyrell is horrified. “Jett? What happened?”
“Alligators!” he rasps.
“What?”
“I just came from Hedge Apple!” he manages between gasps. “I saw Snapper—he’s Ivory! I mean, she’s Snapper! I mean—” He shakes his head to clear it. “That’s her house! And you know what she’s got out back? Alligators!”
“I’ve been coming here half my life,” I shoot back. “There are no alligators this far north!”
“Not naturally!” he explodes. “Ivory’s breeding them! That’s what she’s doing with the money from Friends of the Oasis! She’s running an alligator farm!”
“You listen to me, Jett Baranov—” Grace begins.
“I can prove it!” he pleads. “Needles—he was never a lizard. He’s a baby alligator! They’ve got dozens of them over there, hatching from eggs in a kiddie pool!”
He raves on and on, his voice rising in pitch as his agitation grows. He describes an operation with our meditation pathfinder as the Al Capone of the alligator business. There’s an army of muscular henchmen to protect the place. And it’s all financed by a fake charity that sounds like the Oasis but isn’t.
As I listen to him, my fury cools off, to be replaced by a feeling that’s even less comfortable. This is no goof, no rich-kid prank. He really believes this, and there can only be one explanation for that. Jett is losing his grip on reality. Maybe taking him out of his cushy Silicon Valley lifestyle and sending him to the Oasis was too much for him.
“Jett,” I say gently. “Listen to yourself. How could any of this be true?”
“Go ahead. Deny it,” he growls at me. “For all I know, your father could be Ivory’s silent partner.” He turns to Grace and Tyrell. “You guys don’t even know about that. Say hello to Nimbus’s little girl. All the time we’ve been hiding Needles and sneaking to Hedge Apple, we’ve had a spy with us!”
“We know all about Brooklynne,” Grace says quietly. “It’s you we’re worried about now.”
“Me?” he howls. “You should be worried about Ivory! You saw that mansion! I didn’t make it up! The money to pay for it came from your families—and the other Oasis guests she’s been ripping off probably since day one!” He turns to Tyrell. “Tell them! We saw Ivory brainwashing your dad!”
Tyrell looks cowed. “Yeah, but that didn’t have anything to do with alligators.”
When Grace regards Jett, there’s none of the usual anger and judgment in her expression, and the sharpness is gone from her tone. “I was wrong to get mad at you for not liking the Oasis. It isn’t for everybody—I see that now. Maybe it’s time for you to talk to Matt about going home early.”
Jett stares at us from one to the other as if we’re speaking a language he doesn’t understand. “What’s the matter with you guys! I’m telling you something earthshaking, and your answer is I have to go home? I’d love to go home—I wish I’d never heard of this dump! But if you won’t help me do the right thing, I’ll do it myself!” And he turns on his heel and storms off in the direction of the cottages.
We stand there, speechless, watching him go.
23
Jett Baranov
Idiots! Are they stupid or just gutless? Why can’t they see what’s right in front of their faces?
Well, not Brooklynne. It’s pretty obvious what her problem is. She’s covering for her father. Even if Nimbus isn’t involved in the alligator thing, it’s still pretty bad that he’s letting it happen. And if he’s totally clueless about it, that’s even worse!
How can Grace and Tyrell sit on their hands and do nothing while their families are being robbed by Ivory? Tyrell—who saw exactly what Ivory is capable of? I get that he’s scared. I get that watching your dad being brainwashed freaks a person out. But there’s a time when you have to fight back.
Grace too! Oh, sure, she loves the Oasis and hates me. That doesn’t change the fact that her mother wrote the biggest check of all! Is it because the truth is coming from me, so it can’t be right? I respect her for giving me a hard time when she’s standing up for what she believes in. But I’d respect her a lot more if she could take a single decisive action for once in her life!
It’s up to me. If I don’t do it, nothing is going to get done. The problem is, do what? Vlad would know what to do, but without a phone, I have no way to get in touch with him. He might as well be on the moon for all I can reach him. I could go back to Hedge Apple and blab to the cops—surely even a one-horse town has a police station or a sheriff’s office or something. But how do I know that a kid would be taken seriously? They might find out I’m from the Oasis and drive me straight back.
No, there’s only one way to do this, and it’s by making a really big stink. I know what you’re thinking: Silicon Valley’s Number One Spoiled Brat is at it again, like the go-kart in San Francisco Bay, or the drone that shut down the airport. This is different. I have a strategy. I have to attract every cop in Arkansas to Snapper’s mansion so they can see what’s going on with their own eyes.
Cottage 29 is empty wh
en I get there. Matt’s still with the sweet-potato-and-agave crowd, stuffing his face, probably because Ivory told him he’s hungry. It’s getting late, though. The bonfire is dying down. I have to move quickly.
I kick out of my sneakers, which are wet and squishy, and peel off my muddy T-shirt and shorts. Once I’m dressed again, my next stop is the first aid kit in the bathroom. Jackpot! There’s a whole roll of white adhesive tape. I jam it in my pocket and rush straight to my room. I get down on my knees, reach under the bed, and pull out the two huge boxes of fireworks that came along with the Jet Ski, the hovercraft, and the Dance Dance Revolution machine—the only part of that shipment that I got to keep because Nimbus and Matt didn’t know about it. I admit that I was my old spoiled brat self when I ordered that stuff. But it’s sure going to come in handy tonight.
I heft the larger of the two cartons with both arms, check to make sure the coast is clear, and slip out the door. Now comes the hard part: transporting a treasure trove of fireworks past a large campfire party that’s just breaking up for the night. I take the most out-of-the-way path to the river, looping around the dining hall and meditation center. That keeps me hidden, but it also slows me down, since it’s the longer route and I’m carrying a heavy load. Once I reach the cover of the woods, my problems aren’t over yet. Now I have to navigate between the trees, carrying my bulky burden. I bump into a lot of rough bark, scraping most of the skin off the knuckles of both hands.
The launch is right where I left it, barely an hour before. I load my fireworks aboard and chug into the river, heading back toward Hedge Apple. To be extra cautious, I sail in darkness for the first few minutes before turning on the launch’s headlight.
The trip has become familiar, but this time, I’m not going for lizard food, fried chicken, or candy bars, or even to spy on the mansion. I know who Snapper is now, and she scares the daylights out of me. That explains the tightness in my chest and the fact that the hairs on the back of my neck are standing straight up.
Inside my brain, a spirited debate rages on: Dummy, why are you doing this? This isn’t your fight! You didn’t write any of those checks. And even if you did, that money wouldn’t make a dent in Vlad’s bank account!
Yeah, but Matt did. And Tyrell’s family, Grace’s, and at least a dozen others. And that’s just this summer. Who knows how many people have suffered because Ivory stole their money. Somebody has to stop it—and I don’t see any other volunteers.
The trip to Hedge Apple takes the usual twenty minutes, but this time my destination is not the main dock. I steer past the town and around the bend in the Saline until Snapper’s mansion appears beyond the trees. The lights are on in the big house. That and an almost full silvery moon illuminate the water.
I cut the speed and approach the property as silently as possible. The fence is visible now, extending from the mansion all the way to the river. I can’t see any alligators, but I know they’re there, under the ramshackle wooden shelter behind the house. I try to picture cute little Needles in my mind, because if I think of the fifteen-footer, I might lose my nerve.
As the boat glides toward the gate, I move to the bow and get ready to grab on to a metal post. My hand is just a few inches away when the hull of the launch runs aground in the soft riverbed. The boat stops short, sending me tumbling over the prow. I land with a splash in shallow water over mud. Soaked and dripping filth, I scramble up and pull the launch farther onto the shoal. The last thing I need is for it to float away, leaving me teetering on a narrow strip of land with river on one side and a whole lot of alligators on the other.
I reach back into the boat, tear open my carton of fireworks, and pull out the first item. It’s a skyrocket with a label declaring it to be a “Super Duper Jumbo Boomer.” Using the tape in my pocket, I attach it to the wire mesh with the nose cone pointed directly at the padlock on the gate. That lock is the only thing keeping something like three hundred animals inside Ivory’s farm, waiting to be sold to companies that will make them into alligator shoes, belts, purses, and luggage, and sell the meat to restaurants and supermarkets. If I can knock out the gate, I can put the famous Snapper out of business and send all her livestock swimming south for the warmer waters of Louisiana, where alligators are supposed to live in the first place. And when the cops come to investigate what happened, they’ll find a giant mansion owned by the giant pathfinder behind the whole giant scheme. Ivory’s next house is going to be even bigger: a prison.
I’ve got my work cut out for me. These are fireworks, not dynamite. They contain gunpowder, but I have to make sure to pack them around the lock tightly enough to blow it to smithereens. I strap on two more big rockets, six roman candles, and four burning schoolhouses to make sure everything else ignites. For insurance, I add cherry bombs, Catherine wheels, bottle rockets, and dragon eggs to the outside and then tape everything to the gate until the entire roll has been used up. By the time I’m done, it looks like there’s a papery white wasp’s nest hanging from the fence.
As I’m working, a few gators edge over from the main pool to investigate what’s going on. Except for the occasional splash, they’re almost silent, which is pretty scary. I’ve heard that even though you think they’re slow, their strike is lightning fast, and you never know what hit you. When I blow the gate, I’d better already be in the boat, because there will be nothing else separating me and hundreds of escaping alligators.
Luckily, the fireworks come with a remote control detonator, which can be used from up to fifty yards away. I slip it into the pocket of my shorts. It should give me a nice head start when the gators start coming downriver.
I’m so focused on the big animals on the other side of the fence that when the roar swells, my first thought is that it’s coming from them. The next thing I know, a powerful arm wraps around my neck and I’m being hauled backward toward a Zodiac motorized inflatable raft. I try to wriggle away, but a second man grabs me by the midsection and lifts me off the soft ground.
“Don’t bother, kid,” comes a gruff voice.
I look up into a face I recognize as belonging to one of Snapper’s goons. “You’ve got it all wrong,” I manage. “I just wanted to see the alligators. You know they’ve got alligators here?”
The guy laughs, which puts a strain on my rib cage. “Yeah, I heard something about it.”
They dump me in the Zodiac and the other goon attaches a towline to the launch. The motor swells and they take me to a small beach just beyond the fence on the south side of the house.
The first man is talking on a cell phone. “Sorry to bother you, boss, but I think you’d better get back here. We caught this kid monkeying with the fence. Probably just a troublemaker, but he knows what we’ve got here. . . .”
My mind is whirling as I try to wrap my head around just how desperate this situation is. “Boss” can only mean one person: Ivory. These two goons think I’m just some juvenile delinquent joyriding in a boat, looking for alligator pictures to post on Instagram. They didn’t even notice the “wasp’s nest” I left on the gate. But when Ivory comes and sees it’s me, all that will change. She’s going to know I’m more than just a pesky kid. I’ve got to make my move now, before she gets here.
The minute they stand me upright on shore, I throw both elbows back with all my might. I hear twin oofs, twist away, and make a run for it. But one of those guys must have played football in high school. Just as I’m rounding the side of the house, a flying tackle knocks my legs out from under me, and I hit the ground rolling.
When my vision clears, they’re both stampeding toward me. I’ve got three seconds, maybe four, before they grab me up again. I’ve got to make them count! I’m going to blow that gate sky high!
Fertilizer, meet fan. . . .
I reach into my pocket for the detonator—
It isn’t there.
Panic doesn’t begin to describe it. I jam both hands in my pockets. Nothing but wet, clammy fabric. The detonator must have fallen out when I got tackle
d! How could something so unlucky happen to Vladimir Baranov’s son?
I scramble up to my hands and knees to search for it, but that’s when both goons come down on me like a ton of bricks.
24
Grace Atwater
I usually sleep like a baby after campfire night, my stomach full of delicious, healthy food cooked over an environmentally friendly fire. But tonight I’m tossing and turning. I can’t relax. My eyes won’t even close properly, so I’m staring into the darkness, seeing nothing and everything.
It’s Jett, of course. Everything lousy about this summer comes straight from him. But when I picture him, the image that comes up isn’t the smug, smart-alecky face that’s been exasperating me for the past three weeks. It’s the Jett I saw a couple of hours ago—upset, anxious, haunted.
He was definitely being honest—at least as he saw it. That’s the scariest part. Jett was really negative when he first got to the Oasis, but no one would have called him delusional—just a spoiled rich kid, used to getting his own way. The Jett from the bonfire tonight was someone who wasn’t making sense. Ivory, a criminal! Besides Magnus himself, no one at the Oasis is as well respected and loved. Ivory taught me everything I know about getting in touch with my inner self. Why, I can’t wait until I’m old enough for a real one-on-one meditation lesson—
I sit up in bed, frowning. Tyrell saw one of those sessions. He stopped short of agreeing with Jett, but he did insist there was something fishy about it. I can’t really see why Ivory would use cheap gimmicks like a light-up pen in meditation, but she’s the expert, not me. I’m sure she has her reasons. It doesn’t make her a crook—and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with alligators!
That’s the wildest part of all. Ivory with a secret identity, running an alligator farm that she pays for with money stolen from Oasis guests. It’s beyond bizarre. That’s why I’m not mad at Jett so much as worried about him. I mean, if there was one part of this that made even the slightest amount of sense—
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