Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication Page
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Back Cover
For my mom, who read my first draft and had the courage to tell me to keep working.
For my dad, who taught me to love PB&Js.
And for Rick, whose encouragement and support made this all possible.
1
I snuck the phone into the hall closet, where Kate’s faux fur parka would muffle the sound. I hit speed-dial #7 and let it ring once, then hung up and called again. Our secret code. It rang twice before Jason answered.
“Annie?”
“I’ve got a body count.” I was all business. “Burial required pronto.”
“Like, now?”
“Affirmative. See you in five.”
“Wait!” Jason coughed. “The parental units admitted an unknown onto the premises. Emergency mission in progress. Need more time. Repeat. Need more time.”
“Jason, this is important. I’m coming. You have five.” I hung up.
Much more possibility of getting caught this way, but Jason was stubborn. If I waited for him to come on his own, it might never happen.
I listened for the telltale sounds of danger — like Kate, bane-of-my-existence slash big-sister-from-Hades, coming home from school — then slipped out of the closet and replaced the phone. I slunk to my room and extracted the pre-packed bag from under my bed.
I hated to break cover, but if I didn’t check in, I’d be grounded. Still, my timing couldn’t be better. Mom was like a zombie on bills day. I poked my head into her room.
“I’m going to Jason’s.”
She didn’t even turn around. “Have fun. Dinner’s at six.”
Avoiding the creaky spots, I raced downstairs. I reached for the doorknob, only to be whacked as the door flew open.
“Watch it, squirt!” Kate glared as though I had hit her.
I rubbed my soon-to-be-bruised arm and tried to scoot past. Being on a mission, I even bit back my reply. I needed out before Kate compromised my position.
Kate’s mouth twisted into a grin.
Too late.
“Where are you going, anyway? To your boyfriend’s?”
I clutched my bag tight and stood as tall as I could. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
Kate laughed as she pushed past. “Right.”
I stomped outside, cringing as the door banged shut. So much for my cover.
Stupid sister.
But I forced myself to unclench my fists. I wasn’t in the clear yet and needed to be alert. Enemy spies could be anywhere.
Bag over my shoulder, I slowed to a casual stroll and whistled as I scanned the area. Across the cul-de-sac, Mrs. Schuster — a.k.a. Mrs. Meany — pulled weeds from her perfect flower garden. The old woman eyed me, and I looked away.
Next door, Billy pedaled on his trike while his mom watched from the garage. A picture of innocence. But was it? I kept up my guard.
For a lesser spy, the pressure might have been too much, but Jason and I had been working on our technique for three years now. Ever since he got that spy kit for his seventh birthday.
I knew what to do. Breathing in the warm September air, I hitched up my pack, then whistled all casual-like until I rounded the corner house. When the coast was clear, I sprinted the rest of the way to Jason’s.
As always, Mr. Parker’s beat-up truck sat in the driveway. Lumber jutted from the back as though Jason’s dad was headed to his next framing job, like it had for a while now. A shiny off-white Lexus was parked at the curb.
That must belong to the intruder.
I rang the doorbell and put on my best especially-for-adults smile. Turkeys squawked in Jason’s backyard, and I jumped. I hated those things!
Mr. Parker started raising turkeys a few years ago as a hobby. I think Jason’s mom had been on some organic kick back then. But so many people had begged to buy one of his “organic” turkeys for the holidays, he’d gone all serious about it. I really wish he would have consulted me first.
In the last few weeks he’d sold off more than half, though not enough for my tastes.
Still, I managed to be polite when Mrs. Parker answered the door.
“Hello, Annie dear. Let me go get Jason.” She frowned a little, brushed back a strand of her curly dark hair, and glided toward Jason’s room.
Mrs. Parker looked and dressed more like a model than a mom. Today’s outfit was my favorite — sleek black slacks and a sparkly sweater that swooped at the neck. The ruby choker she usually wore with it was gone, as were the clangy bracelets, but she still looked beautiful. I tried to imagine myself in such an outfit, but … it just wouldn’t be the same with my frizzy hair and freckles.
From the doorway, I saw Mr. Parker and a skinny, blond-bobbed woman at the table in the kitchen. A Tootsie Pop with a wig. They both stared at some papers.
When Mrs. Parker scooted Jason around the corner, Jason tapped his wrist as if he had a watch. He wanted more time. I shrugged and he slipped away to stand by his dad, using one of our practiced evasive tactics.
“So what is all this, Dad? It all looks really important.”
“Can’t you see we’re busy?” Mr. Parker barked, then waved him away. “Now go play and let us finish.”
I nearly tumbled down the steps. Jason’s dad was usually pretty cool. He was the one playing catch with us in the yard — the turkey-free front yard — while my dad worked late.
“I don’t …” Jason tried to stall again, but his mom hustled him to the door.
“You two go have fun.” Mrs. Parker spoke a little too brightly. “Be back in time for dinner.”
Jason kicked the porch rail before clomping down the steps. “I was this close to completing the mission.” He indicated a PB&J-sized gap between his thumb and pointer finger.
I shrugged again. “She’s probably nobody important. Parents invite strange people over all the time.”
“I don’t know. Things have been … weird lately, and I bet she’s involved.”
I was about to ask what he meant, but something glinted in the Pierces’ window across the street. “Oh no! Lila. Hurry before she sees us!” I picked up the pace but Jason didn’t follow.
“We could throw her off our track by cutting through my backyard.” He moved toward the gate.
My stomach dropped and my palms went clammy. The gobbling got louder. He couldn’t be serious. Then I saw the wicked grin on his face.
“Jason Parker! That is not funny. Those … things back there are dangerous.” I stompe
d in the other direction.
Jason ran to catch up. “All right, all right. I’m sorry. But Lila’s not that bad, you know.”
I shook my head. “Are you kidding? Need I remind you what happened last time I agreed to hang out with her?” I grabbed a fistful of my still-uneven hair as evidence of her horridness. “And anyway, we’re going to the cemetery. Remember?”
Jason cracked a smile. “I still can’t believe you let her touch your hair with scissors. I mean, you could have said no.”
I scowled at him. He knew the story — he should be more sympathetic. She’d wiled me into her lair with the latest video games, then enticed me with a signed poster of my favorite soccer player — I’m still mad my mom didn’t let me keep it. Anyway, he would have done it too if it had been him. “Let’s just hurry.”
We sprinted to the garden at the side of my house and slipped into our secluded patch between the corn and the cherry tree.
Every spring, with the forced labor of Kate, Matt, and I, my mom planted a giant of a garden — the biggest in the neighborhood. It spread from the house all the way to the ditch and had a little of everything. But the best part was the five full rows of corn next to the big fat cherry tree. They made the perfect hiding spot in summer and fall, which Jason and I turned into an unmarked cemetery.
This side of my house had no windows, so no one could spy on us from above. And not wanting to hurt the roots, my mom never planted anything too close to the tree. The graves wouldn’t be disturbed.
I dropped to my knees, bag in front, and lifted out the dead peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Though two of the edges looked like normal bread crust, the center was smushed flat. Purple jelly spots seeped through the now-gray bread. It definitely qualified according to the rules.
“The two-liter of soda fell on it,” I explained, handing it over.
Since we started the cemetery four years ago — after a tragic incident involving a fanny pack, an orange, rock jumping, and several falls — we had scrupulously followed the SPB&J (Smushed Peanut Butter and Jelly) Burial Rules. And Rule #1 was clear: Thou shalt bury all smushed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which are unfit to eat, in the secret cemetery.
“How old is it?” Jason asked.
“Just a day. I saved it from the trash when my mom wasn’t looking.”
Jason wrinkled his nose, eyeing the sandwich. “Aren’t we getting too old for this?”
“Too old for what?” I demanded. “Fun?”
I couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth. He sounded like my mom. Or worse, Kate. Why should we have to be all serious, just because we were ten?
Jason shrugged. “It’s just a question.”
I huffed. Sat up straight. “I hereby call this meeting of the PB&J Society to order. Let the ceremony begin.”
No way Jason wouldn’t do his part.
We locked into a staring contest. I didn’t breathe until he pulled the sandwich from the baggie and performed the inspection. He turned it frontward and backward and then rotated it to check the sides.
“I hereby pronounce this sandwich mold-free and worthy of burial.”
Thanks to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich Jason found squished at the back of his school desk last year, we’d added Rule #6: Thou shalt not bury any sandwich with any non–peanut butter and jelly growths in the cemetery.
Some things were just too gross.
With my mom’s gardening spade, I dug a sandwich-sized hole, then winked at Jason. Rule #2: Thou shalt not speak during the ceremony, except the official sermon.
Jason held up the sandwich, then squinched up his face and looked away before I could do my part.
“Time-out,” I said. Rule #5: If an emergency shall arise, thou shalt call a time-out to allow speaking. “Don’t be such a drama king. I haven’t missed in ages.”
Jason shook his head. “You missed last time it was your turn. And the time before that.”
“And like I said, that was ages ago. Time-in.”
Jason raised his eyebrows but held still. I formed a wad of saliva in my mouth and then spit on the sandwich with everything I could muster. I totally didn’t miss. Rule #3: Thou shalt spit on the sandwich to give it a taste of what it would have experienced if tragedy hadn’t struck.
I laid it in the hole. Then, with hands on our stomachs, we began the special sermon.
“Our dearly beloveds, we are gathered here today to say goodbye to our sandwich.” Jason had heard this first part at his grandpa’s funeral and insisted it was the only way to begin. I liked how important it sounded.
“We are saddened by the loss of our favorite food and think on happier times before it was smushed and became gross. We are grateful for the many times it saved us from the evils of broccoli casserole and bid it farewell on its new journey to feed the worms. May it rest in peace.”
After Jason covered the sandwich with dirt and pounded the mound smooth, we began the official mourning song: “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Rule #4: Thou shalt sing the mourning song after the sandwich is buried.
When we were five and had first planned the burial ceremony, Jason had wanted “Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater.” He’d just learned to play it on the piano. Being the persuasive person I am, I convinced him “Mary” was much more fitting since Mary and her lamb stick together in the song, just like peanut butter and jelly.
We both wanted to change it but couldn’t agree. Jason refused to sing “Wind Beneath My Wings” (perfect, no?), and I refused to sing anything by some band called the Beatles, classic or not. Seriously, why would you name your group after a bug?
To finish up, we put a hand over our heart for a final moment of silence.
When the time was up, I stood, but Jason didn’t move. He stared at a stalk of corn as though in a trance.
I nudged him. “Jason?”
He looked up. “Maybe I should go home.”
“But we still have an hour. And tomorrow we’ve got soccer, and Thursday is piano lessons.”
Jason’s chipmunk cheeks turned pink. “Sorry. It’s just my parents have been arguing a lot about money lately. Seriously, sometimes they’re so loud I don’t even need the Spy Bud Two Thousand.”
The Spy Bud system was a baby monitor hidden in our parents’ rooms. Totally useful for finding out the stuff parents want to keep secret. I sat back down. “Wow.”
“Yeah. A couple weeks ago Dad yelled something about the bank foreclosing on us. I Googled it, Annie. Not good. It means the bank will take our house away.”
I could only stare. This was stuff you heard on the news or in social studies. Not from your best friend.
“So what if the two are connected? What if the lady’s from the bank or something? What if it means we’re going to have to move?”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out (which never happens). He and I had been best friends since birth (well, at least his birth — those two hours in the hospital nursery before Jason arrived were the loneliest two hours of my life). He couldn’t move.
“Anyway, I’m going home.” Jason got up and pushed past a cornstalk.
“Wait!” I finally found my voice. “I’m going with you. Maybe she’s just an insurance salesman or something.”
“Maybe.” But I could tell Jason didn’t believe it.
We went in silence. The distance between our houses had never been longer. And it felt like I carried an elephant on my back every step of the way. Two minutes ago, my world had been perfect … well, almost perfect, minus an iPhone … now I wondered how I’d live until tomorrow.
When we reached the corner, the wigged Tootsie Pop was in Jason’s front yard. She pounded a sign into the grass.
The elephant crashed on top of me, smushing me like a two-liter on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I couldn’t breathe. Even from a distance, the words on the sign were clear:
For Sale.
2
I plopped next to Jason on the cafeteria bench and unpacked my lunch. I lined everything up: two cookies, string cheese, a bag of chips, an apple, and of course, one PB&J sandwich. Okay, technically there was a bag of baby carrots, too, but I don’t really count those.
The noise from the table across the aisle (Miss Guppy’s class) was on the rise, and none of our class had arrived from the cafeteria line yet. We were alone. Despite what Lila may say, bringing lunch had its perks. I leaned over.
“What’d you find out?”
Jason tapped his plastic fork on the Tupperware container in front of him. He frowned until his forehead could double for a freshly plowed garden. “She wasn’t from the bank. Just a real estate agent.”
I grinned and slugged him in the arm. “So that’s good, right?” A For Sale sign in his yard was bad news any way you looked at it. But if I didn’t look at the bright side, Jason sure wouldn’t. And there’s nothing worse than a grumpy best friend.
Jason slumped in his seat. “We’re moving to California to live with my aunt and uncle as soon as it sells. I guess they have some big house or something.”
I bit my cheek. “So what’s our plan? I could …”
“One of your plans won’t fix this, Annie.” Jason popped open his lunch and a foul odor assaulted us. Like shin guards at the end of soccer season.
“Whoa.” Talk about a conversation stopper. I would have slapped Jason out of his stinker of an attitude in no time flat, but I couldn’t think past a stench like that.
I pinched my nose. “What is that?”
Jason stabbed a purple bit with his fork then let it drop back down. “Vegetable something. Name a gross vegetable, and it’s probably in there.” He slunk even farther in his seat.
I recognized the broccoli and lima beans, and the tomato and carrot slices were pretty obvious. It was the streaks of purple and the slimy green and yellow blobs that were a mystery. “I didn’t think anything could be worse than broccoli casserole. What else you got?” I motioned at the paper sack.
Jason smashed the bag flat. “Nothing. My mom’s on some health kick.” He poked a carrot slice and stared at it. Squinching his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. His fingers tensed around the fork.
The Last Great Adventure of the PB & J Society Page 1
