The Secret Talent

by Jo Whittemore

  Mr. Humphries signaled the emcee onstage, who nodded and approached the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, for our first performance showcasing Christmas in Greece, I present to you the Berryville Greek Society!” He clapped his hands and stepped away while the audience joined in on the applause.

  Gabby gave me a nervous smile, and I squeezed her hand.

  “Let’s do this!” I whispered as we fell into line.

  Our dance troupe took to the stage and got into position, facing the audience.

  Suddenly, there was a chant of “Go, Tim, go! Go, Gabby, go!” from the right side of the room.

  My sister and I looked out at my friends, sitting in the crowd and waving. We grinned and nodded as the rest of the audience politely laughed.

  Then the music began. We were transported halfway around the world. Arms wrapped across shoulders as we shuffled and stepped, and the audience clapped along in time to the music. When it grew faster, they increased their clapping and threw in some hoots. (I’m pretty sure that was Brooke.) Between the bright stage lights and all the dancing, it wasn’t long before the entire troupe was sweating, but it was the best, most fun workout I’d ever had.

  When our last number ended, the audience stood and applauded and hooted some more. The emcee ushered us offstage so the next troupe could go on, and my friends hurried to meet us.

  “That was so cool!” V said, giving me a hug. She stepped away, wiping her arms. “And a little sweaty.”

  “Sorry,” I said with a laugh, and turned to Gil, who had his hand raised for a high-five.

  “So jealous, man,” he told me. “Makes me want to get my family onstage for some Polynesian dancing!”

  “You were amazing,” agreed Heather.

  “Thanks!” I told her, leaning in for a hug.

  When I turned to Brooke, she shrugged. “I must say, after all the fun I’ve made of you, it was actually a pretty awesome performance.”

  “Anybody who wants to tease you about that has to go through me,” agreed Abel.

  “Thanks, dude.” I gave them each a brief hug, and the time on my watch caught my eye. “Shoot! It’s already four o’clock!”

  Brooke squinted at me. “Are your shoes about to turn into pumpkins or something?”

  “No, Berkeley Dennis’s party starts at five o’clock. I’ve got to get out of here!” I waved to my friends. “Sorry, guys! Thanks so much for coming!” I tugged on Uncle Theo’s sleeve, and he turned around. “Sorry to run, but I’ve got something else to get to.”

  Uncle Theo nodded and then hugged me. “You were amazing, Timotheos. Thank you for giving it your all.” He stepped back. “Before you leave, I want you to meet my girlfriend. Sue?”

  A woman stepped away from where she’d been talking to my parents.

  A woman I recognized.

  Ryan’s aunt.

  She smiled when she saw me. “Hello, Tim!”

  Uncle Theo glanced from her to me in confusion. “You know each other?”

  “Her nephew goes to school with me,” I said. I had to fight back a laugh.

  Ryan, the kid who made fun of my dancing, might someday be part of an entire family of dancers.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you as Uncle Theo’s girlfriend,” I told Sue, offering my hand.

  “Likewise, for you being his nephew,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Sorry to bail,” I said, “but . . .”

  Uncle Theo shooed me away. “Go, go, go!”

  I moved past them and grabbed Dad’s arm. “It’s Adrenaline time!”

  Dad checked his watch. “Yikes! You’re right.” He turned to Mom. “Ready?”

  “But I haven’t been to the gift shop!” she said.

  “I can give her and Gabby a ride if you need me to,” said Uncle Theo.

  “Best big brother ever,” Mom said, kissing his cheek.

  “Okay, okay.” He brushed it off, blushing.

  Dad kissed Mom and squeezed Gabby before putting an arm around me. “Let’s go!”

  The way Dad dodged and ducked through the crowd with me in tow, you’d have thought he was Adrenaline himself. We were out of the museum in record time and sprinting to the car.

  Out of the city, however . . . That was a different story.

  “How can there be more traffic going out than there is coming in?” he mumbled as we inched along.

  I glanced in the backseat and moaned. “That’s not the worst part. I forgot my street clothes!”

  “What?” Dad looked over and almost rear-ended a minivan.

  “Look out!” I said.

  He slammed on the brakes. “How did you forget your clothes?”

  “I must have left them in the bathroom when Gabby was doing her hair!” I clapped my hand to my forehead. “I can’t go to Adrenaline’s party like this!”

  “Well, at least you have your jacket,” he mused with a hopeful smile. Then he looked me over and frowned. “Oh, no, you don’t. Your mother is going to kill me.”

  I twisted around to check the backseat for any stray T-shirts or sweatpants . . . anything I might have left behind over the years in the car. All I found was some old french fries and pocket change.

  “I need you to turn around and face front, buddy.” Dad patted my leg.

  I did as he said. “And I need you to trade clothes with me.”

  “Ha!” Dad shook his head. “I can’t fit into your clothes, and I’m definitely not driving around town in my underwear. We’ll just have to swing by the house first.”

  “There’s no time!” I pointed to the digital display on the dash. “Who knows how long Adrenaline’s going to be there?”

  Dad sighed. “Then I’m sorry, buddy. You’ll either have to miss meeting him or go dressed like that.”

  I glanced down at my clothes. Everybody was going to find out my secret on Monday when the paper came out, anyway. It was time for me to own who I was.

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “To the party!”

  Dad smiled and skirted around a car. “To the party!”

  When we arrived at Berkeley’s house, Dad and I both stared in awe for a moment. Berkeley lived in a mansion that looked like it belonged on a show for celebrity homes.

  “You said this kid goes to school with you?” Dad asked. “Does he show up in a helicopter?”

  I gazed up at the flags on the roof. “He probably has his butler carry him all the way.” I pushed open the car door and glanced at Dad. “Could you wait here, in case I feel supremely humiliated and need to run out?”

  Dad nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ve got to do this on my own.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but the walk up to Berkeley’s front door seemed to take forever. When I looked over my shoulder at Dad, the car seemed miles away. I could hear the voices of several people, along with one adult voice occasionally chuckling and joining in, coming from inside the manor. My finger shook when I reached for the doorbell, and I had to steady it with my other hand.

  The chimes played Für Elise, and after what seemed like a minute later, the door clicked open.

  Berkeley’s eyebrows went up when he saw my outfit, and he smiled. “Wow, I feel underdressed. Come on in.”

  That was all.

  He didn’t laugh. Didn’t point and call out to the others to come make fun of me.

  I stood there, staring stupidly, waiting for a stronger reaction. “I’m a Greek—”

  “Folk dancer.” He finished for me, nodding. “I thought that was you in the video that was going around. You’ve got some skills!”

  I stood there with my mouth open. “You knew? And you still wanted me to come over?”

  Finally, Berkeley laughed. “Well, yeah, why wouldn’t I? You’re a dancer, not a serial killer.” He opened the door wider so I could go in. “So did you have practice this morning or something?”

  “Uh . . .” I waved down the wa
lkway at Dad, who returned the wave and drove away. “My sister and uncle and I were part of a Christmas Around the World show at the Museum of Science and Industry,” I explained.

  “Cool!” he said. “I love that place. My parents go to a big fund-raiser there every year. I’ll bet it’s fun to be part of the experience.”

  “It totally was,” I agreed, feeling myself relax a little.

  Berkeley led the way into a game room, where a dozen or so boys were sitting around eating pizza with . . . Adrenaline Dennis.

  I froze in my tracks. I was standing in the presence of the Adrenaline Dennis, and he was picking mushrooms off his pizza and putting them aside just like I did. Forget Apollo; I should’ve been named Adrenaline!

  “This is my friend Tim from school,” I heard Berkeley say. “He just got done with a Greek folk dance at the Museum of Science and Industry.”

  I gestured to my outfit. “But sometimes I like to wear this for just lounging around the house.”

  Several of the other guys laughed. I noticed Ryan lingering in the back. He might have been looking pretty sharp in his new gear and hairstyle, but the frown on his face soured it all.

  All the kids were staring at my outfit, but I didn’t care. Adrenaline Dennis was walking right toward me with his hand extended.

  “Nice to meet you, Tim. I’ve studied a few different types of dance, but not Greek. Maybe you can show me some steps later.”

  Adrenaline Dennis wanted me to dance for him!

  “Wait, wait,” I said, shaking my head. “You dance? I thought you were into motocross.”

  He grinned. “A guy can have more than one interest, right? I’m sure you don’t just dance.”

  I matched his grin. “True.”

  “Alistair . . . I mean Adrenaline . . . is really good at ballet,” said Berkeley. “He trained in Paris.”

  Adrenaline nodded. “It keeps me limber when I’m on the bike. I also do a lot of yoga.”

  In a million years I never thought I’d be talking to a famous athlete about Greek folk dancing or ballet or yoga. The other kids were all stepping closer, wanting to be part of the conversation but not sure how.

  “Uh . . . you want to talk flexible. Mitchell can bend his fingers all the way back to touch his arm.” I pointed to him.

  Mitchell stepped forward shyly and showed off his talent.

  “Wow! Very impressive,” said Adrenaline.

  “I can do the splits!” said someone else.

  “I can hold my breath for two minutes!”

  Soon, everyone was shouting out their unique talents except, of course, for Ryan, who was standing apart from the crowd. I walked over to him.

  “Why don’t you share your talent of blackmail?” I asked. “Or mention how your aunt is dating a Greek folk dancer?”

  Ryan glared at me. “That’s a lie.”

  I shrugged and smiled. “Your aunt had a guy pick her up in a blue Civic earlier, right? That was my uncle. And my uncle is a Greek folk dancer.” I crossed my arms. “Just like me.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re lame and so is everyone at this party,” he grumbled. “And so is my aunt. She’s probably dating your stupid uncle to get back at me.”

  Even though Ryan was a world-class jerk, I actually felt kind of bad for him. He was so dead set on not being liked that he made himself unlikable.

  “Your aunt loves you more than you think,” I said. “She bakes you cookies and worries that you’ll catch cold, and she shelters you and she feeds you and she has lots of pictures of you.” I held my arms open. “You don’t do all that for someone you don’t care about.”

  I thought that maybe, like the Grinch, I might soften his hard lump of a heart and make it grow a little, or at least get a smile. Instead, Ryan narrowed his eyes and said, “How do you know she has pictures of me?”

  “Servants get curious.” I smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “You look great with a mustache, by the way.”

  Then I walked back to join the conversation with Adrenaline Dennis and the others.

  It was a good day to be Tim Antonides.

  Dear In the Dark,

  As a wise man once said, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” In other words, it’s time to be honest, but not just with your friends. Be honest with yourself. If you’re not ashamed of who you are, you don’t give anyone else a reason to be either. Know who you are and own who you are.

  And if all else fails, tell a ton of ghost stories so everyone begs you to keep the night-light on.

  Confidentially yours,

  Tim Antonides

  Acknowledgments

  Always for family, friends, and God.

  For Annie, my editor, and Jenn, my agent, who, even after reading the silly things I write, haven’t had me dragged away in a straitjacket.

  For Frank Zahradnik, who is wise beyond my years and is always willing to talk.

  For Katie and Shayda, my Wednesday night writing crew, who listened to me talk ad nauseam about the best way to blackmail someone.

  For Kaiya and Killian, who always make me laugh and have a wonderful innocence about them.

  For Shawn and Rena Bruman, who remind me to never give up hope.

  And for the makers of See’s Candies, who I’m pretty sure I single-handedly keep in business.

  Excerpt from Confidentially Yours #5: Brooke’s Bad Luck

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in the Confidentially Yours series:

  CHAPTER

  1

  The Woman in the Cottage

  It was a dark and stormy night . . .

  Actually, it was a cold and snowy day, but no scary adventure ever starts like that. Unless there’s a killer snowman. And even that’s only scary until someone throws hot cocoa at him.

  Anyway, why was I hoping for horror? Because so far my winter break had been dull with a capital ZZZZ. You’d think life in the Chicago suburbs would give me tons of stories to tell, but my most exciting news was Hammie and Chelsea, my cats, playing hide-and-seek in the Christmas tree.

  Pine tree peekaboo: the highlight of my break.

  Meanwhile my friends had awesome stories from their winter vacations. Heather Schwartz, one of my BFFs, had been in the spotlight on a holiday parade float with her choir, and Vanessa Jackson, my other bestie, had gone to Disney World with her brother and mom.

  But I was probably most jealous of my friend Tim Antonides.

  Not long ago, Tim became buddies with Berkeley Dennis, one of the richest and coolest kids at Abraham Lincoln Middle School. That alone wasn’t very exciting, but Berkeley’s cousin happened to be motocross superstar Adrenaline Dennis! He came to town for the holidays and took Berkeley and Tim to watch him practice for the X Games.

  Heather and Vanessa couldn’t have cared less when Tim bragged about going, but I was super jealous. I like sports just as much as he does. In fact, I give sports advice for Lincoln’s Letters, the advice column at the Lincoln Log, my school newspaper. Plus, I’m captain of my soccer team, the Berryville Strikers. But I didn’t even bother asking Tim if he could score me an invite. I got a major dudes-only vibe from the whole thing . . . mainly because Tim said, “It’ll be dudes only.”

  So when another friend, Katie Kestler, asked if I wanted to visit a fortune-teller with her the day before spring semester, I instantly said, “Yes! Please! I’m about to start dressing up the cats!”

  It was easy to talk Vanessa into coming since she’s usually up for anything, but Heather was a little harder to convince. In fact, she still had doubts after Katie’s mom, Bobbi, parked in front of a cottage with a wooden sign that read, “Madame Delphi: Seer Extraordinaire.”

  “Are we sure this is a good idea?” asked Heather, eyeing some gargoyles on either side of the front door. “I mean . . . what if we accidentally summon something?”

  “Don’t worry. Madame Delphi’s a professional who can handle anything,” said Bob
bi. “And I’ll be right here waiting, so you can run out any time.”

  Heather didn’t look reassured but opened the car door anyway.

  “Tell Madame I said hi!” Bobbi called as my friends and I got out. “And that she was right about avoiding the salmon!”

  I glanced back as Katie closed the car door and waved to her mom. “Why isn’t she coming with us?” I asked.

  “Bobbi has to make a conference call,” said Katie, “and Madame Delphi only likes disembodied voices that come from spirits.”

  Heather spun toward us, nostrils flared. “So there are going to be ghosts?”

  “Of course not,” said V, putting a hand on her arm.

  “But if there were, that would be awesome!” I charged through the snow and up the front steps, each plank of wood squeaking under my weight. “This place is creepy!”

  “That’s what bothers me.” Heather shivered in her puffy green coat.

  “Oh come on,” Katie coaxed, putting an arm through one of Heather’s. “It’s a new year. Don’t you want to know what’s going to happen?”

  I knocked on the front door, which opened by itself.

  Heather turned to Katie. “Will I even live to see it?”

  Vanessa stepped up to Heather’s other side. “Don’t worry, we’ll be right here with you. The whole time.”

  Then V slipped and fell on her butt.

  I cringed, Katie and Heather gasped, but Vanessa lay back in the snow and laughed.

  Even when she’s down, she’s smiling.

  “How the heck did that happen?” I asked while Katie and Heather helped her up. “The snow isn’t slippery.”

  “No, but the bottoms of my boots are.” V lifted a foot just high enough for us to see that the sole was worn smooth.

  “Hmm. Time to trash those,” said Heather.

  Vanessa and Katie gasped in unison.

  “Are you insane?” asked Katie.

  “They’re vintage Dior!” added Vanessa.

  The two of them are a little crazy for clothes. They’re working on their own designer label, KV Fashions, and Vanessa offers style advice for Lincoln’s Letters.

  That’s right; Vanessa writes the column, too, along with Heather and Tim! V, Heather, and I actually came up with the idea, since we’d been giving one another advice for years. Vanessa answers questions about beauty and fashion, I handle sports and fitness, Tim contributes the guy’s point of view, and Heather fixes friendships and relationships because she has a way with people.