“Oh.” So Emily followed Morgan’s lead by gathering up sticks and rocks and shell pieces until their hands were full, then they went down to the wet sand to select their building site.
Emily wasn’t the least surprised when Morgan began drawing an outline and giving instructions for how to proceed. And, trusting Morgan’s artistic sense, Emily just did as she was told.
After about an hour, their castle was nearly complete and Amy and Carlie came over to check it out.
“Wow,” said Carlie. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah,” admitted Amy. “Not bad.”
“Want to help?” asked Morgan.
“Sure,” said Carlie. “How?”
And so Morgan gave them both assignments to gather more round little stones, some four-inch twigs, and any sort of seashell that they could find.
“Do you really need that stuff?” asked Emily. “Or were you just trying to get rid of them?”
Morgan laughed. “We haven’t been friends that long, but you sure seem to know me pretty well.”
Still, Morgan managed to put their items to good use when they returned about twenty minutes later.
“Voila!” she said, standing up and stretching her back. “Finished.”
“It’s a work of art,” said Emily as she gave her a high five.
“Man, I wish I had a photo of it,” said Morgan.
“I could run and get my camera,” offered Carlie.
“Cool.”
“You guys stay here and protect it,” Carlie was already taking off. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“And she will,” said Morgan. “I’ve seen that girl run.”
“You should enter the sandcastle-building contest next weekend,” said Amy. “I remember reading about it in the newspaper last week.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Emily. “My mom was telling me about that. They’re hosting the contest at the resort where she works. She said that people are coming from all over. It’s the first one in Boscoe Bay, and they want it to become an annual event.”
“Of course, there’s a registration fee,” said Amy.
“How much?” asked Morgan.
“I think it was twenty-five dollars.”
Morgan frowned. “That seems stupid. Just to build a sandcastle when you can do it for free right here?”
“Yeah, but there are prizes,” said Amy. “The first place winner gets five-hundred dollars.”
“Five-hundred dollars?” Morgan looked seriously interested now.
“And there are second- and third-place prizes too,” said Amy. “I can’t remember how much.”
“There’s Carlie,” said Morgan, pointing to where the trail came onto the beach. “Right on time.”
Carlie shot the sandcastle from a variety of angles. Then, as a middle-aged couple came walking down the beach, Amy approached them to ask if they’d take a photo of the four girls with the sculpture. The couple gladly agreed, complimenting the beauty of the sandcastle as the girls posed behind it for several shots.
“You girls are very talented,” the man said, handing the camera back.
“Yes,” said Amy. “We think we should enter the sandcastle-building contest at Boscoe Bay Resort.”
He nodded. “I’m sure you’d have a good chance.”
As the couple walked away, Amy turned to Morgan. “Why don’t we?”
“We?” Morgan pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and frowned at Amy.
Amy nodded. “Yes, we. We could all chip in on the entry fee, and you could tell us what to do.” She smirked at Morgan. “Which you seem to enjoy doing anyway. That would only be six dollars twenty-five cents apiece to enter the contest.”
Morgan laughed. “You have it all figured out.”
“And one hundred twenty-five dollars apiece if we win first place,” said Amy.
Suddenly all four girls were very interested. They all started talking at once. Some thought they should put their winnings into fixing up the bus. Some thought they should just split it and call it good. Then they talked about a compromise—half for the bus and half to split equally.
“Let’s go back to the Rainbow Bus and start planning our strategy,” said Morgan as she turned around and headed back to their sunbathing spot on the beach.
“Yes,” agreed Amy, right on her heels. “And we’ll need to fill out the entry form.”
“And I’ll have to start sketching some designs.”
“I can provide the tools,” said Carlie. “We have lots of shovels and rakes and stuff.”
Emily thought about what she could contribute to the efforts but, as usual, she was coming up short.
“Okay,” said Morgan. “I will agree to this only if Emily can be my right-hand man. I mean, girl.”
“Why’s that?” asked Amy in a somewhat insulted-sounding tone.
“Because Emily totally gets me,” said Morgan. “And she’s good at following directions.”
“Hey, I don’t have a problem with that,” said Carlie in her usual agreeable way.
“Okay,” agreed Amy with some reluctance. “I guess I’m okay with it.”
So maybe Emily did have something to offer the group. At least she hoped so as she picked up one handle of the cooler. “Why don’t you help me with this, Amy?” she said, waiting for Amy to protest.
“Okay,” said Amy. “But only because Morgan provided the lunch and Carlie has her camera junk to carry.”
And the four of them trekked down the trail and over the dunes and back to the Rainbow Bus, which was surprisingly cool when they got inside.
“Not bad,” said Amy, immediately taking the couch.
“Siesta time,” said Carlie, heading back to the bed.
“Room for two more?” grinned Morgan.
“Sure,” said Carlie. “This is one big bed.”
The three of them found their spots and within no time everyone was fast asleep, with Carlie even snoring. Well, everyone except Emily. For some reason she was wide awake. She just lay there for a while, thinking about the strangeness of her life these past few weeks.
Just the fact that she was here right now with her three new friends—sharing this cool clubhouse of an old bus, hanging out on the beach together, building sandcastles, planning to enter contests—was mind blowing in itself. But when she replayed the events of the past couple of weeks—dealing with bullies, fixing up the rundown trailer park, getting the hand-me-down clothes and colorful things for her room from Morgan—she couldn’t believe her good fortune. And the most amazing thing … inviting Jesus into her heart at church! Everything was so different from her old life—less than a month ago—back when everything looked totally bleak and hopeless. She closed her eyes and whispered a thank-you prayer, then rolled over on her stomach, hoping her mind would shut down for a while and let her sleep.
Then she spied the box of books down on the floor beside her. She was about to pull out one of those mysteries, but instead her hand paused on the spine of the faded, red yearbook. She still wondered about this Dan guy. Who was he and why was his high school yearbook hidden here? Was it just a coincidence or did he have something to do with this bus?
She pulled out the book and opened it up to the page with all the writing from his friends, glancing over it again, hoping to find some hidden clue as to who this guy was—who he might be now. He certainly seemed to be well liked. And, it occurred to her that he might even be missing this yearbook.
“Watcha doing?” whispered Morgan.
“Just looking at this,” whispered Emily. She rolled onto her back, holding up the yearbook.
“Oh, yeah. Dan the man.” Morgan sat up and leaned against the wall behind them. “Find anything new?”
“Not really …” She scooted up and sat beside her, continuing to whisper although it looked like Carlie was sound asleep. “I mean, we know that he’s well liked … by both guys and girls. And he’s good at sports.”
“Let’s look through the yearbook and see if we can find
his photo.”
“But we don’t know his last name yet,” pointed out Emily.
“Well, how many Dans can there be?” asked Morgan. “And we know he’s a senior.”
“Go to the senior section,” said Amy.
Both Morgan and Emily looked up, surprised.
“And make room for me,” commanded Amy, squeezing in next to Emily.
“Hey,” said Carlie, nearly falling off the bed. “What’s going on?”
“An earthquake,” said Morgan. “Hang on for dear life.”
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” said Amy. “Nap time’s over.”
Carlie sat up and yawned. “What’s going on?”
“We’re looking for Dan the man,” said Morgan.
“Huh?” Carlie blinked then looked over at the yearbook. “Oh.”
They huddled together as they turned page after page, joking as they noticed some pretty weird hair and clothing styles.
“I have two words for these guys,” said Carlie, finally waking up as she pointed to a guy named Carl, whose long, fluffy blond hair made him look like a girl. “Hair cut.”
“I think that’s one word,” said Emily.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Carlie. “Get out the scissors.”
“Here’s a Daniel Foster,” said Morgan, pointing to a skinny guy with curly hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “Do you think that’s him?”
“He looks kind of nerdy to me,” said Emily.
“Not exactly the jock type,” added Carlie.
“But everyone looks kind of strange in this yearbook,” said Morgan. “It might be hard to tell what they’re really like.”
“Well, keep going,” said Amy. “But stick your finger there.”
So they flipped through the pages and were about to give up when Emily pointed to the bottom of the last page of pictures. “Dan Watterson,” she proclaimed. “I’ll bet that’s him. Dan the man.”
“Even with his long hair, he’s pretty good-looking,” observed Amy.
“And he looks big too, like he could be athletic,” said Morgan.
“There should be an index with more photos listed for him in the back of the yearbook,” Amy said with authority. “How do you know that?” asked Carlie.
“Because my brother and sisters have high school annuals, silly. I’ve looked at them before.”
Sure enough, there was an index. And beneath Dan Watterson’s name was a list of about a dozen more page numbers. They retraced their steps back through the yearbook finding shot after shot of Dan Watterson: football hero … basketball star … He even played baseball. And when he wasn’t in a sports photo, he had a girl or two hanging on his arm.
“But I still don’t get this,” said Emily. “Why is this guy’s yearbook in our bus?”
“Maybe it was his bus,” suggested Amy.
“Dan the man?” said Emily. “Living in a funky old bus like this?” She shook her head. “It just doesn’t add up.”
“And why would Mr. Greeley have this bus?” said Carlie. “I mean, if it belonged to Dan Watterson?”
“It does seem a little weird,” admitted Morgan.
“Maybe Dan is Mr. Greeley’s son,” suggested Emily.
“But his name is wrong,” Amy pointed out.
Emily considered this. Sometimes names were wrong. For instance her own last name wasn’t really Adams … but this was top secret. Other than Morgan, no one in Boscoe Bay knew her family’s story.
“And here’s what’s been bugging me,” said Carlie. “Why did Mr. Greeley have this bus here—I mean, for all this time?”
“We don’t know how long it’s been here,” Morgan pointed out.
“Well, you saw the big heap of dead blackberry vines that Mr. Greeley removed,” said Carlie.
“That’s probably what he was doing while we were cleaning up the trailer court,” said Amy. “Remember how he was gone all the time?”
“Anyway,” continued Carlie, “that suggests that the bus has been around here a few years.”
“That and all the dust,” added Emily.
“Plus all the stuff that we found under the bed,” said Carlie. “It reminds me of those boxes that people put stuff in and bury, you know … what are they called?”
“You mean a time capsule?” said Morgan.
“Yeah. Like a time capsule from …” Carlie tapped her finger on the cover of the yearbook, “a time capsule from 1979!”
Emily nodded. “She’s right. It does.”
“Do you think the bus has been here that long?” asked Morgan.
No one answered.
“I wonder why …” said Emily. “Why was it parked back here in the first place?”
“Maybe it was a friend of Mr. Greeley’s,” said Morgan.
“Then why did he leave it here?” persisted Emily.
“Maybe we’ll never know,” said Amy, hopping off of the bed. “But don’t forget, we have things to do if we’re going to enter the sandcastle-building contest. Remember, it’s only a few days away.”
“Let’s put these boxes and things away first,” said Morgan. “It’s getting pretty crowded in here.”
“I’ll take care of it,” offered Emily. “You go ahead and get your sketch pad out and—”
“See,” said Morgan, patting Emily on the back. “That’s why she’s my right-hand girl.”
“And I’ll go see if can find that old newspaper,” said Amy.
Carlie looked at her watch. “I have to go home now. I’m supposed to watch my brothers while Mom goes grocery shopping.”
“Let’s reconvene back here after dinner tonight,” suggested Amy.
Morgan handed Emily the key, which was now hanging on a hand-beaded necklace created by Morgan. “You lock up, Em.”
The girls agreed, and just like that the bus was evacuated—except for Emily who continued to carefully replace the boxes and things back beneath the bed. At least there was plenty of room now. And for the most part, the dust and grime had been cleaned. She was tempted to hang around and put the books up on the shelf. But she felt a little guilty for being in the bus by herself. The girls hadn’t really made any rules yet, but this was supposed to be a clubhouse to be shared, not Emily’s own private retreat. Even if she wished it could be.
She put the book box in last, standing before the still-opened bed as she tried to imagine what kind of a person this Dan Watterson really was and whether or not this bus had actually belonged to him. She’d noticed his name inside some of the other books and suspected that everything they’d discovered today had at one time belonged to Dan.
As she locked up the bus and slowly walked back to her house, she wondered something else too. If all that old keepsake kind of stuff really did belong to Dan Watterson—whoever he was—why didn’t he want it back? And why had it all ended up in Mr. Greeley’s possession? If she wasn’t so intimidated by Mr. Greeley’s grumpy personality, she might be tempted to ask. As it was, this might be a mystery she’d have to solve on her own.
chapter three
By the time they regrouped after dinner, Morgan had drawn several sketches for possible sandcastles. And everyone seemed to have a different opinion.
“I like the French one,” said Carlie. “It reminds me of a fairy tale. I expect to see a dragon coming around the corner.”
“But it’s so expected,” said Amy. “I’ll bet half the sandcastles on the beach will look just like it. We need something special, something that will stand out.”
“Why not the English castle,” said Morgan. “I thought we could do all kinds of things with that open courtyard.” She glanced at Carlie. “You could be in charge of landscaping.”
“But it’s so boxy looking,” said Carlie.
Determined to not get into the middle of this, Emily was carefully reading the article about the contest from the newspaper that Amy had brought. “Hey,” she said suddenly. “It says here that you can make anything—well, as long as it’s not obscene. It’s supposed to be ‘family approp
riate.’”
“Like I would design an obscene sandcastle!” Morgan rolled her eyes.
“But the thing is, it doesn’t have to be a sandcastle. Listen.” And Emily proceeded to read how a winner from a similar contest had sculpted a ten-foot-long mermaid.
“A mermaid,” said Carlie. “That’d be pretty.”
“Someone’s already done that, silly,” said Amy.
“Good work, Em,” said Morgan, pointing to the paper. “That’s why she’s my right-hand girl.”
“Enough with the right-hand girl stuff already,” said Amy.
“Yeah,” said Carlie. “Like what are we? Chopped liver?”
They all laughed.
“Okay, let’s get serious,” said Morgan. “Everyone think really hard … what would be cool as a sand sculpture?”
“How about a seahorse?” said Amy.
“Good, but too easy,” said Morgan.
“A dragon?” suggested Carlie.
“Maybe …” Morgan considered this.
“Maybe I should make a list,” said Amy, snatching up her notebook. “Then we can vote.”
“How about an angel?” said Carlie.
“Or a tyrannosaurus rex?” suggested Emily.
“How about a submarine?” said Morgan. “One that’s just coming out of the water, but it’s really on the beach.”
“What about a pirate ship?” said Amy.
“How about SpongeBob SquarePants?” said Emily, and they all laughed.
“Slow down,” said Amy. “I’m still on submarine.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” said Morgan.
“The submarine?” said Carlie. “That was your idea, Morgan.”
“No. SpongeBob SquarePants.”
“I was just kidding,” admitted Emily.
“But, seriously, it would be funny. And who else would do something like that?”
“And,” Emily held up the newspaper, pointing to a line. “I just noticed here that you only have three hours to build it.”
“Three hours?” echoed Morgan. “That would rule out pirate ships, dinosaurs, and submarines. They’re way too complicated for three hours.”
“But SpongeBob SquarePants isn’t complicated.”
“Go ahead and sketch it out for us,” urged Amy. “Let’s see what it would look like.”
Girl Power Page 10
