Olivia turned around to look at Camilla and saw that her friend’s mouth was hanging open. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.” Camilla grinned. “Looks like our film project is an old-fashioned love story!”
Chapter 4
Olivia rushed downstairs on Tuesday morning, her hair still dripping from the shower. She bounded through the small kitchen and into the family room, where she was frantically searching for the remote control between the cushions of the couch when she heard a noise: whooooosssshhhh!
Olivia stopped in her tracks and stood up. She scanned the room, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe someone flushed the toilet upstairs, she thought, bending down to look for the remote control again—
Whoooooooosssssshhh! The noise was louder this time.
That sounds so close, Olivia thought, her heart beginning to race. I think it’s coming from right behind the couch!
She grabbed a cushion and crept to the end of the couch, holding the pillow over her shoulder like it was a baseball bat. Ever so slowly, she peered around the edge of the sofa . . .
“Whoooooossssshhhhh!” Her father exhaled, and Olivia found herself staring at the bottoms of his bare feet.
Ew, she thought, relaxing again. Her dad was lying on the floor in his pajamas with his eyes closed. For a split second she thought maybe he was hurt, but then his right leg came up in slow motion, and he brought his left hand over to touch his big toe. He held the toe aloft, his ankle shaking slightly.
“Whoooooosss—”
“DAD!” Olivia yelled.
Her father jumped as if she’d thrown a bucket of ice water on him. “What is it?” he cried.
“What are you doing?” Olivia demanded.
“I’m practicing li ching,” he answered matterof-factly.
Olivia had never heard of li ching, but her dad was always taking up obscure martial arts. None of them ever made him any less embarrassing. “You scared me,” she said.
Her father raised his chin. “He who masters li ching can do scary things!”
Olivia rolled her eyes and said, “Where’s the remote?”
Her dad shrugged and glanced around the room. Then he said, “Oh!” and reached into the pocket of his pajamas.
Olivia grabbed the remote from him and flipped straight to The Morning Star. On screen, Serena Star was standing in front of Franklin Grove Middle School, talking into her microphone.
“Anonymous sources say Garrick Stephens, the Franklin Grove student who hijacked a dead man’s funeral on Sunday”—a leering photo of Garrick appeared beside Serena Star’s head—“is kingpin of the Beasts, a gang of bullies who constantly reference the occult,” Serena Star reported gravely.
“Serena Star was at your school?” Mr. Abbott said curiously.
Olivia shushed him with a vigorous nod.
“Some students believe that Mr. Stephens and his friends’ strange behavior,” continued Serena Star, “may be symptomatic of a much larger problem. One that’s nothing short of . . . GRIMARKABLE!” A graphic with the word “GRIMARKABLE!” appeared beside her head.
What a ridiculous word! Olivia thought. She was shocked, though, when the graphic was replaced by Charlotte Brown’s flushed face, over a caption
that said CHARLOTTE BROWN, HEAD CHEER- LEADER. “I was in the girls’ bathroom, re-applying gloss, when two Goth girls came in,” Charlotte said. Olivia shut her eyes in embarrassment. “They were dressed from head to toe in black rags, and their nails were covered in black nail polish.” And then, “They growled at me!”
“So you think it’s a problem,” Serena Star’s voice said offscreen, “that so many Franklin Grove students are obsessed with darkness?”
“Totally!” Charlotte agreed.
“Interesting,” Olivia’s dad murmured. Serena Star reappeared on screen. “It’s clear that a sinister, corrupting influence is alienating the good students, like Charlotte Brown, at this school.” Olivia rolled her eyes as Serena Star walked dramatically toward the camera, stopping only when her face filled the screen.
“America, where there’s smoke, there’s arson! Who is behind the dark forces strangling Franklin Grove? Young Garrick Stephens clearly isn’t smart enough to be the real ringleader, so who is it?” Serena demanded. “I, Serena Star, am determined to find out, because the Star of truth must shine!” she cried, thrusting her microphone into the air and bringing it down. Then, with sudden calm, she smiled and said, “I’m Serena Star. Wake up, America!”
Olivia shut off the TV. Her father noticed the frown on her face and said, “Don’t worry about those Beast boys, Olivia. I’ll teach you li ching so you can protect yourself.”
Olivia groaned and walked into the kitchen. She was staring into space, thinking about Serena Star and eating a yogurt, when something in the next room caught her eye: a sparkling feather was sticking out from the top shelf of the tall glass cabinet where her parents kept the good china.
Olivia realized that after she and Camilla had pored over Great-aunt Edna’s priceless artifacts last night, her mom must have moved them all up there so that they wouldn’t get damaged.
Without another cheerleader in the room to give her a boost, Olivia had to drag her chair over to reach the top shelf.
Leaving the ostrich fan where it was, she carefully carried the wooden box back to the kitchen and set it before her on the breakfast table. She still couldn’t get over how beautiful it was. The box was made of gleaming cherrywood, delicately carved in a pattern of flowers and birds.
Olivia opened the lid and gazed at Great-aunt Edna’s precious necklace, which lay glittering on the deep-blue satin lining of the compartment. For some reason, that made her think of Garrick Stephens in his luxury Interna 3, but she wiped the thought from her mind.
Olivia carefully lifted out the sparkling necklace and set it aside. Then she pressed ever so gently on the bottom of the compartment, just as her mother had shown her. There was a soft click, and the false bottom sprung open to reveal a stack of yellowed letters beneath.
A half hour later, Olivia was still sitting there, reading. The letters were so romantic. She folded one and unfolded another. It read,
My Dear Duke,
You know that it cannot be.We are of different worlds. Oh, how I wish we could be together, but I dare not allow myself to imagine a future in your arms. How wonderful it would be to live together in a home of love and peace, to have a precious child—a babe with your handsome eyes . . . But I must not write of such dreams. How my head battles against my heart!