About the Author
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Carolyn Keene is the author of the ever-popular Nancy Drew
books.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
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Sabotage at Willow Woods
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CHAPTER ONE
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The Wrong Message
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“OOH, ANOTHER COTTON-CANDY SELLER!” My best friend Bess leaned
back and craned her neck, pointing down the sidewalk to a
middle-aged man surrounded by wi puffs of yellow and blue—the
Boylestown Raiders colors. We were attending a parade and block
party to celebrate Boylestown’s football team winning the state
championship. Bess, her cousin George, and I all went to a rival
school—River Heights High—so why were we celebrating with the
competition? Well, George’s cousin, Carrie Kim, had decided to
run for Boylestown’s town council, and she was making her first
big speech at the block party. We all wanted to be there to show
our support.
“I don’t need another cotton candy,” George, who was my other
best friend, muttered with a frown. “I’ll puke.”
Bess turned back and George an annoyed glance. Bess is as
blonde, curvy, and lively as George is dark, petite, and serious.
Over the years, I’ve become very good at refereeing their
arguments.
I held up a hand. “Now ladies . . .”
“You don’t need to be such a grump.” Bess frowned at George and
looked down the street to where a parade would be starting any
minute.
“I’m not being a grump.” George sighed, following Bess’s gaze to
where the Boylestown High School band was getting into formation.
“I think it’s great that the Boylestown football team won the
state championship. And I think it’s great that the town is
coming together to give them this parade.”
I cocked an eyebrow. I knew what was coming next. “But . . .”
George looked flustered. “But,” she repeated, shrugging, “I just
wish towns like this would pay the same kind of attention to
other accomplishments.”
I smiled sympathetically. I knew that George was speaking from
her own experience as a nonathlete.
“Non-sports-related accomplishments,” Bess filled in, and then
shook her head. I could tell she’d heard this argument before.
One of the drummers in the marching band banged her drum, and we
all looked over to see the band members begin marching in place.
The parade was starting! The band began playing, and I could feel
my heart beating in time with the thump-thump-thump of the drum.
What is it about fight songs? They were playing Boylestown
High’s, and even though I never went to school there, it still
made me want to jump up and down and cheer.
As the band marched past us, I saw George straighten up and begin
cheering. I knew my friend was really excited about the football
team’s win, deep down. I cheered too, clapping along to the beat
of the song. The crowd suddenly erupted in hooting and applause,
and I turned to see that the football players themselves were
behind the band, each wearing his uniform and carrying his helmet
in his hands. Bess stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out her
famous Brain-Melting Whistle. George rolled her eyes and rubbed
her temples, but notably didn’t tell her cousin to stop.
The Boylestown cheerleaders followed the players, but after them,
the parade petered out. A few little kids marched by, waving
pompoms or s, but I had a feeling they were an unofficial
addition to the parade. This hunch was proven when a few
middle-aged parent-looking types scurried by just seconds after,
trying to round up the kids.
“That’s it?” George asked. “The band and the football team?”
“And the cheerleaders,” Bess corrected her, pulling some pink lip
gloss out of her pocket and applying a perfectly shiny coat. I
couldn’t help being impressed— how did she put it on so perfectly
without a mirror? But I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Bess was an expert on all things clothing-, makeup-, or
style-related. She would have been a total girly-girl, if she
weren’t also an amazing mechanic.
George let out a puff of breath and ran a hand through her short,
straight black hair. George’s interest in makeup or style ran
directly inverse to her cousin’s; she couldn’t care less. What
she did care about was technology. It seemed to me that George
could do anything with a computer: order up dinner, animate a
short film, listen in on a conversation taking place across the
world. She was also very concerned with justice and fairness.
Which made her incredibly useful to me in following my own
passion: catching crooks.
“Come on, guys, let’s get moving,” Bess said, gesturing to the
stream of people flowing into the street to follow the parade
down to the school grounds, where a block party would soon take
place. We moved into the crowd. All around us, I could hear
snippets of conversation. I didn’t mean to snoop, exactly—it was
just habit.
“—such an amazing team—”
“—really incredible, it’s been twelve years since BHS even made
it to state!”
“—I know—they’re heroes!”
At those words, I heard George snort. She turned to face me, and
I could tell from her expression that she’d definitely heard the
same snippets.
“Heroes?” George asked the willowy redhead who’d used the word.
“For getting a ball down a field?”
The girl turned to face George. She was a few inches taller, and
peered with large green eyes down her narrow nose at this
unexpected interrupter. “It’s not that easy,” the girl retorted
with a sniff. “I’d like to see you try it.”
“Well, I’d like to see you write a 3-D animation program in C++!”
George cried.
The girl frowned. “I don’t know what that even means,” she
muttered, before walking away and disappearing into the crowd.
George kept staring at the place where the girl had stood.
“Exactly my point!” She turned back to me and Bess and, seeing
our faces, sighed. “Look, guys, I don’t want to ruin a fun day.
It’s just—it’s just—”
“Not everybody plays sports,” Bess said in a slightly bored tone.
Bess herself was quite the field hockey champ. It hadn’t been
long since she’d brought home her own state championship trophy.
“That’s true,” said George, “but almost everybody does something
exciting that deserves attention. Did you know the Boylestown
chess team is ranked among the top chess teams in the country?”
That surprised me. “I didn’t know that,” I said, feeling a little
bad that I hadn’t. “That’s really cool.”
“It is cool,” George agreed. “And it takes hard work. But
nobody’s giving those kids a parade.”
I bit my lip and glanced over at Bess. I could tell by her
expression that she was thinking about what George had said. But
before she could speak, her eyes widened and she stood taller and
waved through the crowd. “George—it’s Carrie! Hey, Carrie!”
I looked over where Bess was waving and saw George’s
rosy-cheeked, dark-haired cousin moving gracefully through the
crowd. She wore a bright-blue suit with a red-striped blouse, and
had a silver eagle pin on her lapel.
“Wow,” George said, grinning as her cousin approached. “You
really look the part!”
Carrie blushed and grinned back, gesturing to her suit. “Do you
like it? Julia, my campaign manager, thinks it’s important that I
look ‘like someone who loves American democracy,’ ” she said,
using finger quotes. A few weeks before, Carrie had told George
that she was going to run for town council. George had thought it
was a great idea—Carrie was one of her favorite cousins, and she
was qualified. She had spent the last three years working for a
local congresswoman, and George knew she’d be a great voice for
the people of Boylestown.
“I always thought I loved American democracy,” George said with a
sly grin, gesturing down at her jeans and peasant blouse. “But I
guess, as usual, I’m not dressing the right way.”
Carrie reached out and playfully pushed her cousin. George
smiled. “Hey, so are you ready for your big speech?”
George had told us that Carrie—herself a former tennis champion
at BHS—was set to introduce the players at the block party. First
she would make a brief speech about her own experience as an
athlete there, and her plans for the school, should she be
elected.
Carrie took a deep breath. “I sure hope so. I have a major
announcement to make today—one that just might help me win this
election!”
Bess cocked her head with a smile. “Do tell!” Since Carrie was
George’s cousin on her mother’s side of the family, Bess and
Carrie weren’t related. But I knew that she was just as impressed
by Carrie’s politics as George was. All of us knew Carrie pretty
well, and growing up, we’d all looked up to her.
Carrie shook her head. “No spoilers! You three will have to find
out the big news with everyone else.”
George sighed. “No fair! Just whisper it to me. Cousin’s
privilege.”
Carrie grinned. “Learn some patience, little cousin.” She reached
out and ruffled George’s hair before disappearing back into the
crowd.
“I hate it when she does that.” George grimaced, trying to smooth
her hair back into place.
I patted her shoulder as we moved to get a good position several
yards back from the stage. Already the band was filing into
temporary bleachers, having moved on from the school fight song
to “America the Beautiful.” I watched as Carrie moved through the
crowd and stepped up onstage.
The three of us waited patiently as the band played three more
songs. Then the Boylestown principal got up and made a speech
about how proud she was of the football team, and finally Carrie
rose to speak.
“Here we go,” George whispered. “The reason we came!”
Carrie moved to the mic and introduced herself. “I’m Carrie Kim,
I’m running for town council, and I was also a state champion
athlete at Boylestown High—in tennis!”
The crowd went wild. “Boylestown! Boylestown! Boylestown!” a few
boys to our right began chanting.
Carrie raised her hand to silence them. “Boylestown has a history
of producing exceptional athletes, because the town values the
ingredients that make a great athlete: strength, perseverance,
and loyalty.”
She paused while the audience cheered.
“But in recent years,” Carrie added, “I believe that BHS, faced
with some tough budgeting decisions, has let its facilities
decline. As a town, we need to do more to support our high school
athletes. The football field is in poor shape and on a rocky,
uneven field. The bleachers are too small and in poor repair.
Even the gymnasium at BHS is out of date. The football team has
to work out at the Y, because they don’t have adequate facilities
at the school.”
The football players, who were lined up to go onstage, all nodded
their heads in re. The crowd let out a few stray boos.
“That’s why,” Carrie went on, “if I’m elected, the main goal of
my first term will be to champion the building of an all-new
football field and sports complex at BHS!”
If Carrie said anything after that, I couldn’t hear it—her voice
was immediately eclipsed by screaming, clapping, and cheering
from what seemed like the entire crowd. Bess was hooting as
loudly as anyone else, and even I found myself pretty excited by
it all. But then I noticed that George herself was only clapping
halfheartedly, and her expression was troubled. I nudged her, and
George shook her head. “More money for sports,” she whispered to
me. “Did you know BHS had to lay off three teachers last year?
The town didn’t budget enough to pay them.”
That dampened my enthusiasm a bit. Was George’s cousin making a
big mistake? But the crowd was still whooping and cheering. One
of the football players ran up onstage and grabbed Carrie in a
big bear hug. Carrie pulled away, laughing.
“I hope you’ll support my campaign for town council,” she went
on. “Now, to the real reason we’re here: to introduce the State
Champion Boylestown Raiders!”
The crowd got loud again, and the awkward moment was forgotten in
pure celebration. After about an hour, when the speeches and
awards were over, the three of us moved off toward the BHS
parking lot, where I’d left my car. George spotted Carrie moving
through the crowd too. She seemed to be headed for the parking
lot but was making slow progress because people kept stopping her
to shake her hand or give her a high five. “Hey, cuz!”
Carrie spotted us and gestured for us to wait for her. A few
minutes later—after several handshakes, three high fives, and one
kissed baby—Carrie emerged, flushed and looking energized. “Hey,
guys! I think that went well, huh?”
“Totally,” George said.
Carrie looked down at her hand, where she was clutching a folded
piece of paper. “Someone handed me this in the crowd,” she said.
“I hope it’s not some guy’s phone number!” She opened up the note
and looked down at it, and suddenly her face paled. “Uh-oh,” she
whispered.
“What is it?” Bess asked. When Carrie didn’t respond and just
kept staring down at the note, George reached over and took the
paper from her cousin’s hand. She tilted the note so all three of
us could read it. I leaned in to get a better look, then ped.
NOT EVERYONE LOVES SPORTS. STOP YOUR CAMPAIGN —OR YOU’LL BE
SORRY!
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