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“I smell mold.” I stay where I am, squinting in an attempt to superimpose my plans onto the house. Its once-white walls are grubby and damaged with age, but the structure looks sound… I think.
The image I’ve had in my head—the one I’ve spent the best part of this year obsessing over—begins to morph and bend to fit the low lines, quaint arches, and massive double doors beyond the sad little porch. I pick my way over the rotten foliage and tree roots towards the side of the house and the stone staircase to the roof.
I press my hand to my chest to curb the galloping of my heartbeat. Stairs to the roof mean it must be orhavebeen structurally sound enough to walk on at one point.
“Hey, Zi, check this out.”
Giving the stairs another approving once over, I head in the direction Rae’s voice came from.
She’s hunkered down in a squat, brushing at the sand and leaf-gunk covering the steps that lead up to the porch.
I crouch down by her side, shoving my braid over my shoulder.
“Look.” She swipes her hands over the colors peeking through a layer of damp sand.
I help her wipe away the mess, excitement bubbling with every little section of tiles we uncover. It’s a mosaic pathway. Cobalt blues and emerald greens and whites swirl in a pattern I can’t see yet. “This place is—”
“Perfect.” Rae beams at me with a grin that’s as big as mine.
“Now I just need to find out who it belongs to… and if it’s for sale… and how I’m gonna come up with the money if it is.”
“Easy.” Rae nudges me in the ribs, then pushes her auburn bangs from her face, staring up at the derelict house that has just become my new obsession.
A double shift later, I’m still buzzing. That place. My new Plot Perfect. My Plan B. Holy shit. It’severything.I know I can do this. I know I can. I just need to find out who owns it.
I type the address into the search bar for the fiftieth time. Nothing.
Going to the council—to Mrs. Tristan—with my tail between my legs and no money for her is not high on my list of things I’m looking forward to doing. If I could go in and tell her I have a new deal—a new plan—then maybe she won’t think I’m completely incapable.
I click open a second page and bring up my bank’s homepage. Keep it Local Startup Business loans. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth andclick, click, click.Bring up the application form. Click. I blow out the breath I’ve been holding since what feels like this morning. I don’t need Gran’s money. I have options.
A door slamming pulls my head up and my attention to the wall that separates my apartment from Mylo’s. I’d thank him—if I didn’t want to punch him. We’re not friends. We. Are. Not. Friends. I grab my glass water bottle and take a drink, still glaring at the wall. He likes me. He doesn’t like me. He believes in me. He won’t tell me what his problem is with me. I’m done. D.O.N.E. Even if his pep talk worked.
My cell flashes. Jackson. Yes. At last. “Hey. Thanks for getting back to me.”
“Sure, Zi. What’s up?” The touch of concern in his tone makes me smile. He’s one of Felix’s best friends. Has been since we were kids—which means he’s another big brother from another mother of mine. He’s also Clua’s police sergeant.
“Everything’s fine. I’m just on the hunt for information if you’re not busy.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Remember the old house at the end of Talamanca?”
“The one in the trees?”
“Yes.” My knee starts bouncing erratically. Yes. Yes. Yes. “I’ve been trying to find out who owns it.”
“Have you checked with the council? The Town Hall?”
“I did. It’s not listed on the website or the council records. You’re kind of my last hope.”
“What do you need to know?”
“Just who the owner is.”
“Because?”
“Because…” I scrunch my face. Pete. Mrs. Tristan. My mom. Rae. Almost Mylo. And now Jackson. The secret is officially out. “I want to buy it andturnitintoarestaurant.” I rush out the last bit. Felix, Jackson, and Seb when he was around may have given me all the positives of having big brothers, but they also like to tease like them.
