I'M READING IN THE SHADE UNDER the cottonwood tree when Nancy Drew finds a big clue that's going to help her solve the mystery. It's a secret message stitched right into the design of a quilt. It's as big as day staring Nancy right in the face, and she doesn't even see it. I guess that's the best kind of clue-the kind you can't see right in front of your eyes.
I wonder if you have to be ready to see clues like that before they appear. Or maybe they have to be ready for you to find them.
I'm sitting in the shade trying to decide, when a long, flowery silk scarf dangles in front of my face and someone says, "I bet the butler did it."
It startles me so much that I break my number one rule of invisibility.
I react.
Before I can stop myself, I look up into the tree and straight into a pair of dark brown eyes on the face of a girl I've never seen before. She has a crooked smile and long black hair pulled back in a braid and she's wearing cutoff jeans and a blue shirt.
I'm trapped.
I grab my book and run. Behind me, I hear the cicadas stop for just a second while this girl laughs and swings out of the tree. I hear her yell something at me, and then the buzz of the cicadas swarms up and swallows her laughter.
Before the cicadas stop again, I'm gone.
I run all the way home and don't slow down until I get to Dad's zinnias by the front porch.
I guess Mom used to plant all the flowers, but now Dad does. He isn't very good at it, which is pretty funny because he's a farmer. Most of his flowers die or get eaten by rabbits, but the zinnias are tough and they always bloom. Red and pink and orange.
I'm glad something blooms for Dad.
I stop on the porch and look back at the field, but the girl is not following me. I go inside, past the rocking chair by the window. The green-and-orange afghan Fern crocheted is draped over the back.
Dad doesn't think I know how he stays up late sometimes, sitting by the window and watching Fern's barn, making sure I'm safe in the house. Sometimes he watches until he falls asleep in the rocking chair with the afghan pulled up to his shoulders.
He doesn't think I hear him as he climbs up the stairs at dawn, just in time to change into his overalls and start another day.
He doesn't think I know, but I do.
I run up the stairs and down the hall, past Dad's room and past Pete's room, letting my hand slide over Pete's white door as I go by. I always do that, but I never go in. No one does.
When I get to my room, I shut the door and look out the window. I don't see the strange girl anywhere.
I can't see the school from here, but I can see the road that runs from the school to Fern's store and then to our farm.
I see Thomas Keegan's collie, Lady, lying in front of Fern's screen door. I know in a few minutes, Fern will come out and toss her some scraps from the deli counter to get her to move, and Lady will move-until she's hungry again.
Fern's store is small and old with creaky wooden floors and a soda chest where I go and scrape the frost off the insides when it's really hot out. I squish the frost into a ball and rub it on my forehead and it melts and drips down my face.
Fern lets me come to the store anytime I want, and she talks to me without getting all close up in my face. She always waits a bit after she asks me a question just in case I might answer. But I never do.
Sometimes I pick up her broom and sweep the floor, but I don't look at her when I do it. And sometimes she grabs me up in her wrinkly, old arms and hugs me tight and calls me a Poor Motherless Child. I want to hug her back, but I don't.
I just suck in the air that surrounds her and hold it inside me as long as I can. Her white hair smells sweet like the Fresca she drinks, and spicy like the barbecue at her deli counter. And on top of that, she smells a little like honeysuckle perfume.
The girl isn't in front of Fern's store or on the road. I sit down on my bed and stare out the window, but all I see are the dark brown eyes of the girl who knows my secret.
I know all the girls in Olena.
There are only three girls in my class who live in town: Judy the Spelling Tiger, Carla Morgan, and me. All the other girls my age live way out in the country and take the bus to school.
Olena is smaller than tiny. The sign at the edge of town says the population is 200, but I think that includes dogs and cats and horses, because I never counted more than 117 people. That was when the Ericksons had a family reunion and about 30 people came to town.
Olena only has two roads. There's the big one that everyone calls the Hard Road because it's paved like a highway. It runs east and west through town and actually goes someplace else. The other road that heads north and south into the countryside is blacktop, but only as far as Neal's Hill. After that, it gives up and turns into gravel, and when it's gone so far nobody cares anymore, it narrows down to a dirt lane between soybean fields.
Pete and I used to ride our bikes out there, looking for lost civilizations, but we never found any. The Burkettes live out that way, but it would be a stretch to call them civilized.
There are a few houses on the Blacktop, and that's where Judy lives. Her house is almost at the top of Neal's Hill, but not quite. It seems a shame to me, because if her house was on the very top, she could sit on her porch and see the whole world. I guess it's best for Judy that her house isn't up that far, though, because she gets scared of heights. She didn't even know it until the time Carla Morgan pushed her too high on the swing and Judy got so scared she tried to jump off-but she wouldn't let go of the chains first. She was holding on for dear life. Even after she hit the ground, it took three of us to get her hands off those chains.
Judy never swung much after that.
Folks from somewhere else think it's weird not to know you're afraid of heights. But how could she know? Except for Neal's Hill, we don't have a lot of tall things in Olena. The fields roll up and down a little, but we don't have any mountains or even a water tower.
Most everything in Olena is on the Hard Road. At one end, there's the Olena First Baptist Church. I guess the first settlers were hoping for more people, but we never got enough for a Second Baptist Church. Just a few Methodists out in the country, but they don't bother anybody.
At the other end of town, there's Fern's General Store.
Between the church and Fern's, there's the school and some houses and the post office, which is the only building in town that has air-conditioning.
Carla Morgan lives next to the post office. In the summer, Carla has a lemonade stand, and when it's really hot outside I walk close by. But not too close. Carla doesn't see me except when business is slow or she's bored. Then she grabs me by the arm and puts a cup of lemonade in my hand. She doesn't let go until I drink it all and drop the paper cup on the ground. Then she pats me on the arm like I'm a six-year-old or something and she says, "Good Lily. That was good."
I hate the way she says it, but sometimes, I'm just thirsty.
It isn't even two o'clock in the afternoon now. Carla and Judy are still in school with all the girls who ride the bus.
I know all of them.
Who is the black-haired girl in the cottonwood tree?
What does she want?
