1st 5 Pages March Workshop - Harris-Brady

Name: Heather Harris-Brady
Genre: Middle Grade Contemporary Mystery
Title: The Mis(s)fits: All That Glitters

“I am here, my dear, to offer you the chance of a lifetime. Death is so terribly inconvenient. ”

Like the back of a very old hand reaching from beyond the grave, you could see the spidery blue veins of handwriting through the waxy yellow paper. Dismissing it with one quick glance at the White Birch Cove address twelve-year-old Celia Narro tossed the envelope into the trash basket and turned back to her best friend, Indira Prabshan.

“Well, what's it say?” Indira said.

“I don't care,” Celia said.

“I do,” Indira said, plucking it out. She unfolded two sheets of paper and started to read in her lyrical soft soprano:

“To my new young tenant,
If you are reading this then it is at least 2014 and you shall be the next girl to live in my house, which pleases me very much. It was a happy house for the most part. It is likely haunted but by the living not the dead. I left a great treasure for you along with what I fear is a great responsibility. You cannot accept one without the other. It's waiting for a clever girl who uses both her heart and her head. Being the sentimental old biddy I am I hope you will also find love during your search as I did during mine.

Although I have never lacked for imagination I cannot picture what your world must be. Perhaps all girls are free to learn, work and find their own happiness. If, however, the past is still vanishing in White Birch Cove there's no time to waste. Once the house is open the vultures will begin to circle. You'll recognize them by the triangles. Start at the museum. We're counting on you — see you on the other side, Mabel Caylor”

Celia's chestnut eyes darkened as she leaned forward into the wall mirror to sweep a fresh coat of gloss over her citywise smirk.

“A treasure, that's good right?” Indira said. “And love? What is this place, some secret lost land of cute boys? If so you'd better get an extra bed ready for me!”

“She's obviously off her rocker,” Celia said. “Like I'm supposed to believe a total stranger left me a fortune. Right.”


Chapter 1: A New Season, A New Vision

Celia crossed her arms over her trembling stomach as she watched two workmen nail a piece of drywall over the opening where their private door used to be. The two girls had darted back and forth through that door between the Prabshan's boutique and the Narro's shoe store their whole lives. Whap, whap! The chandelier tinkled in protest overhead. A little gilt frame crashed to the floor. Celia picked it up, the quote slid around in her cold clammy palms. “With the right pair of shoes a girl can change the world.” What's so great about change anyway, Celia thought. Change stinks.

“Hey girl, it's not forever you know,” Indira said, wrapping her warm arms around Celia's shoulders. Her lemongrass perfume floated up like a sigh. “You'll find a way home and everything will be just like it's always been.”

The ruffly dressing room had the same pink silk wallpaper but it felt different now, that best friend magic of endless together-dreams was gone. It was Celia's parents' fault. They broke the spell with this move and Celia's stomach turned inside out as she realized she didn't know how to get it back. She never thought her parents would actually go through with it, especially after the miserable visit to White Birch Cove over spring break. In the face of a downtown where the stores were closed until May even the weather gave up, spending the entire week in the sloppy, drizzly equivalent of worn gray loungepants. It was the place where dreams went to die.

“Don't forget this!” Indira said, tucking the letter into Celia’s quilted shoulder bag as they crossed the street into Central Park. “It might be your ticket back. You never know.”

“Seriously, they might as well just lock me in the basement,” Celia said, cracking her gum like a whip to emphasize each sentence. “I mean, a FARM and a restaurant in the middle of nowhere! Can you even?” She stopped abruptly and put her hands on her hips. An impish breeze, scented with Belgian waffles and hot dogs, lifted her black bangs and sent sunshine sparkles skipping across the surface of the pond.

“Now do I look like a farmer?” she asked, with one of her typical grand gestures. Indira put on her Fake Serious Face. From Celia’s glossy black blow-out, past the necklaces rippling down her back to the soles of her designer sandals she was a total city girl, and proud of it.

“Noooo. . .,” Indira said, dissolving into the giggly laugh Celia wanted to hear.

“And does this look like a farm dog?” Celia asked, pointing at Coco. This time they both laughed because there was no way to even picture Coco’s handful of Yorkie fluff anywhere other than these upholstered brownstone streets. Coco wagged her tail. She liked attention even if she didn’t always understand it. Indira’s laugh trailed away and this time she looked serious for real.

“Cee, I don't know how to tell you this so I'll just say it,” she said. Her words picked up speed, snowballing downhill. “My mom heard the Designers Institute is going to announce a Designing Debs contest. Any teen girl can enter and they're going to announce the finalists at Fall Fashion Week.” Knowing she lit the fuse Indira put her hands over her eyes and peeked at Celia through the bunker of her manicure.

“You have GOT to be kidding me!” Celia shouted. “That is SO not fair! Somebody else is going to get MY big break!” She whipped off her hat and sent it twirling into the water.

“There's more,” Indira said. “The winner gets a trip to Paris to shop for materials.” Celia collapsed in a heap on to the soft green grass. Quel desastre.

“Why are they doing this now? I can't believe it.”

“You're leaving today,” Indira said. “It's a done deal.”

“Lemme think for a minute. There’s got to be a way. I’m not giving up that easy.” She plucked blades of grass one by one and threw them like arrows toward the invisible demon of unfairness.

“There's only one thing to do,” Celia said. “I'm not thirteen until February. You're going to have to enter.”

“My mom's a member of the Institute,” Indira said. “I can't.”

“We'll make it work, say we're from Queens or something,” Celia said. “They can't know every girl in the city.”

“I don't know Cee,” Indira said. “Cheaters never prosper.”

“Doesn't your mom always say fashion is fantasy?” Celia said. “Pushing the limits and all?”

“Well, yeah,” Indira said, toying with her wristful of bracelets. “You know my parents, if they find out I’ll be SO busted. I don’t even want to think about what they would do.”

“Look at it this way,” Celia said, changing tactics. “Would you rather make up a new designer who's never existed or go to school with Hilde Essen after she comes back from Paris?”

“Okay, you win,” Indira said. “I'm down. But you HAVE to back me up on this, you can’t leave me hanging once you’re gone!”