Now You See Them, Now You Don't by Gordon Korman

Author:Gordon Korman
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

The Santa Monica Racquet Club had its own building — a modern, ultrahip glass and gunmetal structure in the middle of a long street of glass and gunmetal.

This was the high-rent district. Meg felt self-conscious in the thrift shop clothing she and Aiden had bought that morning. At least she was allowed to be a girl again. But with denim shorts, a white T-shirt, and hair that was only beginning to grow back, she looked like a plain kid, gender unspecified.

Aiden gazed bleakly at the front desk and its members only sign, plainly visible from the street. “How am I ever going to get to the locker room? A snooty place like this has a dozen personal trainers per square foot. They kick you out if you’re not at least a movie producer.”

Meg was disgusted. “After all we’ve been through, you’re afraid to sneak past a couple of muscle heads? Watch me. You’ll know what to do.”

She marched into the building and up to the granite counter. A barrel-chested man in a tank top and a badge that declared him to be Chad fixed her with a dubious stare. “Is there something I can do for you, kid?”

Meg looked wan and worried, and swayed a little. “I don’t feel so good….”

* * *

Aiden watched in amazement as Meg’s legs gave way under her and she started to crumple. Three weight lifters were out from behind the desk to catch her before she hit the floor.

The performance was so mesmerizing that he almost forgot to act. At the last second, he scooted past the drama and down the sumptuously carpeted corridor. He dashed between a double row of glassed-in squash courts and came to the men’s locker room. With a sigh of relief, he slipped inside.

It was tough to make a sweaty change room posh, but the club had managed it with elegant tile work, marble shower stalls, and framed sports art on the walls. The lockers were a burnished bronze and glowed, unscuffed and perfect.

Aiden followed the numbers: 345 … 346 … 347.

An ordinary padlock hung there. Fingers trembling, he took Frank Lindenauer’s key from his pocket and reached for the lock.

“No fooling!” came a voice behind him. “We’ve been taking bets on when somebody was actually going to crack that thing.”

Aiden wheeled around to face the speaker, who regarded him in surprise. “That’s your locker?” the man said. “When’s the last time you came in here? Kindergarten?”

“It’s — my dad’s,” Aiden stammered, wishing he had his sister’s gift of gab. “I haven’t had the guts to empty it since the accident.” Not bad — eat your heart out, Meg.

The man looked embarrassed and escaped to the showers.

The moment of truth. Aiden inserted the gold-colored key.

A perfect fit!

He turned it and felt the tumblers fall into place. The lock clicked open and the door swung wide.

In that instant, he knew a different kind of fear — not fear of capture or of harm. The contents of this locker were their last clue, their only lead.

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