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sleep.
    Footsteps. A knock on my door.
    My eyes pop open and I look over at the clock. Drats! I’ve slept over two hours!
    â€œKelsey, are you in there?” my mom calls out softly.
    â€œYes, Mom. Just a sec,” I say when I spot my notebook of secrets sitting out in plain sight on my bed. Quickly, I grab it and return it to the hidden drawer. Just in time too, because Mom peeks into my room.
    â€œJust letting you know that dinner’s ready,” she says.
    â€œDinner already?” I repeat, realizing I missed lunch. “Okay. I’m coming.” I jump up and follow her out of my room.
    It’s a family rule to eat dinner together at the dining table, and I’m last to arrive. As I chew homemade sourdough bread, my gaze settles on Kyle. I study my brother like a speck of blood under a CSI microscope, trying to guess where he went this morning and what was hidden in his box. Where could he have disappeared to right in front of my eyes? I keep hoping he’ll bring up the topic, but all he talks about (as usual) are strategies for getting a full-ride scholarship.
    When he asks me to pass the bread, I hand him the basket and ask casually, “So how did the heavy lifting go today?”
    â€œHuh?” Kyle’s face goes blank like someone clicked Delete in his brain.
    I smile sweetly, amused that he doesn’t remember the excuse he gave when he rode off on his bike this morning. “With your old buddy Jake?”
    â€œOh yeah, Jake.” He blinks fast. “Everything was cool.”
    I almost laugh because if he really did lift heavy furniture today, he’d complain about sore muscles. Kyle is so bad at lying. My brother is definitely up to something—and soon the CCSC will be on the case.
    Later that night, I reach up to my bookshelf and take down my favorite book. Curling up against my pillows, I flip the book open to Chapter One of Harriet the Spy . Whenever I have more questions than answers, I turn to Harriet for advice.
    Skimming pages, I pause at the scene where Harriet’s friend Sport asks to go spying with her. Harriet replies, “Spies don’t go with friends.”
    My eyes grow heavy and the book falls from my fingers. I think of my spying adventures with the CCSC: going on stakeouts, solving mysteries, and reuniting lost pets with their owners.
    Harriet got it wrong , I think as I drift off to sleep.
    Spying is better with friends.

- Chapter 7 -
    Fit-Pic
    The next day nothing goes as planned.
    While I’m chewing Dad’s corn-flake-crusted French toast, Becca calls the house phone.
    â€œHey, Kelsey,” she says but without her usual cheerfulness.
    I swallow and ask, “Is something up?”
    â€œHow’d you know?” She sighs. “I can’t make lunch today.”
    â€œAre you sick?”
    â€œSick of Tyla,” she gripes. “Remember that urgent problem she had yesterday? Well, her bratty brother threw her cosmetic case with all the face paints into their pool.”
    â€œI bet the pool looked like someone vomited in it,” I joke.
    Instead of laughing, Becca groans. “The Sparklers needed those paints for our fund-raiser booth.”
    â€œWait a minute.” My brain whirls. “They decided on a face-painting booth instead of one of the cool ideas we suggested?”
    â€œTyla hated all our ideas. Since her face paints are destroyed, new ones have to be bought. And Tyla insists that I go with her.”
    â€œCan’t Tyla shop by herself?” I glare at the phone.
    â€œYeah—if shopping were an Olympic sport, she’d win gold medals. But I’m the Sparkler treasurer so she wants me to go with her. I dread it because before we buy paints, she’ll drag me into every store and make me wait while she tries on clothes.”
    â€œSounds fun. Not.”
    â€œIt won’t be as torturous if you’re there.” Becca’s voice rises with hope. “Please,