Read an Excerpt

1
Dally paused with her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. In all her eleven and a half years, nothing had ever felt so important. Clutching the large folder that could make or break her fate, she turned the knob and pushed her way through the door, into the outer office. A bright blue-and-gold block-printed rug led like a runway toward the receptionist’s desk, but a few steps in, Dally forced her gaze up from the carpet. She pulled her shoulders back, held her head high. Confident. Assertive. Determined to get what she wanted.
   “Hi,” she said to the curly-haired woman behind the L-shaped desk. “I have a three-thirty appointment.”
   “Hello, Miss Peteharrington,” the receptionist said. “You can go right in, of course.”
   Dally glanced at the digital clock on the desk. It read 3:28. “I’m a bit early,” she said, hugging her folder. “Should I wait?”
   The receptionist smiled gently, a mix of kindness and sadness in her expression. “I suppose so. Let me just ring her.” She picked up the desk phone and pressed a single button. “Your three-thirty is here.”
   Dally nodded. She rather liked the formal sound of that.
   “Will do,” the receptionist said into the phone. To Dally, she said, “She’s ready for you. Go ahead.”
   “Thank you,” Dally said. She opened her folder and glanced inside one last time.
   “Good luck,” whispered the receptionist.
   Dally hoped she wouldn’t need luck. She had prepared a very convincing presentation, if she did say so herself. But out loud, she said a polite “Thank you.”
   Dally followed another blue-and-gold carpet toward the main office door, head high, folder in hand. The folder contained a tablet with her slideshow already cued up, plus a full backup printout of her presentation, complete with seventeen graphs, two pie charts, three research articles, and a flip chart of bulleted notes printed in her neatest handwriting.
   If all that didn’t convince her mother, nothing would.
   Dally was prepared. She had made the appointment on Friday for this Monday afternoon. She didn’t always have to make an appointment to see her mother, of course, but during business hours it was generally a good idea. Dally badly needed a yes today, and interrupting her mother’s work without warning was sure to put her in a bad mood.
   For the last three school days, Dally had spent her free time—the unscheduled hour after school ended and before her business lessons began—doing research and organizing her thoughts. Then, over the weekend, she’d practiced her presentation several times in front of the mirror. Her mother needed a good reason to do anything different, so Dally had a whole folder full of reasons.
   “Hello, Delilah,” said Dally’s mother. She rounded the desk and held out her hand to her daughter. “It’s nice to see you.”
   “It’s nice to see you, too,” Dally responded. She gripped her mother’s hand and shook firmly, the way she had been taught.
   “Please,” her mother said, gesturing toward the chairs on the visitor side of the desk. It was a boss’s way of saying, Have a seat, but remember who’s in charge here.
   The chairs were wingbacks and quite large. Dally perched on the very edge of one so that her feet still touched the floor. She usually enjoyed climbing into them and watching her feet stick straight out, but it wouldn’t do to be kicking and flailing while she was trying to seem responsible and businesslike.
   Dally’s mother was always perfectly businesslike. Her wavy brown hair was tucked into a neat chignon at the base of her neck, resting on a crisply ironed blouse collar. The delicate features on her smooth, pale face appeared calm. Dally had not inherited the always-put-together gene. Her school uniform top was hopelessly wrinkled. She had restrained her generous black curls somewhat before this meeting, but her full, brown cheeks felt blotchy with heat that certainly was visible. Appearance was only one of the many, many ways that she and her mother were different.
   Her mother settled back into her own chair behind the desk. “Interesting that you’ve made an appointment. I assume you have some business to discuss with me?”
   Dally sat quietly for a moment. She had rehearsed this part many times. She knew exactly where to begin, and yet it was all different now that she was in the stately office, with the huge brown desk and the glare of afternoon light through the windows and the pressure of her mother’s gaze on her performance.
   “This is your meeting,” her mother prompted. “What’s on your mind?”
   Dally swallowed hard. “Yes, I have a presentation,” she said, placing her tablet on the desk facing her mother and starting the slideshow. Lead with the information, land on the ask, she reminded herself. She opened her folder and pulled out page one.
   “Did you know that ninety percent of students who get accepted to Ivy League colleges have a significant track record of participating in extracurricular activities?” She laid the research study on the desk and clicked to her next slide.
   “And did you know that the life skills kids can learn from outdoor programs, like scouting and camping, enhance socialization, increase creativity, and actually improve their brains?” She laid the second research study on the desk.
   “And did you know”—this was the tough one—“that children who are grieving benefit from finding a way to honor the memory of their loved one?”
   Dally’s mother glanced toward the framed photo beside her monitor: one quick, there-and-back tug of the eyeballs. If you blinked, you’d miss it. But Dally didn’t blink, so her gaze followed automatically.
   Dally did a double take. The photo was turned away from her mother. So instead of glancing at the back of the frame, as she had the last time she’d been in her mother’s office, Dally found herself looking directly at the best photo ever taken of her and Grandpa. They were sitting at the kitchen table, contemplating a chocolate cake. Forks in hand, he was smiling down at her and she was smiling up at him. Dally had this photo herself, in her room. She liked to look at it every day. Why did her mother have it turned away?
   “Um . . .” Dally laid the third research study, the one about children and grief, on the desk. Then she started in on the ask. “There is a new after-school program beginning at my school this week,” she said. “It’s called Adventure Club, and I’d like your permission to join. Here is why it is a good idea.”
   Dally clicked through her carefully prepared slideshow of charts and facts, with the photo of Grandpa smiling over her. She hoped that he would bring good luck to her presentation. (Suddenly she feared she needed a splash of luck after all.)
   For her whole life, Grandpa had been Dally’s favorite person in the entire world. He had always been there, with his soft belly laugh and crinkly-eyed smile and big strong arms that were excellent for things like hugging and swing-pushing and tree-climbing assistance. He had lived in the estate with her and her mother and their live-in cook and housekeeper. The whole estate used to belong to him, but it had been handed down to Dally’s mother when she took over the corporation after Grandpa retired.
   The Peteharrington family was, in fact, quite wealthy, and Dally’s mother’s main concern was keeping them that way.