Read Online The Secret Talent by Jo Whittemore - Free Book Online Page A

on one of them, but before I could get their attention,Berkeley clapped me on the shoulder.
    â€œYou do what you gotta do, Tim. I’ll catch you later.”
    He trotted off, and I shouted, “Tell everyone I said hey!”
    The girl was now shifting from foot to foot in front of me.
    â€œOkay,” I said with a sigh. “How can I help?”
    â€œI need a gift for my sister,” said the girl. “She doesn’t like anything except chickens. Weird, right? I’ve already gotten her chicken pajamas and a Chicken Little hat—”
    â€œHow old is your sister?” I interrupted.
    â€œEighteen.”
    My eyebrows lifted. “Ah. Maybe start with slightly older gifts.” I thought for a moment. “Have you ever thought about taking her to a farm to see them for herself?”
    The girl’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant! When can you set that up?”
    â€œSet what up?” I repeated.
    â€œThe farm visit, duh!” She smacked my arm.
    Why are girls always hitting?
    â€œI don’t take care of that,” I said.
    She frowned. “But your flyer said if we tell you who we’re shopping for, you’d take care of the rest.”
    I sucked air through my teeth. “Yeah, all that means is we’ll give you gift advice.”
    â€œOhhh.” She reached down and rummaged through her purse. “Well, how much do I owe you for the advice, then?” I saw a flash of green, and for a moment I was tempted to name my price, but one of the rules of our advice column is that we can’t profit from it. In fact, we have an actual rulebook with that written in it.
    â€œThere’s no charge,” I said. “Just happy to help.”
    â€œThanks!” said the girl. “Have fun scaring people with your friends!”
    As soon as she walked away, I headed for the exit, but another girl barred my path. “Did I just hear you tell that girl you’re giving advice on gifts? I need help finding something for my boyfriend.”
    â€œSure,” I said with a shrug. “What—”
    â€œGreat!” The girl reached into her backpack and pulled out a clothing catalog with a billion sticky notes between the pages. “Because I’m torn between a few options.”
    â€œA few?” I asked, dropping into a chair.
    She sat down next to me and turned to the first marked page. “What do you think of this shirt?”
    I shrugged again. “It’s good.”
    She squinted at me. “Good? Not great?”
    â€œIt’s a shirt,” I said. “No guy is ever going to be superexcited about a shirt, unless it’s made of money.”
    The girl tapped her fingers on the catalog, then flipped ahead a few pages. “What about pants?”
    The bell for homeroom couldn’t come soon enough. When it did, and I was finally free of Catalog Girl (who decided to just go with a gift card), Ryan suddenly appeared by my side.
    â€œAnd the hits just keep on coming,” I said in a low voice.
    â€œRelax,” he said. “I’m not here to ruin your day.”
    â€œThen why are you here?” I asked.
    â€œI need the details about Berkeley’s party,” he said. “When, where, how much food I can take home in my sleeves . . .”
    â€œWhat are you, a magician? You shouldn’t be putting anything up your sleeves.” I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Look, I’ve been tasked with making you presentable at this party, so that starts now.”
    â€œMaking me presentable?” Ryan’s face darkened a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œIt means all of this”—I gestured to his whole appearance—“needs work. Your clothes are wrinkled, your posture is prehistoric, and while shaggy hair is in, shaggy hair that looks like it’s been chewed is not.” I cleared my throat. “You’re going to