Read Online The Winner's Game by Kevin Alan Milne - Free Book Online

hilarious. What other messages did you put in the window?”
    For a split second, panic shows on Bree’s face, and I know what she is thinking. “Oh, nothing much,” she says. “Just boring stuff.”
    â€œWell, let me see.”
    â€œNah. They’re stupid.Just dumb stuff asking people to honk and wave.”
    Ann is no dummy. Bree’s resistance is more than enough to make her suspect that we’re hiding something. She also knows, on account of her heart, that she can pretty much get my parents to do anything she wants, so she immediately turns to them. “Mom, Bree and Cade won’t let me see the other things they wrote.”
    â€œBree?” my mother asks.
    â€œGive ’em to her, guys,” Dad says flatly.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œNo ‘buts’!” barks Dad before Bree can finish her rebuttal. He gives my mom a quick sideways glance to see if she is going to scold him for raising his voice.
    I hand the full stack of papers to Ann. It takes her all of about five seconds to get to the one about her. “Who wrote this?” she shrieks. Her face turns instantly red, which means her heart is working overtime. “You two are jerks, you know that?”
    â€œDimwit wrote that one,” says Bree quickly. “Mine were completely harmless.”
    Harmless? Yours brought the cops!
    â€œHow do either of you know if I’ve been kissed or not?”
    â€œWell, have ye?”
    â€œIt’s none of your business!”
    â€œAnn,” my mom says, “please, let’s not get all riled up. Just take a deep breath and we’ll sort this out.”
    Ann’s face is still burning, but she takes a long breath through her nose before turning back to me and asking, “Cade, why would you write something like that?”
    It’s a fair question. I take a moment to think how best to answer in Pirateese. “Well, ye ain’t ever had a boyfriend, an’ ye ain’t ever brought a swashbuckler home fer dinner or studying, so I have to think ye ain’t ever been kissed.”
    â€œAhhh! Dad, will you please make him stop talking like that. It’s driving me nuts!”
    â€œCade,” says Dad, using his “this-is-the-last-straw” voice, “enough is enough. Talk-Like-a-Pirate Day is officially over. Savvy ?”
    Ann sneers, gloating at the power she holds over me on account of her weak heart.
    â€œPoop deck,” I mumble as I turn again toward the rear window.
    â€œEnough from everyone ,” says Mom, raising her voice for the first time. “We’re only half an hour away. I want complete silence until we get there. Nod if you understand.”
    â€œWatch your tone, hun,” says my dad casually as my mom’s face turns cherry red. “It’s no wonder the kids raise their voices so much.”

Chapter 8
Bree
    T HERE IS STILL plenty of daylight left when we pull to a stop at the beach house, which sits along a cute little road running parallel to the beach. Dad backs the van into the driveway, right beside Grandma’s old car, leaving me an open view of the sandy shoreline that will serve as our backyard for the next three months. Beyond the sand, at the crest of the waves, is Haystack Rock, a monolith jutting up to meet the sinking sun. Even with the windows up I can hear the surf pounding against it.
    Before Dad turns off the car, Cade is already climbing over the seat toward the door. I bet the rotten little pirate in him can hardly wait to get out and make a dash for the sea, but Dad has different plans. “Nobody does anything,” he warns as he unlocks the car doors with the push of a button, “until everyone is unpacked and settled in.” Turning to my mom, he asks, “Did you mention the sleeping arrangements yet, Emily?”
    Dad’s question barely reaches my ears before Ann blurts out, “Dibs on the downstairs bedroom!”
    We’ve stayed