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As I pull my bike out of the garage, I remember how nice it is to breathe the clear, first-thing-in-the-morning air. Summer here in the San Fernando Valley, it can reach a hundred degrees by noon. At this hour, though, it's comfortable and almost cool. My favorite time to go for a ride.

The only sound in the stillness is the ticking of my bike coasting down the hill to Caleb's house. Caleb waves from the top of the drive, and I join him.

“Man, I've never biked all the way to Treemont Oaks. You know where we're going?”

“I printed these out last night.” I show Caleb a map with our route highlighted on it. “If we follow the service roads along the 101, we should be able to get there in less than an hour.”

“Right on. Let's roll,” Caleb says.

What feels like a hundred miles later, I gesture to the right, and Caleb nods. A sleepy, tree-lined street with large stately houses behind neatly cultivated yards, La Quiñata Boulevard stretches out forever in front of us.

I count off the cross streets as we ride, and finally we spot the welcome street sign announcing Treemont Drive.

My legs are aching by now, and the sun is higher in the sky, making the air heavier and wetter.

I spot a familiar shape parked next to a house.

“Archermobile ho!” Caleb cries out, clearly seeing the same thing.

We prop our bikes against a tree in the front yard and, after a quick swig of water, walk up to the front door.

I press the button next to the ornate, Mission-style wooden door. A chiming sound can be heard deep within the house. A short while later, the door opens.

It's Mr. Archer, looking a little less cheery than usual. “Well, hello, Ted, this is a surprise! I do wish you had called first.”

“Well, we were just on a bike ride and remembered that Isabel lives around here, so we just thought—”

“I'm so sorry, boys, but I can't let you in just now.”

There is the sound of movement upstairs. “Is Isabel home?” asks Caleb. “She hasn't been answering my calls or texts.”

“We just wanted to make sure she was all right,” I add, trying to sound casual.

Mr. Archer's eyes dart quickly toward the upstairs and then back to us.

“Isabel is here, but she's very busy packing.”

“Don't you mean unpacking?” I ask, craning my neck to look past Mr. Archer, who pulls the door a little more closed.

“No, I mean
packing,
” Mr. Archer says firmly. “Isabel is returning to New York the day after tomorrow.”

Mr. Archer finally moves slightly out of the way, and behind him in the hall sits a large suitcase. It's bright red, and clearly Isabel's.

I'm at a total loss for words. I'm trying to figure out what's going on. Nothing is making sense.

“That's really…random…,” Caleb begins. “I mean, it's not like her to—”

Mr. Archer's face hardens. He seems to be on the verge of saying something, then changes his mind.

“You will have to forgive me, boys. It's just that…things have changed for Isabel and me, and we think it best that she return to New York and continue her schooling there.”

I let this sink in. “We?”

“Yes, Isabel agrees with me. She misses her friends.”

“Uh-huh…,” says Caleb. He looks down at the ground, frowning.

“May we at least say goodbye to her?” I ask.

Mr. Archer moves into the doorway again, blocking our view. “I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Isabel feels that she'd rather not speak to either of you again.”

“What?” Caleb exclaims. “We haven't done anything!”

“There must be some misunderstanding,” I insist. “If we could talk to her—”

“No!” Mr. Archer says a little too loudly. Quickly, he tries his best to adopt the charming smile we're so used to. “I don't know what to tell you, but once Isabel makes up her mind, there's no convincing her otherwise. If you knew her like I do, you'd know I'm right.”

I sense this is a losing battle. Mr. Archer puts his hands on our shoulders and gently guides us away from the house.

“I can't believe my little girl is becoming a teenager,” Mr. Archer continues as he gives each of our arms a gentle squeeze. “You boys will have to face it, this sort of drama is only going to get worse as you get older. I wish I could explain it, but it's basically just—well, the mind of a teenage girl is a mystery that would baffle even the world's greatest scientists.”

He laughs again, a little more easily this time.

I see where his daughter gets it.

“Will you at least let her know we stopped by?” Caleb asks.

“Of course, and I wouldn't be surprised if you hear from her once she's back in New York.” Mr. Archer shakes his head in wonder. “You know, if it were up to me, I'd let you see her. I just do what I'm told.”

I put out my hand. “Thanks, Mr. Archer, and please let her know we're sorry if it was anything we said or did.”

Mr. Archer looks sincere and grasps my hand firmly, like always. “I sure will, Ted. And please be careful biking home. It's a pretty long trip.”

“We'll be fine,” I assure him.

There's an uncomfortable pause; then Mr. Graham slips away from us and hurries back to the house.

He turns to us at the door. “Thanks for stopping by, and send my best to your parents,” says Mr. Archer, backing away from the door as he closes it.

We stand there for a moment.

“What just happened?” asks Caleb, looking at me with a stunned expression on his face.

“Beats me. Part of me thinks he's lying, but part of me knows that I don't know squat about girls, so maybe he's not,” I admit.

We turn to walk back to our bikes.

Thump.

The sound comes from somewhere above us.

We look up but see nothing.

“A bird?” Caleb asks, none too convincingly.

“Or a squirrel?” I suggest, although neither of us believes it.

Thump.

I'm able to determine that the sound is coming from the side of the house. “Go back and see if Mr. Archer is watching us,” I tell Caleb.

Caleb heads back to the front door. Halfway there, he turns around. “What if he's right there, looking out the window at me?”

“Tell him you need to use the bathroom,” I say impatiently.

Caleb goes the rest of the way and peers in a side window by the door. He turns and gives me the thumbs-up.

“The coast is clear,” he calls back.

“Wait there and signal me if he comes back.”

Thump thump.

Now it's clear that the sound is coming from someone tapping on an upstairs window.

I cautiously follow the path around to the side of the house and look up.

Isabel is in the window, looking down with frustration. Her body language is clearly saying,
What took you so long?

“We were—” I call out, but Isabel immediately raises her finger to her lips and turns her head. She then makes a “wait a minute” gesture and disappears.

I look around, knowing that Mr. Archer could come out a back door or appear at the window at any moment. I see Isabel's window open a crack and then hear her voice.

“I just wanted some air. God! Fine! I'll close it!”

Just before Isabel closes her window, something small and round is tossed out and falls close to my feet. I grab it and stuff it in my pocket, turn, and run back to my bike, motioning Caleb to join me.

Caleb starts to lope over. With a start, I see the large frame of Mr. Archer fill Isabel's window, looking out at us. I frantically wave at Caleb to pick up his pace. Caleb breaks into a sprint. I'm holding his bike for him and he jumps on.

A few blocks down the street, I pull over.

“Jeez, I almost sprained an ankle. What was the rush?” Caleb demands.

“Mr. Archer was in the window. Something is definitely going on,” I say, and we start the long trip back to my house.

It's close to lunchtime when Caleb and I drag ourselves up the driveway to my house. Peeling ourselves off our bikes, we throw our helmets in the general direction of the garage and collapse on the lawn.

As I lie there, my hand brushes against my pocket and I'm reminded of the object Isabel threw to me from the second-floor window.

I fish it out. Caleb turns over and rests on his elbows, and we regard what is sitting in my outstretched palm.

It's a small round case made of green marbleized plastic, with a hinged lid and a clear top. At one point it contained eye shadow or face powder. But clearly visible under the transparent lid is a piece of paper, folded many times and wedged inside.

We both look at it in disbelief.

“Dude, are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Caleb asks, gazing at the case in wonder.

“Yeah,” I answer, shaking my head in amazement.

“Isabel wears makeup?” we say in unison.

I pry off the top, and the paper falls to the ground. Caleb grabs it and starts to unfold it.

“Careful, your hands are all sweaty!” I warn. “If it's a message, you might smudge it!”

“We'll bring it inside and wash up first,” Caleb suggests.

I nod in agreement. Besides, since we don't know what it says, better to read it in private.

A few minutes later, we're cleaned up and ready to examine Isabel's message, whatever it is.

I carefully put it on the bed.

“Maybe it's just a goodbye note,” Caleb says, frowning.

“Maybe. We'll know soon enough,” I answer, pulling at the corners and revealing what is on the page:

Hi, guys. I guess you know by now that my father has gone totally psychotic or something. He's been really crazy overprotective of me since my mother died, but I thought he was over that when he let me hang out with you two. And then last night this man I've never seen before came over and asked my father to talk to him in private about something important. They talked for maybe fifteen minutes, and that's when my father went nuts. He started going on and on about how he never should have brought me here and I had to leave as soon as possible. I told him he was acting crazy and he told me I didn't know what I was getting myself into and he wanted me to promise I would never talk to or see either of you again. I said he was being ridiculous, as he was the one who wanted me to make friends and everything, and he went even further around the bend. That's when he took my phone and my laptop and said he couldn't trust me. That really got me nervous, but then it just got worse. He came back into my room and took all my paper and pens and pencils! Like I was going to mail you guys a letter or something? What he forgot was that I had my journal—that's like a diary, Caleb, in case you didn't know—

“I know what a journal is, you stuck-up—” Caleb mutters.

“You can tell her if we ever see her again,” I say, going back to the note.

So I was able to tear out a page and use that. And I still have the typewriter I got for my eighth birthday. Ha ha!

Anyhow, he also took
The Maltese Falcon,
which is bad for two reasons: 1. I didn't finish it. 2. It's REALLY GOOD!!

So basically, can you guys figure out a way to GET ME OUT OF HERE? My father will be gone from tomorrow morning until dinner. He's got conferences. The problem is that he turns on the perimeter alarm when he leaves the house, so I can't go out through the door or even any of the windows because if I break the beam, the alarm will go off. And he's changed the code, obviously. Anyhow, I don't want to go back to NY right now. I want to see you two, even if only for the day. Maybe one of your parents can talk to him or something.

Isabel

“I love how she signed it. Like we wouldn't know who it was from otherwise,” grouses Caleb.

“Shut up. This is really serious,” I say.

Caleb looks into my eyes. “Yeah, I know. I wish we knew who that dude was who visited Isabel's dad. And what could the guy have said that freaked him out like that?”

I sit down on the bed. “Something to do with the Monuments Men?”

Caleb sits next to me. “Yeah, those ‘other people' Stan was talking about?”

“I don't know. But the first thing we have to figure out is if there's any way of getting Isabel out of there tomorrow.”

Caleb stands up, stretches, and walks to the door. “That's your department, Ted. You're the one who knows every trick to escaping a room. Maybe you can even dream up another ‘game' to help you. Or you could always ask Tom and Barb.”

He expertly dodges the pillow I throw at his head and yawns. “Man, those last few miles really wore me out. I think I need a nap.”

I laugh and wave as Caleb leaves, closing the door behind him.

I go back to my desk, flip open my laptop, and wait impatiently for it to boot up.

It finally does, and I open my browser and navigate to a familiar link.

This time, I know what I'm going to find there. It would have been a surprise if it
weren't
there. And now it has a name.

But there it is: “Coming Tonight:
The Game of Ted 1.3—Escape the House!
”