MELISSA’S MISSION
IMPOSSIBLE

Linda Joy Singleton

(c) copyright Linda Joy Singleton, August 2001
cover art by Eliza Black
ISBN 1-58608-395-3
Gemstar Edition 1-58608-251-5
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, Ga 31636

CHAPTER ONE: KINGS, QUEENS, AND SWALLOWS

"Bird poop," Joey explained. "That's why I want Mission San Juan Capistrano for my history project. Lots of cool swallows fly there every year. Plop, splat, smoosh! Attack of the bird bombers!"

"Gross!" I shifted in my desk and frowned at Joey across the aisle. As usual his black hair poked up in three different directions and there were food smudges on his baggy T-shirt. I bet if I looked up the definition for "gross" in the dictionary, I'd see Joey's picture.

"Building a mission model is going to be so BOR-RING." I tapped my fingers on my history textbook and gazed longingly out the window. Gray-blue sky, marshmallowy clouds, the lure of California spring sunshine. I belonged out there, shooting baskets or kicking soccer balls, not inside with blackboards, pencils, and assignments. "I wish I could skip fourth grade and skip this dumb project."

"First you have to pass fourth grade."

I didn't have to look sideways to know this snotty remark came from my twin brother Matthew. The only thing we had in common was our birthday. Otherwise, we were total opposites. He had short light-brown hair. I had long raven-black hair. His eyes were hazel. Mine were blue. He was a creep. I wasn't.

"Melissa's grades are fine," Amanda, my best friend and loyal defender, said. She sat behind me, which was convenient for whispers and passing notes.

Matthew arched his brows skeptically. "Dumbbell Mel got a D on her last history quiz. Mom and Dad sure didn't think that was fine."

"It was a D plus," I snapped. "And don't call me names, Mutt Face."

"Yeah," Amanda added. "Go pollute the air somewhere else."

"This is my class, too."

"Don't remind me," I said with a groan.

"You're just jealous because I got an A on my history quiz. I told you to study instead of hanging out at the basketball court."

"B-ball was more fun. Besides you didn't get an A. It was an A minus."

"And I'm darn proud of it." He grinned widely, like he was so smart.

Of course, Matthew was so smart, which made me feel really dumb sometimes.

Mrs. Sweeny returned from the office, and talking instantly stopped in the classroom. She carried a sprawling wooden model on a long, flat board; a miniature fortress with clustered square and arched buildings, small bristly trees, tiny people, and an elegant bell tower.

"Attention, everyone!" Mrs. Sweeny called in her clear, musical voice. "As you know, today we're going to start our mission projects. So I brought in a diorama to show you. Can anyone tell me which historical mission this represents?"

Wouldn't you know it? My twin's hand flew into the air, faster than a speeding teacher's pet. "I CAN!" he shouted.

"Yes, Matthew?" Mrs. Sweeny asked.

"Mission San Luis Rey. The largest mission in California. The KING of missions." Matthew grinned. "It'd be cool to get Mission San Luis Rey for my project. I'd like to make the KING." "Then I want the QUEEN," the most out-going girl in class, Daneesha Martz said. Her crown of dark braids swayed as she spoke. "Is there a queen mission, Mrs. Sweeny?"

"Yes," my teacher answered, placing the diorama on a long counter. "Mission Santa Barbara is called the queen of missions."

"Then that's the one I'm gonna make," Daneesha declared.

I glanced over and saw that Joey had his hand raised. I groaned, knowing he was going to ask about the "bird poop" mission. All this mission talk was really getting BOR-RING. And outside, through the windows, the sun shined an invitation.

"I'd like to allow everyone to pick their own projects," Mrs. Sweeny was saying. "But many of you may want the same missions. Southern California missions are more impressive and popular than those farther north. So to avoid harsh feelings, you'll each randomly draw assignment papers out of a box."

There were moans, groans, and murmurs of "not fair" around the room. I didn't care. I stared out the window, imagining I was a floating basketball, soaring through the air and slam-dunking basket after basket. I vaguely heard Mrs. Sweeny say something about choosing our missions after lunch ... and then the bell rang.

Chairs were pushed back and voices rose excitedly. Lunch! Everyone's favorite class. I jumped up and grabbed my backpack.

"Hey, wait up." Amanda pushed aside her long blond hair and slipped on her backpack, which was covered with cute kitten and puppy stickers. Amanda, a big animal lover, also wore horse-shaped earrings. "Melissa, where are you going?"

"You know."

"But those kids are SO much bigger than you. You could get hurt." Amanda's voice was low and worried. "Have lunch with me and Gabrielle in the cafeteria."

"Not today." I grinned confidently and patted a bulging side pouch in my backpack. "I can handle those sixth graders. I have my secret weapon right here."

"But. . . ." Amanda started to argue.

"Gotta go!" I cut her off. "See you later."

Then before she could stop me, I hurried out of the classroom. My stomach grumbled, but I could eat later. Right now I had something more exciting to do.

As I sprinted across the blacktop, I passed kids playing four square, jump rope, and tether ball. I slowed when I saw the five familiar sixth-graders. My heart sped up, and my palms grew sweaty. The Fierce Five; three large boys and two hefty girls, turned to stare at me.

"Are you looking for trouble, shrimp?" Danny asked with a sneer.

"We warned you about messing with us." Brad slapped the basketball he held.

James, Shontal, and her sister, Sheena, faced me with their arms crossed in forbidding folds and their gazes narrowed. I gulped and wondered, Haad coming here been a mistake? Lunch with Amanda and Gabrielle suddenly seemed like a good idea.

Danny leaned over and poked me in the shoulder--hard. "So, you just gonna stand there?"

"I ... uh ... no. Uh, you know what I want."

"And you know what we want," Danny countered.

"If you wanna play, you gotta pay," Brad said gruffly.

"So pay up or else." Shontal's smile was even scarier than her tightened fists and towering shape.

"Sure. Anything you say." I sat my backpack on the ground. My fingers shook as I unzipped the side pocket.

I took a deep breath, then reached inside the pocket, for my secret weapon.

CHAPTER TWO: 2 LITTLE, 2 LATE

"Snickerdoodles!" I announced, inhaling delicious cinnamon smells as I scooped up soft homemade cookies.

"Snicker-what?" Brad asked.

"Snickerdoodles. Molded cookies with cinnamon, sugar, and some special ingredients of my own," I said proudly.

"Hmmm .... These are great!" Danny mumbled as he chewed.

"Yeah." Sheena reached for her third snickerdoodle. "Better than the yo-yo cookies you brought last week."

"It's one of my favorite recipes." I brushed tiny crumbs off my jeans. "Eat up. Then let's play some B-ball."

That was the deal. Yummy desserts in exchange for a place on their lunch basketball team. Otherwise, sixth graders would never hang out with a lowly fourth grader. The Fierce Five were the best basketball players at Altamont View School, and I wanted to be a "best" player, too. Fortunately, I loved baking almost as much as I loved basketball.

When the cookies disappeared, the game was on.

I was half the size of the Fierce Five kids, but that didn't stop me from dribbling, shooting, and making two solid baskets for the girls' team. I had to work harder, jump higher, and run faster. I had improved a lot. Sure, the girls still lost, but some day I'd be good enough to help my team win.

"Boys rule again!" Danny shouted as the bell rang.

"We'll clobber you next time," Shontal fired back.

"In your dreams!" Brad laughed, shooting one last basket. The ball sliced through the net, then bounced away. "Shrimpy fourth grader can return the ball!"

"Me? Again?"

"Yeah!" the Fierce Five shouted, laughing as they hurried off to their classrooms.

I groaned, wishing I were eight feet tall and already in junior high. Being short was the pits.

With a weary sigh, I went after the ball, which was still rolling. Minutes later, I deposited the ball in the metal equipment container, then ran to my class.

When I burst into my classroom, the other kids were lining up at the far side of the room.

"You're tardy," Mrs. Sweeny told me. She tapped her pen on a black-covered notebook. "That's the third time this month."

"I'm sorry."

"I've heard that before. And please take your cap off."

"I'm sorry." I pulled off my favorite Kings sports cap.

My teacher's forehead puckered as she regarded me sadly. "We need to have a serious talk, Melissa. Stay after class a few minutes today. But now, you'd better join the others for your mission project assignment."

"Mission project?" I looked at my classmates. Naturally, my brother was first in line, followed by Joey, Tylene, Daneesha, Gabrielle, and Amanda. I wished I could cut in front of Amanda, but I didn't want to get into any more trouble. Staying after school was bad enough. And to be honest, I was scared.

I crossed the room and stood last in line.

From the front, I heard Matthew cry out, "I'm the KING. I got Mission San Luis Rey!"

I pressed my lips together in annoyance.

How could Matthew be so excited about a history assignment?

Daneesha didn't shout out, so I guessed she wasn't the "Queen" with Mission Santa Barbara. Instead, I watched her whisper to easy-going Tylene. Papers were exchanged, and suddenly Daneesha was smiling. I heard her say, "I'm the QUEEN!"

The line moved slowly.

"Melissa, how was your basketball game?" Amanda asked, coming over. "Were those kids too rough on you?"

"No way. The Fierce Five were cool, once I pulled out my secret weapon. I wish Mrs. Sweeny were as easy to deal with. She wants to talk to me after class."

"NO!" Amanda covered her mouth and gasped. "That's terrible. Oh, poor, Melissa. Want me to wait for you?"

"Thanks. But you don't have to. I'll be okay." My stomach tightened, and I wondered what Mrs. Sweeny was going to do to me. I tried to hide my fear. "So, what mission did you get?"

"Mission San Rafael." She smiled and showed me her assignment paper. "That's not too far. I'm going to ask my parents to drive me there."

"Why? Visiting a mission has to be the dullest trip in the world. It's easier to check out books in the library or write to the mission for information like Mrs. Sweeny suggested."

"Maybe." Amanda shrugged. "But if I go there, I can imagine the mission like it used to be; with chicken pens, people riding horses or milking goats. Seeing a mission could be fun."

"As fun as staying after school or being last in line." I stepped forward a few more feet.

"Cheer up," Amanda urged. "You might get a fantastic mission. One with lots of bells and stained glass windows. I'll help you make yours."

"Thanks." My pride kicked in. "But I don't need any help. I'll either do it myself or not at all."

Amanda stepped aside as I reached the front of the line. Well, it wasn't really a line any more.

Just me.

So I took the last small white paper, unfolded it, then read the typed words.

CHAPTER THREE: SECRET MISSION

Last to pick my mission project.

Last to leave school.

Last to arrive home.

But I'd be first in line for trouble if I flunked history. Mrs. Sweeny's warning still rang in my ears, "The only way to bring up your history grade is to earn an A on the mission project."

An A? Unlikely. Improbable.

IMPOSSIBLE!

My twin was the whiz student in the family. Even my five year old sister Jill excelled in kindergarten. But I scored better on the basketball courts than in the classroom.

I was doomed.

When I reached home, my mother was already helping Matthew plan his mission diorama. They had papers, colored pencils, and books scattered on the table and were talking in low, excited voices. Mom noticed me and waved a greeting. She didn't look angry or ask where I'd been, so I guessed my brother hadn't blabbed about my staying after school. Big relief.

I stood there for a moment, watching Mom draw dark lines on a large sheet of white paper.

"Plywood for the foundation and mason board for the walls," Mom told my brother. Mom ran a home business "Miniature Magic" where she crafted doll house furniture. She created "magic" with her carpentry skill, clever designs, and handy-dandy glue gun.

"Sounds great!" Matthew exclaimed as he jotted down notes. "I want my mission to look exactly like Mrs. Sweeny's model--only better. Mom, can we start right away?"

"Sure. I have almost everything we'll need in my workshop." Mom's hand flew across the paper as she outlined graceful arches and a majestic bell tower. "This is going to be so much fun!"

A history assignment FUN? I wondered. How was that possible?

Mom glanced over at me. "Melissa, what about your class project? Which mission did you get?"

"A really bor-ring one."

"Would you like some help with this 'bor-ring' mission?" Mom offered with an amused smile. "I have plenty of wood scraps. After I work with Matt, I can work with you."

My pride bristled. Why was Matt always first and I always last? At school and at home.

I lifted my chin proudly. "I don't want to build my mission out of wood."

"Really?" Mom asked. "But wood is fun and easy to use. You can cover the walls with plaster so it'll look realistic."

"EVERYONE will be using wood." I shot a smug glance at my brother. "Wood is so ordinary. No imagination required. I want my model to be really unique."

"It'll be unique if you finish it on time," Matt said skeptically.

"Matt, don't tease your sister. I'm very proud Melissa is taking an interest in her school work." Mom put down her colored pencil and gave me a hug. "Honey, I know your mission will be very creative."

"Yeah." I nodded, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "It'll be the most creative one in fourth grade."

Matt shook his head. "Not unless it's the ONLY mission in fourth grade."

"You don't know anything, Mutt Face. Mine will be better than yours. And that's a promise."

"Dream on, Dumbbell. You don't have a chance."

"Do, too!" He made me SO mad, I wished I could slam-dunk that smug smile right off his face.

"ENOUGH! Cut it out," Mom ordered, giving us both stern looks. "There will be no more fighting or insults."

"Sorry, Mom," I said softly.

"I'd rather work on my mission, anyway." Matthew pushed his light-brown hair out of his eyes and looked at me curiously. "If you don't use wood, what will you use?"

"Uh, well, uh .... It's my secret." I grinned, liking the sound of this idea. "You'll find out when we turn in our projects in two weeks. Then prepare to be surprised."

"I can't wait to see it," Mom said warmly. "Melissa, if you need any help at all, just ask."

"Sure, Mom."

But as I turned to leave the room, I vowed, I won’t ask Mom for help. No way. Not in a million years.

And I remembered what I told Amanda about the mission project, "I'll either do it myself, or not at all."

Of course, if I didn't earn an A on the project, I'd flunk history and be grounded forever.

Then I'd never do ANYTHING at all for a VERY long time.

CHAPTER FOUR: I HATE HOMEWORK!!

Five minutes after my conversation with Mom and Matt, I totally panicked. Red alert buttons buzzed in my brain. The best mission in fourth grade? Who was I kidding? I had NO ideas. Not one. Nada.

Which is why I raced to the phone and put in an SOS call to Amanda.

"This dumb project is ruining my life!" I moaned, leaning back against my pillows and curling my fingers in the spiral phone cord. I grabbed my stuffed panda, Domino, for comfort.

"It can't be that bad," she said gently.

"It's worse!"

"Calm down, Melissa. Tell me about it."

"Okay." I took a breath, hugging Domino to my chest. "If I don't create a terrific mission model, my life is over. My mother will be disappointed, my brother will laugh at me, and I'll flunk history."

"That is bad. Being laughed at by Mutt Face Matt would ruin anyone's life."

I half-smiled. Amanda always knew how to cheer me up. "So what am I going to do?"

"Simple. Your mother knows how to build awesome wooden miniatures. Have her help you make a fantabulous model."

"No can do."

"Why not?" Amanda sounded puzzled. I imagined her freckled nose scrunching, which causes her freckles to blend together like melting caramel chips.

With a heavy sigh, I explained how I bragged about not using wood. "I promised to make the most creative mission in fourth grade. I was such a dope," I added miserably. "And I don't have ANY ideas! What are you making your mission out of?"

"Popsicle sticks. Aunt Jessie says I can buy a bag of them at the craft store. It was her idea. Isn't it cool?"

"It'd be MORE cool to buy bags of frozen popsicles and eat down to the sticks," I joked.

Amanda giggled. "Yummy homework."

"After a hundred popsicles, our tongues would freeze. Probably snap right off!"

We both laughed, but deep down I felt a twist of envy. Popsicle sticks would make a unique mission. I only wished I'd thought of it first.

There was a tap at my door, and my little sister Jill peaked her auburn head inside. "Missa, Momma wants you to make a veggie salad for dinner."

"I'm busy."

"Momma's busy, too. She's making a purty dolly house for Matt."

Amanda heard this through the phone lines and burst out laughing. "A cute little doll house for Mutt Face Matt!" she exclaimed.

"Jill, it's not a doll house," I said through giggles. "It's a historical mission; like a castle or a big fort. It's a school project."

"Oh." Jill's blue eyes grew wide. "I wanna school project, too. I'm gonna tell Momma." Then she whirled around, the door falling shut behind her with a soft thud.

"I have to go," I told Amanda.

"Don't worry about the project. Maybe if you learn more facts about your mission, you'll get a brilliant idea."

"That sounds like homework. And you know I HATE homework."

"All you have to do is send away for mission information. Mrs. Sweeny gave us the addresses for all 21 missions on that form she handed out. I'm going to mail my letter tomorrow." She paused. "By the way, WHICH mission did you get?"

"The worst! Oops! Mom's calling."

"But you didn't tell me...."

"Gotta run! See you tomorrow."

Then I quickly hung up the phone. My BOR-RING mission was nothing to brag about. But it was an important assignment that I couldn't afford to ignore. So I'd take Amanda's advice and send off for information.

Tomorrow.

For now, I'd chop up tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots for a healthy salad. After dinner, I'd dry dishes (it was Matt's turn to wash!), then go outside and shoot baskets until it was dark.

Why worry over a dull assignment? I had two weeks before my project was due. I'd work hard once I thought of a great idea. But until then I'd just relax and enjoy myself.

No hurry. No worry. Now that was a good idea.

CHAPTER FIVE: IMPOSSIBLE MISSION

"MOM, I NEED TWO STAMPS!" I hollered the next morning. I had one shoe on and needed to send out a search party for the other shoe. Fortunately my letter was addressed and ready to go. I'd even remembered to include a stamped envelope addressed to me, so the mission could mail me information.

After a frantic shoe hunt, I finally found my red sneaker by the refrigerator. I don't know how it got there. Perhaps our dog, Petey, carried it. Maybe Jill had played dress-up again. Or maybe we had a shoe-stealing ghost. Dog, girl, or ghost--it didn't matter. I was just glad to have my shoe back.

"Here are two stamps," Mom said as I entered the dining room. She sat beside Jill at the table. "What do you need them for?"

"A letter."

"I realize that, but who are you writing to?"

"Your wrote someone?" Jill glanced at me as she mixed three different cereals in a large bowl. "Like to Grandma Verla?"

"No. I wrote to her last week." I shrugged and reached for Tootie-Scootie cereal. "It's a dumb school thing. No big deal."

"Is it for your mission project?" Mom asked.

I shrugged again. "Sort of."

"That's wonderful." Mom handed a glass of milk to Jill and smiled at me. "I'm dropping off a package at the post office later, and Matt's Mission Luis Rey letter. I'll be happy to mail your letter, too."

"No, thanks." If Mom saw the address on the envelope, she might suggest a visit to my mission. And that was the LAST thing I wanted to do. Building a model would be bad enough.

I quickly switched the subject by telling Jill my bedroom garbage was full, and she could dump it.

"Really?" Her small heart-shaped face lit up like I'd just suggested having Christmas in April. "What kind of garbage?"

"Usual stuff. Crumpled paper, squashed cartons, candy wrappers, and a banana peel."

"Cool!" Jill exclaimed, ready to forget her cereal and rush off to my room. Don't ask me why, but Jill loves to dump garbage. Maybe weirdness runs in our family.

"Jill, eat your breakfast. The garbage can wait," Mom said firmly, tossing me an annoyed look. It bothered Mom that her little angel had a thing for grime. I was just glad to change the subject. Mission accomplished.

A short while later, I headed for school.

I bypassed my own mailbox and dropped my letter in a public box near the school. Today was Tuesday, so I didn't expect to hear back from the mission for at least a week. Seven fun days free from mission building. Hurray!

I didn't want to think about the project any more, but it was THE TOPIC in class.

Mrs. Sweeny told a funny story about a Padre from Mission San Luis Obispo who'd put on a chicken parade. Feathers fluffing, chicken feet scratching, and pointy beaks cackling, all led by a "dignified padre." I couldn't help but giggle at the image.

Then my teacher asked how many of us had started our projects. Fourteen hands raised. Over half the class!

My cheeks grew red. My hands remained flat on my desktop. I didn't even have ONE good mission idea.

When the recess bell rang, I walked over to Gabrielle. Tall, willowy, with a dramatic blue-streak in her black hair, Gabrielle was my second best friend. "Gab, I was just wondering...what are you doing for your project?"

"My Dad is helping me make Mission San Buenaventura out of molded clay. But the bells will be wooden, so it's real-like."

"Clay?" Another good idea that I hadn't thought of.

"I heard Daneesha is making hers out of styrofoam," Gabrielle added. "And Tylene is using styrofoam, too."

Wood, popsicle sticks, clay, and styrofoam.

All good project ideas.

How could I compete?

* * *

The rest of the week passed quickly. There was still a lot of mission talk in class, but I ignored it. I had a more urgent and exciting mission to think about: another basketball game with the Fierce Five.

On Thursday, I brought a batch of Rice Krispies Treats to school and enjoyed a rowdy game of B-ball with the Fierce Five. Well, not exactly "enjoyed" it. I fell down twice, never got a solid shot at the basket, and blocked Brad so successfully that I ended up with a purple bruise on my arm.

For the millionth time, I wished I were taller, faster, and made of muscles. It wasn't fair that the boys always won. Just once I'd love to score the winning point for the girls' team.

By the weekend, I was ready to forget school. No homework, only a few chores, and lots of time for Nintendo, reading, TV and basketball. I planned to practice my hoop shot over and over, until I got it right.

But on Saturday afternoon, my B-ball plans died a quick death. I went out to get the mail and there was a thick envelope addressed to me--from my mission.

Only there was more than paper in the envelope.

And the moment the mysterious gold medallion fell into my hand, EVERYTHING changed.

CHAPTER SIX: STRUCK BY LUCK

I weaved the braided gold chain around my fingers and studied the round medallion in my palm. It looked really old; about the size of a nickel with the faded outline of a man (or was it a woman?) holding something. And on the other side someone had scratched in tiny faint letters: G-U-B.

GUB? What did GUB mean? Gross Ugly Bauble?

Why had the mission mailed this to me? As a booby prize because I'd gotten stuck with such a boring assignment? Or was it a promotional gimmick?

Curious, I unfolded the papers that had also been in the envelope. Black and white printed information about the mission; dates and boring facts about people who'd been worm-food for almost two hundred years.

No mention of a gold-chained medallion.

Weird.

"Who wants an ugly necklace?" I muttered. "I bet the fake-gold chain will leave a green mark on my neck. I should just slam-dunk it in the garbage."

"Garbage?" Jill asked eagerly as she wobbled down the hall in a pair of Mom's four-inch heels. She also wore a stained lavender scarf and one broken rhinestone earring which Mom had thrown out. "You gonna give me some garbage?"

"No. Not this time." I quickly shoved the chained medallion into my jeans pocket. I didn't really want an old necklace, yet I was reluctant to throw it away or show it to anyone.

Jill swayed on her heels as she leaned over to point at the pile of papers in my hand. "Looks like lotsa junky mail. Can I toss it in the garbage?"

"I wish but afraid not." I folded the printed material and returned them to the envelope. "I'm stuck with it."

"How come?"

"I need these papers for school."

"Oh. Phooey." With a frown, Jill turned and hobbled back down the hall, the ratty scarf trailing her like a purple tail.

I reached into my pocket and drew out the necklace. The round medallion felt warm to my fingers; like it was alive with secrets.

And again I wondered, Why had the mission mailed it to me?

Well, there was one way to find out.

Peering inside the envelope, I flipped through the papers, until I found what I was looking for: a phone number.

I walked to the living room phone, plopped on the edge of the couch, and punched in the numbers.

One ring, two rings, three rings. Then a crisp woman's voice answered, introducing herself as Mrs. Stickley.

"Hi," I began uncertainly. "I'm doing a school project, and I wanted to know something."

"Of course. Simply write to us, and we'll mail you a packet of information," the woman offered.

"I already did that. It arrived today."

"Wonderful! I'm sure you'll find everything you need in the packet."

"Yeah. Even more." I cradled the medallion in my palm. "Is the necklace a free gift, like when businesses give balloons, pencils, or bumper stickers?"

"I don't know anything about balloons, bumper stickers, or necklaces," the woman said briskly. "We only offer educational material."

"But I figured it was some kind of promotional giveaway."

"We're a historical site, not a theme park. If you require further information, we're open for tours daily from 10 to 5."

"But what about the...."

"Thank you for calling. We hope you visit us soon. Good day."

Click. End of conversation.

Well, so much for THAT idea.

The medallion still remained a mystery.

I stared at the necklace in my hand, more curious and puzzled than ever. Stuffy Mrs. Stickley hadn't sent it to me. So who had? And WHY?

The phone rang. I was so startled by the sudden noise that I slipped off the edge of the couch.

"Someone answer it!" I heard Mom's voice from the laundry room as I steadied myself on the cushions.

"Okay!" I shouted as I lifted the receiver. "Hello. Hall residence."

"Flint Folke calling from Radio Station KCYT," came an excited rush of words.

"Huh?"

"This is YOUR lucky day!"

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

"Think again! You're live on the airwaves RIGHT NOW, and if you can answer today's WINNING question, you'll win two free tickets to the latest far-out flick, SPITTING SQUID ATTACK! What is your name, Lucky Lady?"

My mind swirled, and I felt dizzy. This had to be a joke, but maybe it wasn't. The name Flint Folke sounded familiar. Wasn't he the disc jockey that my Dad liked? Incredible! And I'd been hoping to see SPITTING SQUID ATTACK.

"Uh, my name? It's Melissa Hall."

"Great to meet you, Miss-Lissa Hall. So are you ready to answer the WINNING question?"

"Uh ... I'll try. Am I really on the radio?"

"Yeees! Live with Flint Folke, the wild and wacky DJ from KCYT!"

"WOW! Me, on the radio! This is just SO cool!" I glanced around for someone to share this astonishing news with, but the only living creature nearby was my dog Petey. And he was busy shredding bits of dirty tissue paper in a corner.

"Fasten on your thinking cap, Miss-Lissa Hall. Get ready for a super-duper-stumper of a question. In what year did THIS event happen?"

"A history date?" I groaned. I'd gotten a C- on my last history quiz. History was one of my WORST subjects.

Flint Folke would probably ask one of those dull questions, like when did some boring guy sign some boring paper. All I could remember was the phrase: "In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue." But little chance of being asked the only historical date I knew.

"I can try," I managed to say. Figures, I finally got my fifteen minutes of fame, and I was doomed to humiliation and failure. "What's the question?"

"All-right, Miss-Lissa! Here goes!" He paused, and I heard some marching music in the background. I groaned again. Not only was I going to embarrass myself on live radio, but I was going to embarrass myself accompanied by music.

"Okay." My voice was weak. My head ached. I gripped the phone tightly in one hand and clutched the medallion in the other.

"Go back a few years. Think of our state capitol."

"Los Angeles?"

"Trying to pull my leg, Miss-Lissa?"

"San Francisco?" I tried again. Geography was another one of my WORST subjects.

"Funny girl! Everyone knows California's capitol is Sacramento." He ripped out a laugh Jim Carey would be proud of. "Ready, get set, and answer this craz-zee KCYT question."

I cringed. Please not a historical date, I wished silently. Don't ask me a tough question!

"Miss-Lissa Hall, the question is: In what year did Sacramento's female professional basketball team the Monarchs have its first season?"

I nearly fell over with delight and disbelief.

A sports history question.

A no-brainer.

As if my tongue were greased, the answer shot out of my mouth smoothly. "1997!"

"That is COR-RECT! Congratulations! You have just won TWO tickets to see the most thrilling movie ever, SPITTING SQUID ATTACK!"

I heard bells, whistles, and more marching music from the phone. I let out a loud WHOOP! "I can't believe it! I won! I really WON!"

"Yes! You are indeed a lucky lady, Miss-Lissa Hall!"

Me, lucky?

I didn't think so ....

But maybe something I had was lucky.

I looked down at my hand and stared at the shiny gold chain and medallion.

Was the old necklace a good luck charm?

CHAPTER SEVEN: GETTING SERIOUS

Near midnight that evening, I climbed on a stool and reached far back on my high closet shelf for my shoe-box-sized velvet Keepsake Box.

Tenderly, I lifted the lid and placed the small ticket stub inside; among other stubs and many precious bits of memories. SPITTING SQUID ATTACK had been a fun movie. Amanda had been thrilled to go with me, and we'd pigged out on popcorn, candy, and soda.

Word of my radio fame had spread. Kids stopped by to congratulate me. It was so cool and thrilling! My fifteen minutes of fame had stretched into hours.

That night I slept with my lucky medallion under my pillow, and my dreams were as light and delicious as buttered popcorn.

I was still feeling good when I awoke, until I walked into the living room and saw Matt working on his mission model.

"Check this out, Mel. Doesn't this look like a real tile roof?" Matt asked as he dipped a brush into dark-red paint.

"I guess." I shrugged to show how this topic totally bored me. "But I have better things to do on a weekend than slave over a school project."

"If you don't start working soon, you'll get in BIG trouble," he warned. "I sanded my wood platform last night, while you were goofing off at that movie."

"Jealous because I won movie tickets, and you didn't?"

"No. I could have gone to a movie if I'd wanted, but this project is important to me. And it should be important to you, too." Matt gave me a deep look. "Maybe we argue a lot, but we're twins, and I know when you're in trouble."

"I am NOT in trouble!"

"So why did Ms. Sweeny keep you after school?"

"To tell me she thought I was a terrific basketball player," I lied.

"Dream on!" Matt The Brat chuckled. "It doesn't take a genius to know your grades suck."

"You may be the family genius, but you don't know everything."

"I know enough." Matt pointed his paint brush toward me. "Just how is YOUR mission project coming along?"

"Fine. Great. Terrific. I'll have it finished in no time."

But in truth, I hadn't even started yet.

So that afternoon, I got serious.

I locked my bedroom door, plopped at my desk, and began reading pages of mission information.

The print was tiny, and the pictures were blurred. Lots of talk about Spanish padres and Ohlone Indians growing vegetables and struggling to survive. Well, I was struggling to survive, too--to SURVIVE fourth grade.

Only maybe I couldn't make it alone.

I needed help with my history project.

But I had vowed not to ask Mom. Besides she was too busy with Mutt Face.

This left only one other adult in the house.

My father.

Chapter Eight: ON THE WRONG TRACK

Dad wore a gray striped hat and bent over a large, elaborate train set-up. A H-O scale silver train tooted as it curved around a mountain and under a bridge. Miniature people, toy animals, and plastic trees dotted the train platform.

During the week my Dad worked at a dull insurance job, but on the weekends he was Conductor Johnathan Hall; master of the mini trains.

"Dad," I said. "Are you busy?"

"Never too busy for you, honey." He looked up and tipped his striped gray cap at me. "Isn't my Silver Saturn a pretty sight to see?"

"Yeah. It's a cool engine."

"Watch this." Dad tapped his remote control and the train veered to another track. There was a puff of smoke as the Silver Saturn chugged forward and began to climb up a windy hill. "Notice how she corners so tight and smooth. Great maneuvering capacity."

"I guess so." I could feel the comforting weight of the medallion which I wore under my shirt. "Dad, I need some help. Do you have a minute?"

"As many minutes as you need." He grinned, smoothing his reddish-brown mustache. "What's up?"

I explained about my mission project.

"Only I kind of told a few people I'd make the BEST mission in fourth grade," I added. "But all the GOOD ideas are taken: popsicle sticks, wood, clay, and styrofoam."

"Those ARE good ideas. But not ALL of them." Dad's hazel eyes twinkled. "I have a suggestion."

"What is it?" I asked eagerly.

Dad pointed at the hill that the Silver Saturn curved around. "I made that hill myself."

"You did? But it looks so REAL. How did you do it?"

"It's paper-mache." Dad's gaze met mine. "And you can do it, too. It's easy."

"Paper-mache! Why didn't I think of that? In second grade, I made a clown puppet head out of paper-mache." I didn't add that my puppet's nose caved in. Like a red belly-button, Mr. Clown's nose was an "innie" instead of an "outie."

I looked hopefully at Dad. "Can we get started now?"

"Well...." Dad stroked his mustache again. "I don't see why not. I have a box of supplies in the corner. All aboard, Melissa, and we're off!"

* * *

An hour later, my hands dripped with wet paste and newspaper ink. I'd showed Dad a picture of my mission (swearing him to secrecy), and together we molded wet paste-covered paper into mission walls. It was hard to imagine this floppy concoction as the best mission in fourth grade. But every masterpiece had to start somewhere.

Still, I was beginning to have doubts.

"Dad, this doesn't look like my picture," I told him, holding out a paper from my mission packet.

"You're right, hon." He wiped a smudge of paste off his chin. "It's been years since I made the paper-mache hill. I might have mixed in too much water."

"Our walls are uneven and wimpy. And the bell tower is sagging. I don't think it will hold even ONE bell."

"It'll look better once it dries and becomes solid."

"How long will that take?"

"A day." Dad eyed the soggy paper-mache with a worried expression. "Maybe a few days. Of course, if I mixed in too much water, we may have to start all over."

"All over? NO!" I protested. "But I don't want to wait. I want to finish it today."

"Sorry, hon. I thought you understood that paper-mache takes time and patience."

I shook my head. I had little patience and only eight days before the project was due. So I thanked Dad for his help, but told him I'd think of a different, quicker way to make my mission.

"Are you sure, hon?" he asked in concern. "I know it doesn't look like much now, but these pasty strips of paper will become solid walls."

"I can't imagine that happening in my lifetime," I joked. "You've been great, Dad, and this has been fun. But I'll figure out something else."

"All right." He sighed, then stared down at the paper-mache. Suddenly, the corners of his mouth curved up and he snapped his fingers. "I know! I'll use these walls to make a castle for my trains to travel through. A drawbridge, moat, and towers that light up!"

"Cool!" I told Dad. But he wasn't listening. His eyes shone with inspiration, dreams, and plans.

So I turned and left the room--off to find the inspiration for a dream plan of my own.

CHAPTER NINE: A SWEET SUGGESTION

I was not ready to give up. Especially when I saw Mutt Face using the glue gun to stack pinto beans to make a rocked wall. White-plaster buildings, arched walkways, and a garden of tiny trees and bushes rose from his flat rectangular board. Even half-finished like a skeleton, his mission looked wonderful.

This was no longer simply a school assignment.

It was war.

And I would NOT let Mutt Face defeat me.

I tried calling Amanda for help, but her aunt said she was visiting her grandmother.

Grandmother. ... That was it! I could ask my own clever, creative Grandma Verla for help. She lived too far for a quick visit, but she always had great ideas.

A few minutes later, I heard the warm voice of my grandmother. "Hello, Darling. What a lovely surprise. How are you doing?"

"Okay, if you don't count school. I got this dumb project."

"When I was your age, I thought all my school assignments were dumb, too." She chuckled. "How dumb is this one, honey?"

"Dumb enough to ruin my whole life. Grandma, can you help me?"

"That's what grandmothers are for. But I'm not planning another visit for a month. I can't help much when I'm so far away."

"All I need is a FANTABULOUS idea."

I quickly explained about the mission.

When I had finished, Grandma Verla was quiet for a moment. Finally, she asked, "Have you tried using cardboard?"

"That'd be okay for the platform. But I need something unique for the buildings. I have to make the best mission in fourth grade."

"Better than Matt's, right?" she guessed.

"Definitely! But I can't use Styrofoam, clay, popsicle sticks, or wood. Other kids are using those. And don't EVEN mention paper-mache."

"That doesn't leave much. Although I do have ONE idea."

"Tell me."

"It's a sweet and fun method."

"What?" I gripped the phone, feeling desperate and hopeful all at once.

"Sugar cubes."

"Huh?"

"You heard me, darling. You stack sugar cubes and then color them into all sorts of designs. The best part is you can lick your fingers while you work," she added with a chuckle.

"Sugar cubes," I repeated, tasting the idea in my head and liking the flavor. Hmmm. Not a bad idea. And it definitely was different.

But was it unique enough to become the best mission in fourth grade?

CHAPTER TEN: BOOGERS!

I checked the kitchen for sugar cubes. In a deep dark corner of a cupboard, I found a full box. And when I asked Mom if I could have the sugar cubes, she said yes.

The box was old and long forgotten. I blew a layer of dust away, lifted the lid, then gazed down at neat white rows of sugary squares. Perfect! Now all I needed was a platform, paint, and glue.

In the garage, I found a sturdy piece of cardboard. I borrowed brown and green spray paint from Dad. But I still needed glue.

Right away, I remembered the glue gun Matt had used. So I hurried to the living room. Matt was no where to be found. But there was the glue gun, just waiting for me.

My lucky medallion must still be working.

And minutes later, I began to build my mission.

I studied a small picture of my white-framed mission. A tower rose from one side of a peaked roof. A dark cross topped the tower. And four iron bells were half-hidden like spying eyes in deep square windows.

My mission should be a CINCH to build.

First, I turned on the electric glue gun. I'd never used the gun before, but I'd watched Mom a lot. All I had to do was aim, press the trigger, and squirt glue.

I began stacking small squares of sugar into white mission walls. One row. Two. Four. So far, so good. I'd leave the walls white, but paint the roof brown. Then I'd carve four bells out of sugar cubes and paint them with the only other color I had: green.

When I gathered cubes from the bottom of the box, two of them crumbled into sugar dust. But that didn't worry me. I had dozens of sparkly whole cubes; plenty for my project.

A gleaming ice-white building grew from my work. It was smaller than Matt's wooden model, but (I hoped!) size wasn't important.

Finally, I was ready for the glue.

As I lifted the glue gun, I smelled hot plastic burning. Ugh! I wrinkled my nose at the stinky odor. Then carefully, I squeezed the gun's trigger, aiming for the bottom row of cubes. Out oozed a blob of clear glue.

But instead of filling in between the rows, the glue hung on the edge of the sugar cubes like a lump of gooey slime. So I reached out with my free hand and poked the glue...OUCH!!

Hot! Skin burning! Pain!

Touching the glue with bare skin was NOT a good idea.

I squirted a different row. More glue dribbled down the cubes and the acrid plastic smell grew stronger. Neatly stacked sugar squares shifted. They tilted and stuck out at crooked angles. I wanted to straighten them, but I was afraid of getting burned again.

"I'll just keep on gluing," I told myself. "I can fix it later."

But the cubes were SO crooked. Stacked walls tipped at weird angles and stringy cobwebs of glue clung on sugar like clear tinsel. Something wasn't working right.

Maybe I needed more glue.

So I aimed my gun and squeezed as hard as I could.

Really hard.

Like a burst from a Yellowstone geyser, a sticky ribbon of glue steamed forward. Smoosh! Splat! Sizzle! A waterfall of hot-lava glue landed on stacked cubes.

Walls collapsed. The sugar squares began to melt. Glue and soggy sugar blended into a gross, ugly, disgusting LUMP.

"It's ruined!" I cried. "Now what am I going to do?"

At the same time, I heard a pounding of my door. "Open up! You have it! I want it back!"

The sweet, comforting voice of my dear brother--NOT!!

"Go away!" I sobbed, trying to wipe glue off my hands. But it wouldn't come off. It looked as if I'd blown my nose in my hands and had boogers all over my skin.

Glue boogers! Oooh! Mega-gross!

"Dumbbell, open up now!" Matt raged on.

"No! Go away, Mutt Face!"

"You swiped my glue gun. I know you did!"

"I wish I never had! Take it away!" I cried.

I jumped up and flung open the door. Without a word, I handed the glue-gun to my brother, then slammed the door in his astonished face.

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Everything is just horrible, I thought. My mission is a mess. My brother is a creep. And I can’t even wipe my tears away because my hands are covered with glue boogers!

CHAPTER ELEVEN: MEDAL OF MYSTERY

Even after a disaster, some things never change.

Like school.

And the next morning, despite my misery, I still had to go to school. I didn't want to discuss my mission failure, so I got up extra early. By the time my family appeared in the kitchen, I was already on my way out--off to Amanda's.

It only took Amanda a few minutes to grab her backpack. Then we headed for Gabrielle's house. The three of us always walked to school together. But Gabrielle was NOT a morning person, so sometimes Amanda and I had to wait for her.

"Wasn't SPITTING SQUID ATTACK the coolest?" Amanda asked, falling into step with me on the sidewalk.

"Yeah." I adjusted my Kings cap to shield my eyes from the sun. "I loved it when the giant squid slurped up a scuba diver into its tentacles. Gulp, swallow, GROSS! I had the best time Saturday night."

"Me, too. And Sunday was even better."

"Not for me."

"How come?" Amanda asked in concern. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not now." I shook my head. "Tell me about your day. Did you and your aunt do something fun?"

"The funnest!" Amanda's eyes sparkled. "We went to Mission San Rafael."

"Yuck. Puke."

"Really, Melissa. It was a blast. We went into this cute old church and saw lots of historical stuff. They even had a gift shop, and Aunt Jessie bought me some postcards and dangling bell earrings. See." She lifted her blonde hair and twin golden bells swayed on her ears.

"They're cool," I told her.

"Looks like you got new jewelry, too. I haven't seen that gold chain before." She pointed at my neck.

"Huh?" I reached up and touched the chain I had hidden under my t-shirt. I'd forgotten I had it on. "Oh, this isn't new. At least, I don't think it's new."

"What do you mean?" She stopped walking, and we waited by the chain-link gate in front of Gabrielle's house. "Where did you get it?"

"In the mail." I reached around my neck and pulled out the gold medallion from under my shirt. In the bright light, it still looked old and ugly. I'd rather have dangly bell earrings any day. "It came in my envelope of mission information."

"You're kidding! All I got was a postcard and a brochure in my packet."

"Guess I was lucky. But my luck didn't last long enough." I frowned thinking about my sugar cube disaster.

"There's something familiar about your necklace," Amanda said, staring at the medallion. "I can't believe a mission sent you such an odd gift."

"It IS weird. When I called the mission, the lady said they only mailed papers. She didn't know anything about a medallion." "But someone mailed it to you. Who?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I wondered at first. Only I kind of forgot about it when I won the movie tickets. But it is really strange."

"Even stranger." Amanda's voice rose with excitement. "I just remembered where I saw a medallion almost identical to yours."

"You did? Where?"

"At Mission San Rafael."

"They give away free medallions, too?"

"I don't think so. The ones I saw were in a glass case of historical stuff. They weren't for sale. They were on display."

"Wow. Really?"

"Yeah. They were old and rare antiques." She squeezed my hands and looked into my face. "Melissa, your medallion is probably worth a million dollars!"

CHAPTER TWELVE: CLUELESS

A million dollars!

Wow! Think of what I could buy with a million dollars. My own backyard basketball court, season sport tickets, brand-name clothes, and a complete home entertainment system.

Who'd have thought an ugly old medallion could be as valuable as a winning lottery ticket?

When Gabrielle came out of her house, Amanda and I told her everything and showed her the necklace.

"A real mystery!" Gabrielle’s dark eyes shone. "I always wanted to solve a mystery, like Nancy Drew. You know, Nancy and I have a lot in common. Our fathers are lawyers, my stepmother is the homemaker type like her housekeeper Hannah, and we're both born risk-takers."

"If you dare say Amanda and I are like Nancy's friends Bess and George, I'll never talk to you again," I teased.

"Well you're dark-haired and athletic like George. But Amanda is too skinny to be a Bess." Gabrielle grinned. "I'd sure love to solve a real mystery. And the Mystery of the Golden Medallion sounds perfect!"

"Maybe we can figure it out together," Amanda said as we stepped through the school gates. "Only where do we start?"

"I don't know." Gabrielle shrugged. "Are there any clues?"

"There's some writing on the back." I held the necklace out so my friends could see it better. "G-U-B."

"What does that mean?" Amanda asked.

"Don't know," I answered. "Do you have any ideas?"

"GUB could be a nickname. It's like my own nickname, Gab. It's also similar to my initials."

"What are they?" I asked.

"My full name is Gabrielle Anastasia Basques." She waved at a few girls who passed by, then giggled. "So my nickname AND my initials are GAB."

"That fits you perfect because you like to gab a lot," Amanda teased. Then she pushed her blonde bangs back and pointed to the medallion. "But these letters look like they were written a hundred years ago."

"Or maybe two hundred," I put in.

"They're hard to read," Gabrielle said. "The G could be a C or the U could be an O."

"And the B could be a P or a D," Amanda added.

"If the U were an A, it could be MY name."

"It doesn't look like an A. I'm sure the middle letter is a U," I told Gabrielle. "How do the detectives in your books solve puzzles like this?"

"Real detectives start at the beginning. I guess that'd be the mission."

"I already called there and learned nothing."

"I know!" Amanda jumped, almost bumping into an open locker door. She ducked just in time. "Let's ask an antique dealer."

"Good idea," Gabrielle said.

But I shook my head. "I don't want to show my necklace to any adults. They might take it away. I know it's kind of ugly, but I like it." I gazed down at my medal and felt a special bond with the gentle face looking up at me...like a friend. A lucky friend I didn't want to lose.

"So we have no clues and no idea how to investigate," Gabrielle said with a frown. "Geez! Solving a real mystery is harder than in my books."

"Much harder," I added solemnly.

The bell rang.

We hurried to Mrs. Sweeny's classroom.

The medallion mystery was dropped. Unsolved.

But I kept touching the gold chain during class, wondering where it had come from. Who had sent it? And why?

It wasn't until lunch time that I realized I had a MUCH bigger problem to worry about.

Today was Monday. And I'd forgotten to bring homemade goodies for the Fierce Five.

Oh, no!

What would they do to me?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: RUN AWAY RESEARCH

Gabrielle may be a born risk-taker but not me.

I was wise enough to know that when faced with danger, the best plan of action is to...HIDE!

So when the lunch bell rang, I ran. I bolted from the classroom like my feet were on fire. And I headed for the one place the Fierce Five would never think to look for me.

The school library.

I sat at a corner table and scrunched down low behind a large encyclopedia. Peaking out, I looked around. No sign of the Fierce Five. I was safe. I'd left so fast, my best friends didn't even know where I was.

My breath slowed to normal. I reached into my backpack for my bag lunch and bit into a crisp green apple. As I chewed, I wondered, "Now what am I going to do for fifty-two minutes?"

My gaze fell on the encyclopedia. It was Volume C-E. I could read about cats, dinosaurs, or electricity. But those subjects didn't interest me right now.

I reached up and touched the chain around my neck. Hmmm. I wondered if Encyclopedia Volume M would have information on my mission.

Within minutes, I had found the Volume M-N. There was Mission San Antonio De Padua, Mission San Carlos, Mission San Gabriel, and...there was MY mission!

I skimmed the words, hoping for a clue about my medallion:

....Building of the mission was very slow....The padres were aware that this was a troublesome spot....Through the years punctuated with Indian fights, the mission grew....Victim of one of the largest quakes in California's recorded history, the mission was virtually wrecked by the tremors in 1868....

And then I wrecked it again yesterday with sugar cubes, I thought with a sad smile. Just call me Earthquake Melissa.

I read on, but it was only a short article, and there was nothing about a medallion.

Darn.

The clock on the wall showed I still had thirty-eight minutes. There must be SOME reason why a mission would mail me a necklace. And I was determined to find out what it was. Since I was surrounded by books, I might as well keep digging for clues. Gabrielle would be proud of me.

Dropping my apple core in a nearby garbage, I went up to the librarian and asked for a book on my mission. She told me most of the reference books were already checked out, but a few were left. Then she handed me a slim booklet.

I sat back down in my hidden corner.

Then I read. And read.

Lots of talk about expeditions to a new land, putting up buildings, raising sheep and cattle, planting crops, and fighting with the Indians. The Spanish padres seemed like nice guys, but I couldn't help feeling sorry for the Indians. They didn't have a chance against powerful bullies.

And neither did I.

I bit my lip. The Fierce Five must be really mad at me. I'd never ditched them before. I shuddered and wondered if I had the courage to face them ever again. Or would I spend the rest of fourth grade hiding in the library?

I hoped not.

I also hoped I'd find a good idea for my history project. Time was running out; the projects were due one week from today. I was learning all kinds of facts about my mission, but I still had no idea HOW to make the best one in fourth grade. And if I didn't get an A, Matt would be praised as "the smart one," and I'd be in trouble flunking history.

Good grades and homework came easily to Matt. He actually LIKED studying. His gaze didn't wander out school windows, and he didn't dream of being a sports star. I knew my parents wished I were more like Matt. And deep down, in my secret heart, I wished that, too.

I'd love to do something better than Matt.

Just once.

But maybe that wasn't possible. I'd have to accept that my smart twin would always outshine me.

With a sigh, I turned the next page in the booklet. There were long, hard-to-understand paragraphs of information about the two padres who started my mission. There was even a blurred drawing of a padre wearing a dark robe. But no clues about my medallion.

Another dead end.

And then I saw IT.

The picture showed a faint outline of a chain around the padre's neck. And dangling from the chain was something small, light-colored, and round.

A medallion.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DREAMING OF DOLLARS

Had my medallion belonged to a padre who lived nearly two hundred years ago?

If so, the necklace could be REAL gold.

Maybe it was a priceless antique.

My curiosity climbed hills in my mind. I had to know more. Even if it meant reading a mountain of reference books.

The bell rang. I rose and tucked the mission book in my backpack. I was eager to finish reading, but I'd have to wait until after school.

Back in class, Amanda and Gabrielle gave me puzzled looks.

I smiled, waved at them, then slipped into my desk. Mrs. Sweeny began her multiplication lesson. She stood in front of the room and scrawled times tables on the chalkboard.

"Psst," Amanda whispered from her desk behind me. Quickly, she tapped my back, reached forward, and snuck a note to me.

I unfolded the note, cupping it in my hand, and read:

Where were you at lunch???????

Those big 6th grade girls were looking for you.

They acted ticked-off.

Whassup? (A)

I frowned, imagining Shontal and Sheena "ticked off." Not a pretty picture. Sheena wasn't so bad, but Shontal always seemed to be in a nasty mood. Maybe because she'd been held back last year and had to repeat sixth grade. Sometimes she wore a t-shirt that said: I don’t get mad. I get even.

I shuddered.

Then I scribbled a hasty reply: Tell you after school. (M)

For the rest of the day, I put the Fierce Five out of my head. And when no one was looking, I'd hold the medallion and wonder about its yesterdays.

Right after holding the medallion, I aced a multiplication quiz. Then Mrs. Sweeny called on Daneesha, instead of me, to answer a hard science question. And after leaving class, I found a dollar on the ground.

My necklace was old, valuable, and LUCKY.

On the walk home, I showed Amanda and Gabrielle the picture in the mission book. "Look around the padre's neck."

"It's a chain," Amanda said.

"With a medallion!" Gabrielle added.

"Yep. If it's still around, it'd be an antique." I closed the book and grinned. I hooked my finger in the gold chain and wiggled the medallion back and forth. "So maybe it is still around. Then my ugly necklace really IS worth lots of money."

"That'd be so cool." Amanda paused in front the DeLeon's house to pet the Yorkshire Terrier, Rusty, who poked his nose through wrought-iron bars. A few houses down, a Great Dane named Tiny wiggled and waited for Amanda to pass by.

"I'm going to be rich!" I rejoiced.

"Not so fast," Gabrielle said with a stern shake of her dark head. "The medallion doesn't really belong to you. It belongs to the mission. You'll have to return it."

"No." I pursed my lips stubbornly. "They sent it to me. And that lady didn't know anything about it. So it's mine."

"Yeah," Amanda said. "It's hers. Gab, just because your dad's a lawyer doesn't mean YOU are."

"I'm only telling Melissa the truth."

"Your truth isn't MY truth," I insisted, but I was worried. "If the mission asks for it, I'll give it back."

"What mission is it?" Gabrielle asked curiously.

"She's keeping it a secret." Amanda giggled as she scratched Tiny behind his ears. "She won't tell you."

I shrugged. "It's not important."

"See, I said she wouldn't tell. Melissa is acting very mysterious."

"Another mystery!" Gabrielle exclaimed. "The Mystery of Melissa's Mission Project. But this one will be easy to solve. There are only 21 missions, and everyone in class has a different one. Wait till you see my Mission San Buenaventura model. Little adobe buildings with the cutest church tower. My Dad helped a lot, and it's fantastic!"

"My mission is looking good, too," Amanda added proudly. "Aunt Jessie gave me the idea for popsicle sticks, but I've made it all by myself." She turned to me. "What about you, Melissa?"

I just shrugged.

I had no idea how to answer because I had NO mission.

But as we separated and went to our different homes, my heart was heavy. And I wondered, What about ME?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SLAM DUNK SUNK

As I neared my house, I heard an odd noise. I looked up. A basketball ball bounced down the sidewalk--headed directly toward ME! And chasing it were two familiar boys; my brother and his closest pal, Joey.

"Runaway ball!" Matt shouted.

"I got it!" I sprang forward and reached out to capture the ball. I dribbled the ball a few times, passed it under my leg, then spun it on my fingertip.

"Cool." Joey's eyes lit up in awe. "How'd you do that?"

"It's easy." I whirled the ball on my other hand, letting it slide down my arm, and then spring into Joey's hands.

"Spinning a ball isn't a big deal," Matt scoffed. "Any air-head jock can do it."

"Can you?" I asked sweetly.

"I got better things to do."

"Nothing's better than B-Ball. Let's shoot some hoops." Joey gave me an admiring glance. "And your sister can play, too, if she wants."

"Melissa doesn't want," Matt said with a scowl. "Besides, I'd rather do something else. Come inside, and I'll show you my mission model. It's almost done."

"Who cares?" Joey spat on the ground. "I'm not doing that crummy project."

"You aren't?" I asked, surprised. "Why not?"

"Don't feel like it."

I pushed loose hair strands snugly under my Kings cap and gave Joey a puzzled look. "But you got the mission you wanted."

"Mission San Bird Poop." He chuckled. "I'll just scoop up a pile of bird poop and turn it in as my project."

"Dumb idea," Matt said.

"I'm not doing the project, anyway. Why bother? Bird poop would look better than anything I made. I've got no chance to make a good model like everyone else."

"But you'll get an F," I pointed out.

"So what?"

"You'll flunk and get in trouble." I gulped, imagining how horrible this fate would be. I only hoped it wasn't MY fate, too.

"Grades don't matter to me, like they do to some people." Joey gave Matt a resentful look. "My Mom doesn't care. So why should I?"

I was going to ask Joey if his father cared, but then I remembered his father had left home a few years ago. Joey's mother worked at night as a bartender. When I'd gone over to get Matt once, Joey's Mom acted really friendly. But she talked kind of fast, and her breath smelled funny.

"I'll help you make a model, Joey," Matt offered. "My mother has some great power tools and can make anything out of wood. Come on, and we can ask her."

"Forget homework. I'd rather shoot hoops." Joey ran his hand through his hair which continued to stick up in three different directions. "If you don't wanna play B-ball, maybe your sister will. Melissa can show me that cool spinning trick."

"If you'd rather hang with her, go ahead." Matt's face darkened.

"Okay. Guess I will."

"Fine." Matt scowled. "But I'm not waiting around while you learn a lame trick. I'm going inside."

I stared after Matt as he stomped off.

His rude behavior puzzled me. Matt may have said he wasn't mad, but I knew he was. I just couldn't figure out WHY.

It was almost as if Matt were jealous of ME.

But that was impossible.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: GET A CLUE

That night I dreamed of Spanish missions and basketballs. Bright orange balls bounced off adobe walls and scored three points whenever they dinged a bell. Suddenly it was raining giant globs of glue. The adobe walls wobbled like soggy paper-mache, then turned to sugar and melted around me. My feet stuck in sugar-glue. I couldn't move. And five dark-robed figures were coming toward me...one of them was Shontal...and she was chanting, "I'll get even. I'll get even."

"NO!" I cried, and instantly my eyes opened.

I was awake.

And a glance at my bedside clock showed I had over-slept.

Darn.

I had hoped to get up early and make chocolate drop cookies for the Fierce Five, but now I didn't have time.

Double darn.

So at lunchtime, there I was again: In the library.

But the weird thing was, I didn't mind. The librarian was cool and didn't complain when I pulled out my sack lunch. She just warned me not to make a mess. Then she handed me another book on missions.

And reading about missions made me curious. The events were true, and the people were all REAL; as real as my medallion.

Before lunch ended, I'd finished reading the first mission book and had started on the second, titled "Life in the Missions." I hoped it would give me more clues about my medallion.

But to my surprise, the next "clue" didn't come from a book.

It came from Nancy Drew wannabee, Gabrielle.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SECRET IDENTITY REVEALED

"I solved your mystery, Melissa!" Gabrielle announced excitedly when Amanda and I stopped by her house the following morning. "I figured it ALL out."

"You did?" I asked as we began walking to school.

"What did you figure out?" Amanda added.

"The secret of the medallion."

I reached up and grasped the chain, bringing the necklace out from under my t-shirt. The medallion felt warm, and I gazed down at it fondly. "What have your learned, Gab?"

"The name of your medallion ... actually, it's a medal." She lifted a small booklet from her skirt pocket. "Check out this. It's a book on saints."

"Saints?" I repeated, puzzled.

Gabrielle pointed to my medallion. "That old guy on your medal is a saint. See, he matches the picture in this book."

I stared at the dark-robed picture of a man. He DID look like the face on my medal, and the object he was holding was a child.

Amanda leaned forward. "It says his name is St. Anthony, and that he works miracles and helps people find lost articles."

"I can use a medal like that." Gabrielle chuckled. "I spent fifteen minutes trying to find my green sock. I finally found it, but then I couldn't find my shoe. After a long search, I found the shoe, only when I went to grab my backpack, I didn't remember I'd left it in my closet. That's why I was late."

"You're ALWAYS late," Amanda teased.

"Next time I lose something, I'll borrow Melissa's good luck medal."

"Don't let her borrow it!" Amanda warned me. "She'd lose it."

"I'm not giving it to anyone. Ever." I smiled and squeezed the medallion in my hand. "I had a feeling my medal was special. And now I know why. It really IS a good luck charm."

"For sure." Amanda paused by a fence and patted one of her dog friends. "It helped you win that radio contest."

"That WAS a miracle. The first time I ever won anything."

"So thank St. Anthony--and me!" Gabrielle lifted her chin proudly. "Another case solved by the brilliant teen detective, Miss Gabrielle Anastasia Basque."

"Another?" Amanda scoffed. "You've never solved anything before."

"And my medal is STILL a mystery," I said, pushing away dark strands of my hair that a spring breeze swirled in my face. "I don't know why someone mailed it to me or what GUB means. And I'll probably never know. Some mysteries can't be solved."

"NOT TRUE!" Gabrielle shook her head. "There's always a way. It's just up to a clever sleuth to figure it out."

"Okay, Clever Sleuth, how is Melissa supposed to figure this out?" Amanda asked.

"Elementary, my dear friends."

"How?" I stopped and waited for Gabrielle's answer. With a lawyer dad, she might know some investigating tricks. "Tell me, and I'll do it. Anything! I'm tired of not knowing. I need to know the truth."

"So ask the right people." Gabrielle snapped her fingers, as if answers would magically appear at her command. "Ask someone at the mission."

"But I TRIED that already."

"You called on the phone. That's not enough." Gabrielle gave me a deep look. "You need to visit your mission."

"Go there?"

She nodded.

"In person?" I gulped. "I couldn't do that."

"But it's a good idea, Melissa." Amanda paused at a stop sign. "I had fun going to my mission. You said your mission wasn't in southern California, so it can't be TOO far away."

"It isn't ... but I don't want to ... I can't go there."

"Sure you can," Gabrielle insisted. "Your parents will drive you if you tell them it's educational. Last year I told Dad that seeing dolphins and whales would be an educational experience, so he took me to Marine World. It was a blast! Just go to the mission and ask about the St. Anthony medal."

I shook my head, but I knew Gabrielle was right. My parents WOULD drive me if I asked. Only I didn't dare do that. Not because of the boredom factor, but because if I went to the mission, I might have to return the medal. It was old and valuable, which meant I couldn't keep it.

And I wanted to keep my lucky necklace.

More than almost anything....

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: GLORIOUS GARBAGE

I did NOT mention a mission visit to my parents.

I knew I should have, but I didn't do it.

Instead, I stressed over the mission project. With less than a week to go, I needed to come up with a good idea FAST.

So I sat on the edge of my bed, kicking my feet impatiently, and chewing on the end of a pen.

I thought really hard.

But my mind was a blank.

I pulled out my notebook and wrote at the top of a page:

IDEAS.

Then I chewed on the pen and thought even harder.

Still nothing.

I slashed a line down my paper and started another list: GOOD IDEAS THAT ARE ALREADY TAKEN.

This was a much easier list to write.

Wood, styrofoam, popsicle sticks, clay, and today Tylene had brought in her mission made from a store-bought cardboard kit. Like a paper-doll house. Ms. Sweeny had frowned disapproval at a ready-made kit but agreed to accept it for Tylene's project.

I stared at my paper.

Wood, styrofoam, popsicle sticks, clay, a paper-doll kit...what else? There had to be something.

"Missa, Missa," Jill called, peering into my room. "Wanna play dollies and horses?"

"Not now. I'm doing homework."

"What kind? Can I do it, too?"

"No."

"Why not? I'm big enough. Can I? Please."

"I said NO!" I snapped. "Just go away and don't bug me."

Instantly, her little face crumpled, and tears flowed down her cheeks. "You don't like me no more," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, Jill." Immediately, I felt bad for hurting her feelings. "I didn't mean it."

"Did, too," she sniffled. "You said I ... I bugged you."

"You don't really bug me. I'm just in a grumpy mood."

"Grumpy? How come?"

"Because my life is a mess." My shoulders sagged, as if I were a deflated--defeated--balloon. "You've seen Matt's mission?" I asked.

"Yeah." Jill nodded. "It's purty."

"Pretty and perfect. But I can't think of a good way to make a pretty perfect mission of my own. And my mission has to be BETTER than Matt's."

Her blue eyes widened. "Can I help?"

I laughed. "Not unless you have a great idea for the best mission in fourth grade."

"Okey-dokey." Her earnest face lit up with a huge grin. Then she turned and dashed out of my room.

I returned to my notebook and stared at the two columns. Words chased each other in my head, echoing like a sorry chant:

Wood, Styrofoam, popsicle sticks,

paper doll kits and molded clay bricks

Wood, Styrofoam, popsicle sticks,

paper doll kits and molded clay bricks

I sighed, rubbed my aching head, and added another verse:

The good ideas are already taken,

No wonder I sit here; sad and forsaken

An hour later, it was dark outside, and my mood matched the forecast. Depressed, gloomy, without even a moon to light my spirits.

It was almost time for bed, and I still hadn't thought of a terrific mission idea. Nothing. And my brain felt drained from trying. So why try anymore? What was the use?

Like Joey, I'd forget the project.

Forget. Fail. Flunk.

There was a small thud on my bedroom door.

"Open up," my sister's soft voice said.

"Can't you open it yourself?" I called out.

"Uh huh. Open, Missa. My arms hurting."

"What?" I stood and walked to my door. Opening it, I stared in puzzlement at the "creation" Jill carried in her arms. A flattened cereal box covered with paper cups, broken dishes, an apple core, sugar cubes I'd tossed out, crumbled paper, and even a blinking-eyed head from an old doll.

"Take it," she told me.

"Why?"

"I made it for you."

"For me?"

"Your projek!" Jill rejoiced. "I made it with my tessers."

"Your garbage treasures?"

"Yup. Isn't it purty? Purtier than Matt's?" Her trusting face shone with delight.

"Well it's...."

"Boo-ti-ful?" she asked proudly.

My eyes saw an ugly mess of garbage, but my heart saw a work of art. I sat the "treasure" on my bed and reached out to give my sister a warm hug.

"Thank you," I told her sincerely. "It's very pretty."

"Really?" She giggled and returned my hug. "The best in your grade?"

"You said it, Jill." I grinned at the garbage mission. Ugly, gross, and wonderful. "It's the absolute BEST mission in fourth grade."

CHAPTER NINETEEN: DUMB AND DUMBER

I told Amanda and Gabrielle about the garbage mission the next day as we walked to school.

Naturally, kind-hearted Amanda smiled and said she wished she had a sweet little sister like Jill.

Gabrielle, on the other hand, burst out laughing.

"A flattened cereal box filled with paper cups, broken dishes, and the severed head of a doll? I don't believe it!" Gabrielle ran her hand along the blue streak in her dark hair. "I've got to see this mess!"

"It's not THAT bad," I lied.

"It's probably worse." Gabrielle slowed as we neared a cross-walk. "Wouldn't it be hilarious if you actually turned it in as your project?"

"Maybe I will." It was okay for me to tease about my sister but not anyone else. "At least Jill made a creative mission model. I haven't been able to think of ANYTHING."

"You will." Amanda laid her hand on my arm sympathetically.

"Buy one of those ready-made kits," Gabrielle suggested. "That'd be better than a heap of garbage."

"A store-bought kit isn't unique." I remembered the disapproving expression on Mrs. Sweeny's face when she saw Tylene's mission. I pursed my lips together and shook my head firmly. "I'd rather flunk."

"Melissa won't let us help her, either," Amanda complained to Gabrielle, rolling her eyes. She gave me an exasperated look. "Why do you have to be SO stubborn?"

"I'm not stubborn. I just want to do it my way or not at all."

"That's being stubborn," Gabrielle said.

"Totally mule-brained stubborn." Amanda wagged her finger at me. "But if you don't do something soon, you will flunk."

Flunk. A big F on my report card. Yuck.

I hated to think about it, but it's all I could think about at school. While reading in the library during lunch, my gaze would drift off to nowhere, and bright red F's would dance in my head. A dance of doom.

After school, I banished all worries and played basketball with Joey. We competed in a rousing game of one-on-one. I was the one who won. And afterwards, I showed Joey how to slide the ball up and down his arms. He said this trick was really cool.

I'd never liked Joey much before, but I enjoyed shooting hoops with him. Besides, Matt wasn't being a good friend to Joey. My brother was such a teacher's pet, he'd rather do homework than play ball. So I stayed outside, sinking baskets and pretending that my life was PERFECT.

Pretending worked great for me. I decided to enjoy myself now because when I flunked history, I wouldn't be allowed to have fun for a VERY long time.

By Friday evening, I had convinced myself that running away from problems really worked. But while I dribbled the ball, ready for a free throw, Joey had to go and ruin everything with one short, painful question.

"I've been wondering about something," Joey said.

"Yeah?" I spun the ball on my index finger.

"What mission did you make?"

I stared at Joey; shocked, as if he'd called me a four or even a FIVE-letter word. "M-Mission?" I stammered.

"Yeah. That crummy project. It's due in three days...not that I'm doing it. But you always do your homework, so I wondered why you hadn't talked about your project."

"Well, to be honest...." My voice trailed off. It stung my pride to admit the truth.

"Yeah?"

"I haven't made a mission," I confessed.

"You mean YOU'RE gonna get a F, too?"

"I guess." As I nodded, the basketball whirled off my hand, and rolled away from me. Out of reach. I sank down to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees.

"But WHY?" Joey sounded totally shocked. "You got cool parents who'll help you. Everything's going for you, so why screw things up? I don't get it."

I didn't get it, either. Why was I letting myself fail? Was I just being stubborn, like my friends said? Or maybe it had something to do with Matt. Why compete with someone who always did better than me? Everyone knew Matt was the smart twin. So if Matt was smart, that meant I wasn't.

But I’m not dumb! a voice raged in my head.

Then why have you been acting so dumb? another voice challenged.

"Joey," I said quietly, "I tried to do the project, only I messed up. Maybe I WILL flunk, but you don't have to. It's not too late to get busy and build a mission."

"I don't feel like it." He shoved his hands in his pockets, his too-cool-to-care pose.

"Do you like getting bad grades?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Well it should!"

"Naw. I told you my mom doesn't care. She says I'm good for nothing except giving her grief and causing trouble."

"She can't mean that." I shook my head.

"Oh, she means it, and I figure she's right." He shrugged. "Just ask Mom, and she'll tell you I'm a loser like my dad. He dropped out of school, and I probably will, too."

"That's terrible!"

"It's the way things are."

"Well, it shouldn't be." I stood and faced Joey. "If someone called me a loser, I'd work hard to prove them wrong. I'd show them I could be a success."

"Easy for you to say. You live in a nice house, on a nice street, and have nice parents." He gestured towards my home. "I don't have nothing nice."

"So be nice to yourself."

He stared at me, as if my words puzzled him. Then he frowned. "Even if I wanted to do the crummy project, I don't have fancy materials."

"Matt offered to help you," I pointed out.

"Matt's a cool friend, most of the time. But I think he's ticked at me for something. I'm waiting till he cools off."

"So make a mission YOUR own way. Why get an F just because people expect it of you? Prove them wrong. Use sticks, mud, or even bird poop. But don't give up."

"What's the point? My mission will look like crap."

"Stop making excuses and just do something," I ordered. "So what if your mission looks like crap? It doesn't have to be the best in fourth grade, as long as it's YOUR best."

"I don't know." Joey's eyes darkened, and he rubbed his forehead as if he were thinking hard. "My best, huh?"

"Yes." I thought about Jill's garbage mission. "Your best."

"Guess I could try ... maybe." His shoulders straightened, and he stood taller. He took his hands out of his pockets and waved at me. "See you around....uh .... Thanks, Melissa."

Then he turned and left.

Your best, I'd told Joey.

My best, I told myself.

And suddenly I realized I had to stop comparing myself to Matt. It wasn't Matt's fault he was smart. But it would be my fault if I acted dumb on purpose.

I just hoped my best WAS good enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY: A TRIP TO THE PAST

“I want to visit my mission.”

I made this astonishing statement at dinner that evening.

Jill clapped and exclaimed, "Oh, good!"

Mom smiled happily.

Dad nodded approval.

And Matt choked on his milk.

I laughed when white bubbles foamed from Matt's mouth as if he had rabies. Tiny bubbles even squirted from his nose.

Mega-gross!

Once I stopped laughing, I turned back to my parents.

"My mission isn't that far, less than 100 miles," I told them. "Could we go there tomorrow?"

"That's awfully short notice," Dad said.

"But if I visit my mission, it'll give me ideas so I can build a good model." Then before they had a chance to say no, I added the Big Sell. "And a trip to a historic mission would be educational."

That cinched it.

Soon Mom and Dad were consulting a map and making plans.

"We didn't get to visit MY mission," Matt grumbled as he dumped his dirty dish in the sink.

"Mission San Luis Rey is over four hundred miles away," Mom pointed out. "But Melissa's mission is close for a one day trip."

"Figures." Matt glared at me. "How come you get all the luck?"

"Just lucky, I guess." I reached up to touch the medallion, which I could feel through my t-shirt. Even though I couldn't see St. Anthony's face, I had a feeling he was smiling at me.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: GHOSTS AND GRAVESTONES

When I first saw the mission, my mouth dropped open.

I'd been wrong when I'd complained about having the most boring project in fourth grade.

This pristine, sprawling mission was NOT boring. In fact, it was kind of pretty; with white walls, dark roofs, a church with a tower, and an entry way of stairs.

We parked the car between a church and a graveyard. Then we followed a path up steps and into a gift shop. A small video on the mission played as we entered. There were shelves, counters, and lovely displays everywhere. A shoppers delight. And I was delighted.

But my parents bypassed the displays and led us through the a wooden door, crossing from this century into the 1700-1800's. Normally glass cases with old clothes and primitive tools made me yawn. But I could feel my St. Anthony medal around my neck and I was curious about the mysterious letters: G-U-B. Were those initials of a long-dead Padre?

So instead of yawning through exhibits, I paid close attention. I read the typed descriptions of people who once lived here, and it was even kind of interesting. For once, Matt was the one who acted bored while I investigated each room as if I were on a treasure hunt. And maybe I was.

When I came to the last rooms, I found a wonderful surprise.

Mission models.

The largest one was very professional. Like something an architect would build; fashioned with wood, arched ceilings, textured white walls, and detailed painting.

The others were smaller; red tile roofs, white walls, wooden doors, and tiny green trees. And they had been made by fourth graders--like ME!

"Mine's better than those," Matt said, coming up beside me.

"Yours IS good," I admitted. "But no one asked you to put yours on display."

"They might if they saw it."

"You wish!"

"What do you know about models, anyway?" Matt criticized. "You only know how to waste time playing B-ball and forgetting about homework. You and Joey are just alike. But you'll both be sorry on Monday, when you don't have missions to turn in."

"I'm working on it. My idea is a secret."

"It's no secret to me," he scoffed. "You haven't done anything."

"Have to, Mutt Face!"

"Have not. You're living up to your name: Dumbbell Mel."

"I am NOT dumb!" I shouted, then blushed when a young couple nearby stared at me. So I lowered my voice. "You may have book smarts, but you're the one who's dumb. At least I know how to treat my friends."

"Amanda and Gabrielle?"

"Not them. I meant Joey. He's MY friend now, not yours."

"You're lying."

"Am not. Why do you think Joey's been hanging out with me? Because I have people smarts. I don't act like homework is more important than my friends. Like YOU."

Matt glared at me, but he didn't reply.

Instead, he whirled around and stomped away.

I should have felt victorious, but I didn't. Matt's pained expression haunted me. I had blown up out of jealously, which was wrong. And I wished I could take my biting words back.

The small ceilings and narrow mission rooms seemed to close in on me. I needed some air. So I retraced my steps and returned to the gift shop.

The display video still droned on softly and a few tourists admired postcards and angel statues. I went directly to the glass-covered counter. Maybe the smiling clerk who wore a bright pink blouse and glasses around her neck could tell me if there had been a padre named GUB.

But before I could ask this question, I glanced under the glass counter and exclaimed, "MEDALS!"

The clerk nodded. "We have a nice selection. This one here is a St. Christopher, a very popular saint."

I stared at the rows of round silver and gold medals. All new and with price tags over $20. "What about St. Anthony? Do you have one of those?"

She peered through the glass. "I don't see one. Perhaps one of the other saints will appeal to you."

"No. Only St. Anthony. Are you sure you don't have one around here? Maybe an old, antique medal."

Then I braced myself, expecting to hear her say, "We did have a valuable St. Anthony that once belonged to Padre GUB, but it vanished mysteriously."

Instead, the clerk shook her head. "This is our only case of medals. But if you're looking for jewelry, we have some lovely earrings and rings over there." She pointed to a different case, but I wasn't interested.

Frustrated, I left the shop through a side door. I wasn't paying attention to where I walked. When I looked up, I realized I had passed the church and entered the mission cemetery.

Gravestones, old bones, and resting spirits.

At least, I HOPED the spirits were resting.

The sun warmed my skin, and yet I shivered.

I wondered if some of the people I'd read about in my history books were buried here. Right beneath my feet. Perhaps they could hear my footsteps.

But I didn't believe in ghosts.

Not really.

Still, standing here among the gravestones made me uneasy. I saw no other living soul. Just me and dozens of dead folks.

I started to leave, when I remembered my medallion. Could the name or initials GUB be on one of these Gravestones?

I had to find out.

So I began to read the gravestones. Some names were Spanish and hard to pronounce. Others were faded or had small print.

What if the letters aren’t GUB? I worried. Maybe they’re COB, GOP, or CUD.

To double-check, I pulled the chain from under my shirt and studied my medal. It sure looked like GUB. But so far none of the graves had a name close to that.

Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me.

It was a low sound, like a footstep...which meant I was no longer alone. And before I could turn around, I heard a gasp.

"St. Anthony!" a voice exclaimed. "That's MY medal!"

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: NORA'S GIFT

I didn't want to turn around, but I did anyway.

I saw a tiny, elderly woman with shining blue eyes and sun-wrinkled skin. She wore a badge that identified her as "Nora."

"Thank you, dear child!" she cried joyfully. "For finding my medal!"

I lifted my hand, causing the medal to sway in the air. "Y-Yours?" I stammered.

"Oh, yes! I'd recognize my precious St. Anthony anywhere." She reached out; her age-gnarled fingers lovingly grasping the gold chain. "I was afraid I'd never hold it again."

"How can you be sure it's yours?"

"There's no mistaking this braided gold chain and the wear on the medal." She chuckled. "It's rather ugly, but endearing to me. Where did you find it? I'm sure I didn't lose it out here among the graves."

"You didn't," I said, feeling my heart break and my throat tighten. My worst fear was coming true. I was going to lose my good luck charm.

"The last time I saw my dear St. Anthony was when I was stuffing envelopes. You'd be amazed at how many kids write to this mission for information. Hundreds of letters!"

"I was one of those kids." I took a deep breath. "That's how I found the necklace. It was in my envelope."

"So THAT'S how I lost it." She gave a soft whistle. "Oh, dear. That explains everything. You see, I'm a docent here."

"A docent?"

"It means I give tours, teach history, and help around the mission. I lost my medal after I'd mailed off a huge pile of letters." She gazed happily at the medal. "But now it's back. I am SO relieved to have my lucky charm again."

"It's been my good luck charm, too," I admitted.

"Oh." Her expression softened. "You've grown fond of St. Anthony. Haven't you?"

I nodded, her sympathetic tone bringing tears to my eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'd let you keep it if I could, but it's very valuable."

"I guessed that. Is it an antique worth millions?"

"Millions?" She threw back her head and laughed. "No, dear me, not even close!"

"But you said it was valuable...."

"It is. To me. My favorite aunt wore it until my tenth birthday. That's when she gave it to me."

"Your aunt? Not a padre named GUB who lived two hundred years ago?"

"No. A very sweet woman who wanted to give a special gift to her niece. I was always losing things, you see, so my aunt, Gustine Ursula Browoski....

"GUB," I interrupted.

"Yes." Nora nodded. "Aunt Gussie gave me this St. Anthony medal for my birthday. And the chain came from my mother."

"So it's not a million-dollar treasure?" I said in disappointment.

"No, dear." Her rough fingers gently grasped my hand. "But it's a priceless treasure to me. It reminds me of Aunt Gussie and my mother. And memories are worth more than money. I'm very grateful to you for bringing this back. Is there something you'd like as a reward? Perhaps a trinket from the gift shop?"

I thought about the rows of medals in the glass case.

Not one of them was a St. Anthony.

"No, thank you." My throat tightened like a noose strangling my hopes, and my eyes watered. It was HER medallion, not mine. And I had to accept that...no matter how much it hurt.

So I tried to be polite and generous. "I'm glad to help you. I better go find my family now."

"Wait. You didn't even tell me your name."

"Melissa. Uh, take care of St. Anthony."

"Oh, I will." Her blue eyes brightened, and she slipped the chain over her neck. "I wish you good luck, Melissa."

"I could use it."

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?"

"Not unless you can spare a mission model," I said jokingly. "My project is due in two days, and I still haven't made one. That's partly why I came here today. I was hoping to find a super idea."

"Some people believe St. Anthony can help find things that are lost," Nora said quietly.

"But I haven't lost anything."

"You want to find something, though. An idea."

"That's for sure." I sighed. "A unique idea. Not wood, popsicle sticks, Styrofoam, clay, or a ready-made kit. Only I don't where to find a great idea."

"The best ideas come from the heart." Nora glanced around at the gravestones, and then smiled at me. "This mission was once very poor, but a talented padre made it rich with songs. He taught the workers to play instruments, and the mission rang with a wealth of music."

"I remember seeing a violin in one of the cases," I said. "But what does that have to do with MY problem?"

"Don't look to others for ideas. Look at your own talents, deep inside yourself."

"I've tried that already."

"Try harder. Find what makes you special and share it with the world." She ran her gnarled fingers along the gold chain and added. "Be your own good luck charm."

* * *

On the long ride home that afternoon, I puzzled over Nora's words, not really understanding what she'd meant.

The one thing I did understand was that my medallion was gone. Forever. I'd never see it again.

That meant my good luck was gone, too.

Or was it?

Be your own good luck charm, I heard Nora's words in my head. What had she meant? How could I possibly become lucky? Nothing was lucky in my life. My brother wouldn't speak to me. The Fierce Five were out to get me. And the mission project, which I didn't have, was due in TWO days.

I reached up for the medallion, and when I touched bare skin around my neck, I felt even worse.

Find what makes you special and share it with the world, Nora had said.

Was I special? I wondered. What was special about ME? And what could I possibly share with the world?

And suddenly IT came to me.

A startling idea.

The perfect solution.

Mission impossible: SOLVED.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: FAMILY PROJECT

The next day I woke up early and bolted out of bed, eager to get started. I had SO much to do and only one day left. Tomorrow the mission project was due.

First thing I did was break my vow.

I went to Mom, explained my idea, and asked her for help.

"That's wonderful!" Mom exclaimed. "Of course, I'll help. I can't wait to get started."

"Thanks, Mom."

"I'll go into my workshop right now. I know exactly the piece of wood to use. This is going to be fun! Melissa, I am SO proud of you!"

I grinned. I was kind of proud of myself, too.

For the rest of the day, I was super busy.

I drew up plans on a large sheet of paper, and both my parents offered suggestions. Dad donated some miniature trees from his train set, and Mom cut and sanded a perfect-sized wood platform. Even Jill helped by scooping up all my garbage and throwing it away.

Matt was the only one missing. And I knew my twin was still mad at me. He told my parents he was going to a friend's house and stayed away all day.

And what a DAY! It had to be the longest, busiest, craziest day in my entire life!

When I sank into my bed that night, I was bushed but happy. And I fell asleep immediately.

Monday morning, I made top-secret plans with my parents.

Matt looked curious when he saw us whispering, but he didn't ask any questions. He simply left the room. And a short time later, he carried his "pretty and perfect" mission model out the door, off to school.

I carried NOTHING on my walk to school, unless you count my backpack which I wore over my shoulders.

When Amanda saw my empty arms, she scrunched her face in worry. "Oh, no! Melissa, where's your model? You told me you were making one."

"I DID make one." I flashed a mysterious smile.

"So where is it?" She carefully held her own adorable popsicle stick mission. "Is it crammed into your backpack?"

"Nope."

"Did you forget to bring it?"

"Nope." Another mysterious smile. "Just wait and see."

When we stopped by Gabrielle's house, I told her the same thing. Gabrielle was delighted to have another mystery to puzzle over. She called this one: The Missing Mission Mystery.

Since I needed to discuss my plans with Mrs. Sweeny, I left Amanda and Gabrielle on the playground and headed for my classroom.

As I walked, I saw kids carrying missions. Most of them were from other fourth grade classes, but a few were from my own class.

Big shock: One of these kids was JOEY!

He'd actually made a mission! Sure it was kind of crude; sticks, grass, mud, and cardboard. But I was happy he'd risked losing his "loser" reputation. And I was even happier to see Matt walking with him. Guess they were pals again.

I thought of my own secret mission.

After lunch I'd be able to show it to everyone. I smiled to myself, dreaming about my plan, eager to put it into action.

So blame the TROUBLE on my daydreaming.

If I'd been paying attention, I could have run away. But I was lost in my happy thoughts and not looking around. And by then it was TOO late.

Three large boys and two hefty girls surrounded me.

I was trapped by the Fierce Five.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: TRAPPED!

Danny, Brad, James, Shontal, and Sheena.

I'd hid out from them for a week but no longer. They'd found me, and I was dead meat. Sliced, diced, and ready to serve.

"Uh, hi guys." My voice sounded like a mouse's squeak.

"We've been looking for you." Shontal's voice sounded like a lion's roar.

"Where ya been?" Danny demanded.

"Around." I glanced at my red sneakers. Red. Like blood.

"We couldn't find you. And we needed six players for a game." Sheena's dark eyes glittered dangerously. "You messed things up by disappearing."

"I didn't disappear. I just had things to do. You know, I've been working on an important history project." I spoke fast, hoping for a miracle. Please someone rescue me!

"We thought maybe you were sick," Brad said.

"But your teacher told us you weren't absent." Sheena bent down so her face was close to mine. Her breath was strong, and I wondered if she'd had onions for breakfast.

"Only we still couldn't find you. I even checked the girls' bathrooms," Shontal said.

"Empty," Sheena added.

"I said maybe you were ditching us on purpose." Brad frowned.

"Me? Ditch you guys? Why would I do a dumb thing like that?" I glanced around desperately. Where was a teacher or the Principal when you needed them?

"Sheena thinks you don't like us no more," Shontal stated.

James nodded. "She said maybe we boss you around too much."

"Like making you always put the ball away," Danny added.

"And calling you Shrimpy," Brad said.

"Well, I can't help it if I'm short. And my name isn't Shrimpy, it's Melissa."

"See!" Sheena punched Danny in the shoulder. "I was right. She was ditching us on purpose."

"NO!" I cried, feeling even smaller next to their towering heights. "I just had other things to do."

"And we have something we have to do, too."

"We're gonna make sure you never ditch us again," Brad said.

"Yeah. Melissa, you're going to get what you deserve." Shontal exchanged a LOOK with her sister. Then they looked at the boys, who nodded in reply.

This was it.

My life was over.

I trembled, then closed my eyes, figuring if I didn't watch them beat me up, it wouldn't hurt as much.

"Open your eyes," Sheena ordered.

"Do I have to?"

"Yeah. The bell's going to ring any minute, so we don't have much time," Shontal said.

"Hurry," Brad said roughly. "Let's get it over with."

I opened my eyes and gulped. I wanted to get it over with quickly, too. I hoped the school nurse had lots of bandages.

Shontal drew back one of her hands, and I braced myself.

But instead of making a fist and pounding me, she reached in her backpack and picked up a paper bag.

"Here." Shontal shoved the bag towards me.

"What?"

"It's for you. Open it."

Timidly, I opened the bag ... and stared in astonishment.

Inside were five cookies. They all were different. Oatmeal, chocolate chip, cinnamon, peanut butter, and one pasty lump that was unknown.

Shontal grinned. "We each made a cookie as kind of an apology for pushing you around. We figured we'd take turns bringing baked goodies so you don't have to do it all the time. And maybe you won't ditch us no more."

"I made the oatmeal cookie. It's got raisins, too." Sheena smiled. "Do you like it?"

"I made the peanut butter," Brad added.

"And I did that one." Danny pointed at the mystery lump.

"They're all wonderful!" I grinned, weak with delight AND relief. "Thank you! I can't wait to eat them."

"So are you done being mad and hiding from us?" Sheena wanted to know.

"Will you play B-ball at lunch?" James asked.

"Please?" Shontal added.

I grinned and answered all three questions, "Yes, yes, and YES!"

And then I ate a cookie.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: EARTHQUAKE!

At lunchtime, I enjoyed an exciting game of basketball. 17 to 16. Okay, maybe the girls team still lost. But Sheena, Shontal, and I played a good game, and we only lost by one point.

While Danny left to put the ball away, I raised my fist and vowed that the girls team would win next time.

Then I hurried off to class.

Mrs. Sweeny walked over when I entered the room. "Melissa, I just finished speaking to your mother on the phone."

"And?" I crossed my fingers for luck.

"It's a splendid idea." She was smiling.

"I'm so glad you think so!" I returned her smile.

"I suggested your mother come at the end of the school day. So the other students will show their missions first. You'll be last."

"Last?" I remembered how I'd hated being last to pick my project. But now being last didn't seem to bad. It made me feel special. So I told my teacher, "Last is just fine."

Then I sat down in my desk and watched as the "parade" of mission projects began.

Naturally, Daneesha Martz asked to go first. Her "Queen" Mission Santa Barbara with walls of styrofoam was very good. And we all laughed when she proclaimed herself queen and placed a gold-foil crown on her head.

Next was Matt.

Pride filled me as I watched him pick up his perfect, pretty model. He'd done a terrific job, and he'd earn an A for sure. Probably an A+.

As Matt walked down the isle, he paused by my desk, and whispered, "Thanks for talking to Joey. You were a good friend to him."

I just nodded. I was too surprised to say anything. I couldn't believe Matt had actually thanked me...but boy was I glad! Being insulted by Mutt Face was okay, but I hated it when he hated me.

More projects followed; including Joey's stick, paper, and mud Mission San Juan Capistrano.

Joey's model reminded me of Jill's garbage mission. All that was missing was the severed head. But I had to hand it to Joey, he gave a GREAT presentation. He didn't just read off facts and events; he acted them out like a storyteller.

"And this mud wall is a church ruin," Joey explained. "Swallows, those are birds, build their nests here. And see all these white blobs on the ground? The birds did that, too."

A few kids giggled.

I simply smiled.

Joey really HAD built a bird poop mission.

More kids gave their project reports.

Amanda showed Mission San Rafael. She did a great job describing how she'd made it with popsicle sticks. She added that her mission was rumored to have a ghost. A haunted mission? How cool!

Another girl showed Mission San Juan Bautista, explaining it wasn't her fault that part the roof was missing. "See, my hamster got hungry and thought my model was his lunch. He ate half my cardboard roof!"

I grinned at the image of a hamster eating a mission.

And then there was sad-faced Rolph who carried a squashed lump of cardboard and clay. The poor kid looked miserable.

"This USED to be Mission Santa Clara; the richest mission in Northern California." He sighed. "But I left it outside for a minute, and my older brother ran over it with his truck. So now it's the FLATTEST mission in Northern California."

The class cracked up. Even Mrs. Sweeny laughed. Rolph stopped frowning and began to laugh, too.

Finally, everyone had given their mission report.

Except me.

"And now class, we're in for a treat." Mrs. Sweeny met my gaze and then winked. "Melissa, would you like to show YOUR mission?"

"But she doesn't have one," Daneesha called out.

"Her desk is empty," Tylene added.

"Oh, she has one all right," my teacher said with a twinkle in her eyes. "Melissa, you may go out in the hall."

"Yes, Mrs. Sweeny."

I rose and walked over to the door. I could feel everyone's gaze on me, and my own footsteps echoed loudly in my ears.

Opening the door, I was relieved to see my mother standing there, waiting for me. And in her arms was MY mission.

"Thanks, Mom."

"I'm glad to be here." And I knew she meant it.

Then she held the door open for me as I carried in my VERY own mission.

Cries of "OOOH!", "AHH!", and "COOL!" spread through the class.

I walked toward the front of the room, proud to show off my unique project.

When I passed Amanda, she stared with delight. "WOW!"

Gabrielle added, "No wonder you couldn't carry your model to school. I never would have solved this mystery. Not in a zillion years!"

I grinned.

And then I sat my mission on a small table, faced my classmates, and began my report.

"My mission is made out of flour, sugar, salt, eggs, butter, gram crackers, vanilla, and more." I grinned. "It's a cake."

"A cake is SO cool!" someone murmured.

"It looks exactly like a real mission!"

"Bet it's yummy," Joey added.

"Of course it is." Matt licked his lips. "My sister's baking is always yummy."

I gave my brother a grateful smile.

"The foundation is strawberry swirl cake. The walls and roofs are frosted gram crackers," I explained. "The cross on the bell tower is black licorice. The doors and windows are chocolate bars. And the bells are Hershey kisses."

Then I began to talk about my mission (after all, THAT was the biggest part of our grades anyway). I told how the mission once rang with music and how it was destroyed by earthquakes, then rebuilt many years later. And when I finished, everyone applauded.

"That was splendid," my teacher praised.

I glanced over at my Mom, and we shared a smile.

Then Joey waved his hand in the air. "So when do we get to eat Melissa's mission?"

"Can we eat it?" Amanda asked.

"I want a piece of licorice," Gabrielle said.

Daneesha Martz lifted her chin. "And I want a Hershey kiss."

"Everyone can have a piece," I announced.

My mother stepped forward. "I brought napkins, plates, and a knife to cut the cake." She handed me the knife. "You should do the honors of cutting, Melissa."

"All right." Carefully, I placed the knife over the cake and made a long, straight slice. The bell tower wobbled, and the licorice cross fell off.

"EARTHQUAKE!" I yelled. Then laughing, I sliced enough squares so everyone in the class could have a piece.

I shared my mission project with my fourth grade world.

And it was delicious.

The End.

!!HELP!!

GABRIELLE SOLVE

THE MYSTERY OF MELISSA'S MISSION

CLUES GIVEN IN THE BOOK:

By process of elimination, Melissa can't be making these missions:

1. Mission San Juan Capistrano Joey's project

2. Mission San Luis Rey De Francia Matt's project

3. Mission Santa Barbara Daneesha's project

4. Mission San Rafael Arcangel Amanda's project

5. Mission San Buenaventura Gabrielle's project

6. Mission San Juan Bautista Classmate's project

7. Mission Santa Clara de Asis Rolph's project

* There are 21 missions; 600 miles from San Diego to Sonoma.

* A padre taught music at Melissa's mission. A violin is on display.

* Ohlone Indians once lived there.

* When Melissa looks in the encyclopedia, she finds her mission

listed AFTER Mission San Antonio De Padua, Mission San Carlos,

And Mission San Gabriel..

* Melissa describes her mission:

A tower rose out of one side of a peaked roof. A dark

cross sat on the top of the tower. And four iron bells were

half-hidden like spying eyes in deep square windows.

* Math question:

If Melissa's family lives over 400 miles NORTH of

Mission San Luis Rey, yet lives less than 100 miles of HER

assigned mission--where is Melissa's mission located?