It was a rare icy cold winter day as Connor, Zion, and I sat outside the office on the sidewalk eating our lunches.

“Fruit snack, please,” I said, and Connor shoved one in my mouth. Mom had insisted I wear my old warm boots today, and though I was glad my toes weren’t freezing, it was highly inconvenient.

I looked at my friends, both shivering as they took bites of their lunches. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “We should be eating in the cafeteria today.” They looked up at me in alarm. I had to admit I didn’t feel ready to head there myself despite the freezing wind. “We can stay here.”

They both let out sighs of relief.

“So Dad told me he’s going to try to get the keys in the office as organized as possible, and then he’ll let us try out the ones he can’t figure out. I bet one of them goes to the desk.”

“I wonder what’s going to be in there,” said Zion.

I chewed on a fruit snack and gulped. “Maybe a murder weapon.”

Zion shivered. “I hope not.”

“I hope so!” I declared. “Then we can turn it into the police and then they’ll get the fingerprints off it and then they’ll bust the murderer and then we’ll all be in the newspaper. And the murderer will be like, ‘I could have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you nosy kids!’”

Zion and Connor both frowned at me. “I don’t want to be in the newspaper,” said Zion.

“Me neither,” said Connor. “And I think you’ve watched too much Scooby-Doo.”

I scowled—sometimes those guys were a total buzzkill. And I had watched too much Scooby-Doo. I decided to change the subject. “So, we’ve had hundreds of artists call about the festival. So many that we’ve had to turn some away that don’t fit with the Stagecoach Pass theme. Seriously, like who wants to buy something called a diaper cake? Uh, no, thank you. I’ll stick with chocolate.”

Zion nodded. “Yeah, that’s gross.”

“Disgusting,” Connor agreed.

“We need to find a band now,” I said. “Any ideas?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find one,” Connor said. “Just look online.” Then he raised an eyebrow at me. “Maybe you should perform, Aven.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” My ear muffs slipped down a little and Connor pushed them back up on my head.

“No,” he said. “I think it would be cool.”

Zion looked at me. “What do you play, Aven?”

“The guitar,” Connor answered for me. “But she won’t play for anyone. I think she might be lying about being able to play.”

I shoved Connor with my foot. “Shut up.”

He laughed. “Then play a song at the festival. It would be so cool.”

“What do you care?” I said. “You’re not even coming.”

Zion’s head jerked to Connor. “You’re not going?”

Connor shrugged. “I don’t know. Aven thinks there’s going to be, like, thousands of people there.”

Zion stared at him. “So?”

Connor gaped at Zion. “So? So, that’s thousands of people to stand around staring and laughing at me.”

“They’ll be staring at me, too,” I said. “But I’m still going.”

“Fine,” Connor said. “I tell you what—if you play your guitar, I’ll come and watch you.”

My throat suddenly felt dry. “Juice box, please,” I whispered, and Connor obliged. I took a swig and cleared my throat. “I’m not performing at the festival. I would never perform in public for anything.”

“Then I’m not coming,” Connor said stubbornly.

Darn it. He knew I wouldn’t perform and that was his way out.

“Why won’t you play for anyone, Aven?” Zion said.

I shrugged. “I don’t want people watching me up there.” Watching the freak, is what I wanted to say.

“Why not?” Zion asked. “You acted in a play on stage in front of people.”

“That was different. I was in a silly cactus costume. If you didn’t know me, you wouldn’t have even known I didn’t have arms. Doing stuff with my feet in front of a crowd, performing with my feet . . . that’s just different. I’d feel like I was in a circus or something.”

“That’s silly,” Zion said. “No one would think of you like that.”

But I knew he was wrong.