The three of us crowded around the bone key, looking at it curiously.

“What is it?” I asked, baffled as I gazed down at what looked like a large, white skeleton key. Like something someone would open a very old church with—only instead of being made of iron, this was made of bone.

My mom flipped it over in her hand, studying it closely. “It looks like a whale bone.”

“How can you tell for sure?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Well, I can’t be certain,” she said, like a good scientist, “but the bone is light.” She pressed it with her finger. “It’s got that thin layer of compact bone, but it’s slightly spongy beneath that. But these notches”—she ran her finger along the side—“they look like they’ve been made with tools.”

“Tools?” I repeated, even more confused. “What are you talking about? Who’s using tools to make keys out of whale bones?”

“I have no idea, but it would have to be tool-made,” she mused, her eyes glued to the thing in her hand. “There’s no way ocean wear and tear could produce something like this.”

My dad looked up at me. “Did you see anyone around here?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Anyone at all?” he pressed.

“No, I swear. The beach has been deserted since I got here an hour ago,” I insisted.

My dad’s eyes scanned down the beach, which was still empty. It was too early for most joggers or anyone strolling for pleasure. Then he turned his gaze back to the bones and shook his head. “That just doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way this all could have come in from the sea.”

“No, I swear. I’ve been alone out here. I saw the fishermen at the docks, but no one’s been here at High Head. No one walked past me at any point.” I thought for a moment. “But I guess someone could have come from the other direction,” I conceded.

My parents exchanged a glance I couldn’t interpret. I didn’t even have time to try.

“Listen, now that you’re both here, I have to go,” I said, slipping my phone back into the pocket of my running shorts.

“Go?” my mom asked. She had crouched down, unzipped her bag, and was already unloading equipment onto the sand.

“Yeah, I have to get ready for my day. I’ve got a lot going on. I can’t be late for school today,” I explained.

“Of course. Go, honey,” my dad said, reaching over to brush a kiss on my cheek. His camera banged into my elbow, and he gave me a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” I said, rubbing my stinging elbow. “I’ll see you both later.”

“Have a good day, sweetie,” my mom called distractedly. “Thanks for calling us about all this.”

I waved and started back up the beach toward the road. As I rounded the dunes, my parents—and the piles and piles of bones—disappeared from view. I started running down the road back toward my house in the center of town, my head spinning.

What the hell was up with those bones? And how did they get there?

These were questions that were going to have to wait for answers, because I just didn’t have time to work through them.

I glanced down at my watch. It was 6:50, and Jonah was going to be at my front door to pick me up at 7:15. And he hated being kept waiting. Punctuality was very important to Jonah.

So when I got to the house, I rushed inside, leaving my running clothes in a trail behind me on the stairs as I stripped them off. I hopped into the shower, washing the sweat and salt out of my hair. When I got out, I toweled off quickly and threw on a pair of cut-off jean shorts and one of my school volleyball team t-shirts. I was in too much of a rush to put a better outfit together.

My long, black hair was still wet from the shower, so I twisted it into a messy bun, threw some mascara on in an attempt to look awake and alert, and shoved my books into my backpack.

I was just grabbing a Pop-Tart when I heard a horn beep outside my house.

Shoving the food into my mouth, I sprinted outside.

Austin was driving, and Jonah was standing in the Jeep, hanging over the roll bar with a very mischievous grin on his face.

The smile grew when he saw me emerge from the house. As I ran toward the Jeep, he reached down and produced a giant super-soaker water rifle—and aimed it right at me.

“Wet t-shirt contest!”