Jex Malone by C.L. Gaber, V.C. Stanley Page A

solve the case.”
    My mind is racing because I’m trying to figure out how to make some logic out of what is coming out of my mouth before the words are released into the universe. I know I’m not doing a very good job of making any sense.
    â€œThat’s how we do it in New Jersey,” I tell them, now really making it up as I go along. “We are just very organized people. I mean, since it is my dad’s stuff, at least do it my way by all of us forming this union.”
    â€œRight, a group,” Deva responds, letting it sink in. “What are we now? Silly little freaking Nancy Drews? Aren’t we really too old?”
    â€œWell, that’s a great idea, Deva,” I say, slanting her words. “But we’re not the Nancys or the Drews. We’re the … uh … um … I got it. We’re the Drew-Ids.”
    Nat jumps off the couch and nearly falls over her own feet. “I’m getting chills. Real chills!” She holds out both arms that are covered by her hoodie and cries, “Did you know that IDS is law enforcement shorthand for Intrusion Detection System?”
    Of course, I don’t know that.
    Deva touches her manicured fingernails to her head. “Stop, Nat, you’re giving me a migraine,” she says.
    Racing over to the computer, Nat punches in the word. “In German,
Drew
means trustworthy. In Greek, it’s courageous. It means wise in Welsh,” she says in a breathless voice.
    â€œI’m breaking out in hives now,” Nat continues in a voice that’s made up of all parts pure joy.
    â€œShut up, Nat,” Deva begs. “We can be the Drew-Ids if you don’t give us one more fun, noninteresting fact about what it all means.”
    â€œAnd it’s an homage to Nancy,” Nat says with reverence, like she equates Nancy Drew with Princess Diana or Mother Teresa. “I read all forty-seven books.”
    Cissy, Deva, and I stare hard in her direction. “You read all fifty-six Nancy Drew books. No judgment,” I say, reminding myself that I read most of them, too, but I don’t have to confess everything to these strangers.
    â€œNancy will do,” Deva says. “She looked so cute in those candy-striper uniforms.”
    â€œNancy was my best friend—other than you guys,” sighs Cissy. “She wasn’t afraid of anything.”
    Nat smiles and says, “Nancy was the best. Okay, I’m shutting up now. Really. Lips locked.”
    For a split second, I wonder if we should do a blood oath or even a pinky swear.
    â€œThere needs to be a list of rules. This ain’t a free-for-all. So, let’s write down three or four rules. So it’s officially official,” I say.
    â€œI’m not slicing my finger and doing a blood oath. Infections,” Deva announces. “Not you, Cissy. Or Nat. But I don’t know about Jex. No offense.”
    â€œThese will be our bylaws,” Nat says with a sigh. “I’m studying business law in my advanced placement college class. We go to school in Nevada, too—when we’re not sweating or tanning.”
    â€œYeah, we know you’re smart, Nat. But back to business. Break these rules and you’re out of the Drew-Ids, as in your little can kicked to the curb,” Deva says.
    Half an hour later, we have agreed to ten rules that were read aloud in an almost religious and reverent way. Each girl took her turn reading what was now officially official.
The Drew-Ids Code of Honor
    If lucky enough to be inducted into the Drew-Ids, you must swear on the life of Tatum Ryan (or insert any prized actor of your choice) that you will abide by the following rules:
    There is no such thing as the Drew-Ids. Just in case anyone asks. In other words, don’t spy and tell.
    That said, a Drew-Id member is a teenage girl who has a detective gene just bursting to come out. She has the ability to snoop until a case is solved or there is no