Excerpt from How to Build a Heart by Maria Padian, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"C'mon." She nudges me. "You know you want to look."

"No way."

"Chicken ."

"Totally. That's my middle name. Isabella "Chicken" Crawford."

Roz shrugs . She swings open her car door. "Suit yourself," she replies. And heads into the woods in the direction of the Shackelton house.

I watch as she disappears into the shadowy arch of branches. It's very quiet out here by the porta potty. The eyeless, gaping holes of the McMansion's window frames remind me of this painting I learned about in art class. It's called The Scream.

"What the hell," I hear myself mutter as I climb out of the car.

I dodge low limbs and pick my way between fallen trees in pursuit of Roz. There's no clear path and I can only guess which way she went. I trudge maybe a hundred feet when I hear this soft tapping sound: rain, on the leaves. Great. I really don't want to get soaked. And lost. What is it they say about wandering in the woods? You walk in circles? I have zero outdoor survival skills. I'm not even a Girl Scout.

I turn back toward the car. But then, a twig snaps.

"Izzy!" A fierce whisper, not far away. I peer into the gloom and can just make out Roz's outline alongside a tree.

When I reach her, she yanks me close.

"Geez, make a little more noise why don't you?" she hisses in my ear. "You're like an elephant crashing through ."

"Sorry. I don't have your creeper skills."

She points. Just ahead, we can make out a brightening through the trees. Voices. Music.

"Stay close," Roz whispers. "And be quiet!"

The sound and light increase as we approach the edge of the Shackeltons' backyard. The woods end and become lawn. Become a patio, with lots of furniture. Those wicker-and-cushion couches that look like indoor furniture someone hauled outside. How does that stuff not get totally ruined in the rain? Of course, there's a pool. Rock walls and gardens. A grill.

Actually, it's not a "grill." It's an Outdoor Cooking and Party Mecca. At one end is a brick oven, neat pieces of wood packed in an iron ring to one side. At the other end, there's a massive metal meat-cooking contraption that looks big enough to roast a pig. A couple of burners, in case you want to boil corn. Stone counters.

My father would have loved it.

Charlie Crawford: Grill King. Who liked nothing better than loading his Weber with charcoal briquettes, his cooler with bottled drinks, and his backyard with buddies from his unit. Although it was never "his" backyard. Just the patch of grass we shared with all the other families that lived in base housing. But that was ages ago. And Charlie Crawford is long gone.

A poke in the ribs from Roz pulls me back into the reality of wet woods and a party in progress. Beyond the patio is a huge house that seems to be all windows and glass doors. We can see into bright rooms filled with laughing boys. Watching some sports thing on TV.

Roz was right: that is one seriously huge flat screen.

She whispers in my ear. "On the right. Pool house." She points to a small wooden building at the edge of the patio. A low rock wall extends along one side. "We can see great from there." She takes off, skirting the border of the lawn just inside the cover of the trees. I follow.

When we near the little house, Roz darts to the rock wall. She dives behind it, lies flat on her belly, then twists her head around, signaling me with one hand to follow. I pause. I really don't want to leave my safe cover in the trees. Roz waves again, her brow furrowing in this "C'mon, move it!" expression.

A unison male cry from inside the house startles me. The whole roomful of boys is shouting and fist pumping at the flat screen. Someone must have scored.

It's my chance. As the entire team faces in the opposite direction, I race from the woods and hurl myself into the dirt alongside Roz . The ground is damp and soft; I'm going to have to get really creative explaining to Mami what happened to my white cotton blouse.

Excerpted from How to Build a Heart by Maria Padian. Copyright © 2020 by Maria Padian. Excerpted by permission of Algonquin Young Readers. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.