A tween is forced to use her photography skills to track down a missing classmate during a class trip in New York City in this M!X novel from the author of The Bling Queen . After years of suffering through the most boring spring vacations ever, Avalon Kelly is ready for a week of adventure. On a hash-tagged whim, she entered the PhotoReady app’s spring break getaway contest to NYC—and won! But right away, this trip of a lifetime isn’t turning out as planned. Avalon’s best friend isn’t one of the PhotoReady winners, which means that not only will Avalon have to venture to the Big Apple by herself, but she’ll be assigned a stranger as a roommate. The perky and talkative Sofia seems pleasant enough, but snooty Kensington—who was placed in Room 609 at the last moment due to a mix-up—is a whole other story. Just when Avalon is about ready to abandon the trip entirely, one of the fellow contest winners, the cute and mysterious Tate, disappears from the group, and the Room 609 girls must band together, using the clues within their photographs, if they have any hope of tracking him down. Will the hunt for Tate and the view of New York City through her camera lens be enough to convince Avalon to stick it out for the full week? Allison Gutknecht is the author of multiple books for young readers, including the Pet Pals series, Sing Like Nobody’s Listening , Spring Break Mistake , The Bling Queen , and the Mandy Berr series. After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania, she earned her master’s degree in children’s media and literature from NYU. Allison grew up in Voorhees, New Jersey, and now lives in New York City. Spring Break Mistake The worst thing about my sister is her smile. It’s not that it’s a bad smile—it’s a great smile, actually. One of the best there is. It’s the kind of smile that seems ever-present, even when Arden is scowling. I would think the expression “she can light up a room” was a load of baloney, if it weren’t for Arden’s sparkle of a mouth. And the worst part is she didn’t even do anything to deserve it—not really, anyway. She was gifted with picket fence–straight teeth, with a coat of white shine to match. I, however, have the kind of teeth that require four years of braces just for the mere hope that they might someday end up not being an abject disaster. This is the injustice of my life. Arden is flashing one of her signature smiles toward me at the moment, all while lounging on my window seat with her feet propped up on the grids of the glass pane. Which she knows I hate. “Get your hooves off my window,” I tell her, scrolling absentmindedly through the PhotoReady app on my phone. “You’re smudging my view.” “I’d hardly call this a view,” Arden argues. “A bunch of trees and a rusty old swing set.” I click out of PhotoReady and open the camera, aiming it in Arden’s direction. “Say cheese,” I coo in a singsong voice. I pretend to snap a picture as Arden turns her head in my direction. Her feet fly off the window as she scrambles to stand. “Don’t you dare post that.” She leaps across the room and flops onto the bed next to me. I roll in the opposite direction until my feet hit the floor, phone still in my hand, then I walk to the window and make a great display of lifting one of the throw pillows to clean her toe print off the glass. But at the last second, I snap a photo of it instead. “Um, what are you doing?” Arden asks. “Taking a picture of the mark your man-toes made,” I say. “It could probably be studied in the Museum of Natural History.” Arden crosses her arms and stomps her foot against my bedspread. “Delete the photo,” she tells me in her best principal voice. “Now.” “Oh, calm down,” I tell her, settling onto the window seat and texting the toe-print shot to my best friend, Celia, with the caption, For your heart collection, before quickly deleting it. “Prove you erased it,” Arden says, reaching for my phone. I toss it on the bed beside her and watch her examine my albums. Satisfied, she slides it away from her. “Here’s a rule for Florida—only take good pictures of me.” I snort. “Or better yet, don’t take pictures of me at all. That’s the only way I’ll know I’m safe. I mean, the worst pictures of me ever taken are the ones from spring break.” Arden pulls at the ends of her thick, dark curls, twirling one around her finger. It is true that every single year, the second Arden steps off the plane and into the Florida humidity, her hair frizzes up like a beehive. What is not true is that this frizz results in bad pictures of her—maybe slightly worse than usual, but still not bad. After all, she has that smile. In contrast to Arden’s mane, my hair only seems to grow limper in the Florida heat. Really, between our teeth and our hair, no one would ever believe Arden and I were sisters. As wild and unruly as Arden’s hair is, mine is equally as fine and straight. “Strawberry blond” is what everyone calls it, though in the wrong light, it te