The dappled afternoon sunlight is warm against my back as I cycle through Forest Park.

Everything is threaded with green, and the slow buzz of summer. Every now and again I stop riding to look at the sword ferns and bracken lining the dirt trail, and the thick canopy of firs and lushly leaved maples overhead.

It feels so good to be back in the forest. We've lived on the edge of the park my whole life, and I used to know it like the back of my hand.

Since the accident, I haven't visited even once.

After I've been riding for almost half an hour, I hop off my rusty old BMX and pull Felix's note out of my pocket.

Unfolding it, I study it for the hundredth time.

I still can't believe he drew me a map.

Two lines intersect at a 45-degree angle. One is labeled 'Wildwood', the other, 'Chestnut'. There's a big X where they meet.

And at the bottom of the map, in an elegant scrawl which I immediately recognize as Felix's handwriting, are the words 'Look up and follow the silver fox.'

It didn't take me long to realize that the lines were paths in Forest Park. I'd walked these trails with my parents as a kid, and I still have a vague recollection of the spot they meet. It's about an hour's walk from the park entrance closest to my house, and maybe half that time on a bike. Nothing exceptional about the spot at all, and definitely nothing related to a silver fox.

In fact, I don't know if we even get foxes in the park. Even though it's actually one of the largest urban forests in the whole United States (true fact), it's not like we have wolves or bears or even foxes for that matter. Not that I know of, anyway.

I continue cycling up the path, trying not to think about the look on Zee's face when I told her that she couldn't come along with me. I promised the guys I'd come alone, and that's a promise I've got to keep. And besides that, I wouldn't want to expose Zee to Felix's acid tongue. I want to protect her.

She said she wasn't upset about being left out, and having to keep everything a secret, so long as I fill her in on everything afterwards, but of course she's bleak. Who wouldn't be?

Telling her was the easy part though. Alix was the real challenge. He's already furious with me for missing last week's band practice, and now I'm pulling out again. Obviously I can't tell him the real reason, so I had to lie and say I'd be helping my parents out at Biblio.

He sooo didn't buy it.

He hung up the phone while I was busy explaining and wouldn't even look at me when he came to pick Zee up from my house.

He'll probably text me later to apologize for the temper tantrum. I guess because he's basically the king of our high school, he's used to always getting his way. It drives me crazy.

After cycling for a few minutes the path gets narrower. The forest is thicker and darker now; swathes of emerald moss drip from the branches overhead.

Just as the narrow dirt trail gets too steep for my rickety old bike, it plateaus and branches off in various directions.

I hop off my bike and stand at the spot where the Wildwood meets the Chestnut Track.

No silver foxes in sight.

When I first read the message, I thought the words 'silver fox' referred to Jeremy Faull, the grey-haired, admittedly hot (for an older guy) owner of BYG Records. I was half expecting him to be waiting for me under a tree, ready to lead me to the boys' forest hideout.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

In my dreams.

Jeremy's credited with discovering not only Fable, but also Zara Quinn, Rose Whyte, The Babydolls – some of the biggest names in music. Meeting him would be like winning the career lottery. I'd be so much closer to achieving my seemingly impossible dream of making it as a professional musician.

But as I should have expected, there's no one waiting for me. Just a bunch of trees as far as the eye can see.

I glance around the leafy trail, wondering if I'll find another note. A clue. Anything.

When I come up empty, I look at Felix's note again.

Look up and follow the silver fox.

So I look up, scanning the lush canopy for anything unusual.

That's when I see it.

Sunlight glints off something high up in the branches of a huge beech tree, maybe five or six meters from the path. I leave the trail and scramble over some undergrowth with my bike to reach the tree, and I notice broken twigs and trampled leaves underfoot.

Someone's been this way recently.

With my bike leaning against the massive trunk, standing on my tiptoes, I can just make out the object dangling overhead, peeking out between the leaves.

It looks like a silver pendant on a thin chain, caught on a branch. Someone with must have thrown it up there.

There's no doubt that the pendant is in the shape of a fox.

Found it.

I wonder how it got so high up, and whether I'm meant to get it down.

No way in hell is that going to happen.

So I walk around the side of the tree, and a small, faint path opens up before me, leading deep into the forest. It's very subtle – just a slight flattening of the undergrowth – but it's definitely what I was meant to see. It would have been totally invisible from the bicycle track. Felix was right about one thing. This place is really private.

Rather than dragging the bicycle along with me, I decide to leave it near the beech tree. A shallow dip in the forest floor filled with holly bushes becomes my temporary bicycle park.

Once I'm happy that my bike is hidden from any walkers on the main track, I set off down the new, secret path.

The way gets clearer as I walk, more worn and trampled.

The only sounds are the rustling of leaves in the wind, the scampering of squirrels, bird song. The trees stretch out in all directions, a lush wall of greenery that disappears into shadow. I slow down to a snail's pace. Because I want to take in all the beauty. Not because I'm super anxious about meeting up with the Fable guys again.

Anxious? Me? Of course not. What's there to be anxious about? I'm only meeting up with the most famous group of people in the world right now, one of whom clearly sort of hates me, after having fainted in front of them half-naked... with the understanding that I'm GOING TO HELP THEM WORK ON MUSIC FOR A NEW ALBUM. Nothing to be anxious about.

Oh my god. Who am I kidding? Only one way to deal with anxiety though...

I quicken my pace along the path, determined not to chicken out of the greatest opportunity of my life.

Shyness, be gone.

Every now and again I get a funny feeling, like there's someone watching out of the shadows between the trees. Soft crunching footsteps in the distance. I look back a few times, but there's no one there. My scars ache a little, and I raise my hand to my ribcage, feel the faint white crescent of pain through the thin fabric of my shirt. I dressed sensibly today, in sneakers, denim shorts and a white gypsy-style top – a good outfit for hiking, but not so much for hanging out with five gorgeous rock stars.

Maybe I should have worn something cuter. A little black dress. Or a skirt and...

Relax. That's not what today's about. Casual is good.

I walk for what feels like hours, but it's probably shorter and my nerves are playing tricks on me – time moves slower when you're counting every second.

The longer I walk, the thicker and darker the forest gets. The trees close in, and then suddenly there's light up ahead.

I step out into a clearing. Sunlight streams in through a break in the thick forest canopy. The ground beneath my feet is like a thick carpet of moss, scattered with pine needles and early mushrooms peeking out through the undergrowth. Everything smells amazing – like damp leaves after the rain.

At the centre of the clearing, sunlight illuminates a large double story cabin, with stone walls and dark grey shingles on the roof. It's like something straight out of a fairytale.

Wooden steps lead up to a stained glass front door, panes all ruby and sapphire and bright tangerine.

A climbing rose with deep red flowers in full bloom has wound its way up the wrap-around porch and over the front facade of the cabin. I can smell their perfume all the way from the edge of the clearing.

Round stained glass windows peep out from between the roses.

I've lived on the edge of Forest Park all my life, and never once imagined it might be hiding a secret like this.

For a moment all I can do is stand and stare. All I need is Hansel by my side to complete the scene.

Even though I know I've never been here before, something about it reminds me of a childhood memory – maybe something from a storybook or a movie. It's strangely comforting. As I walk towards the cabin, up the steps, to the beautiful front door, I’m wrapped up in an emotion I haven't felt in ages.

Wonder.