From the Desk of Zoe Washington

by Janae Marks

  “Yup.” Mom had given me thirty dollars that morning, to pay for my ticket, some popcorn if I wanted it, and ice cream, with a little extra in case of an emergency. I planned to use some of it to pay for my CharlieTicket to ride the T. I also had some of my leftover birthday money, in case we needed it. If things in Harvard Square took too long, we could take a cab back to Davis Square. Or, if we got everything done fast, we could get back to Davis early and actually get some ice cream at J.P. Licks before Trevor’s mom came to pick us up.

  “Bye, Mom,” Trevor said, and we both got out of the car.

  “Text me when the movie’s over, so I know you’re heading to the ice cream shop, okay?” Patricia said.

  I could see from the expression on Trevor’s face that he was trying to figure out exactly what time to text his mom so she would think he’d gotten out of the movie.

  “Will do,” Trevor told her.

  Patricia kept her car parked at the curb and watched us to make sure we got inside the movie theater okay. Even though we didn’t have any time to waste, we went into the theater and pretended to get in line for tickets. I hoped we didn’t have to stand there for too long and actually buy tickets. What if Patricia waited until our nonexistent group of friends arrived?

  “Is she still watching us?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the front of the line so we didn’t look suspicious.

  Next to me, Trevor peeked over his shoulder. “Nah, she’s gone.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t believe it worked, and we were actually alone in Davis Square. Hopefully the rest of our plan would go as smoothly. “Let’s go,” I said. “The sooner we can get to Harvard Square, the better.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Trevor and I left the theater and walked half a block to the T station. Since it was early afternoon on a weekday, when everyone was at work, it wasn’t crowded. Thank goodness, because it was already overwhelming to be doing this by ourselves. We took the escalator down into the station and walked to the ticket machine.

  “Have you done this before?” I asked Trevor. I should’ve paid more attention when my parents bought CharlieTickets.

  “No, but it looks pretty easy.” He reached into his cargo shorts pocket and took out some cash.

  While he pressed a few buttons on the screen, I peered around the station. There were painted tiles on the wall with what looked like kid drawings of faces, boats, and animals.

  I was admiring them when I heard Trevor say, “Uhh . . .”

  “What?” I glanced back at him and he was trying to put bills into the machine, but it wouldn’t accept them.

  He tried again. “It’s not taking my money. I don’t get it.”

  “Maybe because it’s so wrinkled.” It was like he’d crumpled the bills up into a ball before stuffing them into his pocket. “Let me try.” I grabbed the money from him and quickly smoothed out the dollar bills. I held my breath as I tried inserting them again, but the machine spit them right out.

  I groaned. “Let me use my cash.” But by the time I reached into my backpack for it, the ticket screen had reset itself and we had to start all over.

  “Ugh,” I said. “This is so frustrating. We’re wasting time.”

  “Maybe we should go to the ticket guy over there instead,” Trevor said. “It might be faster.”

  “Okay.”

  We went to the ticket booth, where a man in a Red Sox hat was talking to the ticket guy. They seemed around the same age—older than my parents—and I wondered if they knew each other, because they were laughing about something. I couldn’t think of anything funny about buying a train ticket.

  Trevor and I stood behind them, waiting for them to be done. But whatever they were talking about must’ve been super interesting, because they kept on talking.

  “This is taking forever,” I mumbled under my breath as I bounced on my heels.

  Then I heard a train rumble into the station one level below us.

  “Great, we’re missing a train,” I said, glancing at my watch. We’d been in the station almost ten minutes already.

  “There’ll be another one,” Trevor said.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I cleared my throat really loudly—so loud, the sound echoed in the station.

  The two men peered back at us.

  “Whoops, sorry,” the man talking to the ticket guy said. “Hey, man, it was nice seeing you,” he said to the ticket guy. Then with a quick wave, he left.

  Trevor and I hurried up to the counter and asked for four rides—two to get us to Harvard Square and two to get us back. The ticket guy didn’t blink an eye at Trevor’s crumpled bills.

  After he handed us our passes, we hurried over to the ticket gate. Right then, I heard another train come into the station.

  “Hurry!” I said to Trevor. He inserted the ticket and went through the gate. Then he handed it to me and I did the same.

  We rushed to the escalator that led down to the track, and ran down it right as the train doors opened. We stepped onto the train right in time, and collapsed into two empty seats.

  The doors closed and the train got moving. We were finally on our way, and I began to relax. I took my backpack off and put it near my feet. Trevor leaned over to retie one of his shoelaces.

  Then there was a ding, and an automated voice said, “The next stop is Alewife.”

  “Alewife?” I repeated. “Oh no!”

  “What?” Trevor asked, looking up from his sneaker.

  “This train is going the wrong way. We need to go the other direction!” We’d wanted the inbound train, going toward Harvard Square and Boston, but had gotten on an outbound train instead.

  “We’ll turn around at the next stop,” Trevor said.

  “Yeah, and waste even more time.” I leaned over and buried my face in my hands.

  “Don’t worry,” Trevor said, elbowing me. “We still have plenty of time.”

  When we got to the Alewife station, we hurried onto the platform and went to the other side, where the train we needed would pull in. It smelled gross down there, like pee or something. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for our train to arrive. When it pulled in, we hopped on and I took a seat right by the door. Trevor sat next to me.

  We were quiet as the train started moving.

  “The next stop is Davis Square,” the automated voice said. Right where we started. I groaned.

  I could barely sit still. I was on the edge of my seat, my legs ready to jump up and carry me off the train as soon as we arrived at Harvard Square. I checked the time on my phone. It’d been almost a half hour since we were dropped off in Davis. We only had two and a half hours before Patricia would expect us back at J.P. Licks.

  “What if we can’t find Professor Thomas in time?” I asked Trevor, wringing my hands together.

  “We’ll find her,” he said. “She’ll be teaching her class.”

  “Yeah.” I forced my muscles to relax into the train seat. Lying to my parents about sending letters was one thing, but what we were doing now was way too stressful. I couldn’t imagine how angry they’d be if they found out Trevor and I were on the T going to Harvard Square by ourselves. But if the rest of our plan went okay, it would be worth it.

  Trevor took his phone out and started playing his Mario game as the train stopped back at Davis Square, then at Porter Station, where some people got off and on. Then the doors closed again. “The next stop is Harvard Square,” said the train voice.

  I grabbed Trevor’s knee again and gripped it hard.

  “Ow!” he said.

  “Sorry.” I sat on my hand instead.

  The ride from Porter to Harvard Square felt way too long. When I could finally see the station outside the train windows, I got up and stood right in front of the door. Trevor stood behind me. The train seemed to inch its way into the station, and I wanted to scream at the conductor to hurry up already. Finally, the train stopped, and as soon as the doors opened, I sprinted off.

  I wasn’t exactly sure which way
to go, so my eyes darted to the various signs on the walls. The people who got off the train with us all started walking in the same direction, so we followed them. We ended up in the main part of the station, which had a coffee place, newsstand, and several ticket machines.

  The Harvard Square station was much busier than the other stations we’d been in. We had to weave our way around people to get to the escalator that led up to the street level.

  Stepping outside felt like walking into a hot oven. Sun glared in my eyes, making me wish I’d remembered to bring my sunglasses. There were tons of people hanging around Harvard Square, especially right around where we walked outside. It was noisy—cars honking, people shouting, music blaring from somewhere down the street. There was a sunken sidewalk area near the train entrance, next to the Cambridge Information Center and another newsstand. A bunch of people sat on the benches and brick steps. One girl played a guitar and sang as people dropped dollars into the box at her feet. A skateboarder did a kick flip and almost rolled into me. I noticed lots of different-colored hair—blue, purple, fire orange, and one girl with thick, beautiful braids. It was a lot to take in, but we had no time.

  “Which way do we go?” Trevor asked.

  I’d been to Harvard Square enough times with my parents. Harvard’s campus was right in the center. Getting inside was the easy part. But we had to find the right building. I pulled out the campus map I’d printed. “This way.”

  Trevor followed me across a street and down the block that ran alongside campus. We quickly found a gate, walked under its tall brick archway, and ended up on a small quad. It was calmer and quieter there. “I think these are all dorms,” I said, glancing down at my map. “We need to go farther into campus to find the building we want—Sever Hall.”

  I hurried down a path that led past the dorms and into the next quad. This one was larger—on the map, it was called Old Yard. It was so pretty. The grass was super green, and the brick buildings looked majestic in the sunshine. It was exactly what you’d think of when you imagined a college campus. Some students were walking around and others sat at small tables on the grass. A large tour group was a few steps ahead of us. A bunch of trees blocked some of the sun, so it was cooler there. I wished I could walk around and take my time looking at everything, even piggyback on the tour, but there was no time.

  We had a professor to find—and quick.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I looked down at my map again. “Sever Hall is in the next quad over—Harvard Yard. This way.” I pulled Trevor’s arm and we hurried across this quad, between another couple of buildings, and into Harvard Yard. It looked similar to the other quad, with lots of trees and people hanging around.

  Sever Hall was on the other end. I recognized the huge redbrick building from photos online. It looked sort of like an old castle, with dozens of windows and an archway entrance. “That’s it,” I told Trevor, and we hurried over to it. I felt lighter all of a sudden. We made it! I couldn’t believe we were there.

  Trevor was checking his watch when I glanced over at him. “It’s only one ten,” he said. “We found the building faster than we thought. There’s still twenty minutes before her class ends.”

  My stomach grumbled, and I thought of the sandwiches and apples in my backpack.

  “Want to sit here and eat lunch?” I asked.

  “Okay,” Trevor said.

  We walked over to two bright-yellow metal chairs in the middle of the quad. I took out the food and handed one of everything to Trevor.

  “Thanks.” He started eating. “Did you pack any of your cereal cupcakes?”

  I shook my head.

  “I want to try them sometime.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But I’m warning you, there’s no chocolate in them.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure they’re still good. Everything you bake is good. You’re going to win Kids Bake Challenge!”

  I laughed. “I haven’t even auditioned yet.”

  “I know.” He smiled.

  I opened my bottle of water and took a big swig. I unwrapped the sandwich, but now my stomach was churning and I wasn’t sure I could eat.

  Trevor finished the first half of his sandwich and looked over at me. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t eat. I’m really scared all of a sudden.”

  “Scared of what?”

  “I don’t know. If this professor is the correct Susan Thomas, then she’s right in that building, and in a few minutes, I’m going to know whether or not Marcus was telling me the truth. Whether he’s really innocent of murder.”

  “Isn’t that what you want?” Trevor asked while chewing.

  “Yeah, but what if I show her the picture and she says she’s never seen him before?” The idea alone made my eyes water with tears. I blinked to make them go away.

  Trevor looked like he wasn’t sure what to say. “It’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t want Marcus to be guilty. I don’t want him to be a murderer. He doesn’t have to be my dad—Paul’s my dad—but I still want him to be my friend. But not if he’s really a lying monster.”

  Trevor nodded. “You don’t know anything yet. Professor Thomas might remember him.”

  “I hope so.” I smiled and wiped my eyes. “How much more time do we have before her class gets out?”

  Trevor peered at his watch and then jumped to his feet. “Only five more minutes.”

  “Oh.” I stood up, still holding my uneaten sandwich. I took a couple of quick bites to quiet my still-grumbling stomach and chased them down with another swig of water. I put the rest of our food back inside my backpack. “Let’s go inside and find her classroom. It’s room 215.”

  We walked inside the building and were blasted with cold air-conditioning. “This way,” I said once I spotted the staircase.

  We walked up to the second floor and found our way to room 215. The door was closed, but there was a small window on it. I took a deep breath. This was it.

  My whole body shook as I walked up to the window and peeked inside. There was a woman at the front of the room, standing in front of a chalkboard that had a bunch of math equations on it. It may as well have been in another language. I counted the students and reached the number ten. They sat at desks, taking notes as the teacher spoke.

  As I stared at the woman, something in my brain told me that she seemed younger than the picture we’d seen online. And her hair was shorter.

  Trevor came up behind me and peered into the window himself. “Is that her?” he asked. “She looks different.”

  I started to panic. “Are we sure this is the right room?” I moved away from the door and put my backpack on the hallway floor. I took out my journal and flipped open to the page where I’d written down the details of Professor Thomas’s class. It said it right there—Sever Hall, room 215, from 12:00 to 1:30 on Thursdays, starting that same day. We were definitely in the right place.

  “Class is ending,” Trevor said. “They’re putting their notebooks away and stuff.”

  My heart sped up. “What do we do?”

  Before Trevor had the chance to answer, the door swung open and a few students filed out. And the next thing I knew, Trevor was walking inside the classroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “What are you doing?” I hissed at Trevor, but he was already gone. I threw my journal back into my backpack and followed him into the classroom. Trevor was walking up to the teacher—who, now that I was closer, I realized couldn’t possibly be Professor Thomas. This person looked only a few years older than the students who’d just walked out of the room. There’s no way she was in her thirties when she had a tag sale twelve years earlier.

  I wanted to throw up. We’d made it all the way out to Harvard Square without our parents, and we still may not have found the person we were looking for.

  “Hi,” Trevor said to the teacher. “Is this Professor Thomas’s class?”

  The teacher, who was busy puttin
g her laptop and folders into her messenger bag, looked up, surprised to see a twelve-year-old boy standing in front of her, and me a few feet behind watching the two of them.

  “Uh, yes,” she said.

  “Are you Professor Thomas?” Trevor asked.

  She laughed, as if Trevor had asked the funniest question ever. “No. I’m her TA.”

  “TA?” Trevor asked.

  “Teaching assistant. Professor Thomas had to leave a little early today, so I taught the rest of class.”

  My chest filled with a huge bubble of disappointment. We’d failed. My one shot to find her, and she wasn’t there.

  “Are you looking for her for some reason?” the TA asked, wrinkling her eyebrows at Trevor.

  “Yes,” Trevor said. “Do you know where she is?”

  “She had an important phone call. I think she went back to her office for it.”

  “Where’s that?” Trevor asked.

  “The math department is in the science building,” the TA said. “Her office is on the third floor, to the right of the stairs. Her name’s on the door.”

  I glanced up at the clock in the classroom. We only had twenty minutes before we had to head home, and now we had to go to a whole other building to talk to Professor Thomas—if she was even there at all.

  “Thanks!” Trevor told the TA, and then he turned to me.

  “There isn’t enough time,” I said, about to start crying again. Harvard’s campus was big, and I had no idea where the science building was, or how long it’d take to walk there.

  “If we run, there is.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the classroom. “Let’s go!”

  He was right. There was still a chance—we could still find Professor Thomas. Adrenaline burst through me as we raced back down the stairs of Sever Hall and back outside. Once we were on the quad again, Trevor asked for my campus map, which I’d forgotten all about. I pulled it out of my backpack and he scanned it for a second.

  “I found it,” he said, pointing to a building on the map. It wasn’t one of the buildings in the quad we were on, but it didn’t look that far. We had to go back to the Old Yard and across an area called the Plaza.