When I get busted for anything minor, he doesn’t mention it to my parents. In exchange I keep the online poker to myself. He keeps his job, and I get the little bit of space I need to mess with the Arch. It works very well for both of us.
I stand up to walk out of the office and head back to my classroom. I figure since nobody actually drank the Gatorade, it’ll be easy for him to let this one slide. I’m at the door when he says, “Archer Norris knows it was you. It has to look like I’m dealing with the situation.”
I freeze, the doorknob in my hand. He has a point. If I get away with every plot I pull, it will start to look suspicious. I’ll need to do a little time to keep my get-out-of-jail-free card open.
“This Saturday, then?” he says.
I let go of the knob and turn around. “I can’t do Saturday.”
My parents are afraid that being raised in America instead of in Poland, like they were, is making me soft, so they make me work at their dry cleaning shop on Saturdays to “build my character.” Apparently, they think the main ingredients in a kid’s character are sweat and lack of sunlight.
I’m supposed to go to the theater and hang out with Jarek after school this afternoon, then watch the movie with Moby after Jarek’s done splicing it together. I could stay after today and still make it to the movie, and my parents would never have to ask where I was. “I can do detention today.”
“This really seems like a Saturday offense.”
“Detention today and you let some of the students overhear you saying it was me and how difficult I was to catch?”
“You tried to poison the track team. You’re lucky you aren’t getting suspended!”
If he insists on Saturday, the grief I’ll catch from my dad will make detention look like a vacation. My parents work fourteen hours a day so we can afford to live in a neighborhood with a decent school. They won’t be very understanding if I get kicked out.
“How about detention today, and I’ll see if my dad will clean the kangaroo suit for free?”
He sighs.
“That thing is a mess. It’s probably the first time it’s touched soap in a long time.”
He lowers his eyebrows, so I know he doesn’t like it. “Today will work fine.”
I smile. “See you in detention.”
He doesn’t smile back, which concerns me. If I ever push him too far and he calls my bluff, I’ll get the ten-million-pound poo hammer from my parents no matter what. Taking him down with me will be small consolation at that point.
I’m about to leave when he picks up a yellow sheet of paper off his desk and holds it out to me. “You know, there are other ways to make a difference.”
I take the paper from him. It’s a registration form for the school elections. I look it over for a second, fold it, and stuff it into my pocket.
“Turn it in by tomorrow if you want to run,” he says as I walk out of the office.
How can Mr. Mayer spend all day, every day, in a school full of kids and not understand how things work? According to the laws of middle school popularity, the Arch is pretty much destined to become student body president.
Unless I figure out a way to show the school that he’s not as cool as they think he is.
CHAPTER 5
I heard this saying once. “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” Well, I think what’s actually important is what you know about who you know.
Because of the dirt I have on Mr. Mayer, I serve my detentions in solitary confinement. I don’t have to sit in the room with all the kids who got caught texting or cheating on tests while the gym teacher forces them to study. I do my time in the library all by myself, where I can pass the hour looking through the stash of comic books I’ve hidden behind the emergency fire hose. I’m not going to say I look forward to it, exactly, but I do like being alone sometimes.
If I weren’t in detention, Moby and I would be on our way to the Clairemont right now. But I am, and Moby shuffles around outside the window like a lost puppy while I’m locked up. He keeps looking up at the window like he wishes he were in here with me. But I was the mastermind of the plot. I’ll serve the time for getting caught.
Mrs. Belfry, our librarian, supervises me during detention. I’m not sure exactly how old she is, but it’s gotta be triple digits. Her hair has a purple tint that isn’t found in nature, and I don’t think she dyes it that way out of school spirit. I assume she’s old enough to remember what life was like before electricity, because every time she flips on a light switch, she says, “Ooh,” like she still can’t believe it works.
The first time Mr. Mayer escorted me to the library for detention, Mrs. Belfry looked at us like a pair of unicorns had appeared through a portal and started piddling on the rug. Mr. Mayer sent me off to the other side of the library while he explained why I was here instead of with the general population. I couldn’t hear everything he said, but a few words carried across the stacks of books: “immigrant,” which seemed like a weird thing to say, and “gifted,” which didn’t bother me quite as much.
I always make sure to let Mrs. Belfry hear me mumbling to myself in the few Polish words I know as I thumb through books. It can’t hurt if she thinks I’m “gifted” in two languages.
Whatever he actually said to her, I suppose I should be grateful. It bought me just enough cred to get into her good graces despite earning detention on a pretty regular basis.
“Mr. Trom-boz-ow-ski?” she says. I walk to her office door and stick my head inside. A flowery blast of old-lady perfume punches me square in the nose. “What have you gotten into today?”
I always have a story prepared. “Some boys from the track team were making Polish jokes.”
She puts both hands over her heart and makes a small gasp.
“It just made me think of my uncle Stosh, so I told them to shut up, and one of them shoved me. I was going to shove him back when Mr. Mayer came around the corner, and here I am.”
“That’s awful!” She wrings her hands. “I went to school with lots of very nice Polish children. There’s simply no call for that!”
I nod thoughtfully. “That’s exactly what I told them. No call for that.”
For a second I’m afraid she’s going to get up and give me a hug, but at her age you probably get out of chairs only if the house is on fire.
I’m about to find a spot to read my comics when she points to a sleek new laptop on her desk. “Do you know anything about these?”
The sight of the laptop makes my head swim. We don’t have a computer at home, since my dad doesn’t want the government knowing what kind of Kleenex we buy or something. If I ever want to use one, I have to go to the public library or use Jarek’s during the rare times he’s not on it. If I play this right, it could be my chance to access the secrets of life, the universe, and everything, or at least look up news on some summer movies I can’t wait to see. All I have to do is get by a two-hundred-year-old librarian.
“The school gave me this, and I . . .” She punches a couple of random keys and then throws up her hands. “The district has been trying to get me to retire for twenty years. If I can’t figure out how to use this contraption, I won’t be able to do my job anymore.”
I try not to sound too eager. “I . . . could take a look.”
A smile of relief spreads across her face. She stands up and offers me the chair. “Make sure you explain what you’re doing so I can make it work later.”
I sit at her desk and punch some keys to see what it can do.
She cranes her neck over my shoulder toward the screen. Her glasses are as thick as the polar ice caps. “I can’t see from here. What’s happening now?”
“I’m, uh, checking your infarcation decryptor. It looks like it’s pretty old for such a new computer.”
While Mrs. Belfry frets over her outdated IF decryptor, I type the most important question I can think of into the search bar.
Now that I have the key to all knowledge in the history of human existe
nce, there’s one question I need answered: “League of Honor finale release date?”
In less than a second I’ve got it. The greatest day of my life so far is going to be June 20, one week after school lets out for the summer.
“Yes!”
She wrings her hands. “Is it okay after all?”
For a second I forgot she was there. “Oh, yeah, it’s good. But we need to reboot your flux capacitor.”
“Will that take long?”
“Couple minutes,” I say.
Mr. Mayer usually checks in every fifteen minutes or so to make sure I’m not having any fun. If I intend to have some, I need to do it quickly.
“This is all beyond me.” She flicks her wrist at the laptop. “I’m going to go make some tea while you finish fixing the—humph.”
I feel a little bad about tricking a nice old lady, but the feeling is outweighed by the sheer glee of having unsupervised access to a computer. I close the browser and scan the home screen.
An icon in the upper left-hand corner jumps out at me.
Administration.
Could it really be this simple? If this is what I think it is, and Mrs. Belfry is the only gatekeeper, I may jump right past infamous and move directly to legendary.
With a trembling finger I double-click the mouse. A box appears asking for my user ID and password.
I fumble around the desk for something with her full name on it. Finally I spot a plaque on the wall.
LIBRARIAN OF THE YEAR, 1958: IRMA BELFRY.
I type “IrmaBelfry” into the user ID line and then try to guess what her password might be. I type all the prehistoric librarian things I can think of: “books,” “bingo,” “soup.” None of them work. What else could she possibly be into? I scan her office for a clue.
I don’t have to look long. On the front of her desk is a gold frame with a picture of the fattest cat I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a little cat tuxedo complete with a top hat, and a cane is taped awkwardly to his paw. I’m pretty sure this is some sort of animal abuse.
“Mrs. Belfry?”
A moment later she appears in the doorway.
“Is everything all right?”
“I think so. You might want to stay back a few feet in case there’s a flatumonium leak, though.”
She backs up to a safe distance and wrings her hands some more.
I point at the picture. “I was just wondering, what’s your cat’s name?”
Her face lights up. “Oooh, isn’t Mr. Darcy handsome?”
I fight back a smirk and type “MrDarcy” into the password box and click enter.
“He certain—” The screen goes blank for a second, then comes back up. What I see makes my eyes bulge.
Mrs. Belfry retreats slightly behind the door. “Why don’t you call me when you’re done.” She scurries off.
All I can do is nod dumbly as I read the screen. What I have in front of me is the equivalent of winning the lottery. I’m looking at the faculty administration page, the control center for every grade, report, and record of every student in the school.
I’m in.
I find the search box and type in a name, and a few seconds later I’m looking at the permanent records of one of Alanmoore’s students. I rub my hands together and giggle at my good fortune.
“Hello, Mr. Norris.” I scroll down the page, scanning every grade he’s ever gotten at Alanmoore. “Let’s see what you’ve been up to since fifth grade.”
For the last fifteen minutes of detention I tutor Mrs. Belfry on computer basics. She’s almost mastered pressing the on button when my one-hour sentence is over. I’d probably have more luck teaching a turtle to defuse a nuclear bomb, but I feel guilty for abusing her trust, so it’s the least I can do. Besides, if she gets fired, I’m out a computer.
When I finally breathe the sweet air of freedom again at three thirty, I can’t wait to tell Moby the news about the computer. He isn’t outside the window anymore, so I check all the bathrooms and the spot behind the Dumpsters. It isn’t one of his usual bathroom times—the next one isn’t until three forty-five—but sometimes he will vanish into thin air if he gets nervous. There were probably some kids around he wanted to avoid.
He always shows up in time for the movie, so I walk the three blocks over to the Clairemont alone. My parents are pretty protective, but they let me walk a few blocks on my own as long as I’m going to Moby’s, the shop, or the Clairemont.
Jarek lets me in the back door. I try not to think about the place being haunted as he leads me across the old stage behind the movie screens, and down the maintenance corridor to the front of the building.
“Moby got here a few minutes ago,” he says.
“He did? What’s he doing?”
Jarek looks at me like it’s the dumbest question ever.
“Oh, right. I’ll wait for him in the theater.”
“Ya, I’ll bring him up. You are late; you up to something today?”
“There’ve been some developments we need to deal with,” I admit.
We stop in the lobby. My cousin appears to ponder this. “I hear Archer Norris is new track team captain. Is this why?”
“How do you even know about that?”
“Moby told me.”
I grumble.
“Why you mess with that kid? What he ever do to you?” Jarek asks.
My hand instinctively goes to my head, and I stuff it back into my pocket. “Sometimes you have to do what you have to do,” I say.
He thinks about this for a second. “Well, just remember, the same goes for parents, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, even though I think I already know.
“I know Uncle Kasmir. If he thinks you are misbehaving, he’ll do what he has to do to stop it.”
He’s right. My dad won’t hesitate to send me to Poland for a summer of hard labor on my uncle’s potato farm if I give him a reason to. But some things are important enough to take the risk. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
“Dobry,” he says, which means “good” in Polish. “I send your friend up when he gets done.”
I thank him and cut across the lobby toward the winding staircase that leads to the small theater where we have our sneak previews. Legend has it a gangster and his girlfriend died in a shoot-out in the stairwell back in the 1920s. Supposedly, if you touch the spot on the wall where the bullet holes used to be, the ghosts will appear to you during your movie. I never get close enough to use the handrail, let alone accidentally brush the wall. The building itself is creepy enough without having to worry about ghosts.
There are only twenty seats in the upstairs theater, and I take the one in the very center, where the sound is the best. I unpack the bag of snacks my mom prepared for me and Moby and arrange them on the seat next to me in order of sweetness, so that we can eat them in the proper sequence without having to look away from the screen. I’m folding up the paper bag when the curtain at the back of the theater parts and Jarek appears.
“Your friend is here,” he says, and then winks.
What was that all about? A moment later it becomes clear as Shelby Larkin steps through the curtain behind him. She looks around the little theater like she just woke up in Oz or something.
I’m so stunned to see her in my sanctuary, I don’t know what to say.
Jarek starts to back out of the room. “Moby will be up in a minute. He’s still . . . busy.” Before he disappears through the curtain, he shoots me another wink, because I guess that’s what you do when you totally betray someone.
Shelby and I size each other up in silence for a moment, then she walks down the steps to the row in front of where I’m sitting. She stands defiantly, blocking the screen.
“Maciek,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Shelby.”
“I’ve always wondered where you two disappeared to.”
“It used to be a secret,” I say. “How’d you get in here?”
“My friend Jarek l
et me in.” I’ve managed to keep our screenings Shelby-free, despite her persistence, and now my own cousin walks her right through the front door.
“And why would he do that?”
“I told him I was meeting you here to help you.”
I’m about to ask her what exactly she thinks I need her help with when the curtain thrashes behind me and Moby bursts into the theater.
“I wish I knew why some of them float and some sink . . . ,” he begins. Then he sees Shelby and freezes like a deer trying to stay invisible to a hunter.
“Hello, Levi,” she says.
Moby never moves a muscle but flicks his eyes toward me with a desperate look. He gets nervous around people he doesn’t know very well, and it’s even worse around girls.
“It’s all right, Moby.”
He walks the long way around to the other side of the row and sits next to me, never once taking his gaze off Shelby.
Moby leans in and whispers in my ear loudly enough to be heard over a chain saw. “Ask her what she wants!”
Shelby folds her arms over her chest. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to join the Cadre of Evil.”
Moby and I look at each other and snicker. “What the heck is the Cadre of Evil?”
Shelby looks a little bit embarrassed, but she keeps her chin high. “I’m not sure what you call your organization, but I want in.”
“First of all, there is no organization, it’s me and Moby and that’s all. Second, we are not looking for new members, and there’s nothing you can say that will change that.”
Shelby raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
I lean back in my chair and touch my fingertips together. “Really.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a large brown envelope. “So I guess you wouldn’t be interested in some embarrassing baby pictures of one Mr. Archer Norris.”
Moby tugs on my arm. “Chub!” he whisper-yells at me.
I cut him off. The last thing I want to do is show Shelby how much I might want to look at those pictures. But there’s a part of my brain that plans our pranks, and the pictures have switched it on. I’ve been searching for a way to humiliate the Arch so badly during his election speech that nobody will vote for him. If the pictures really are embarrassing, and I can project them on the wall of the gym during the Arch’s speech, it could be perfect.
I Am Fartacus Page 4
