“So that’s how he got him to drop out!” Jackson slammed his locker shut. “I’ll catch you later.”
Jackson wove through the hallway toward Charlie’s locker. He arrived just as Charlie was spinning his combination.
“Remember what I was telling you about Megan Feldman’s mystery boyfriend and Ultimate Fantasy IV?” Jackson asked, leaning against the row of battered metal lockers. “It’s Stewart. He has UF IV.”
Charlie opened his locker and began to remove books from his book bag.
“Quite a coincidence, huh?” Jackson continued. “Stewart gets his hands on the hottest game around, right at the same time he drops out of the presidential race.”
Charlie pulled what looked to be a smashed sandwich from the bottom of his bag.
“That means you were right.” He nudged Charlie. “Keith is up to something.”
Charlie sniffed the sandwich, then stuck it on the top of his Algebra book.
“Charlie?”
Charlie paused, his hand on the locker door.
“Okay,” Jackson said. “I’m sorry.”
“And …”
“I’m sorry and you were right.”
“You’re sorry and I was right and I’m a genius and you owe me ten dollars.”
“Don’t push it.”
Charlie smiled. “I heard about Stewart last night. Figured Hashemi would fill you in today.” He closed his locker. “Come to the library after school. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
That afternoon, Jackson sat down with Charlie at the same table he and Gaby had shared yesterday. A wiry boy took the seat across from them. Jackson assumed the boy was in sixth grade, but he looked no older than ten. Paint flecks spotted his polo, and his fingernails were caked with dried red clay.
“You’re a member of the Art Geeks?” Jackson asked.
The boy’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess.” Jackson reached across the table. “I’m Jackson —”
“I know exactly who you are,” the boy said as he clamped onto Jackson’s hand. “I heard all about how you hacked into the computer system last year and scheduled a four-hour lunch for everyone —”
“Allegedly,” Jackson said.
“And how you stole the goat mascot from Riggins Middle School and sold it on eBay —”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that act.”
“And then there was the Mid-Day PDA. Who else would have the guts to kiss a Mona Lisa like Keith Sinclair’s girlfriend?”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Jackson said, pulling his hand free from the boy’s grip. “And it was just a peck.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Jackson loosened his tie. “You’re in sixth grade, right? How did you even hear about that stuff?”
“Are you kidding? There are whole websites dedicated to the Infamous Jackson Greene.”
The Infamous Jackson Greene. Jackson cut his eyes at Charlie. “Really?”
“Don’t look at me,” Charlie said. “Phoebe handles the web content for the Herald.”
Jackson leaned back in his chair. “Since you know so much about me, can you at least tell me your name?”
“Oh. I’m Bradley Boardman.”
“Bradley’s the fourth period guidance office helper. He also helps out in the main office.” Charlie looked at Bradley. “Why don’t you tell Jackson what you overheard last week?”
“I was doing some filing, minding my own business, when Keith’s dad entered the office. He and Keith look alike, you know. Like both of them should be king of the world.” Bradley began to pick at his fingernails. “Then Dr. Kelsey asked me to get Keith. When I returned, they disappeared into Dr. Kelsey’s office. Then the office ladies left for lunch.”
“So you were alone?” Charlie asked.
Bradley nodded. “I went to the front desk and continued my filing. A few seconds later — after the air conditioner switched off — I heard voices coming through the vent above me.”
Jackson wanted to hear more about the vent — how wide it was, what the vent plate screws looked like, how easy it would be for someone to climb through — but he pushed those thoughts aside. “What did they say?” he asked, pulling out his notebook and pencil.
“I didn’t catch all of it. Something about putting Keith in the election even though the deadline had passed.”
Jackson scribbled in his notebook. “Anything else?”
“Keith’s dad said something about donating something to the school. Money, I think. Then Dr. Kelsey said something about winning no matter what.” Bradley shrugged. “But I could be wrong about that last thing. The AC had just powered back on.”
Charlie tapped the table. “Thanks, Bradley. That’s all we need for now.”
Bradley smiled as he slipped out of his chair. “It was nice to meet you, Jackson.”
Still scribbling in his notebook, Jackson nodded in Bradley’s direction. After Bradley left the library, he said, “That was good intel. I can’t believe you didn’t offer to pay him.”
“I stopped him from ordering the chicken enchiladas the other day. He owes me.”
“Sounds like a fair trade,” Jackson said. “Can we trust him?”
“I think so,” Charlie replied. “I don’t have any reason to suspect he’s lying.”
Jackson rolled his pencil between his fingers as he stared at his notebook. “This is major, Charlie. If Kelsey really took a bribe to put Keith in the election, he could get into some serious trouble. Like, fired.” He shrugged. “Too bad we don’t have any proof.”
“What about the bribe?”
“It’ll look like a donation to the school.” Jackson scratched through a few lines in his notebook. “There’s one other possibility. Kelsey might not be in on this.”
Charlie snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“According to Mr. Pritchard, Kelsey has the right to allow someone else to run if there’s only one candidate,” Jackson said. “He might not know that Keith bribed Stewart to drop out. And as crazy as it sounds, Mr. Sinclair’s donation could be just that — an ill-timed donation.”
“But Bradley said he heard Kelsey promise Keith a victory — no matter what.”
“He heard something like that. Kelsey could have just been pumping Keith up, telling him that he could win no matter what type of campaign Gaby ran.”
“Come on,” Charlie muttered. “You can’t believe that.”
“No, but I can’t disprove it either.”
Charlie ran his fingers through his hair. “So now what?”
“While I want to believe Bradley, I need to find out for myself,” Jackson said. “I have my weekly meeting with Dr. Kelsey tomorrow. I’ll know once I talk to him.”
He glanced at the wall. Keith had plastered huge, professionally made vinyl banners all over the school, telling students how great he was and why he should be president. They easily dwarfed all the other campaign posters.
Jackson sighed. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need to talk to Keith.”
The next morning, as soon as Jackson entered the school, he headed toward Keith’s usual hangout. Keith didn’t look surprised to see him. “No sidekick today?” he asked. “Or did Speedy Gonzales finally grow a brain and figure out that he shouldn’t cross me?”
Jackson balled his hands into fists. Even though he and Keith were about the same size, he could tell that Keith was puffing up his chest to look bigger. “That’s not funny.”
“Can’t you take a joke?”
“You see me laughing?”
Keith picked up his book bag. “Come on. Too many ears around here. I think the doors to the science wing are unlocked.”
Jackson hesitated before falling into step behind Keith. “FYI — Speedy Gonzales is Mexican, not Puerto Rican.”
Keith kept walking, content to respond to Jackson with silence. As they crossed the atrium, Keith noticed a few of his classmates whispering as they passed. He wondered if they we
re talking about the Mid-Day PDA, or the Blitz at the Fitz, or the Shakedown at —
Idiot! Even he was using those stupid nicknames. Jackson Greene ruined everything, even his private thoughts.
But now, finally, he had one-upped Jackson. He had won. He had proven that he was a Sinclair after all.
Then he sneezed.
They entered the science wing and stopped outside of an empty classroom. Jackson brushed a petal from his jacket. “Allergies?”
Keith’s eyes were starting to tear up, but he didn’t want to draw attention to it. “It’s not a good idea to annoy the next Student Council president, especially when I can destroy that garden of yours.”
“How do you even have time to be president? I figured you’d be too busy buying off the competition with Ultimate Fantasy IV.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be begging me to keep your garden funded?” Keith asked. “Or are you here to ask me to go easy on your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Keith leaned against the wall. “And from the way it sounds, she never will be.”
Jackson twirled his pencil between his fingers, taking in Keith’s haughty smile and monogrammed shirt. “Why in the world do you want to be Student Council president? Did you suddenly develop a case of school spirit? Isn’t it enough to be a starter on the basketball team and the —” He stopped twirling. “What’s the name of that fancy boarding school your brother attends?”
“The Winstead Academy. Ever heard of it?”
Jackson nodded. It was one of the many private schools his mother had threatened to ship him off to.
“Three generations of Sinclair men have attended the school,” Keith said. “But they won’t let just anyone in, even if you’re a legacy student. You have to have impeccable grades, hundreds of hours of community service, and outstanding extracurricular activities. I’ve got basketball and debate and the Gamer Club on my résumé, but in order to seal the deal, I need to hold a position that shows leadership and responsibility and crap like that. And nothing looks better on an application than Student Council president.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this just to get into some snobby high school.”
“It’s not snobby. It’s prestigious. And that’s not the only reason I want to be president,” Keith said with a smirk. “I promised the Gamer Club new AV equipment.” He pushed himself off the wall. “I know who won’t get any money — stupid Botany Clubs that plant stupid flowers that cause half the allergies in this school. The same with the Tech Club — wasting all that money on useless equipment.”
“But how are they — we — supposed to get money?”
“Haven’t you heard of bake sales?”
“If you want to be mad at me, fine. But don’t take this out on the clubs. And don’t take it out on Gaby.”
“Look on the bright side — you can always join the Gamer Club.” Keith checked the time on his phone. “I have to go. Got a lot of planning to do between now and the election. Have to get my acceptance speech — I mean, campaign speech — ready.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I would tell you to call my cell if you wanted to discuss this more, but I almost forgot — you aren’t allowed to carry one.”
Jackson entered the main office and headed to his usual seat, directly across from Dr. Kelsey’s office. Unlike the main windows, which were one-way glass, the small windowpane in the principal’s door was clear. Jackson could see Dr. Kelsey working at his desk. He figured he had at least fifteen minutes until Dr. Kelsey was ready for him. Keeping him waiting was one of Kelsey’s “intimidation tactics.”
So far, Jackson hadn’t been intimidated.
He settled into his seat and balanced his book bag on his knees. Ms. Caroline Appleton — officially the school’s senior administrative assistant, but old enough to remember when it was okay to be called a secretary — peered at Jackson over the rim of her glasses. “Are you here for your weekly meeting, or are you in trouble?” she asked. “Boys like you are always up to one thing or another.”
Jackson looked at his skinny brown hands. He never quite knew what Ms. Appleton meant when she said “boys like you.” He hoped she meant something like “boys named Jackson” or “boys who are tall,” but he suspected her generalizations implied something else.
Mrs. Alicia Goldman, the other administrative assistant, turned down the volume on the small radio at her desk. “Hon, I’m sure he’ll be ready for you any minute now. Want a piece of candy?”
“No, thank you.” Jackson would have had a mouth full of cavities if he accepted candy from Mrs. Goldman every time he stepped inside the office.
She returned the butterscotch to the candy bowl before looking intently at the radio. Jackson saw that she was holding her breath as the song ended. The station cut to a commercial, and Mrs. Goldman lowered the volume even more.
“You won’t win,” Ms. Appleton said. “They never give those tickets to real people.”
“Don’t be so negative. There’s still a chance. They haven’t announced the winner yet.” Mrs. Goldman eyed Jackson. “Do you know anyone with tickets to the Sk8tr Boiz concert? They were all sold out before I could buy them.”
Jackson shook his head. The idea of Mrs. Goldman being a Sk8tr Boiz fan weirded him out. He figured someone like her — someone in her thirties — would like boring music, like smooth jazz.
The main door opened, and Marcelo Calderon walked in. As he handed Ms. Appleton a note, Jackson noticed that his eyes were puffy and his skin looked red.
“Sick, huh? Sure you’re not faking it?” Ms. Appleton asked.
Marcelo shook his head. “My mom’s coming to pick me up, but she can’t get off until two. And the nurse had another patient, so she sent me here.”
“So you can sit in here, getting everyone else sick? Great.” She folded the note and slipped it into her cardigan pocket. “Can’t one of your sisters or brothers pick you up? Or what about one of your cousins?”
“I’m an only child.”
“Wasn’t it you that had a whole boatload of people in here last week?”
No, Jackson thought. That was Manuel Saenz. Of course, at the time, Ms. Appleton had confused Manuel with someone else as well.
Jackson returned to staring at Dr. Kelsey’s door. Actually, it wasn’t the door that demanded his attention. Rather, the shiny, circular lock over the handle captured his gaze.
Jackson had heard about the Guttenbabel 4200 and its supposed unbreakability, but he hadn’t encountered one until the day he and Katie Accord tried to break into Dr. Kelsey’s office. The principal had confiscated Katie’s cell phone, and Jackson had promised to get it back for her — for a small favor. “Piece of cake,” he’d said.
Then he met the Guttenbabel.
He poked, pried, jimmied, shimmied, swore at, and shook the lock, using every trick he knew and a couple he made up. Nothing worked. He was still trying to crack it when he saw Dr. Kelsey, Keith, and a couple of Keith’s minions approaching the main office door.
As Jackson looked at Katie, he realized Keith probably squealed to get even with both of them. Katie had dumped Keith two weeks earlier, the day after the Blitz at the Fitz. The day after he had tried to blame the blowout on her.
Just like that, Jackson knew how to one-up Keith.
So he kissed her. Or rather, he lightly brushed his lips against hers.
And Keith’s face crumbled like a month-old cookie.
In the hour or two that followed, Jackson had actually been proud of himself. He hadn’t been able to retrieve Katie’s phone, but he had still won. Katie even offered to uphold her end of their deal — she had enjoyed the look on Keith’s face as much as Jackson had. Sure, he’d lost a few privileges, but it could have been a lot worse. He hadn’t lost anything really important.
And that’s when Gaby stopped talking to him.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Kelsey cracked open his door. “I’m ready for you, Mr. Greene.”
Jackson entered the small office and slipped into the worn seat in front of the desk. His file sat in the middle of the desk’s otherwise empty surface, as it always did when he and Kelsey met.
Dr. Kelsey settled into his chair, folded his hands together, and stared at Jackson. Dr. Kelsey had seen enough television shows to know all about police intimidation tactics. Barricading himself in a room with a “suspect” made the guilty party feel that there was no way out. No escape. It caused them to say things that they normally wouldn’t say. Although it hadn’t yet worked with Jackson Greene, Dr. Kelsey always noticed how Jackson twisted in his chair and watched the door. He assumed it unnerved Jackson at least slightly, being in a room with an imposing authority figure such as himself.
“I talked to Mr. James this morning. He said you’ve been showing up earlier than usual this week.” Dr. Kelsey usually found the security guard useless, but at least he had the common sense to note the comings and goings of Jackson Greene. “Anything you want to tell me?”
Jackson suppressed a groan. It was always the same routine. Kelsey spent ten minutes accusing Jackson of anything and everything that happened in the school over the past week. Then he sent Jackson to study hall, but not before waving the threat of expulsion in front of his nose.
Jackson usually spent most of the meeting wishing he was anywhere else. But today …
“Actually, yeah, I have something I’d like to talk about.” He leaned forward. “What if I told you that a student involved with the election had violated the Honor Code?”
Dr. Kelsey arched one of his eyebrows. “Are you the student in question?”
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t want to say anything more, but if you look closely, you might notice a few weird coincidences in the timing — who’s gotten in and who quit.” Even though he wanted Kelsey to investigate the Student Council elections, he didn’t want to explicitly name Keith or Stewart or anyone else. Rule Number Four: Never rat. No matter what.
Dr. Kelsey flashed Jackson a toothy grin. “I know exactly what you’re referring to,” he said. “Keith gave a friend a gift, and on a totally unrelated note, this friend dropped out of the Student Council elections.” He smoothed the few remaining hairs on his head. “The Sinclairs have always been charitable people. Why, Roderick Sinclair was in here just the other week, asking what the school needed, and I mentioned the new Umiliani espresso machine….”
The Great Greene Heist Page 4
