Under Locker and Key

by Allison K. Hymas

  “The window,” I whispered. It was the only way out. I just hoped I’d be able to open one without anyone seeing.

  Carefully, I peeked out and looked in the hall. No one, but I could hear footsteps. I needed to act fast. I peeled the tape off the door and let it shut, locking me in. No one outside would be able to get in, which gave me a little time. Then I sprinted back across the room, leaping over the occasional chair. After climbing on a cabinet, I examined the window. Aha. Locked, but with a simple latch, and the window was big enough for someone my size to climb through. Nothing stopped me from getting out, not even a screen behind the glass. The best part was that this school is only one story high, and the drop would only be a couple feet. Also, the window faced away from the parking lot where everyone waited for the “drill” to end, so no one would see me leave the school.

  I popped the latch up and pushed the window as high as I could get it to go. The window would be unlatched when teacher and class came back in, but no one would notice. In one simple maneuver I slid out the window and into the sweet freedom of the June outdoors. As I fell, I kept my hold on the lower edge of the window, reversing my fingers to the outside so I wouldn’t get them caught. My weight, falling to the ground, shut the window. I was out.

  I realized I was gasping for air. That had been close. Scary, but if I was being honest, I loved the surge of adrenaline that was coursing through me now. Post-job rush: better than a looping steel roller coaster mixed with an epic game of capture the flag. But I wasn’t done yet—I had to find the other sixth graders and get my name counted. It’s a good thing our school has a designated meeting place for the different grades.

  I snuck over to the parking lot beside the running track and joined the seething mass of kids, all spreading rumors about whether there was a fire and how it started.

  “There’s no fire,” a guy scoffed. “This is just another stupid drill.”

  “If it’s a drill, then why are the firefighters here?” another guy asked, pointing.

  I looked. Yep, there was the big red fire truck, pulling into the school parking lot. Perfect timing. Would Becca notice the firefighters and wonder what they were doing at a drill? Yes, she would. And she’d be suspicious, very suspicious. I’d have to perfect my story before I talked to her next. I’m just as surprised as you; I searched the bag and then the alarm rang. . . .

  I pushed through the crowd until I found the cafeteria monitor, the teacher in charge of the sign-out sheet and counting students in case of an emergency. He wasn’t hard to find; he was looking at a clipboard with a worried look on his face. “Excuse me,” I said. “I think you missed me. My name is Jeremy Wilderson.”

  The teacher scanned his list, and his face softened with relief. “Yes. Did you hear me call your name?”

  All innocence, I said. “No, I guess not. It’s so loud out here, and I was kind of far away.”

  He frowned at me. “Make sure you listen better next time.”

  I nodded and the teacher checked off my name. Then he pulled out a walkie-talkie and walked away, saying, “We found him. He was out here the whole time.”

  I’d gotten out before the teachers had time to really worry. That was a plus, at least. The job was finished, but the rush was gone and I felt sick. Pulling the fire alarm had been cool, but the consequences for doing it went beyond my usual danger level, and I worried someone would realize what I’d done. I searched the crowd for Case and Hack and found them sitting on a curb. They were talking, stealing glances my way every other second.

  Great. They were already upset that I wasn’t telling them about my involvement in this crime wave, and on top of that they saw me leave for something mysterious right before the fire alarm got pulled. They knew it was me; they were too smart not to. They’d have so many questions I couldn’t answer, and they’d trust me even less. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wondered if I really was the locker thief. I had to fix that . . . if I still could.

  Not to mention what Becca must be thinking about me after that lucky fire drill we just had. I had to talk to her and smooth things over before she figured out what I’d done, took my actions as “going rogue,” and turned me in. I wandered through the crowd, looking for her, while the firemen searched the school and declared it fire-free. As the teacher gathered us together to lead us back inside, I had to admit the obvious.

  Becca wasn’t there.

  AS THE TEACHERS HERDED US back into the cafeteria, Tate brushed up next to me and left a slip of paper in my hand. Without looking, I shoved it in my pocket. Cricket did the same not long later.

  I had a hard time keeping my breathing steady and my hands from sweating all over the slips of paper in my pocket. I was nervous, especially when I got to the cafeteria and saw that Becca didn’t show up with the rest of our class. Where was she? How could she leave me hanging in the middle of a job?

  Had she known I was going to pull the alarm? Was she at that moment turning me in? I didn’t know. As much as I hated to admit it, Becca was very, very smart. She must have noticed something amiss.

  The whole plan had almost gone sour for me because I’d forgotten one piece of information about how teachers worked, but Becca wasn’t one to forget that kind of thing. Was that her plan? Let me get caught by teachers she knew would be looking for me? I knew she wanted the key returned to the school safely, but I also knew her well enough to trust that she’d work a gambit of her own in which I got the desk next to Mark’s in detention, if she could.

  But that only made my next job all the more urgent. If Becca and her wonderful teachers were on their way to haul me off to detention and maybe worse, I had to find Mark’s stash and find Case’s and Hack’s things immediately. Time to store away all the anxiety and get back to work.

  Lunch ended and gym was next, giving me a perfect window. On my way to the boys’ locker room, I slid Tate’s and Cricket’s notes out. I’d asked them, in the notes I’d written after fighting with Case and Hack, to tail Mark and see if he was ever somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. A closet or locker or room.

  On that subject Tate said, He went into the band room between classes second and third period. He’s not a musician. You owe me.

  Okay, and Cricket: I saw him loitering around the music rooms around second period. He told me to get lost when he saw me. Aren’t music classes generally second and third period?

  “Thanks, guys,” I whispered. One tail’s word isn’t perfect, but when you have two or more, you have a place to start, and time was of the essence. I tore up both notes and threw the pieces away. Now to get out of gym class. Easy: Mark was my free pass.

  Working myself up by breathing hard, I went to Coach Cread. “Coach,” I said, “the locker thief stole my gym uniform. I know it was right there, in my locker, but now it’s gone. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have locked it up better—”

  Coach Cread doesn’t handle hysteria well. He raised a hand. “Calm down, Jeremy. Show me.”

  I took Coach Cread to my locker, which was empty. I’d hidden my uniform under the bag in the trash can.

  Coach, upon seeing the empty locker, sighed. “You can wear your regular clothes today.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I bit my lip. “Is it okay if I go tell my mom? She’d want to know.”

  “She’s probably teaching right now.”

  “She won’t mind. She told me to let her know if anything of mine got stolen.” I paused, acting deep in thought. “You know, I should call my dad, too. Please?”

  Coach rolled his eyes. Good thing I’m an athlete; he wouldn’t think I was trying to ditch class because I hated gym. “Go ahead. But be quick. We’re playing knockout today.”

  “Great game! I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I raced out of the locker room and took out my fake hall pass, just in case I got stopped. Now, on to the band room.

  My skin prickled as I walked through the hallways back to the bathroom where my bag was hidden. What if Becca saw me? I was out of
class without real cause after phase two was over. She’d wonder. One glance and she’d take me down. Case and Hack might never get their things back.

  Why did I care, after they’d been such jerks? Let them lose their stuff! They’d see why having a retrieval specialist for a friend was so great, no matter what I decided to tell them. But I kept walking. I might consider it, but actually not helping Case and Hack was physically impossible.

  Using a toilet to help me reach the stall’s wall, I hoisted myself up and retrieved my bag. I left the books in the ceiling. The bag I took with me.

  The halls of Scottsville Middle echoed with my footsteps. As nice as an empty hallway is, it makes me as obvious as a cockroach in vanilla ice cream to anyone looking. I moved quickly and quietly, my heartbeat like a timpani drum in my ears. I wondered if Mark was hiding his stash in the band room’s timpani. It’s big enough.

  During fifth period, the band room was empty of students, though not of loose sheets of music that littered the room, interspersed with puddles of spit near the back rows of chairs. Gone was the bustle from when I’d returned Carrie’s Hello Kitty wallet. I felt exposed in the open room; Becca just had to walk past, and I’d take the rap for the key theft.

  “Where to start?” I muttered. The band room didn’t have many crannies, but it did have a lot of cabinets. This could take all day, and I wasn’t 100 percent sure Mark had stashed anything here. Tate and Cricket could have been wrong.

  But standing around wouldn’t get me anywhere. Looking up, I was relieved to see that the ceiling was too far up to use as a storage shed. Besides, that was my trick, and a stash like Mark’s would be too heavy to keep that high. I wanted low and dark.

  So I went to the first wall of cabinets and opened them one by one, feeling around behind replacement reeds and stacks of sheet music for anything that didn’t belong. Nothing.

  I moved to the second wall, at the back of the room. Locked. All of them. I stepped back and thought. I could cross these off the list; if they were locked, Mark couldn’t get into them. But then again, I wasn’t sure how many things the master key could unlock. I should try them anyway. I pulled my lockpick set out and searched for the right size pick.

  The band room’s door opened. I dropped quickly to the floor, but there was nothing else I could do. I felt open, obvious. It was a matter of time before I was caught.

  “Here we are,” Mark said. “Why did you want to meet here, anyway?”

  Oh, my luck couldn’t get any worse.

  “It’s quiet.” Becca.

  I stand—I mean lie on the floor—corrected.

  I held my breath. I was at the back of the room, but I could see them both by the door, through the music stands and chair legs. If Becca looked across and down she’d see me. And she would. Most people, like the family from Case’s essay job, see what they expect to see. Not Becca. She sees what is really there. She’d notice me. I had to move, but how could I move without Becca seeing?

  A thick black tarp lay beside the xylophone. If only I had been over there when the door opened!

  “It may be a little too quiet.” Mark’s feet stopped, then took a step back.

  “No such thing. When a room’s this quiet, I can hear everything. Even people listening in.”

  Like me. I held my breath.

  “We have to be sure. Jeremy’s contacts are everywhere. I saw two of them watching me today. Why don’t we go to the office, or the library, where the teachers are?”

  Becca sat down in one of the black plastic chairs; its legs screeched against the floor. “If I wanted an audience for this part, I would have mentioned it to you when we were talking outside during the fire drill.”

  So that’s where she had been! That no-good, lying, traitorous gumshoe.

  “So, spill. I don’t want to get caught here,” Mark said.

  “I thought you had permission to miss English to talk to me.”

  “I do,” Mark said quickly. “But the band room’s kind of a nerdy place, don’t you think?”

  “Never thought about it.”

  I let my breath out in a thin, slow stream. I thought Becca heard, she was so quiet, but then she said, “Wilderson’s been targeting you, specifically.” Her voice, when she said my name, sounded unusually acidic.

  “Yeah. I think he went through my backpack.”

  “Seems like he feels threatened by you. You don’t, by any chance, know where he keeps his stash?”

  “His stash.” Mark leaned against a music stand, toppling it.

  As it crashed to the floor, I took the opportunity to roll toward the tarp. My backpack scratched against the linoleum.

  “What was that?” Becca asked. I huddled under the tarp, praying for instant invisibility.

  “I knocked over a stand,” Mark said.

  “I heard that. I heard something else, too.”

  “This room echoes. What, you think Jeremy is in here?”

  “He wouldn’t dare.” Becca’s voice was a poison dart. I shivered.

  “Maybe we should check.”

  Silence. “No. It must have been an echo.” I didn’t like the steely edge in Becca’s voice. I could see why she wouldn’t trap me with Mark there; it might clue him in to our game. But after he left, she’d search and find me. She wouldn’t stop until she did.

  I had to move. I had to get to a closet or out a window. Even under the tarp I was too exposed. If Becca changed perspective, she could see me. The door to the band’s locker room was open. That little room was full of cubbies and deep crannies. The ceiling even had a cracked tile that was easy to move and to see through. It was hiding-place heaven. But how could I get there? I lowered the edge of the tarp and watched Becca and Mark with one eye.

  Becca folded her arms. “So, do you have anything to tell me?”

  “About what?”

  “About Jeremy’s stash. He can’t leave campus during school, so when he steals—”

  “He has to hide it all in the school somewhere. I get it.” Mark sat down backward on a chair. “Why do you think I know?”

  Becca shrugged. “I’m covering my bases. Jeremy seems to be targeting you. First your locker, now your backpack . . . I think maybe you know something and he’s attacking you to silence you.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “You sure?” Becca’s voice had the kind of glee I always enjoyed hearing used on someone else. I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been about to get caught.

  An idea came to me. Moving a millimeter at a time, I reached down and slid off one shoe.

  Becca stood up. I took the noise she made as cover to slip the other shoe off. “It just seems odd that he would target you. You’re not in our grade, and as far as I know, you and Jeremy aren’t on any teams or in clubs together. Why you?”

  “How should I know how a thief’s mind works?”

  “You shouldn’t. So you’re telling me you don’t know where the stash is?”

  “No idea.”

  I could feel Becca smile. A smirk was not only audible but also tangible, then. Disturbing. “Thank you for your help. Let me know if you have anything else.” Becca waved at the door. “Go ahead and get out of this nerdy room.”

  Mark didn’t move. His eyes flicked to the back of the room. I froze—did he see me?—but his gaze swept back to Becca’s face. “You should get back too.”

  “I will. But after you.” Becca led Mark to the door.

  “You’ll be late for class.”

  “I’ve got a free pass for the whole period. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to check out that sound I heard.”

  “Let me help.”

  “Who’s the detective here? Go. It will only take a minute.”

  He protested, but it’s hard to argue with a tiny monster like Becca. When he was gone, she strode to the xylophone tarp and yanked it up.

  But I was gone. While she and Mark had debated about who should leave first, I’d stayed low and moved fast, carrying my shoes in my
hand. My socks had muffled the sound of my footsteps. Their distraction had been enough to let me get to the band locker room door, which was open.

  Becca narrowed her eyes and looked around. I crouched in the shadow of the locker room door, nestled between the door and the small instrument cubbies. The floor was cold and a little wet under my socks. Spit. Great.

  The band room door opened again, and Becca dropped to the floor. Behind the tarp. Her turn to sweat and hide. So there was justice in the world after all.

  Mark stepped inside. How did I know it was him when I couldn’t see? He’d been uneasy in the band room because it was where his stash was. Becca had probably taken him there just to watch him squirm. She was looking for the stash too and had used his guilt as a giveaway. Mark, on edge, had come back to make sure his stash was undisturbed.

  His footsteps stopped, and then he walked into the locker room. I squeezed against the wall, deeper into the shadows, as Mark walked closer and closer.

  If I slipped out, Becca would catch me. But if Mark got any closer, he’d catch me. I held my breath, hoping for a miracle.

  To my amazement, Mark stopped. He stood beside a large cubby meant for tubas or something. He reached in, pulled back, smiled, and left. I heard the band room door close as he made his exit.

  So that was where the stash was. Perfect.

  I peered through the crack between the door and frame. Becca stood up. Not wasting a second and using the cubbies as a ladder, I climbed up to the ceiling. I pushed aside the cracked tile to reveal the large pipe above it. I tested its strength with a sharp pull. It held. With the grace of an acrobat, I grabbed the pipe and hoisted myself up, wrapping my legs around the pipe. I hung there like a sloth, moving only to slide the tile back into place.

  Through the crack I could see everything. Becca entered through the locker room door and looked around.

  “Come out, Wilderson.”

  Like that was going to happen. I hugged the pipe tighter. I’d found this hiding space when I’d returned a lost bottle of slide oil, but this was my first time trying it out. Good thing the pipe wasn’t scalding hot; some were.