To Catch a Cheat

by Varian Johnson

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Kelsey found one at the scene. It may not be Charlie’s, but it sure looked like it. It even held this expensive-looking notebook with what looked like my handwriting.”

  Gaby grabbed Jackson’s hand. “There was a notebook?”

  “Yeah. Leather, with my initials stenciled on the front.”

  “Red leather? With gold stenciling?”

  Jackson nodded.

  “That thief!” She tightened her grip around Jackson’s fingers. “That was part of your Christmas gift — it was supposed to go with the tie I bought you. I lost it a few weeks ago, and thought I’d misplaced it in my room. I figured I’d give it to you for your birthday next month.” Gaby looked down at their hands pressed together and quickly returned hers to her pockets. “Sorry. I didn’t mean …”

  “No, it’s okay,” Jackson said, flexing his fingers. “But now I’m wondering if I need to upgrade your birthday present.” Hers was in two weeks, on the Monday after the American history exam. He hadn’t even thought about Charlie’s gift yet.

  “You just found out that Charlie stole your gift — a gift that somehow ended up at the scene of a crime — and you’re worried about my birthday present?”

  Jackson pictured the Ruth Bader Ginsburg Chia Pet hidden underneath his bed. “Believe me, if you knew what I bought you, you’d want me to upgrade.”

  She let out a long stream of air. “Boys …”

  “Do me a favor,” Jackson said. “Don’t talk to Charlie about the notebook yet. I want to check a few sources first.” He paused while a few students passed. “Hash and Megan will be tied up in Tech Club for another couple of hours. That’ll give me plenty of time to scope out Hash’s shed. If they’ve been up to something, I’ll find answers there.”

  Gaby crossed her arms. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to break into his shed.”

  “Well, it’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

  “But you promised Hashemi that you’d stop,” Gaby said. “You promised me.”

  Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “How else am I supposed to figure out what’s going on?”

  “You could open that mouth of yours and talk to them. They’re your friends after all.”

  “Tell that to your brother.”

  “What happened between you two?”

  “Nothing. He just seemed weird when I saw him earlier. Like he was angry at me.”

  Gaby hesitated, then said, “Dr. Kelsey tried to get Charlie to pin the prank on you. He promised that he’d go easy on Charlie — since, he said, there was no way Charlie could have pulled it off without you.”

  “Wow, that explains why he was so mad in the hallway.” Jackson shrugged. “Though Kelsey’s got a point.”

  “Jackson …”

  “We both know that planning jobs isn’t Charlie’s strength. Remember the last time he tried to run a job without me? He had diarrhea for a week.” Jackson pulled a small tin of mints from his pocket. “Want one? Only two left.”

  Gaby’s face reddened. As she took a mint, Jackson realized that he was sending the wrong message. He just needed an empty tin. He wasn’t trying to kiss Gaby.

  Well, technically, he wasn’t trying to kiss Gaby today. At school. In thirty-degree weather. After he’d eaten a chili-cheese hot dog for lunch.

  But then again … They were alone. Maybe …

  He shook his head. His brother’s Rules of Romance said that a first kiss was supposed to be romantic and memorable, and this situation was anything but.

  Jackson popped his mint into his mouth, then started talking again to fill the silence. “All I know is, it’s too much of a coincidence that neither Charlie nor I have alibis,” he said. “Eric Caan insisted we meet on Saturday night. Maybe it was all staged.” He sighed. “No, that’s crazy.”

  “And expensive,” Gaby said. “Who wants to lose a bunch of money and video games?” Her phone beeped in her back pocket. “Shoot. That’s probably Dad.” She pulled out her phone and pressed a few buttons. Then her hand flew to her mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it your parents?”

  “No. It’s a message.” She showed him the phone. “For you.”

  Megan pulled her coat closer to her body as she and Hashemi walked to his house. They hadn’t spoken since leaving the Tech Club meeting, but if they were going to have any hope of completing the RhinoBot in time for the Battle of the Robots competition, they’d have to come to an agreement soon.

  Or rather, they’d have to finally get something out of beta.

  She started to touch his arm to get his attention but pulled back at the last second. Megan knew Hashemi still had a bit of a crush on her, and she didn’t want to do anything to lead him on. She liked him a lot — he was the smartest guy she knew — but after the fiasco with Stewart Hogan at the beginning of the school year, she wasn’t in the mood for boys. Besides, she hadn’t quit cheerleading for romance.

  Megan waited until they reached the gate to his backyard before clearing her throat. “Hashemi,” she said. “I know you want to keep making improvements to the RhinoBot, but we’re running out of time. The competition is three weeks away.”

  “I know.” He knocked some snow off the gate, then opened it. “But you have to admit, adding a steel-plated pneumatic battering ram to its snout is a good idea. Much better than just a plain horn.”

  “How many times do we have to discuss this? The battery can’t handle it,” she said. “It can barely power a light bulb.”

  “You know, I’ve been reconsidering —”

  “No.”

  “But, Megan —”

  “You’re not going to build a battery from scratch again. The RhinoBot went haywire last time.” She followed him through the gate. “I lost half of my Christmas money thanks to you.”

  “I really am sorry about your mother’s china cabinet —”

  “And you fried the motor. And melted the motherboard.”

  He winced. “Yes, all true. But technically, the battery worked.”

  “For five minutes!” She shook her head. “The worst thing is, now we’re stuck working in the dungeon again.”

  “Home sweet home.” Hashemi readjusted his glasses. “Perhaps there’s a way to squeeze a little more juice out of the operating system.”

  “I’ve tried,” she said. She had built a custom Linux-based operating system just to eke out as much battery life as possible. “Though I might save a few amps by cutting those voice-operated commands you asked me to include….”

  “No, you’re correct. The OS is perfect as is.” He continued toward the back of the house. “Just give me two more days. I’m sure I can come up with something —”

  Hashemi stopped so abruptly, Megan almost collided with him. “What’s wrong?”

  She followed his gaze to the shed, where Jackson Greene sat on a milk crate outside the door.

  “I was wondering if you guys would ever show up,” Jackson said as he put away his notebook. “I’ve been here for ten minutes, and I’m starting to lose the feeling in my toes.”

  Hashemi took a deep breath. Charlie had already updated him and Megan on his conversation with Dr. Kelsey and warned them that Jackson might pay them a visit. But as long as they didn’t admit anything, they figured they’d be okay. Surely if they could design a rhinoceros-shaped robot with a battering ram (and questionable battery life), they could handle a brief conversation with Jackson Greene.

  Jackson rose from the crate. “The competition’s at the end of the month, right?”

  “Three weeks,” Megan said.

  “But we’ll be ready,” Hashemi added. “We just have a few final improvements to make. Tweaks, really.”

  Jackson laughed. “Good to know some things don’t change.” He straightened his tie. “Got a few minutes to talk?”

  Megan and Hashemi looked at each other. She shrugged, then said, “I’m surprised you didn’t pick the lock and wait inside the shed.”
r />   “I was tempted.” Jackson opened a small mint tin. Inside was a bed of gray clay imprinted with a key shape. “I broke into Hash’s locker at school and made a mold of the shed key.”

  Hashemi shook his head. “Jackson, you promised —”

  “Which is why I didn’t use it.” Jackson offered him the tin and a clear plastic key. “I really am retired. Mostly.”

  Hashemi weighed the key in the palm of his hand. “What is this made of? Silicone?”

  “It’s a high-strength epoxy polymer,” Jackson replied. “Dries faster than silicone. Twice as strong.”

  “Let me be clear: It was wrong for you to break into my locker — but this key is kind of cool.” Hashemi handed the key to Megan. “Do you know where we could get some of that polymer?” he asked Jackson. “Perhaps enough for a battering ram?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Megan said. She pushed past them and used the key to unlock the shed door. She flipped on a light switch, then groaned when nothing happened. “Hashemi …”

  “Sorry. Coming,” he said, rushing to the door. Once inside, he said, “Lights on, fifty percent. Heat, seventy percent.”

  The overhead floodlights and desk lamps slowly warmed to a dull yellow.

  “What?” Jackson spun around. “What’s happening?”

  “Please don’t get him started,” Megan said, shedding her coat. “If he spent half as much time working on the RhinoBot as he did on the MATE, we might actually have a functioning robot.”

  “And just what is a MATE?” Jackson asked.

  Hashemi opened his book bag and pulled out a thick gray tablet. “Meet the MATE — the Most Awesome Tablet Ever, Version Four. It’s the most technically astute and progressive tablet ever created.”

  “You’re already on version four?” Megan asked. “Where are the first three prototypes? How much are you spending on that project?”

  Hashemi nodded toward a stack of tablets on a bookshelf. “You can’t put a price on technological progress.”

  “Yeah, but I can put a price on a brand-new china cabinet.”

  “Whatever happened to the phone you were working on?” Jackson asked.

  “Why limit myself to five inches of screen on a smartphone when I can double that with a tablet?” He shrugged. “It’s not like anyone actually calls me, anyway.”

  Jackson glanced at a dimly lit desk lamp sitting in the middle of the table. “And it controls the lights?”

  “The lights, sound system, heat — it’s all automated, run through the MATE, and calibrated to my voice. It can even start a computer remotely,” Hashemi said. “I offered to authenticate Megan’s voice as well, but she passed.”

  “I’m not carrying around a tablet to turn on a set of lights — not when an old-fashioned switch works just as well.” She thumped his arm. “And how about you turn up the heat a bit more, Dungeon Master?”

  Hashemi knew that he and Megan were just friends, but his skin buzzed, just a little, when her finger hit his arm. “Heat, eighty percent,” he said.

  “How long has all this been up and running?” Jackson asked. “A few weeks?”

  Hashemi stopped smiling. “Two months.”

  “Oh.” Jackson sat down at a worktable. “I guess it has been a while since I’ve popped in.”

  “Yes, it has,” Hashemi said.

  Jackson peeled off his coat. “Okay, let’s just get to it. Are you guys going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

  Megan shifted her gaze. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t look to your right when you lie. It’s a dead giveaway,” he said. “Let’s try again. Where were you on Saturday night?”

  “We went to the movies with some of the guys from Tech Club.” Megan nudged Hashemi. “Right?”

  Hashemi swallowed hard. He could already feel the sweat on his forehead. “Yes.”

  “That’s interesting,” Jackson said. “I emailed Keno before heading over here. According to him, you two never showed up at the theater.”

  “That bruchon,” Megan muttered.

  Jackson arched his eyebrow. “Klingon?”

  “Romulan,” Hashemi said. “It means ‘traitor.’ Technically it’s noncanon, but if I ever get the Universal Translator working on the MATE —”

  “Hash, you lost me at Romulan.” Jackson leaned forward. “Can I borrow the MATE? I need to show you guys something.”

  Hashemi reddened. “It’s, um … well …”

  “I know, I know.” Jackson took the tablet. “It’s in beta.”

  Megan sighed. “Just like the RhinoBot.”

  Jackson swiped the screen until he found the browser. He flipped open his notebook, mumbled something to himself, then typed in a web address. “Crowd around,” he said. “You guys need to see this firsthand.”

  Hashemi and Megan circled the table to stand behind Jackson. A grainy video of the social studies wing flickered on the screen. Then a familiar face popped into view.

  “Um, that’s me,” Hashemi said.

  “And me,” Megan added, a few seconds later.

  Hashemi watched as he and Megan, both dressed in black, snuck into the first-floor girls’ bathroom. A few seconds later, the video cut to Bradley, Charlie, and Jackson slipping into the boys’ bathroom. They too were dressed in black.

  “The entire video is about three minutes long, but trust me — there are clips of us sneaking into each bathroom at school as well as the security room.” Jackson paused the video. “Then the water starts pouring out of the bathrooms. The video’s a fake, obviously. But can we prove that?”

  “Here, let me see the MATE,” Megan said. She took the tablet and restarted the video. Once it was over, she turned to Hashemi. “What do you think?”

  Hashemi slumped into a chair. “I wouldn’t say ‘impossible’ … but it would most certainly be a challenge.”

  “That’s saying it nicely.” She placed the tablet on the table. “Here’s the problem, Jackson. Since the base security video is of such poor quality, it’s hard to tell the difference between the low-quality recording and errors from pasting our faces onto other people’s bodies.” She sighed. “I could eventually prove that it’s a fake, but it would take a few months, along with some really high-end software.”

  “Meanwhile we’d miss out on the class trip to Cedar Point and the Battle of the Robots and any other activities that Dr. Kelsey wants to ban us from,” Jackson said.

  Hashemi looked toward his Star Trek shelf. “This is just like episode 141 of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. ‘In the Pale Moonlight.’ Except, you know, we’re not trying to start a war with an alien race.”

  “Yeah, I can see the resemblance,” Jackson said. “So again, are you guys going to tell me where you were on Saturday or not? I’ll be honest. I wasn’t at the library. I was with Gaby. We were … reclaiming some funds from Eric Caan —”

  “You mean Vizzini’s Challenge?” Hashemi asked Jackson. “Gaby was telling us about that at lunch today.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes. Gaby was as bad as Charlie when it came to making up con names. “Forget that. It’s not important. Just tell me where you were on Saturday night.”

  Hashemi settled into his seat. “We were —”

  “Hashemi!” Megan yelled.

  “We have to tell him,” he continued. “He’s Jackson Greene. He’s going to figure it out anyway.”

  Jackson leaned against the edge of the table. “You guys were pulling a job with Charlie, weren’t you?”

  “No,” Hashemi began. “Well, not exactly.”

  “We were just doing recon,” Megan said. “We were at Riggins, casing the school. Me, Hash, Bradley — all of us.” She shrugged. “Except you.”

  “Charlie told us about the Trophy Heist that you two planned a few years ago,” Hashemi said. “He showed us your notes and everything.”

  “You mean the notes Charlie forged? In a notebook he stole from his sister?�
� Jackson glanced at his current notebook. It was almost full, and the cover was old and worn. “Riggins has made a lot of security upgrades since Charlie and I came up with that plan. There’s no way I’d try to sneak into the school now. Charlie knows that.”

  Hashemi blinked. “But Charlie said —”

  “Charlie lied,” Jackson said. “But that’s the least of our worries. Whoever’s behind this knew you all would be at Riggins, and that I’d be at Eric Caan’s house.” He rubbed his jaw. “But who would want to frame us?”

  “Keith?” Megan asked.

  “Maybe. The person who made the video wants to meet tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully I’ll find out more then.”

  “So that’s it?” Hashemi asked. “All we can do is wait?”

  Jackson nodded. “I’m open to suggestions, but until we know who we’re dealing with, I’m all out of options.”

  Megan crossed her arms. “You sure seem relaxed for someone facing a two-week suspension.”

  “Rule Number Two of the Code of Conduct: Stay cool under pressure.” Jackson picked up his coat. “Don’t worry, guys. We’re safe for the time being. Kelsey doesn’t have the video. Without that, he can’t take us to the Honor Board.”

  “What do you mean, he’s not bringing it to the Honor Board?”

  Lincoln Miller gritted his teeth. It was way too early in the morning to be yelled at by Serena Bianchi. Although she was a seventh grader, Serena had skipped a grade in elementary school and was therefore the youngest member of the Honor Board. She was also a full foot shorter than Lincoln, but what she lacked in height and age she more than made up for in tenacity.

  “The bylaws clearly state —”

  “I know you don’t like the result, but all I can tell you is what Dr. Kelsey told me yesterday afternoon,” Lincoln said. “Without evidence —”

  “He has Jackson’s notebook and Charlie de la Cruz’s bag.” Her eyes, green with flecks of gray, cut into Lincoln. “What more evidence does he need?”

  Lincoln looked around as the other Honor Board members quickly slipped out of the classroom. Even Mr. Pritchard, their advisor, had retreated to his desk, suddenly engrossed in whatever was on his computer screen.