“Well, I didn’t write him any note,” I tell Grams. “And I didn’t write her any note.”
And, really, if I’d had a normal mother, I would’ve just called her up and asked her about it, but I didn’t want to think about her, or Casey, or Warren the Wonderful, or anything else, for that matter.
I just wanted to take a shower and go to bed.
Ol’ Scratch ’n’ Spit was not in homeroom the next morning, and there was something weird about his desk.
It was totally … clean.
The substitute also looked very … clean. He seemed too young to be a teacher. And he had a really shiny nose. Actually, his whole face was shiny, but his nose looked polished.
He also seemed a little too happy to be filling in for Mr. Vince. Like maybe this was the first time he’d been on that side of the podium and he thought it was really amazing to be there.
Whatever. All I know is he was nice, and happy, and didn’t scratch or spit.
He also had no information about Mr. Vince.
“Can you find out?” Crystal Agnew asked. “We’re worried about him.”
The rest of us eyed each other like, Oh yeah, right—speak for yourself.
Now, after what Officer Borsch had said about Mr. Foxmore thinking I was grand marshal of the Die Dude Parade, I’d actually considered staying home from school. Before, Officer Borsch had had my back, but now I was flying on my own, and I sure didn’t want to spend the day trapped in the office.
Besides, I’d woken up tired, and I figured what would one day—one Friday—hurt?
Plus, I could sure use a day without Heather Acosta.
It was the thought of Billy that got me moving. I still had a sort of low hum of worry about him. It was like a sound you don’t even know is there until you notice it, and then you hear it all the time. And you ask yourself, Where is that sound coming from?
So I dragged myself to school, and at break I was glad I had.
“Sammy-keyesta!”
When I turned around, the low hum vanished. “Billy!” I called back with a wave. I hurried over to him. “I missed you yesterday!”
We gave each other a hug, and then Billy said, “The police did, too. They came by to see me.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. And then I tried to be sly by asking, “How’d that go over with your dad?”
“It was just my mom, so that was cool.” Then he gave me a look I’ve never seen on Billy before. It was soft. Really sweet. “He came back last night and told me he had it on good authority that I was not the Die Dude Vandal.”
“Your dad did?”
“No, goofy. The cop.”
Now, I can’t help it, I go a little shifty-eyed. “Uh, that’s really good news.”
“Yeah. At first I thought he was kind of a jerk, but he turned out to be a pretty cool dude.” He plants a big, squeaky smooch on my temple. “So thanks, Good Authority.”
I give him half a smile, ’cause I still feel like if he knew I’d spilled the beans about his little message on the whiteboard, he wouldn’t be planting kisses on me.
But then he says, “He also told me that next time I should keep the markers capped.”
My eyes pop, and then I pull a face. “I’m sorry, okay? But he knew you were lying about something, Billy.”
“No! It’s cool. You have no idea how good I feel today. I’m, like, free.”
Now, I really hated to break it to him, but I thought he should know. “Uh … did he mention he’s been pulled off the case? And that Foxmore still thinks that you and I are in this together?”
“Sí, sí, Sammy-keyesta. But have you been called into the office today? Have I? No! And I’m in the clear with the police for yesterday, so I’m not going to stress about it.”
So just being around Billy has put me in a sunny mood, and then we hear whistling and see Cisco coming around the corner with his cleaning cart. “Good morning!” he says when he sees us. “How are you two this glorious day?”
I laugh. “Glorious?”
“How would you describe it?” he asks, raising his palms up to the sky.
Billy and I kinda look at each other and laugh. “Glorious!”
“So why hold back?” he says as the warning bell rings. “Enjoy it!” Then he turns down the walkway to go about his business.
“Ya gotta love Cisco,” I say with a laugh.
Billy nods as we start toward third period together. “Of all the people around here who think they’re so smart, he’s the one with keys to the universe.”
At first I laugh and say, “You’re right!” but then a strange feeling sort of floats through me. It’s a vague feeling, but really unsettling. Like impending doom, only way off in the distance. Like something bad is about to happen way over … there.
And while this feeling of doom hovers over there, a little creepy-crawly tingle jumps right on me, going up my spine and into my brain.
It’s a very icky creepy-crawly tingle, too. One that skitters all around my brain, making me go from one icky creepy-crawly thought to the next.
Who’d had to put up with Bad Mood Bob for years?
Who had keys to every building at school?
Who’d been eavesdropping on Foxmore and Vince?
Who was the first one to notice that Mr. Vince’s car had been vandalized?
Who was free to roam around during the fire alarm?
Who probably set traps for rats in the storage sheds around school?
And who was the very last person you’d think would do such mean, threatening things?
Cisco Diaz.
I really did not want to be thinking what I was thinking, but the thought wouldn’t leave. And the more I thought it, the more sense it made, until pretty soon my heart’s all fluttering and my head’s feeling woozy, and I really want to blurt out what I’m thinking to Billy.
But then we round the corner.
Now, Billy had led us the back way to Mr. Vince’s class room. You’re supposed to use the walkways, but people cut between the buildings all the time. So even though it’s kind of secluded, it’s not a shock to run into people.
Unless the people you run into are Lars Teppler.
And Sasha Stamos.
And you witness them … kissing.
TWENTY-FOUR
I grab Billy by the arm and yank him back around the corner. We both look at each other like, OH-HO-HO!
“Whoa!” Billy whispers as we take a sly peek.
“I would never have guessed!” I whisper back.
We duck out of sight quick, though, when they break apart. And when we peek again, only Lars is there—Sasha has gone to class. Then Lars hurries to class, leaving Billy and me having to really race to get around the building and inside the door before the tardy bell rings.
The first person I run into is Heather. And I guess I’m kinda giddy with my new Sasha-rific secret, ’cause I give her a real big smile and say, “Sis-ta!”
“Shut up!” she hisses. “Don’t you ever call me that again!”
I head over to my seat, still smiling. “I’ve always wanted bunk beds, how about you?”
“Stop it!”
“Pil-low fight! Pil-low fight!” I say, grinning away. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“I hate you! I hate you so much, I—”
“What’s this?” the shiny-nosed sub asks. “Are we fighting?”
“Not at all!” I say, sliding into my seat. “I’m just excited because Heather and I might become sisters.”
Everyone’s jaw drops, ’cause it’s no secret that Heather and I are mortal enemies. And I don’t know. It’s like I’m possessed with giggles or something. I just flip a hand out and say, “Well, her dad’s running off with my mom, so what can ya do?”
“No, he’s not!” Heather screeches. “No, he’s not.”
I look around the room with a shrug. “Someone’s in de-ni-al.”
Heather comes flying at me, only before she can lay a finger on me, the Shiny Sub
lunges forward with a wooden ruler like Don Quixote attacking a wild-haired windmill.
He doesn’t actually touch her, but he inserts himself between her and me, stares her right in the eye, then points to the door with the ruler and says, “You. Outside. Now. When you’ve composed yourself, you may come back in.”
She slinks out, giving me the evil eye the whole time.
“And, you!” he says, pointing his ruler at me. “Stop pouring salt in her wound.”
I almost say, “But—” but instead I look down and nod. “Yes, sir.”
“All right, then,” he says, taking a deep, calming breath. He goes back up to the podium and looks out at the class. “In case we haven’t already met, my name is Mr. Derringer, and I’ll be your teacher while Mr. Vince is out on medical leave.”
Lars—who has not even looked at Sasha since he sat down—raises his hand and says, “Did he really have a nervous breakdown?” And Sasha—who hasn’t looked at Lars, either—asks, “How long will he be gone?”
The Shiny Sub does a little uncomfortable shifting, but then nods and says, “I won’t be divulging any personal information about Mr. Vince, but you have a right to know what to expect.” He rearranges some papers on the podium. “And what you can expect is to see me for some time to come.” Then he looks up and says, “I don’t plan to be your babysitter, either. I am certified to teach history, and I intend to do just that.”
Billy raises his hand.
“Yes?”
“Uh, how do you feel about guest speakers?”
The Shiny Sub laughs. “I love guest speakers.” He tilts his head a little. “And how do you feel about me coming to class dressed as, say, Benjamin Franklin or Robert E. Lee or John Wilkes Booth?”
Billy jumps out of his seat. “I love you,” he squeals.
The whole class busts up, which makes Heather curious enough to come back inside and take her seat.
Now, while everyone’s settling back down, I notice Lars give Sasha a sly grin. It’s almost like a wink, and it seems to hold a lot of unspoken meaning.
And that’s when it hits me.
That’s how he knew I had the chin-up record in my PE class—Sasha had told him!
Maybe the two of them have been doing this Die Dude thing together.
After all, Sasha was ticked at Mr. Vince and said someone should do something about him. Maybe she decided to be that someone. There was no doubt about it—she was tricky. Very tricky!
Plus, her family lives out in the boonies, where there are probably lots of rats.
And those times Lars came up to me? Maybe he was like a decoy, keeping me occupied while Sasha planted rats or got back to class or whatever.
Maybe one of Sasha’s homeschooled brothers called in the fake fire!
And maybe she put Heather’s phone in the outhouse to distract everyone.
Maybe Lars had left the Die Dude voice mail.
And maybe he’d spread rumors about me keying Mr. Vince’s car because he had done it. He’d been late to school that day, and it sure would explain why he was so hot to frame me with all this stuff about “upper-body strength” and seeing me at the pet store.
And that’s when something else finally clicks.
If Lars had seen me at the dog tag machine, then he’d been at the pet shop that day, too! He could have made the Die Dude tag!
My mind was going crazy, trying to piece together everything that had happened, and I was kicking myself for not paying any attention earlier. So for the rest of the day I racked my brain, trying to remember things.
Who was where when the dead rat reared its dog-tagged neck?
Who was where during the fire alarm?
Who was where when Vince’s car got keyed?
I actually drew diagrams. I wrote things down. I even listed motivations:
Heather: hates me; is psycho.
Sasha: hates Vince and is miffed at me. (And is maybe kinda psycho.)
Lars: Sasha.
Cisco: hates Vince.
Between classes I also looked around for Cisco. And Lars and Sasha. And anytime anyone was gossiping about Mr. Vince, I eavesdropped.
“I heard he’s not coming back!” “I heard he’s in a psych ward!” “I heard he’s suing the school!” “I heard he threatened to kill Mr. Foxmore!”
And I was so wrapped up in trying to figure out which pieces fit in this puzzle and which belonged in some other puzzle that I forgot all about putting Billy’s name in the mix.
Or mine, but of course that was because I knew it didn’t belong.
And because my name wasn’t on my list, I guess I started thinking that it wasn’t on Mr. Foxmore’s, either.
Until drama, when a note came from the office.
Teri Nostern was the office aide, and I knew the minute she walked into the room that the slip in her hand was for me.
Her looking right at me sorta gave that away.
But office aides are supposed to give messages to the teacher, not the student, so Teri walks up to Mr. Chester, delivers the note, and looks at me again before leaving.
And, yeah, big surprise, Mr. Chester checks the note and calls out, “Samantha!”
So I grab my backpack and trudge up to the front of the class and take the note. And I’m halfway out the door when I finally realize that it’s not a summons to the office.
It’s a phone message.
Don’t forget:
Pick up shoes.
Go to Deb’s.
Call my cell if you need a ride (748-2000).
GB
I kind of stare at the note ’cause, yeah, I’d completely forgotten about the shoes. And since I don’t have to report to the office after all, I go back to my spot next to Marissa.
“What’s up?” she whispers. I show her the note, and she says, “He gave you his cell? Easy to memorize, too.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll crank-call him sometime.”
I backhand her with a grin.
“You want me to come with you?” she asks.
I nod. “Sure.”
So after school we head over to the mall. It’s about ninety degrees out, and before Marissa can even think about taking her ridiculous house-stalking longcut, I distract her by showing her the notes I’d made during the day.
“Cisco?” she says after she’s looked them over. “You think it might be Cisco?”
“He’s got a key to every single room, he doesn’t like Mr. Vince, we caught him eavesdropping on Vince and the Fox, and he’s the one who ‘discovered’ that Mr. Vince’s car had been keyed.”
“But he’s Cisco. He’s the sunshiniest person at school. He wouldn’t do things like that.”
“I know,” I grumble. But then I add, “But you know what he said about Vince calling him Nacho. And what do we know about him, really?”
“We know he’s a sunshiny guy.” She points to the paper. “You’ve got Sasha Stamos and Lars Teppler as suspects? And working together? Is that what this means?” She looks at me. “What were you on when you put this together?”
So I tell her about the Kiss.
“No!” she gasps.
“See? A little information changes everything.”
Marissa’s brain starts whirling away. “Sasha lives on that farm.”
“It’s a farm?”
“Or whatever. I’m sure she mentioned a barn, so there’s got to be rats, right?”
“And this thing was huge, Marissa. Like something from the boonies.”
She nods a bunch as she hands back my paper. “You need a calendar. Order of events. Who was where when.”
I snort. “Thanks for the assignment, chief.”
“Or …,” she says after she thinks about it some more, “just drop the whole thing. Do we really care who freaked Mr. Vince into leaving school? As long as you and Billy are off the hook, what does it matter?”
“But I’m not off the hook! Officer Borsch says I’m Foxmore’s number one suspect! He thinks Billy and I are in this together!”
“I know that, and you know that, but he’s convinced it’s us!”
She scowls, then says, “Look, you didn’t get called into the office today, and neither did Billy. And it’s not like we’re being followed by the police or anything.”
Suddenly we both stop and look at each other, then glance over our shoulders and all around.
“Nope,” she says. But as we’re walking along again, she keeps checking over her shoulder. “Unless they’re undercover.”
It did make me feel a little paranoid. Especially since I’d let myself get ambushed and spied on by Heather. I mean, maybe we were being followed by some undercover cops. Maybe they were hoping they’d catch us red-handed doing some after-school Die Duding. Maybe they were hoping that we’d lead them to our Die Dude lair.
Or wait—maybe they were hoping we’d lead them to a Die Dude ranch where we raised our Die Dude rats.
Whatever. I had nothing to hide. If they wanted to follow me to the mall and see me pick up lavender high heels, fine.
So as we crossed Broadway and cut over to the mall, I changed the subject by asking Marissa what was going on with her parents. What I got back from her was a big, fat “Who knows?” followed by a rant about how her mother hadn’t bothered to check in with them yesterday, and why even have kids if you’re not going to be good parents, and how she wished she and Mikey could stay at Hudson’s forever.
“You don’t mean that,” I told her as I pulled open one of the mall’s big glass doors.
“Yes, I do!” she said, but her chin was quivering. “I used to feel sorry for you because you don’t know who your dad is, but you know what? I’m starting to think you’re lucky. At least he can’t let you down.” She swiped away a tear. “And he won’t drop you in the dirt in the middle of your life.”
A bunch of thoughts ran through my head.
The first one was You have no idea what you’re talking about! followed by It’s better to have been held and dropped than never to have been held at all.
That, of course, made me think of the original cliché: It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, which, of course, made me think of Casey.
And this may seem weird, but to me there was some sort of connection between my dad never having been in my life and Casey now being out of it.
Sammy Keyes and the Wedding Crasher Page 17
