by Jen Malone
Someone clears her throat very, very close to me. I steal a peek.
“Hello, girls,” says my principal.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
White Hair and Carrot-Covered Fingers
I once read about people who suffer an extreme fright, and then their hair turns white overnight. I sincerely hope that doesn’t happen to me, because it’s going to be bad enough being the girl with one eyebrow.
“Hello, Principal Wexman,” Paige says brightly, as if nothing at all is wrong and we make a habit of skulking around the school hallways on our days off.
“H-hi,” I manage. I can’t look our principal in the eyes. I’m sure I seem beyond guilty.
“May I inquire as to what you ladies are doing hiding in a doorway outside my office?” Her voice sounds less scratchy and more sticky-sweet, but I’m not fooled one little bit.
“Oh well, we could hear you had a visitor, and we didn’t want to interrupt.” Still Paige is able to keep her voice all sunshine and innocence. How does she do that? “So we were just waiting politely.”
“Mmm” is the reply. Principal Wexman doesn’t sound like she’s buying this. “And just what brings you to West Oak on a Saturday?”
“Meghan,” Paige says. I swallow hard. Did she just say my name? Paige reaches behind her back and finds my hand, never dropping her smile. She squeezes.
“Meghan here lost her backpack in all the excitement of the pep rally yesterday, and we figured we’d try to find it. We checked her locker and took a quick peek around, so now we were headed to you to see if it ended up in the lost and found. Speaking of the pep rally, what do you think our chances are in the game later?”
Paige knows exactly how to distract Principal Wexman, and for a second I think it’s going to work.
She takes a breath as if to answer us, but then her forehead wrinkles.
“I don’t understand why everyone thinks they are at liberty to roam the hallways of this school when, clearly, it is not open to students.” She darts a glance back at Veronica, who’s now in the hallway too. Principal Wexman’s gaze falls on the backpack in Veronica’s hand, and she purses her lips.
“I take it this is this missing item?” she asks me.
“I— It— Um,” I stammer.
“Yes! You’ve found it, Principal Wexman. Thank you so, so much! Meghan here has been superworried she wouldn’t get to finish her math assignment before Monday, and you know what a good student she is. She’s very dedicated to her schoolwork.” Paige is laying it on a little thick, but Principal Wexman doesn’t seem to notice. She reaches her hand for the backpack Veronica holds out and then passes it silently to me. But just before I grab it, her grasp tightens.
“I suppose just because school is not in session doesn’t mean we shouldn’t follow proper protocol. Lost-and-found items have to be verified. Can you tell me what the contents of this backpack are to prove it’s yours?”
“I— Uh— Um.” This is never going to work if I can’t spit out more than syllables. I take a deep breath and say, “Um, a notebook and, um, a math book and . . . and a calculator.”
I know full well none of those items are going to be in the backpack, but I can’t figure out what else to say. This is a disaster.
Principal Wexman slides open the zipper and peers inside. Her nose crinkles as she tugs a corner of Veronica’s fluffy yellow bathrobe out. She levels me with a questioning look and then stuffs her hand back in.
“Huh. Weird,” Paige says right away. “Someone must be playing a prank on us. You know what: I’ll bet it’s those Hillside kids. They love to ramp up the rivalry before a big game, right? I say we don’t stand for this.”
Principal’s Wexman’s eyes narrow, and she mutters, “Hillside,” under her breath. As much as Principal Wexman loves basketball, that’s how much she loathes Hillside Heights.
Hillside Heights is the hoity-toity private school that backs up to West Oak and also shares our athletic fields, making us the worst kinds of rivals. We have regular school grounds; they have a “campus.” Never mind that half of it consists of the same exact soccer field and tennis courts.
Unlike West Oak, which is mostly made out of concrete blocks, Hillside Heights is old-school, literally. Its buildings (yup, there are more than one) are ancient-looking red brick.
Principal Wexman hates that they have a state-of-the-art computer lab and that their principal gets to live in a huge mansion on the edge of campus. But most of all, she especially despises the fact that their basketball team has stolen the state championship from us for three years running. I can tell even the thought of Hillside playing a prank on us has her good and distracted. She pulls her hand out of my backpack. It’s covered in mushed-up carrot bits. A small fuzzy feather clings to one of the pieces.
“Wow. Those Hillside kids are diabolical. I think this warrants a call to their coach,” Paige says, all innocence. She could give Max a run for his money.
Principal Wexman’s eyes narrow, and she nods once before turning from us. She takes a few steps toward her office before facing us again. “Please use the front doors to exit, girls. I’ll have the janitor lock up behind you. Thank you for bringing this tomfoolery to my attention.”
She gestures to the row of doors right beside the main office and hovers as we race over to them. They must only lock from the outside because they push right open, and we burst into the sunshine. As soon as the metal doors click shut behind us, Paige sinks to her butt on the cement steps.
“That could have been a total disaster!” she says, clasping her side and laughing.
“I wasn’t scared,” says Veronica, a bland expression on her face.
I want to laugh, from relief more than anything else, but the inside of my head is still buzzing and my heart is racing too fast to do much of anything but slump down beside Paige. Immediately she stands and holds out her hand.
“Let’s get out of sight while we figure out what to do next.” She pulls me up and walks us over to the corner of the building, away from any windows or the parking lot, where she lets me drop down like a rag doll again. I swear, it’s like my bones turned to jelly back there in that hallway.
Paige plops down next to me. Veronica does too, sitting crisscross-applesauce style in the grass. “So, we’re all fine, thankfully, but we barely had any time in the classroom to look for more clues. Which leaves us with exactly zero ideas of where our best friend is,” Paige says.
She pulls out her phone and flips it around so we can see: 8:25.
We wasted almost a whole hour getting to school and returning the ducks, and we’re no closer to finding Anna Marie. In fact, it feels like we’re even further than ever from finding her. Pickup time is looming closer and closer. We are so dead.
All three of us stare off into space, lost in our own thoughts. I’m mostly trying to imagine the exact shade of purple my mother’s face is gonna turn when she shows up at the Guerreros’ house at noon.
Eventually Paige says, “Where’d you come up with unicycle floor hockey?”
Veronica unties and reties her sneaker laces. “Because I play it. Duh.”
Paige and I exchange glances over Veronica’s head. I try to make my voice all gentle when I say, “Um, no offense, Veronica, but do you mean you wish it were a sport so you could play it?” At least I’m getting my voice back.
Veronica scoffs. “Nooooo. I mean I actually play it. Every Tuesday night at the Y in my town. It’s a thing. Google it. Anyway, right now it’s just me and three other homeschooled kids, and we mostly just scrimmage because we haven’t been able to find a whole lot of other people who can ride a unicycle, but Kevin—I mean, Anna Marie’s dad—says he’s gonna help give lessons after the wedding. I’m gonna try to talk AM into learning so we can practice on the weekends she’s visiting us.”
I don’t want to break it to Veronica that Anna Marie has been known to trip over air, so the idea of her on a unicycle is, well, pretty laughable.
Paige says, “I gu
ess it’s no weirder than cheerleading. Did you hear some of the cheers they had at the pep rally yesterday, Megs?”
Who can think about pep rallies at a time like this? I open my mouth to say so, but Veronica speaks first. “Ooh. I’ve always wanted to be on a cheerleading squad.”
Paige blinks several times, fast. “You want to be a cheerleader?” I narrow my eyes and try to convey Be nice! with them, but, as usual, Veronica seems completely oblivious to Paige’s tone.
“Oh, not to cheer,” she says. “To be the school mascot. I mean a school mascot, since my homeschool is population one, and I don’t need any help getting enthusiastic about it. Do you think schools ever choose nonstudents to be their mascots?”
Paige shakes her head in disbelief, but I’m happy to hear that at least her voice is pleasant when she says, “I . . . I really don’t know, Veronica.”
“Do you know how to do a roundoff? All the mascots I see on TV are always doing roundoffs. I think I might need to know how to do one to get the job.”
Paige sighs. “Yes, I know how to do a roundoff.”
“Could you teach me? Pretty please? Oh, Paige, puh-leaze!”
Paige looks at me. I know this is probably the last thing we should be doing right now, but I shrug and say, “It’s not like we have any brilliant ideas for where to look for Anna Marie. Maybe being upside down will get the blood rushing to your brain, and you’ll think of something brilliant.”
Paige smirks, but she stands. Veronica jumps into place next to her and carefully copies every move as Paige points one foot and then raises both hands in the air. When Paige executes a perfect roundoff, I can’t help it.
I shriek.
Immediately I throw my hands over my mouth.
“Geez, Megs! Are you trying to get Principal Wexman out here?” Paige asks.
Veronica, meanwhile, attempts her own roundoff and lands with her butt on the grass. Paige reaches down to give Veronica a hand up, but she keeps her eyes on me as I point to her. My mouth keeps opening and closing, but nothing is coming out. Eventually I manage, “Lift your shirt.”
“What? I’m not flashing you, Meghan Alcott!”
“No, just a little. When you cartwheeled your shirt came up and . . .”
Paige turns and pulls her shirt up just a little. “Blood!”
Paige tries twisting her head around to her back, but she can’t see the spot I’m gesturing to. Her voice is wobbly when she asks, “I’m bleeding?”
I nod, but just as fast I shake my head. “No, I mean, not anymore. It’s all dried up.”
Veronica approaches Paige, then kneels down on the ground and puts her face right next to Paige’s back. She leans in close and . . . licks Paige’s skin! Paige squeals and then jumps forward while I yell (quietly), “Veronica!”
“Did you just lick me?” Paige asks, tugging her shirt back down.
“Just as I thought,” Veronica says calmly. “It’s not blood.”
“Did you just lick me?” Paige asks again.
“What is it?” I ask.
Paige spins to me. “Megs, the girl licked me!”
“I know! So gross, but . . . if it’s not blood, what is it then, Veronica?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Flutes and Batons and Tubas, Oh My!
Veronica places her feet hip-width apart and crosses her arms over her chest, looking very self-satisfied. “It’s paint,” she states.
“Paint? How do you know what paint tastes like?” Paige asks. “Never mind—I don’t want to know.” Then she bunches her shirt ends in one hand and twists again to try to glimpse whatever the heck it is on her back.
Veronica just shrugs. “Definitely paint. Maroon paint.”
Okay, that’s just weird.
Where would Paige have gotten maroon paint on herself? I sit on the ground, my chin in my hands. Think, think, think. Veronica steps close to Paige again (I catch Paige flinch) and starts circling her, squinting as she moves around her in a careful circle.
“What are you doing?” Paige asks.
“I’m looking to see if you have any more of it on you. Maybe that could help us figure out where it came from.”
Paige looks ready to blast her, but she snaps her jaw shut and mutters, “That’s actually not a bad idea.” She holds her shirt above her belly button and spins slowly.
Veronica purses her lips together in concentration and then reaches forward to tug Paige’s top off her shoulder. “Aha!”
This time even Paige can see the streak of orange paint. “Oh!”
“Orange and maroon . . . orange and maroon . . . Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Veronica asks with a smile.
“If you’re also thinking, Why am I prepped for a tribal ceremony?, then yes,” Paige replies.
I have to fight to keep from laughing.
Veronica sounds all smug when she says, “Where’s the only place you’ll find those two colors combined?”
Paige cocks her head, thinking, and then shrugs. “I give up.”
I do too.
Veronica motions for us to follow her around the corner to the front of the school, where the entrance has a giant banner stretched across it. It says, THE WEST OAK WARRIORS WILL CRUSH THE HILLSIDE HEIGHTS HAVOCKING HEDGEHOGS! The words West Oak are painted in our school colors of royal blue and white, while Hillside Heights is painted in their school colors.
Orange and maroon.
“Oh! You think . . . ,” Paige whispers.
“Orange and maroon are not very complimentary colors. Opposites on a color wheel are optimal combinations,” Veronica says.
“I think it’s definitely worth investigating,” I add. “It’s better than anything else we have, and parent pickup time is ticking closer.”
We cut across the fields between our two schools, and my mind moves even faster than my feet. How on earth are we gonna find clues here? Will the school be locked up as tight as ours was (well, at first anyway)? We already tested our luck with one instance of breaking and entering today. Are we really contemplating a second one?
But then an image of Anna Marie floats in front of my face. It’s from last spring when we were at my house for a study session leading up to a quiz, and we decided we needed a break. Because it was a science test we were studying for, Anna Marie and I rewrote the lyrics of “Defying Gravity” from our favorite play, Wicked, to make it “Defining Gravity” (I think I’ll try, defining gravity. And you can’t grade me down) and choreographed a whole dance to match. When we put both together and performed it in front of my mirror, we laughed so hard, my ribs still hurt the next morning.
I have to do whatever it takes to find my friend.
My energy comes rushing back, and I grab on to Paige and Veronica. Together we run the length of the last field, circle to the front of the main building, and stride up the sidewalk to the doors. But before we get a single foot on the stairs, the sound of yelling stops us in our tracks. It’s coming from the side of the building, where a sign points to the faculty parking lot. Even though we hadn’t been hiding before, the sound of people sends us right up along the wall of the building. We creep against the side, and the branches from the bushes all along the edges tickle my legs. I’m first in our line, so I peek around the corner. Five kids in maroon-and-orange band uniforms are having some kind of fight. A loud one!
Paige pulls on my (well, Jake’s) sweatshirt to get my attention and then points to a gap in the hedge where we can hide and spy. Once we’re all tucked in there, we can’t actually see very much, but we can definitely still hear every word. The kids aren’t making any effort to keep their voices down.
“Yeah, but if you’d been here to watch over it, this never would have—”
“What do you mean, if I’d been here? You were the one who left the second Kelsey Tagent said she needed help tuning her bass!”
“Yeah, well. It was Kelsey Tagent!”
“I know, dude, and props for that, but you had one duty and you—”
“Look, I’m not the one who put the thing up on wheels, which made it super-easy to—”
“How else were we supposed to move Hedgie around? He’s eight feet tall! Get real!”
“I’m just saying, if it weren’t on wheels . . .”
“You guys! Why are we fighting with each other? Is that helping anything? Obi-Wan Ke-no-be, it’s not!”
I have to stifle a laugh at the expression (which I might be totally stealing in the near future), but my attention is diverted by Veronica, who is waving a hand under her nose. Her eyes are watery, and she’s scrunching up her face.
Omigosh, is she about to—
A-a-achoo!
Yup, she is.
Veronica sneezes again.
Then three more times.
I make a desperate face at her, but all Veronica does is shrug and whisper, “I always sneeze in sevens.”
Achoo!
Five kids in band uniforms get suspiciously quiet. Paige, Veronica, and I hold perfectly still, crouching down in the bushes, and I use my best Jedi mind skills to will them not to come investigate. I also will my knees not to wobble.
Neither command works. There’s rustling right on the other side of our bushes, and then the head of a boy appears over the hedge. He pokes a silver baton wrapped in orange and maroon ribbons into the leaves.
“Ouch!” I cry when the end of it jabs me in the shoulder.
Achoo!
Veronica whispers, “Number seven!” Like that’s what’s important right now. I stick my hands up as if I’m under arrest, and shimmy out of the bushes. Paige and Veronica follow me, and the three of us stand in front of part of the Hillside Heights marching band, while I feverishly try to find a realistic-sounding excuse for our spy mission.
But in the end, the band kids speak first. Or shout, I should say. “It’s you!” one accuses, pointing a finger at us.
I raise my eyebrow (singular). “It’s you, who?” I ask.
“You! The ones who stole our float! You have some nerve coming here! Are you back to laugh at us? Where is he? Go get him right now!” This comes from a short girl carrying her flute like a weapon and looking supervillainy in spite of the tassels on her uniform buttons.
