Becca hurries off, and I tell Frankie I need to talk to Leo alone. Before Leo can object, I tug on his arm and move away behind a giant stuffed penguin.
“Here. For the CCSC treasury.” I hand Leo the fifty-dollar bill. “I found another lost dog.”
“Excellent!” Leo folds the bill precisely in half, then smoothes it neatly with his finger before folding it again. “Where did you find the dog?”
“Behind D-Lite Donuts yesterday after school.”
“But the donut shop is closed in the afternoon.”
“I didn’t know that.” I groan. “I’ll tell you more at the Skunk Shack.”
I leave the storage room, hurrying for my first class. I’m almost there when I plant my palm to my forehead with a “Duh!” I spent so much time talking to Becca by my locker earlier that I didn’t open my locker—and I need my science textbook. So I turn on my heels and race back to my locker.
The warning bell rings just as I’m spinning my locker combo.
The metal door swings open and I stare inside.
What’s a wooden block doing in my locker?
- Chapter 16 -
Blocked
The brick-sized wooden block is the wintry-brown color of tree bark, and it looks heavy but is surprisingly light. My fingers leave a trail of prints on the shiny surface. It’s smooth to touch, as if there’s still life whispering from the wood.
Although the block feels solid, there’s a hollow sound when I tap it.
Is something hidden inside?
I feel around for a way to open it, but can’t find one.
The halls have grown quiet. Shoving the wooden block back into my locker, I race to class. I’m sliding in my chair as the bell rings.
Ms. Grande announces a group project. We split up, and before I can go with Becca, Chloe tugs her away from me. Becca gives me an apologetic look as she goes off with Chloe. With an uneven number of students in science, guess who has to work alone?
But the project is cool. We’re making flubber, just like the gooey glob in the old Disney movie. All it takes is glue, borax, water, and green dye. When we’re done, we put our gooey creations in baggies. I wash the green goo off my hands, but it still shimmers from beneath my fingernails. I don’t want flubber spilling in my backpack, so I detour to my locker.
Holding my breath, I slowly open my locker, afraid the wooden block will have vanished like my notebook. But I exhale in relief. The block is still on top of my sweater. I toss the bagged flubber beside it, then hurry to my next class.
During second period, I puzzle over the wooden block. Does it have some special meaning? Does it hold a secret? I’m pretty sure Erik left it—just like I’m sure he stole my notebook. How else could he know about Sophia’s bribe?
Whose secret will he expose next?
I really need to talk to Erik. He won’t be surprised to see me since he knows that I know that he knows that I know who he really is.
As I walk through the halls during break, I look around for him. He has black hair that pokes up like porcupine quills and he wears neon-purple sneakers. Usually I can hear him before I see him since he carries a basketball around and bounces it as he walks. I think his locker is near the gym, so I detour there, but no luck.
During lunch, instead of going to the Sparkler table, I look around for Erik’s porcupine black hair. But he isn’t here.
I whirl around and head for the basketball court outside—and grin when I hear the thump of a basketball. And there’s Erik with some of his buddies.
I hesitate, suddenly nervous. Watching people is what I’m comfortable with, not confronting a suspect. But Erik is more than a suspect—I know he’s guilty. And if I don’t stop him, the next post on the Corning Comic website could be about Leo’s real age. I cringe as I image a drawing of Leo in diapers with the post: What’s an eleven-year-old doing in middle school?
A basketball thuds off the backboard and bounces my way. I rush over to pick it up. “Toss it back,” a kid wearing baggy, black jeans shouts.
Swallowing my courage, I walked over to Erik—holding tight to the ball.
“Thanks.” Erik reaches for the ball but I step away from him.
“Not so fast, Erik.” I drop my voice to a whisper only he can hear. “Or should I call you the Corning Comic?”
His mouth falls open. “How did … I mean … No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.”
“Bug off.” He rakes his fingers through his prickly hair.
“Would you rather I tell them who you really are?” I point toward the other guys who stare at us curiously, waiting for the ball.
“You don’t know anything.”
“Don’t I?” I drop my voice. “Corning Comic.”
His mouth drops open; then he grabs my arm and pulls me away from the basketball court. “What do you want?” he demands.
“My notebook.”
“What notebook?” He rubs his forehead.
“You know,” I say angrily. “Return my notebook by the end of school and delete that horrible post about Sophia, or everyone will find out you’re the Corning Comic.”
“How can I return something I don’t have? And I never delete my posts.”
“Do you want your buddies to know you posted the blog that got the most popular basketball coach fired?”
“He was illegally betting against our team,” Erik says.
“Bet your teammates would be more angry with the Corning Comic than their favorite coach.” I gesture to the hoop court.
“But I can’t delete posts. My site has thousands of fans, and they trust me to be honest with them. They love my cartoons.”
“Your cartoon about Sophia was cruel,” I retort.
“Not my fault if the truth hurts.” He shrugs, then gestures to his buddies who are staring at us. “I don’t know anything about your notebook, so leave me alone.”
“Then how did you find out about Sophia?”
“I have my sources,” he says smugly.
“Who?”
“As if I’d tell you. Like never.” He spits on the ground. “I got a game to finish, so give back my ball.”
“Gladly!” I throw the basketball as hard as I can. “Here!”
I may be small, but I learned how to throw a mean ball from Tori and Ann Marie. Erik lunges for the ball, but it smacks his shoulder and he stumbles backwards. The ball slips through his arms.
Do not underestimate a member of the CCSC, I think.
Smiling, I return to the cafeteria.
War has broken out among the Sparklers.
It’s a battlefield of glares, and no one is talking.
I almost turn around and go have lunch with Ann Marie and Tori. But Becca looks worried so I sit down beside her. Usually Sophia and Tyla are across from us, but now they’re on opposite sides of the table as if a battle line was drawn down the middle.
What’s going on?
Becca nudges me, then whispers, “Sophia won’t talk to Tyla.”
“Why not?” I whisper back as I plop my sack lunch on the table.
“Sophia thinks Tyla told the Corning Comic her secret.”
Becca turns away from me and reaches across the table to touch Sophia’s hand. “Sophia, don’t blame Tyla. It’s all a big misunderstanding,” she says loudly with a pleading look at the other Sparklers.
“No ‘miss’ about it—I understand exactly,” Sophia says with her icy fury aimed at Tyla. “She betrayed me.”
“I did not!” Tyla argues.
“I confided in you,” Sophia sniffles. “And you blabbed to that horrible Corning Comic.”
Tyla shakes her head. “But I didn’t tell anyone!”
She’s telling the truth. I even feel sorry for her.
Becca turns to me and mouths, “Should we tell them?”
“No,” I mouth back. Revealing more secrets would only make things worse.
When I stop by my locker, there’s still no notebook—but there�
��s evidence that someone broke into my locker again. Only nothing is missing.
My sweater is tossed on top of the wooden block and the flubber bag has fallen, green oozing into a smear on the bottom of my locker. Yuck. I’d planned to take it home to show my parents, but the baggie is ripped and too messy. Careful not to get green goo on my clothes, I pluck it out with two fingers and dump it in the trash.
During my next classes, the hands on the wall clock are so slow that they seem to be moving backwards. All I can think about is getting back to my locker. Erik better return my notebook soon. If he doesn’t, the identity of the Corning Comic won’t be a mystery. I’ll make sure everyone at school knows—starting with my club mates.
When the last bell rings, I race out of my class so fast I forget my backpack and have to go back for it. When I reach my locker, I spin the combination lock too far, then have to start all over again.
When the lock opens, I stare eagerly into my locker and—
No notebook.
The wooden block is still there, but I still can’t open it. Becca and Leo would probably have gotten it open in minutes. I keep turning it over in my hands, feeling for a button or lever, but it’s just a block of useless wood.
Tossing the block into my backpack, I slam my locker shut, then go to the bike rack to meet my club mates. I’m glad I can finally tell them some of my secrets. They’ll be surprised when I tell them who the Corning Comic is, then show them the ransom note and wooden block.
They’re both waiting for me at the bike rack.
Leo always looks so serious in a black vest and slacks. He’s balancing his gyro-board on its tip and spinning it like a giant top. Becca leans against the bike rack, her arms lifted as she tames her wild black hair into a ponytail. I smile at the pattern on her latest homemade scrunchie: gray and brown like a tortoise carapace.
“Soooo?” Becca asks as I come up and unlock my bike from the rack. “Did you talk to him?”
Leo’s gyro-board thuds to the ground as he lets go of it to move closer to me. “Him, who?”
“The Corning Comic,” I say. “I’m sure he has my notebook.”
“You know who he is?” Leo tilts his head in surprise. “That’s like the biggest mystery at school.”
“And one of my secrets. I talked to him and threatened to reveal his identity if he didn’t return my notebook by the end of school.”
“And?” Becca asks hopefully.
I hold out my empty hands. “Still no notebook.” My sneakers feel heavy as I wheel my bike from the rack.
“Now you can tell us who he is.” Becca leans forward eagerly.
I nod, feeling sad but a little relieved to share such a big secret.
Becca and Leo gather close to me, eagerness bright in their gazes.
“And his name is?” Becca asks.
Other kids are heading our way so I whisper, “I’ll tell you at the Skunk Shack.”
I hop on my bike but Becca moves in front of me, blocking my way.
“Actually … I can’t go,” she says, frowning.
My fingers strangle my handlebars. “Why not?” I demand.
“Urgent meeting at Chloe’s house.” Becca flushes with guilt. “Chloe thinks she can convince Sophia and Tyla to talk to each other.”
“Maybe I can help,” I offer, my anger fading to concern for Sophia. “I’m a Sparkler for a few more days. I’ll go with you.”
“Ummm … you can’t.” Becca looks down at the pavement instead of at me. “Chloe says only full members. I hope you don’t mind.”
I mind, but not about being excluded from the Sparklers. I mind that Becca is choosing them over the CCSC. But I shrug like it’s no big deal.
“Whatever,” I say. Then I force a cheerful smile and ask Leo, “Want to ride around and look for lost animals? I have the flyers Mom gave me in my backpack.”
“Sorry, but I have to cancel too. I’m helping Frankie fix a gear on the warthog.” Leo glances over my shoulder, then waves. “Here’s Frankie now. I got to go.”
Leo hops on his gyro-board and rolls away. When I turn back to Becca, she’s pedaling out of the school lot.
I’m disappointed. I’m angry. Mostly, I just feel alone. So I hop on my bike and ride around, looking for lost pets.
We’re having unseasonably warm weather for early April, and the sun is like a toaster set on high on my skin. An hour later, I haven’t found any lost pets. I’m sweating and thirsty, and my skin is a rosy-pink shade of burned. So I give up and head home.
I’m halfway to the apartment building, paused at an intersection and waiting for a group of kids with a traffic guard guiding them. Beyond the kids, a bicyclist rides past.
I blink, recognizing the black bike and rider.
My brother, Kyle.
- Chapter 17 -
Dino Tales
Kyle isn’t carrying a box, but he’s pedaling like he’s on a mission. High school just ended so he should be going home. Instead he’s headed downtown.
Where is he going?
“Follow that brother,” I say to myself as the street clears. I kick up the speed on my bike and pedal after him.
Like the last time I followed Kyle, he makes a left toward the east side of Sun Flower. I turn left too, staying far enough behind so he won’t notice me. He stops at a crosswalk, then again for a stop sign. He even stops at an empty intersection. It’s easy to keep him in sight.
He picks up speed though as we approach the strip mall where I lost him last time. I pick up my speed too. I will not lose him again.
As I expected, Kyle turns left into the same shopping center. I speed up when I lose sight of him and make the same left … and he’s gone.
Did he duck through the alley?
I slip from sunlight to shadows as I ride between two buildings. It’s earlier in the day this time, so I can see enough to avoid a pothole and broken glass near the dumpster. I come out the other side, knowing I can’t be more than a minute behind my brother. I peer down a deserted road where a few empty trucks are parked and then in the other direction where fields of wild grass stretch for miles.
No Kyle.
“No! Not again!” Stopping by a concrete planter of prickly cactuses, I thump my fist on my handlebars. Where did he go?
Could he be in one of the businesses?
Doubling back, I lock my bike in a rack near the sheriff’s office.
I try there first. Sheriff Fischer isn’t there, but his deputy recognizes me and talks to me with an annoying tone like I’m a little kid. He’s a tall, skinny guy with more attitude than smarts. Still I believe him when he shakes head and says he hasn’t seen my brother.
The pawnshop is a weird place for my brother to go, but I check there anyway. It’s nicer than I expected, like a jewelry store with closed glass cases of watches, rings, necklaces, and other jewelry. Becca would like the sparkly rings.
“Can I help you?” a cute girl with black, spiraled hair asks. She’s Kyle’s age, wearing a tight black skirt with a bejeweled pink jacket and a sheer pink blouse. Her name tag says, “Peony.”
“Did you see a brown-haired guy riding a bike come by here?”
“Was he hot-looking?” she asks, dimpling.
“Yuck.” I make a gross face. “He’s my brother.”
She laughs, then gestures around the aisles of glass cases. “As you can see, there aren’t any bikes here—and no brothers. But if your brother is cute and single, tell him to stop by and ask for Peony.”
I can still hear her laughing as I leave the business.
Doesn’t anyone take me seriously? Peony made me feel like a little kid. No way will I tell my brother—or any cute guy—to stop by her store.
Next, I walk by the law office. A large front window gives me a view inside to a cozy waiting area with a comfy couch, a coffee machine, and a table piled neatly with magazines. A middle-aged receptionist with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back from her lined face reminds me of a lioness guarding the entrance to
her den.
I take a deep breath to work up some courage, then push open the engraved glass door.
“May I help you?”
If a voice could freeze, I’d now be a human popsicle. The receptionist’s black brows narrow together into sharp points. “May I help you, young lady?” she repeats.
“Um … I was looking for … um … my brother.” I keep my hand on the door handle, ready for a quick escape.
“And who might he be?” She taps a pen against her desk.
“Um … Kyle. Is he back there?” I look beyond her to a hallway that deepens into shadows dark enough to hide a boy and his bike.
“If he was, due to client confidentially, I wouldn’t be allowed to confirm or deny your question.”
I take that as a no, then squeak out something that sounds like “thank you.” I scurry out the door and down the sidewalk.
I’m ready to jump on my bike and pedal away … until the sweet aroma of pepperoni and pizza sauce entices me. I hear the irresistible catchphrase, “Make history with Prehistoric Pizza.”
A costumed dinosaur with a shiny green tail is waving a sign announcing a special discounted Dino-Roni Bacon Pizza. It’s a girl dinosaur and she sounds nice. I can’t afford the special or even a slice of pizza, but maybe the dinosaur saw my brother.
“Excuse me,” I say, peering into friendly hazel eyes shining from a rubbery dinosaur face. “I’m looking for my brother, Kyle. Did you see a guy go by on a bike?”
“Sorry, but I don’t know anyone named Kyle.” Her dino tail flops as she shakes her head. “I might have missed him. It’s not easy to see much in this costume.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sag. “Sorry to bother you.”
“No bother at all.” I can only see hazel eyes through her dinosaur face, but I can tell she’s smiling. “I’m bored standing out here alone.”
“And I’ll bet you’re hot in that heavy costume,” I say.
“Sizzling! Maybe I can help you.” She points to the front of the Prehistoric Pizza. “With all those windows, my coworkers might have seen your brother. I was just getting ready to take a short break. While I’m inside, I’ll ask Gina, Steve, K. C., and Reynaldo. But I won’t ask the manager, Mr. Kinkaid—he’s meaner than a T. rex. What does your brother look like?”
Kelsey the Spy Page 10
