Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy

by Paula Berinstein

When Amanda and Nigel entered the lab, the teacher, Professor Stegelmeyer, gave her the dirtiest of looks and said, “Miss Lester, I presume?” He had a buzz cut that made him look like a marine and a manner to match.

  “Yes, sir.” This was not going to be good.

  “Do you realize what time it is?” He motioned toward the clock and tapped his foot, as if keeping time to the second hand.

  “Yes, sir. I am so sorry, sir. Nigel needed to go out. It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t, because the next time it happens you will be dismissed from this class. Do you understand?”

  Amanda looked over at Ivy, who for the first time was frowning. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry, sir.” As if. The dog had needs. What a heartless man Professor Stegelmeyer was.

  Having delivered Nigel, Amanda took the only free seat in the class and found herself sitting next to Nick. He gave her a big grin, pointed to her hands, and rubbed his own together. She looked at him quizzically. He motioned for her to give one of them to him. She shook her head. She didn’t care how cold she was. She wasn’t about to hold hands with a boy in front of a teacher. Nick shrugged as if to say, “Suit yourself.” Then he flashed her another grin and turned toward the front.

  The lab was all about DNA, fingerprints, and chemical analysis—your typical crime scene stuff. Amanda found it all incredibly boring until Professor Stegelmeyer made Nick her lab partner. Nick was the kind of boy who wouldn’t have said two words to her back in L.A., but for some reason he seemed to have taken a shine to her. Maybe he was like that with everybody. She certainly had nothing to offer him. Yes, that must have been it. He was just a friendly guy.

  With almost no preamble they were thrown right into an exercise: dusting and lifting fingerprints. The first step was to create samples. Next to their supplies—fingerprint brushes, black and white powders, goggles, gloves, and tape—were two shiny drinking glasses, two empty soda cans, and two plastic plates. The pair took the materials and made firm prints with various fingers and their thumbs. Fortunately Amanda’s hands had defrosted enough that she could actually wiggle them. Then they slipped on their gloves and proceeded to dust their prints with the black powder. Nick’s came up quickly and beautifully but Amanda’s looked murky and clumped.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, surveying the mess.

  “Sure you can,” said Nick. “Just use a light twirling motion. I think you’re pressing too hard. Try the plate. And think feathery.”

  Amanda carefully dipped the brush into the powder and positioned it over the print. Feathers, feathery, oh so light. She envisioned the scene in her mind’s eye and took a breath. She twirled the brush lightly, just barely touching the print until the ridges came into view clearly. They looked nothing like Nick’s, which were wavy and seemed to undulate. They were actually kind of straight and boring. Figures. He’s got gorgeous fingers and mine are from that moron Lestrade.

  “Brilliant,” said Nick, looking at her fingerprints as if they were the Mona Lisa. “I knew you could do it.”

  “How did you do that?” she said, trying to tell from his prints what he’d done differently.

  “I have my ways.” He winked. “You see, I fancy myself as something of a filmmaker. I watch how things are done and try to use what I see to create art. It helps.” He gave her a mock sheepish look.

  Amanda was aghast. “You’re kidding.”

  “Mais non.”

  She was stunned. If that was the case, what was he doing here? And should she tell him about her own inclinations?

  “I see I’ve shocked you,” he said feigning horror.

  “Not really. I just didn’t think . . .”

  “It doesn’t compute, does it? Here we are at a school for detectives and I’m telling you I want to be a filmmaker. I suppose you wonder what I’m doing here.”

  “Wellll . . .” Maybe his parents were as bad as hers. She didn’t want to get into that.

  “Of course, my family. Isn’t that why we’re all here? But also, my personal philosophy is that in order to make great films, you need as much experience in as many areas as you can get.”

  “That makes sense,” said Amanda, though she’d never thought of it that way before. There was so much in her head already that she didn’t see why she needed any more, especially if it took her out of her comfort zone.

  “Do you know what I especially like?” Nick said conspiratorially. He paused a moment for effect. “Acting,” he whispered.

  “Acting?” said Amanda. OMG. He would make the best leading man ever.

  “Yes, acting. It’s immensely challenging and satisfying. You get to be anyone you want to be. Have you ever tried it?”

  “I, uh, I—”

  “Didn’t think so. It’s not something most people ever do, although coming from L.A. I thought you might have dabbled.”

  Should she say anything? It was so tempting to be able to share her passion with someone who understood.

  “I suppose I’m talking your ear off. Let’s do the white powder now.” He reached for the second vial.

  “I’m a filmmaker too,” she blurted out.

  Nick broke into a wide grin. “I knew it,” he said. “I can just tell.”