Chapter 7
The Monster Mash
The next morning, the thing Amanda had been dreading more than anything finally happened. Two older girls cornered her outside the dining room and blocked her path.
“You’re Amanda Lester,” said one of them, a stunning blonde who was obviously used to getting a lot of attention.
“Yes,” said Amanda. “Nice to—”
“You’re descended from that idiot, Lestrade.”
“Hey—”
“You’re a loser. You don’t belong here.” The girl lifted her chin high, turned her head, and half closed her eyes. The pose made her look like a goose. The two girls broke into such laughter that a couple of boys came over to see what was going on.
“She’s descended from Inspector Lestrade,” said the mean girl.
Now the boys were laughing and pointing. “Lestrade! Ha ha ha! What’s your IQ, ten?” said the shorter one, who looked about seven. “And you’re American. Knock it down to five.”
“Who died and made you so great?” said Amanda to the four students, who were now in hysterics. “Shut up!” she screamed, attracting the attention of one of the teachers, who strode over to the group.
“What’s going on here?” said a rumpled, rotund professor with jet-black hair. He was so large that the students had to pull aside to make way for him.
“Nothing, Professor Mukherjee,” said the taller boy.
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” said the teacher. He had a lilting Indian accent that made him sound poetic, but there wasn’t a shred of sympathy on his face.
The mean kids glared at Amanda, who was caught between wanting to gloat and burst into tears. She chose gloating and smiled ever so slightly. But she wasn’t about to tattle.
Finally the quiet mean girl spoke. “Uh, we were just introducing ourselves, Professor.”
“Oh, you were, were you?” said Professor Mukherjee. “It looks to me like it was more than that.”
The students stared at the floor.
“Very well,” said the teacher. “You’re all going to detention. If I don’t see you there at 3:00 you will be put on probation. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Professor,” they said in unison.
“Good. See you then, and whatever you were doing, stop it,” he said, and waddled away.
When the teacher had departed, the four mean kids glared at Amanda as if the whole thing were her fault, then turned and walked away. Amanda was left standing there shaking. Now everyone knew, not just the people in her evidence class, and they’d make her life intolerable. How could her parents have done this to her? She vowed to put an end to this misery. If anyone said one word about Lestrade again she’d get her revenge. Oh, how she’d get it.
“What’s going on?” said Ivy from behind her.
Amanda whirled around and debated for about a second. Ivy obviously knew she was a Lestrade, but Amanda didn’t know if that bothered her. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course I can,” said Ivy. “I’m a detective.”
Her friend was already thinking of herself as a detective. And Amanda had really started to like her. Now she wondered if they could be friends after all.
“You’re a nice person, Ivy,” said Amanda, backpedaling, “but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about this.”
“No problem,” said Ivy. “I’ll be here when you are. Oh dear. We’re going to be late to our first dead bodies class.”
Amanda had to laugh. The real name of the class was Introductory Pathology, but everyone referred to it as “dead bodies.” It was so much more appropriate.
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 20
