Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy

by Paula Berinstein

Suddenly she realized she hadn’t had breakfast. In her haste to get to the headmaster’s office before class, she’d completely forgotten to eat and she was hungry. Breakfast was officially over as of one minute ago, but she took a chance and snuck into the dining room, making sure to keep an eye out for the new cook, whoever she might be. The previous one had been strict about mealtimes, and if you missed them you were out of luck. Of course the previous cook had also been a mole working on behalf of the Moriarty cartel, so you couldn’t go by anything she’d done. Perhaps the new one would be nicer and a bit more lenient, not to mention less crooked.

  Amanda hustled as quietly as she could to the dining room, which was next to the stairs leading to the girls’ dorm. She looked around, first behind her, then to either side, then whirled around to get a 360-degree view and almost lost her balance. She heard some clunking coming from the kitchen, but there was no sign of the new cook. Was someone coming? Should she chance it?

  She tiptoed up to the kitchen door and looked through the round window. No one. The new cook and her assistant must be in the pantry or outside accepting deliveries. She twirled around again, then felt both dizzy and silly. Enough of that. She tiptoed over to the sideboard and grabbed the last roll, sticking it in her bag for a surreptitious getaway. Yay! She’d done it! She stepped out of the dining room as quietly as she could and power walked down the hall toward her first class.

  Unfortunately, as soon as she started moving she realized there was no way to consume the loot without anyone seeing, and if they did she’d probably get into trouble. As great a school as Legatum had turned out to be, sometimes it still felt like a prison. Should she duck into a closet and eat the roll? Why not? She opened the door to a supply area, stepped in, tore the thing in two, and stuffed it in her mouth, almost choking in the process. When she’d swallowed the last lump she was so thirsty she knew she’d never make it to class, so she stopped at a water fountain and managed to get water all over her face, hair, and sweater. Great.

  Normally she would have noticed the décor and committed it to memory but she was too rushed. With Professor Sidebotham’s daily observation quizzes constantly requiring fresh material, Legatum’s décor gremlins were always changing the look of the school, and the kids were supposed to note both its present and past states in great detail. Some of the quizzes had been downright unfair though. Like the time when they had to gauge the thickness of dust on a clock. And then there was the time when the old woman had wanted to know how many heel marks there were on the Van Helden House common room floor. Amanda knew that detectives had to hone their powers of observation, but sometimes Professor Sidebotham got carried away.

  She opened her new class schedule and checked it to make sure she was headed to the right place, barely noticing the camel standing in the main hall. The décor did not normally feature live animals, but the gremlins seemed to have been particularly active over spring break and had gone a bit crazy. They must have been in some kind of “Lawrence of Arabia” mood, which under normal circumstances Amanda would have very much appreciated, “Lawrence of Arabia” being one of her all-time favorite films. Now, however, nothing registered.

  Summer Term First-Year Class Schedule

  Monday

  8:00 – 9:15. Observation, Sidebotham

  9:30 – 10:45. Fires and Explosions, Pole

  11:15 – 12:30. Cyberforensics, Redleaf

  12:30 – 1:30. Lunch

  1:30 – 2:45. Crime Lab, Stegelmeyer.

  Tuesday

  8:00 – 9:15. History of Detectives, Also

  9:30 – 10:45. Observation, Sidebotham

  11:15 – 12:30. Self-defense, Peaksribbon

  12:30 – 1:30. Lunch

  1:30 – 2:45. Sketching, Browning.

  Wednesday

  8:00 – 9:15. Crime Lab, Stegelmeyer

  9:30 – 10:45. Cyberforensics, Redleaf

  11:15 – 12:30. Logic, Ducey

  12:30 – 1:30. Lunch

  1:30 – 2:45. Disguise, Tumble.

  Thursday

  8:00 – 9:15. Fires and Explosions, Pole

  9:30 – 10:45. Crime Lab, Stegelmeyer

  11:15 – 12:30. Self-defense, Peaksribbon

  12:30 – 1:30. Lunch

  1:30 – 2:45. Observation, Sidebotham.

  Friday

  8:00 – 9:15. Logic, Ducey

  9:30 – 10:45. Cyberforensics, Redleaf

  11:15 – 12:30. History of Detectives, Also

  12:30 – 1:30. Lunch

  1:30 – 2:45. Sketching, Browning.

  She checked the first box. Yup. She was going the right way. But as she rushed down the hall, she couldn’t stop thinking about not only what the teachers had said, but how they’d said it.

  The school was full of tough people. None of the teachers was the least bit shy about expressing him- or herself, and they could be harsh with the students. But she’d never heard them argue like this. Maybe they’d hidden their internal disagreements up to now, but she didn’t think so. She was pretty sure they’d always been united in their mission—to produce the best detectives in the world—and their approach to it. Or maybe Thrillkill had always quashed dissent. Whatever it was, she’d never heard a peep before today, not even when she’d overheard Professor Feeney talking about some missing item on the phone last term. At the time, the criminals and their methods teacher had obviously been concerned, but she wasn’t arguing with whoever was on the other end. No, this situation was different.

  Wait a minute: last term! Whatever it was had been missing for quite a while. Amanda was sure that at least a month had passed since Professor Feeney’s phone call, if not longer. If that were the case, why were the teachers talking about it only now? Something must have happened recently. Could it have anything to do with Blixus Moriarty? He’d been in prison for a month. Might he have pulled something off from there?

  As she turned to enter her observation class she almost collided with the door. Everyone was already seated, including David Wiffle, who had obviously eaten breakfast when he was supposed to. She made her way to an empty seat next to her roommate, petite, blind, copper-haired Ivy Halpin, whose golden retriever guide dog, Nigel, wagged his tail at the sight of her. At first she ignored him, but when he looked at her with those soulful eyes she realized she’d been completely distracted and gave him a big hug. This gesture was not lost on David Wiffle, who rolled his eyes. Amanda stuck out her tongue. He mouthed, “Real mature.” She turned away.

  “Ivy,” whispered Amanda. “I have to tell you something important.”

  “What—is something wrong?” Ivy said so quickly that Amanda started. Ivy was normally the calmest and most together of Amanda’s friends. Even when she was concerned about something you could barely tell, but not now.

  “Yes, but I don’t know what,” said Amanda.

  “Is it serious?” Ivy reached out and petted Nigel so hard that hair flew off in all directions.

  “Yes.” Amanda looked around to make sure no one was listening. That Wiffle kid was so nosy.

  “Super serious?”

  “It could be really bad. I’ll tell you after class.”

  “Is it about Editta?” said Ivy. “She didn’t make it to the dorm last night.” She looked like she was about to cry.

  “She’s not here? No, that isn’t it.”

  Amanda looked around. No Editta. Since the whole first-year class took the same courses, their friend from down the hall should have been there. She was probably just late though. Most people had returned from the holiday over the weekend but there were always a few stragglers. Maybe there was a traffic jam on the M1.

  “I tried to phone her but all I got was her voicemail,” said Ivy. “Five times. I’m getting worried. I don’t know why. It’s not that late. Are you sure your thing doesn’t have anything to do with this?”

  “I’m sure. Still, it isn’t like her not to show up. You know how superstitious she is. Everything has to be just so or she freaks out.”

/>   “Yes. That’s what I thought.” Ivy twitched in her seat and resettled her butt in her chair. It was a small butt and there was plenty of space to work with.

  “I wonder if there’s a way to smoke her out.” Amanda didn’t realize it, but she was mirroring Ivy, wriggling her slightly larger but no longer pudgy butt into her own seat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how she’s always counting things and looking for magic numbers and stuff?”

  “Uh huh.” That she was. Editta Sweetgum was one of the most superstitious, OCD people Amanda had ever met. The trait seemed to run in her family. From the way Editta described all the odd things her mother believed, she sounded like she practiced voodoo or something.

  “How about if we send her three messages one right after the other? When she counts them she’ll see how important they are and she’ll answer.” Ivy tapped the arm of her chair three times to demonstrate. She had a great sense of rhythm.

  “I see. A code. Like a light that blinks so many times for yes and so many times for no.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Let’s do it. Here I—”

  Ivy’s other roommate, Amphora Kapoor, a tall, chestnut-skinned girl with long dark hair who had just entered and was sitting on the other side of Ivy, turned to them and interrupted with, “Hey, I hate to bring up the topic of Nick . . .”

  Simon Binkle, who was sitting behind the girls, leaned forward and said, “Then don’t.”

  “Butt out, Simon,” said Amphora.

  “You butt out,” said Simon.

  “I see you’re still irritating. Apparently the break did nothing to change that.” Unfortunately she was right. Simon could be extremely annoying.

  “Apparently it did nothing to change your bad temper.” He was right too. Amphora could be tetchy, especially with him. The two were like chalk and cheese.

  “Oh, stop it, you two,” said Ivy. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me,” said Amphora. “Ask him.” Simon glared at her. “Anyway, I heard they’re moving Nick’s mother from one prison to another. She’s going to be in the same one as his father. I wonder if she’ll try to escape. Do you think she could?”

  “I would,” said Simon. Amphora turned around and gave him a long dirty look. “She has nothing to lose. Lots of prisoners escape. Look at Bosul Fopy and Cowboy Quash. They got away from the two toughest maximum-security prisons in the country. Fopy tunneled under his cell for a mile. A mile! And Quash got away while they were moving him. Of course he had help from his mates, but the Moriartys have lots of friends who aren’t locked up. Yeah, she’ll give it a go.”

  “Thanks a lot, Simon,” said Amphora. “That was really helpful. What if she comes after Thrillkill, or Amanda?”

  This was a thought that hadn’t occurred to Amanda. When she’d helped capture the Moriartys she’d thought that was that. It had never occurred to her that either of them might escape. If she’d been thinking from a filmmaker’s point of view, she’d have got it at once because the prospect of escape would have added suspense and danger to the story and she would have milked it. But thinking like a detective she’d missed it. Boy, she still had a lot to learn. And BTW, ouch. The thought of either of those two coming after her was terrifying.

  “Good morning, class,” said Professor Sidebotham. Amanda started. She had been so wrapped up in picturing Mavis Moriarty coming after her with an axe that she hadn’t seen the teacher enter the room. Ivy jabbed Amanda with her elbow and mouthed the word “Editta,” but because the teacher was watching them Amanda put her phone away without having sent the texts. She’d have to do it later.

  Suddenly Simon poked her in the back. “Hey,” he whispered. “Did you see that camel?”

  “Mr. Binkle,” said Professor Sidebotham loudly. “I’m so glad you have volunteered to start the class. Come up here, please. And remove your fedora in the classroom.”

  Simon was always wearing his fedora now, ever since the first day of school when he’d begun to create his detective’s mystique in Professor Also’s history of detectives class. The look included said hat and sometimes a red sweater vest. The hat suited him better than Amanda had thought it would, but she still wasn’t convinced about the vest, which she felt was too old a look for a twelve-year-old. Maybe not in the UK though. At home in L.A. people would have thought he looked ridiculous. Everyone was more formal here. Everyone but her, that is.

  Every time Simon took the hat off you could see that crazy cowlick of his, and then he’d smack his head constantly trying to get it to lie flat. Now he removed the hat and immediately felt for the disobedient hairs. Slap, slap. His efforts did no good. He grumbled under his breath and slunk up to the front of the class.

  “Stand up straight,” said Professor Sidebotham. Simon complied. “That’s better. Now, let’s do a little exercise. Class, has Mr. Binkle gained in height since last term?”

  Last term was about ten days ago. If Simon had grown since then it would be a miracle. Ivy raised her hand. Amanda noticed that the floor around her chair was covered with dog hair.

  “Miss Halpin?” said the teacher.

  “Simon has grown about a quarter of an inch in the last two weeks,” said Ivy. “His voice is coming from a slightly different place now.”

  Ivy was already an amazing detective. She may have been sightless, but her ears were incredible. She could detect better than any of the other kids just by listening. If she said Simon had grown a quarter of an inch, he had.

  “I don’t think so,” blurted out David Wiffle.

  Oh no. Here we go. Amanda sat back in anticipation of the argument to come.

  “Mr. Wiffle, from now on wait until I call on you,” said Professor Sidebotham. “Now, why don’t you think Mr. Binkle has grown?”

  “Sorry, Professor. But no one grows a quarter of an inch in ten days.”

  The class laughed.

  “This is a class in observation, Mr. Wiffle,” said the teacher. “Not common wisdom.”

  More laughter. Amanda was particularly gratified to see the thorn in her side taken down a peg, especially by an old lady.

  “But aren’t we supposed to use everything we know to solve crimes?” said the thorn.

  “In general, yes,” said Professor Sidebotham, “but this is a class in observation. You must perceive what’s around you, not project onto it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The Wiffle kid looked more annoyed than usual. He didn’t like being wrong, and he really didn’t like being laughed at.

  “What is the answer, Mr. Binkle? You have been keeping track of your height and weight as I instructed, have you not?”

  Simon looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “Yes, Professor.”

  Amanda leaned over to Ivy and said, “I don’t know what his problem is. He looks good.” She was right. Simon was tall and trim, albeit a bit geeky-looking.

  Ivy whispered back, “Too personal.” Amanda nodded, then realized Ivy couldn’t see her, so she said, “Yeah. We are talking about Simon, aren’t we?”

  “We’re waiting, Mr. Binkle,” said the teacher.

  “I, um, er . . .”

  “Out with it. Have you grown or haven’t you?”

  “I, uh, yes. I’ve grown a quarter of an inch since the end of last term.”

  The students let out a yell—that is, all the students except Mr. Wiffle.

  “Gold star, Miss Halpin,” said Professor Sidebotham. “Better luck next time, Mr. Wiffle.”

  This humiliation did not go over well with the Wiffle kid. He groused under his breath and made faces at his freckled friend Gordon Bramble, who was sitting next to him as usual.

  “Now then, class,” said Professor Sidebotham. “I know you’ve all seen the camel in the hall. I want you all to text me the answer to this question within ten seconds: one hump or two? Miss Halpin, you may skip this exercise if you desire. Go.”

  “That’s all right, Professor,” s
aid Ivy. “I have an answer.” She started texting into her specially adapted phone.

  Ack! Amanda had no idea. She’d run right past the animal and had barely noticed it. She didn’t want to blow another of Professor Sidebotham’s pop quizzes. At least she had a fifty-fifty chance, though. She took a chance and texted “1.”

  “Time,” said the teacher. “Let’s see what we have. Ten ones, nineteen twos, and what’s this? None? Who said none?” She peered out over the class. “I don’t like wiseacres.”

  “But it didn’t have any,” called out David Wiffle. “It’s a flatback highland humpless from Tanzania.”

  “Actually, he’s right,” said Simon, thumbing his phone. “And ironically, it was discovered by a biologist named Humphrey something. Pretty good, eh? Hump, Humphrey?” He started to crack up, then stopped abruptly. “I knew that. Why did I say one hump?” He reddened again.

  “Well done, Mr. Wiffle. It was a trick question. You passed with flying colors. The rest of you, this is what happens when you let your expectations color your observations. Empty your mind of preconceived notions. Do not see what you expect to see. See what is.”

  Amphora raised her hand.

  “Yes, Miss Kapoor,” said the teacher.

  “Professor, if there really were no humps, why did you say we’re wiseacres.”

  Oh great, thought Amanda. Now she’d stepped in it.

  “Part of my strategy to trick you, Miss Kapoor. Be ever vigilant. Don’t let your senses fool you. And on that note, I’d like to announce that we will be using our senses in a very concentrated fashion in one week. We will be going on a field trip to Blackpool.”

  “Yay!” “Hurrah!” “Cool!” “Radical!” “Sweet!” said the class.

  Amanda leaned over to Ivy. “What’s Blackpool?”

  “It’s a huge amusement park-y place. Kind of like Disney World except way bigger and with lots more stuff to do.”

  “Oh, cool! I love Space Mountain.”

  “Now, while I expect that you will enjoy yourselves, the purpose of the trip is to practice observing,” said the professor, ambling around the room. “You will need to be ready for anything, and I do mean anything. I will be presenting observing exercises on the spot. These will count toward your grade, so it will behoove you to pay attention. Mr. Bramble, please put your phone away.”

  “Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor,” said Gordon Bramble, stuffing his phone in his pocket. Amanda just knew he’d been playing games instead of listening.

  “For example, I might ask you to pick out a certain number of items and make a story out of them. Miss Lester, you should be good at that. I’m looking forward to sitting in on your storytelling seminar.”

  “Thank you, Professor.” Amanda beamed. Thrillkill had asked her to present a special storytelling workshop to the class, and she was so excited she couldn’t wait.

  “Or, I might ask you to give me the backgrounds or attributes of a number of items that have something in common. For example, I want to know where all the blue items within ten feet might have come from. How many of this or that are there? Move your point of view n degrees and tell me how the scene has changed. If you had to testify in court about this or that, what would you say? These are only some of the questions I’ll be asking. Others will come as a complete surprise and I expect you to rise to the challenge.” She stopped at Prudence Starshine’s seat and stared directly at the slender golden-haired girl, who quailed under her gaze.

  “You will also describe your methods. I will ask you to write a paper on this topic later. Hearing about how each student works will allow you to try out new techniques and expand on what you see, and later you will look at a given scene the way one or another of your classmates does. So shared experiences will be critical.” She glanced from Owla Snizzle to Clive Ng. “Perhaps you, Miss Snizzle, and you, Mr. Ng, will team up.” Both kids looked terrified.

  “And don’t forget to use all of your senses. Miss Halpin, obviously I don’t expect you to use your eyes, but I want you to help the other students develop their auditory, olfactory, and tactile senses. In fact I would like you to prepare some lectures on these topics. Please see me at the end of the day to discuss this project.”

  Ivy grinned for the first time. “Yes, ma’am.” Then she turned to Amanda and said, “You’re better at this stuff than I am. She should ask you. You notice stuff because of your film training.”

  “I’m not better,” whispered Amanda. “It’s just that when you’re responsible for every detail of look and feel, you notice everything. But you’re naturally better.”

  “No, I’m not,” said Ivy, looking like she’d lost her best friend.

  What was up with her? Amanda was starting to worry. She looked around the classroom. “Still no Editta, I see.”

  “I know,” said Ivy. “I don’t like this. You don’t think her parents pulled her out of school, do you?”

  “I don’t see why. And even if they did she’d say goodbye.”

  “Yes, she would. This isn’t good.”

  Suddenly the door opened and Headmaster Thrillkill stuck his head in. He gave a sign to Professor Sidebotham, then entered followed by a nice-looking dark-skinned boy wearing a bow tie and a serious expression. The kid seemed to gleam. The buttons on his blazer glinted like diamonds, the creases in his trousers were impossibly perfect, and he was wearing freshly buffed tasseled loafers. Even his short afro sparkled. He looked like he’d just arrived from the 1950s.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Professor,” said Thrillkill, “but I have a new student for you. Class, this is Scapulus Holmes.”

  The room went silent. The boy stood by the door and smiled ever so slightly.

  Amanda took in the sight before her. This was Holmes? This vision of smugness? Ugh. He was going to be awful—worse than she’d expected. Who dressed like that? He was obviously so self-involved that he couldn’t recognize how real people looked and behaved. She wanted to run up and pull that prissy little bow tie off his neck, rub dirt on those too-shiny buttons, and scuff up his look-at-me shoes.

  Before she knew it she had blurted out, “OMG, what a dork!” Then, realizing what she’d done, she turned as red as Simon’s sweater and bolted from the room, leaving behind a roomful of gaping would-be detectives.

  GORDON BRAMBLE EXPLODES

  Amanda had pulled some stupid stunts in her life, but reacting to Sherlock Holmes’s descendant that way was the worst ever. How gauche could she be? She could hear Nick’s voice in her head saying, “Good one, Lestrade.” He had called her by her ancestor’s name when he turned mean, and it had stung like a thousand wasps. She was so ashamed she wanted to die. How could she ever go back into that room? Maybe she should just stow away on another delivery truck, the way she’d done last term when she was trying to find her father, and go home, or anywhere that wasn’t Legatum. Her parents had offered her the chance to go back to L.A. and live with relatives. Maybe she should take it and leave this craziness behind.

  Actually that might not be such a bad idea. Maybe she didn’t belong at Legatum at all. For a girl who prided herself on her observational skills, she had really messed up. How could she have failed to see what Nick really was? Now that she looked back, it was obvious he’d been playing her. Was she that stupid?

  Obviously she was. He’d known she was gullible. Out of a class of thirty students he’d singled her out as the one most likely to believe his lies. By spending so much time with her, he’d limited his exposure to others who might have been more skeptical. He must have had highly developed turkey radar. What was it that had made her such an obvious choice? Of course—what else? It was those awful Lestrade genes again.

  She heard the door to the observation classroom open and saw Professor Thrillkill come out. Fortunately she was out of his line of sight and was able to duck around a corner without being seen. She tried to make like Ivy and prick up her ears, but her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to hear footsteps. Still there was the
headmaster’s voice, joined by another she didn’t recognize. She caught the words “Blixus” and “Feeney,” but she couldn’t make out anything else. She was sure the two of them were discussing the missing item, but she was unable to glean anything beyond that. Nevertheless, the conversation seemed to add proof to her fear that something weird was happening.

  She knew she was going to have to face the music so she tiptoed back toward the classroom. Thankfully, Professor Thrillkill and whoever he was talking to had disappeared, but she was still supposed to see him later. Ugh. He’d definitely say something about her outburst. Just when he’d seemed to thaw a little she’d had to go and ruin everything. Typical.

  She opened the door slowly to minimize the creaking and stepped back inside. The room was dead still except for Professor Sidebotham’s voice. The new student had found a seat. Everyone turned to look at her, obviously embarrassed on her behalf, except for Wiffle and his friend Gordon Bramble, who giggled. She sat back down and drew her body inward, as if to hide in plain sight. Should she say something to Holmes? He was sitting way across the room, paying rapt attention to the teacher. He seemed to be acting like nothing had happened but she couldn’t tell for sure. He certainly didn’t seem to be brooding, or laughing. He was a complete cipher. Well, wasn’t that just like a Holmes—completely wrapped up in himself. Still, she’d done a terrible thing and there would be a price to pay.

  “Miss Lester? I asked you a question,” said Professor Sidebotham.

  The whole class, Holmes included, turned to look at her.

  “I’m sorry, Professor. Would you mind repeating it?” Amanda’s face felt so hot she thought she could fry an egg on it.

  “I said would you please elaborate on my point.” The professor looked at her sternly.

  “Uh, sure. Er, you were talking about using all the senses instead of just sight.” It sounded good anyway.

  “That was ten minutes ago, Miss Lester. Please join us in the twenty-first century.”

  “Sorry, Professor. I was, uh, I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “No, you did not, Miss Lester. You committed a faux pas, which is entirely human, but a detective stands up and accepts the consequences of her actions. She doesn’t run away. Being out of the room is no excuse. I’m deducting fifty points from your next test. Is that clear?”

  The Wiffle kid was gloating so hard he looked like a mask of himself. Amanda felt that she’d gotten off easy, however, and said, “Yes, Professor. It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t. Now, class . . .”

  Professor Sidebotham’s voice faded out of Amanda’s consciousness. Maybe she had been too cocky thinking she was over the whole Holmes thing. She’d just demonstrated that Holmes and his family could still get to her. This was not good.

  Except that it wasn’t her, it was him. She was the victim. She decided she hated Holmes more than ever. She even convinced herself that it was his fault that Nick had betrayed her and the school. Holmes and his family must have provoked the Moriartys into that whole sugar scheme and made them so angry that they’d had to use their twelve-year-old son to infiltrate the detectives’ school. Moriarty was only Moriarty because he had Holmes to play off of. If there were no Holmes, he’d just be an ordinary, run-of-the-mill loser. She seethed so hard she could barely keep it together.

  When the class ended Holmes was nowhere to be seen. Amphora ran to Amanda and said, “I can’t believe you said that.” Although she knew what she’d done was horrific, Amphora’s accusing comment got her dander up and she huffed off.

  Then Simon came up to her and said, “Way to go, Amanda.”

  “Don’t be mean,” said Ivy, who had joined them. “It wasn’t the greatest thing to say, but it’s not the end of the world.”

  “It was incredibly embarrassing,” said Amanda. “Who’s the dork here—him or me?”

  “Live and learn,” said Simon in his maddening way.

  “I think he’s cute,” said Amphora, rejoining the group.

  “You would,” said Simon.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Here we go again. Amanda wondered if those two would ever get along. Probably not.

  “Nothing much. You’re just a bit moony,” Simon said.

  “What do you mean moony?” Amphora crossed her arms the way she often did with him.

  “You’re always mooning over guys, that’s all,” he said.

  “I don’t moon. Ivy, do I moon?” Amphora uncrossed her arms and turned to her roommate.

  “No, I don’t think you moon,” said Ivy.

  “What do you mean you don’t think I moon?”

  “You don’t moon, okay?” said Ivy with uncharacteristic pique. What was up with her? Maybe this thing with Editta was really getting to her.

  “What am I going to do?” said Amanda. “I hate that guy. I mean, I don’t hate that guy because I don’t know him, but I hate Sherlock Holmes and everything about him, and—well, I do hate that guy because did you see how he looks? He’s going to be terrible. And now he knows I hate him and Thrillkill is forcing me to be his big sister and that kid is going to cause me so much grief and what about all the other kids who heard me say that, and Sidebotham too?”

  “You’re making too much of this,” Amphora said.

  “Agreed,” said Simon, astonishing everyone. He never agreed with her.

  “I don’t think so,” said Amanda. She was pacing now.

  “They’ll get over it,” said Simon. “Anyway, he looked fine to me.”

  “I don’t think he looks bad at all,” said Amphora. “It’s refreshing when someone pays attention to their appearance."

  “Yeah, I saw you noticing him,” said Simon. “You looked like a dog discovering a steak.” Amphora glared at him.

  “He has a lovely voice,” said Ivy.

  “When did you hear his voice?” said Amphora. She looked startled for some reason Amanda couldn’t fathom.

  “He said something under his breath,” said Ivy. “You didn’t hear?”

  “No,” said Amphora.

  “Well, he does,” said Ivy.

  “You girls are nuts,” said Simon, shaking his head and walking off.

  “Did you do what we talked about?” Ivy said to Amanda.

  “What? Oh, you mean the texts?” She rummaged in her bag. “Got it.” She held her phone at the ready. The light hit it at just the right angle and it glinted.

  “Yes.”

  “What texts?” said Amphora, who seemed annoyed at having been left out.

  “Have you heard anything from Editta?” said Amanda.

  “What? No. Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” Amphora seemed to be reading disaster into the question. She did that a lot.

  “Exactly,” said Ivy.

  “We’re going to text her three messages in quick succession and see if she answers,” said Amanda.

  “Oh, I see,” said Amphora. “Like a pattern. She’ll answer that.”

  “We hope so,” said Ivy. “Amanda, please do it now.”

  “Okay.” Amanda quickly thumbed until she had sent three identical texts in rapid fashion. The girls stood there for a second and stared at the tiny screen. Nothing. “We have to give it some time. Maybe she’s busy.”

  “Yes,” said Ivy. “I’m sure that’s it.”

  “Definitely,” said Amphora, who didn’t look at all convinced.