Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis

by Paula Berinstein

  “It doesn’t seem so,” said Amanda. “What I can’t figure out is why things have exploded now, though.”

  “We have to investigate,” said Simon, who was definitely looking clownish. All he needed was a red nose. “You don’t suppose this is another class project, do you?”

  “Agreed, and no,” said Ivy. “The teachers can be diabolical but this feels like a real crisis. And I’ve never heard of a second class project for first-years. Fern would have told me.” Fern was Ivy’s sister, and a fifth-year student. She knew everything about the school and Ivy often relied on her for critical information. “But when we do investigate, we can’t let anyone know what we’re doing. We don’t want the teachers to know that we’re aware of whatever it is that’s going on, and we don’t want to alarm the other students.”

  “We’re going to have to search the school,” said Simon. Amanda did not want to see what was under his plate. For that matter, she was afraid to lift her own. She hoped the teachers weren’t expecting them to clean the dining room after this little adventure.

  “But we don’t know what we’re looking for,” said Amphora. She looked down at her plate. “Don’t you think this lasagna is amazing?” Everyone stopped eating and stared at her.

  “I think we’re going to have to go on the assumption that we’ll know it when we see it, like what happened with the class project last term,” said Ivy, ignoring Amphora’s question. She was referring to the fact that when Headmaster Thrillkill and the teachers had presented the instructions for the class project, they had refused to tell them what the mystery was—only that they’d know it when they saw it. And they had. The garage had exploded in the middle of the night. You couldn’t miss that.

  “But how big is it?” said Amphora. “What if it’s really, really tiny, like a piece of jewelry? How could we possibly find that?”

  “It’s a problem,” said Amanda. “The teachers know what it is, and they can’t find it. I don’t think our chances are very good.”

  “Do you think we should ask Scapulus to help us?” said Simon.

  “I knew it,” said Amanda. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “Sure. Why not? He seems like a smart guy.”

  “That’s your standard for whether you like people?” said Amphora.

  “Not completely,” said Simon. “But mostly.” The implication was clear: he didn’t think Amphora was smart and that was why the two didn’t get along. Amphora sighed so loud you could have heard her in the kitchen with dishes clattering and the refrigerator cycling.

  “So do you?” said Simon.

  “What?” said Amanda.

  “Think we should ask him.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I knew it. You’re afraid he’s smarter than you are, aren’t you?”

  “SIMON!” said all three girls together, so loudly that everyone in the room, including Holmes, looked at them.

  “Keep your voice down,” Amanda said. “That isn’t true and you know it. And by the way, you’ve got a red mustache.” She indicated where it would be on her own face if she had one.

  “I know what I saw and what I’m seeing now,” said Simon. “And so what? I mean about the mustache.” He felt his upper lip.

  “Simon Binkle, you are the most exasperating person at Legatum,” said Ivy. Amanda’s mouth fell open. Ivy never talked like this. “Shut up. Now look, Amanda doesn’t like Scapulus because she doesn’t know him yet. In fact I’m not even sure she doesn’t like him. What do you say, Amanda?”

  “I don’t know him,” said Amanda, trying to wriggle out gracefully.

  “I think he’s cute,” said Amphora dreamily.

  “You think everyone is cute,” said Simon.

  “Not you,” said Amphora.

  “STOP IT, all of you!” yelled Ivy. Amanda had never heard her yell. “You’re all acting like children. This is serious. Stop being petty and let’s figure out what to do.” She pushed her plate away. She’d barely touched her food.

  By this time the entire dining room was staring at them. David Wiffle looked like he was going to say something but instead broke into a huge grin. Probably planning some revenge or other, Amanda thought. Why couldn’t the guy chill out?

  “We’re all going to have to spy on the teachers,” said Ivy. “I don’t like invading anyone’s privacy, but detectives aren’t called snoops for nothing.” She grinned. “That was a good one, wasn’t it?”

  “Very cool,” said Amanda. She was glad to see Ivy making jokes. Things had been getting way too serious. “But how are we going to do that? Follow them around until they get together and listen outside their doors?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Simon. “I can make sound magnifiers. We’ll all be able to hear like Ivy.”

  “Really?” said Amphora. “Aren’t you worried they’ll catch us?” She pushed her plate away as well, exposing a big red spot.

  “Nah,” said Simon. “How are they going to tell from so far away?” He lifted up his own plate, took one look underneath, and lowered it again. Amanda was sure the spot underneath was worse than Amphora’s, but no more so than her own.

  “I don’t think it’s exactly criminal to listen to people who aren’t behind closed doors,” said Ivy. “I’m sure they talk in public too.” She lowered her glass to Nigel’s mouth. The dog lapped loudly. This little ritual always astonished Amanda, who never would have been able to get away with something like that at home.

  “I don’t even mind listening at doors,” she said, “if it’s that serious. And I’m pretty sure they won’t be watching us to see what we’re doing. They seem completely preoccupied.”

  “I agree,” said Ivy. “I’m not worried about being caught. How long do you think it will take to make these things, Simon?”

  “Dunno, but I’ll start researching right after class. Say, what did you think of Redleaf today?” He popped a marinara-drenched grape into his mouth.

  “Very weird,” said Amanda. “She looked like someone had just told her World War III had started.”

  “Agreed,” said Amphora. “And she and Scapulus seemed to know each other from somewhere else. Think all of this weirdness is connected?”

  “It might be,” said Ivy. “We should listen super carefully. But I’m also worried about Editta and I can’t see how she could be involved in any of this.” She felt under the table. “I’ll get you some more water in a minute, Nigel.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Amanda, not for the first time. She was always glad to help with Nigel. He was such a sweet dog, and she’d never been allowed to have one of her own.

  “Nope,” said Simon. “Too flighty.”

  “She’s not flighty,” said Amphora. “She’s really talented at math.”

  “Doesn’t mean she isn’t flighty,” said Simon. “All that mumbo jumbo she believes in.” He made a gesture. Rather than mumbo jumbo, it looked like he was in pain.

  “Okay, that’s it,” said Ivy. “From now on, any time one of us makes a negative remark, we put 20p in a jar. If you get five nasty remarks, it goes up to 50p.”

  “That’s not fair,” said Amphora, eyeing the kitchen door again.

  “Why do you keep looking over there?” said Simon, popping another grape into his mouth and chomping for emphasis.

  “I’m not looking anywhere,” said Amphora, making a face.

  “Yes you are. You keep looking at the kitchen.”

  “I’m just wondering if they’re going to bring out anything more interesting. I don’t like grapes.”

  “You don’t need anything more interesting,” said Simon. “You look good with all that weight off.”

  “Simon!” yelled Ivy. “Twenty p.”

  His face fell. “But I complimented her.”

  “Backhanded compliment. Twenty p. Here, give it to me. I’ll set up a jar.” She held out her hand.

  Simon dug into his pocket and practically slapped the change into Ivy’s palm. “Madoff,” he said.


  “And another twenty p,” said Ivy, who was beginning to lose her temper again.

  “I think you should go charge David Wiffle 20p,” said Simon, crossing his arms.

  “He isn’t part of this,” said Ivy, crossing hers in exactly the same way. How did she know he’d done that?

  “He’s always insulting people,” said Simon petulantly.

  “Yes, but he’s not our responsibility. Anyway, back to Editta. She hasn’t answered your texts, has she, Amanda?”

  “No.”

  “This isn’t like her. She doesn’t like being left out of things,” said Ivy, uncrossing.

  “She’ll turn up,” said Simon, mirroring her. “Probably just has the Monday blues.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ivy. “You don’t suppose the Moriarty gang has got hold of her, do you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Simon. “What would they want with her? You’re starting to sound like her.”

  “Fifty p!” yelled Ivy. Simon passed the money to her through Amanda this time. She could tell he was getting exasperated as well.

  “I don’t trust anyone,” said Amanda. “Those Moriartys have a lot of connections. Any one of them could have kidnapped her. And by the way, speaking of the Moriartys, how do we know Holmes is who he says he is? Maybe he’s another mole.” Nick, his mother, the cook, and the doctor had infiltrated the school last term and everyone was paranoid about the possibility of that happening again.

  “Yes, how did Nick get into Legatum in the first place?” said Amphora.

  “Forgery,” said Simon. “And you’re not going to charge me 20p for saying that.”

  “No,” said Ivy. “That’s perfectly all right to say. I imagine forgery is part of it. That and planting witnesses. It’s weird, though. How could the teachers fall for all that?”

  “People see what they want to see,” said Simon. “Like Amanda wanting Nick to be Prince Charming.”

  “Fifty p!” said Ivy.

  “Hey, no fair. I only had four 20 ps. I’ve got one more to go,” said Simon, folding his arms again.

  “We need Editta to keep track of this stuff,” said Amphora.

  “Will you forgot all those pence and listen?” said Amanda. “How do we know Holmes is who he says he is?”

  “Okay, fine,” said Simon. “We’ll check him out.”

  “Thank you,” said Amanda. “I’ll feel better being sure.”

  “Dahlinks,” came a loud voice from the door to the hall. It was one of the décor gremlins. He was wearing a bright red tux. While the two gremlins always wore amazing clothes, Amanda thought this was a bit over the top. “You’re all looking mahvelous today,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dropoff,” said Amphora, beaming. “And you. Nifty threads.”

  “Thank you, my dear. What’s over there, dahlink? Something going on in the kitchen?” He glanced at the door.

  “No, sir. Not a thing. Hello, Mr. Updown.” She smiled warmly at the second gremlin, who was wearing a torn rainbow-striped T-shirt and ripped jeans.

  “Hello, dears,” said the second gremlin. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Uh . . .” said Simon.

  “Yes, of course,” said Ivy, motioning to the seat next to her.

  “Good,” said Alexei Dropoff, dropping into it. “We’d like you to settle a dispute for us, dears. Hello, Nigel, dahlink.” He gave the dog a warm look. Nigel wagged his tail.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Amanda, who didn’t like getting in the middle of people’s arguments.

  “We’d be delighted,” said Ivy. “What’s the issue?”

  “Well,” said Noel Updown, slinking into a chair next to Simon, “you see, one of us thinks you students are more likely to notice our little details on Mondays and Wednesdays, and the other thinks Tuesdays and Thursdays. I won’t tell you which of us thinks which so as not to prejudice you.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Alexei. “It’s obvious which one of us is correct.” He gave Noel a smug look.

  “Twenty p,” yelled Simon. Amphora kicked him under the table. “Ouch.”

  Ivy elbowed Amphora. “Well, uh, I don’t know,” said Amphora.

  “That’s an invalid question,” said Simon. “Your assumptions are wrong.” There were no grapes left to underscore his statement, so he just bored into the gremlins’ eyes with his own.

  “Of course they’re not wrong,” said Noel, sticking his nose in the air.

  “Outrageous,” said Alexei, turning his head away snootily.

  “You’re assuming that it’s one or the other and nothing else,” said Simon. “Or that there’s a difference at all. Professor Ducey would fail you.” The logic teacher definitely would have taken points off for the gremlins’ flawed assumptions.

  Ivy was looking like she wasn’t sure whether to charge Simon another 50 p. Amanda whispered “Uh uh” into her ear to forestall any punitive action.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Noel. “That isn’t true at all. It’s a scientific fact that people do one thing on Mondays and Wednesdays and another on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “Save us,” said Simon. “Another Editta.”

  “Fifty p,” said Ivy, holding out her hand.

  “Uh uh,” said Simon.

  “Uh huh,” said Amphora, holding out her own hand.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” said Simon. “I’ve got work to do.” He stood up and left the room noisily without looking back.

  “Terrible posture, that one,” said Alexei. “But now we can address the question properly.” He looked disapprovingly at Simon’s plate, which he had not bussed.

  “Indeed,” said Noel. “So what is your answer?” He looked at the three girls.

  “Well, sirs,” said Ivy kindly, “I would say Mondays and Wednesdays.”

  “Told you so,” said Alexei looking smugly at Noel.

  “Not correct,” said Noel, giving Alexei a snide look.

  “Why do you say that, Ivy?” said Amphora.

  “Because we’re more keyed up and therefore more alert on Mondays, and we’ve mellowed out a little by Tuesday, so we’re less observant then. Then on Wednesdays, once we’ve had a chance to adjust to the rhythm of the week, our minds are sharp again.”

  “Not so,” said Noel looking crestfallen. “It’s the exact opposite.”

  “How so?” said Amanda.

  “On Mondays you’re too traumatized by the change of routine to think straight. By Tuesday you have relaxed. On Wednesday, you congratulate yourself for having such a productive Tuesday, and you let your guard down. Then on Thursday you feel guilty so you buck up again.”

  “That’s quite an interesting analysis,” said Ivy.

  “And correct,” said Noel, folding his arms.

  “And incorrect,” said Alexei, folding his. Amanda thought they might come to blows.

  “Correct.”

  “Incorrect.”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Ivy. “I think both hypotheses have merit. Would you like to conduct a scientific experiment to see which is correct?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Alexei huffily.

  “Rubbish,” said Noel abruptly.

  “Well, then,” said Ivy, “I’m not sure there’s another way to be certain.”

  “I am certain already,” said Alexei.

  “As am I,” said Noel. “Thank you for your time. Have a pleasant day.” And with that, the gremlins got up and walked out, continuing to argue.

  “That was interesting,” said Amphora, watching them leave.

  “Yes,” said Amanda, thinking that if Alexei got marinara sauce on his tux it wouldn’t show. “I wonder who’s right.”

  “Simon,” said Ivy, barely squelching a giggle. “I just didn’t want to say so in front of them.”

  4

  Nick’s Secrets

  With all this unexpected drama going on, Amanda was starting to freak out a little. It seemed as though everything she’d finally started adjusting
to was falling apart, and there were signs that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better. At least she had her storytelling class to look forward to. This was something she knew through and through, and she was excited by the prospect of sharing the object of her passion.

  She’d spent some time preparing at her parents’ in London, but with her father still recovering from his kidnapping at the hands of the Moriartys, she’d found it difficult to concentrate. Ever since his ordeal, her father had become a shadow of his former self. He’d lost enthusiasm for his work at the Crown Prosecution Service, a position he’d aspired to all his life, and was talking about quitting and going off to find himself. What finding himself? Herb Lester, scion of the Lestrade family, had spent forever basking in the legacy of his ancestor, prosecuting criminals and making the world a safer place. That was his self. What else could there be? At least that was how Amanda’s mother looked at it.

  Amanda, however, could see his point. To her way of thinking, he’d spent his life in a straitjacket, trying to live up to an ideal that had never existed. The really sad part was that everyone except her parents knew what Lestrade really was: a bumbler. To them he was a god, and they had been in thrall to him.

  On the other hand, Lila Lester, a successful mystery novelist, hadn’t changed at all, or at least not that Amanda could see. Overbearing and opinionated, she was still pushing both her husband and her daughter to do what she wanted them to do. No grief, no empathy, no sensitivity whatsoever. In fact she was flourishing now that she had the two of them to talk at, which she did incessantly. If her husband’s near death hadn’t mellowed her, what would?

  With her parents’ woes adding to her feelings of loss, Amanda had started digging into her class preparation in earnest on the train ride from London to Windermere. She had devised a brilliant way to get across basic story concepts, which was to use examples from the Harry Potter stories. She’d thrashed around until she’d come up with that one, trying out one dumb idea after another, but now she was getting excited. Harry Potter had everything: a likeable underdog, a powerful and shadowy villain, fascinating supporting characters, high stakes, suspense, a rich world, and FUN. It was perfect! She wanted desperately to get back to it, but with so many distractions she wasn’t sure when that would be, especially with Thrillkill wanting something else from her.