“Ha ha,” said Gordon. “How little you know. We’re planning the most amazing—”
“Be quiet,” said David. “It’s none of their business.”
“Oh really?” said Simon. “What’s that? Your new diaper business?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Amanda. “What is wrong with all of you? We’re thirteen years old, not two. Or at least we’re about to be. Chill out. David, you could be a great detective but you ruin everything for yourself. You should get a clue. Grow up and be competent. That should keep you busy.”
“If you only knew,” said David.
“Yeah,” said Gordon, who never seemed to be capable of speaking for himself.
Both boys stuck out their tongues and stormed out of the common room. Amanda felt a pang of sympathy for them. David really was going to ruin his future if he wasn’t careful. And Gordon was going to get himself caught in the undertow. These two boys were headed for failure, and it seemed that there was nothing anyone could do about it.
7
Scars and Bruises
On Wednesday morning Editta showed up at last. No one had seen or heard her go into her room the night before, and no one knew exactly when she’d arrived, but there she was in Crime Lab. She looked terrible—sleep-deprived and red-faced—as if she’d been crying. When the kids asked her what was going on, she simply said she’d had some bad luck and didn’t offer an explanation.
“We’ve been really worried about you,” said Ivy. “Are you sure you’re all right?” She touched Editta’s arm.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Editta vaguely. “I really am okay.”
But she didn’t look okay, and she didn’t seem it either. Amanda tried not to show it, but she was more worried seeing Editta than she had been wondering where she was.
“What have I missed?” Editta continued. “Anything important?” She didn’t seem like she cared.
“Actually, yes,” said Simon, removing his fedora. “Something important to the teachers is missing and they’re all worried about it. Amanda and Ivy have heard them talking. It seems serious.”
“What is it?”
“No one knows,” said Simon too nonchalantly. Amanda felt irritated with him. Sometimes he seemed to be taking the problem seriously, but too often he acted like his usual flippant self.
“This isn’t good,” said Editta morosely. “I knew it would happen.”
“You know what would happen?” said Amanda sharply. Did Editta know something about the thing? If she did, she’d better come clean right here and now.
“There were three deaths at the school last term: the cook, the doctor, and the teacher the Moriartys killed. That’s incredibly bad luck, especially since they were all murders. Something terrible is going to happen. I just know it. We have to find whatever it is and stop it.” Amanda didn’t agree with her reasoning, but she was glad to see her friend take an interest.
“Technically it’s four deaths,” said Simon, assuming Editta’s usual role of bean counter.
“You don’t need to remind us about that,” said Amphora. “Can’t you see how upset Amanda is? Anyway, technically it isn’t four deaths because Nick died in London.”
“Can we please change the subject?” said Ivy.
“What’s missing?” said Editta, getting the message.
“We don’t know,” said Amanda, relieved not to have to think about Nick for a few seconds.
“No idea?” said Editta.
“Not really,” said Amphora.
“But you know something is definitely not where it’s supposed to be.”
“Yes,” said Ivy. “We’ve heard the teachers talking about it.”
“Why don’t you ask them?” said Editta.
“We can’t,” said Amanda. “They don’t want anyone to know. We heard them say so. Who can say what would happen if they knew we knew?”
“It seems a right pickle, doesn’t it?” said Editta, turning to the front of the room.
The other kids looked at each other as if to say, “What in the world was that?” Ivy sighed so loudly that Amanda knew exactly what she was feeling. She hoped Editta hadn’t heard. Not that she would have noticed. She seemed to have relocated to another world.
After lunch came Amanda’s favorite class: Disguise. The teacher, Professor Glassina Tumble, onetime costume designer for Hollywood blockbuster films, including some of Darius Plover’s, had impressed upon the first-years how important disguise was, especially with facial and gait recognition software now able to see through most attempts to confuse the observer. Because of Amanda’s film background, she not only loved disguise but was extremely good at it. Last term she’d got the kids all fired up with her inventive monster makeup, and everyone was looking forward to their new projects.
“Today, class, we’re going to start a new unit on bruises and scars,” said Professor Tumble. “Given your enthusiasm for bodily flaws, I know you’re going to enjoy this topic, but as always, please take it absolutely seriously. Poor disguise isn’t just aesthetically offensive. It can kill you.
“Now, some of you may find this unit a bit, well, to be honest, sickening. There will be gore involved. However, you are professionals and I trust you to learn to take disgusting sights, sounds, feels, and smells in stride. Miss Lester, I hear you have a remedy for nausea that may be beneficial to the class.”
“Yes, Professor. Gingersnaps. They work very well.”
“Excellent,” said Professor Tumble. “I understand these are available from the new cook. Is that correct, Miss Lester?”
Amanda had no idea. She hadn’t even seen the new cook, and neither Thrillkill nor the teachers had mentioned anything about gingersnaps being available.
“Yes, that’s correct,” said Amphora out of nowhere.
Simon’s head whirled around. Ivy chuckled and Nigel wagged his tail. Gingersnaps helped dogs too.
“Excellent, Miss Kapoor,” said the teacher. “Then I urge you to take advantage of this valuable Legatum perk.” She giggled. She obviously thought she’d said something funny. Amanda would have agreed with her if she hadn’t been distracted by Amphora’s comment. Something was going on with her and the kitchen and Amanda meant to find out what it was.
“Now as I was saying, bruises and scars. Yes, Mr. Wiffle.” The teacher lifted her chin in David’s direction.
“Professor, will we be doing scabs?” said the Wiffle kid.
“Yes. We absolutely will be doing scabs and I expect them to be realistic. Mr. Bramble?”
“Professor, do you want us to do oozing wounds?” said Gordon.
The class laughed. Well, the boys did, anyway. Some of the girls looked a bit pinched.
“Yes, Mr. Bramble. We will be doing wounds of all kinds. Miss Snizzle?”
“Are you going to want us to do pimples?” said Owla Snizzle from Amanda’s dorm floor.
Everyone laughed even harder.
“Yes, Miss Snizzle, but not in this unit. Yes, Mr. Binkle?” She looked at Simon, who had risen to ask his question.
“Will we be doing moles and lesions?” said Simon.
More laughter, this time from everyone. The class was really getting into it now.
“The same as I told Miss Snizzle. Yes, but later. Yes, Mr. Holmes?”
Uh oh. Amanda didn’t know what Holmes was going to say, but whatever it was she was sure he’d be showing off. She was still feeling guilty about not liking him, but if she was honest with herself she had to admit she couldn’t stand him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart and pleasant, except when he’d argued with her about the film. It was that he was too much of those things. She wondered if his flaws, for he had to have some, were anything like his ancestor’s. Sherlock Holmes had been an egomaniac and a drug addict.
“Professor,” said Holmes. “Will we be studying which types of objects make various types of bruises and wounds?”
Now that was an excellent question. Amanda couldn’t believe how smart Holmes w
as. She almost reached for a gingersnap, he made her so sick.
“Smashing question, Mr. Holmes. The answer is yes. We will be studying the shapes, colors, depths, and other characteristics of injuries produced by a variety of objects. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Professor Sidebotham assigned you some complementary problems to help you round out your experience in this area. Professor Hoxby as well.”
“Professor,” Holmes continued. “Is it possible for a person with dark skin to seem like they have light skin and vice versa?”
The laughter died out immediately. Everyone seemed shocked that Holmes would ask such a pointed question—every kid of every race and nationality, and there were quite a few different ones in the class. Holmes’s mention of race obviously made everyone uncomfortable. Amanda was stunned. Professor Tumble, however, took the query in stride.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Skin color is as much a part of disguise as wigs and facial features. We will be studying how to alter it realistically. And may I say, Mr. Holmes, you have lovely skin. I think we will use you as our model for that unit. You don’t have any objection, do you?”
On the contrary, Holmes was loving it. He beamed. “No, ma’am,” he said. “Not at all. I’d be honored.”
Hate him, hate him, hate him! Where was that gingersnap? He was insufferable and Amanda really was feeling queasy now.
She looked around. Simon’s expression and position hadn’t changed. He obviously wasn’t bothered one way or the other. Typical. Ivy was looking a bit pink, which set off her copper hair in an aesthetically pleasing way but signified that she, too, was a bit perturbed by this discussion. Editta wasn’t paying attention, and Amphora was staring at Holmes as if he were Adonis himself. Come to think of it, a number of the girls were getting gooey-eyed. Oh great. Now he thinks he’s a big Casanova. Amanda reached into her bag and surreptitiously broke off a piece of gingersnap, bent over, and slipped it into her mouth.
Professor Tumble was oblivious to these reactions. She claimed to be hard of hearing, but she was perfectly capable of absorbing what was going on when she wanted to. Amanda suspected that she functioned in a similar way with regard to seeing. As was favored by so many of the teachers, she told the class to divide into teams of two, with each pair taking on a separate issue. At the end of the unit they would present the disguises and the methods they used to create them. The students would then vote on how effective the disguises were.
In theory this approach sounded fine—until Amanda learned that she’d been paired with Holmes. Then it was panic time. She knew throwing herself on the teacher’s mercy wouldn’t get her anywhere, so she didn’t try. She was so upset, though, that she couldn’t think of a strategy for handling the situation. She simply started to tremble and hoped no one would notice.
Simon and Amphora had been assigned to work together—a combination destined to create sparks, and not the good kind. Ivy was to work with David Wiffle’s sidekick, Gordon Bramble. Never one to take the high road, Gordon was annoyed because Ivy was blind, and he didn’t hesitate to show it. However, rather than saying anything to the teacher, he took his annoyance out on Ivy herself. How was he supposed to work with her on something so visual? She was going to ruin his grade, his parents would be upset, and on and on. Ivy had no sympathy for this nonsense and told him to suck it up, whereupon he looked completely shocked and shut his mouth. Editta was stuck with David Wiffle, but she didn’t seem to mind. Thinking about her non-reaction, Amanda realized that Editta usually didn’t mind anything unless she considered it bad luck, and apparently having to work with David didn’t qualify.
Amanda and Holmes were to create acne scars, a prospect that didn’t thrill her but excited him no end. Come to think of it, was there anything that didn’t excite Holmes? He was so upbeat that sometimes his perpetual sunny mood seemed like an act. At any rate, it was an interesting problem because it involved making depressions in the skin rather than building on top of it. Amanda suggested that they use gelatin or wax as a coating, then make dents with a stipple sponge or spatula knife and cover it all with foundation. Holmes was itching to use latex but realized that it wasn’t the right tool for the job. While they were working, he kept talking about zombies, which Amanda normally would have enjoyed, but because he was who he was, she kept finding flaws in everything he said and snapping at him. Rather than snapping back, though, he just laughed and made more zombie jokes until she felt like a zombie herself.
During the exercise Holmes said, “I wrote up a project plan for the film.” He made a large pockmark in the wax and nodded approval. He looked like he had a crater in his face. Chicxulub? That was the huge impact crater in Mexico that may have been responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs. Amanda thought that if Holmes were to appear in public like that, he might see the extinction of whatever social life he had.
“Without me?” She smeared gelatin on her forehead.
“I thought I’d save you some work.” He made another depression in his cheek. This one was way too small to have caused an extinction, but it could have created a few tsunamis.
What a liar. Try to make it seem like you’re doing this for me while you’re really trying to take over.
“Well, you haven’t,” she said irritably. “I’m going to have to check the whole thing. There may be a lot of rewriting. It would have been easier if you’d let me do it.” She was teetering dangerously on the edge of one-man band territory, a place she’d finally left behind after years of pushing everyone away and going it alone. People had warned her that that wasn’t healthy and she’d finally made progress in licking the tendency, but Holmes made her want to run screaming back to her comfort zone.
“You just can’t let go, can you?” he said cheerfully, despite the Grand Canyon his face was becoming.
“What are you talking about?”
“You. You always have to be in charge.” He said it in a not mean way.
“I do not.”
“Oh, I think you do. And I understand, really I do. Everyone wants to do things their own way.”
“Uh uh.”
“It’s true and I’ll prove it to you. How about if you let me do that for you?” He reached gingerly toward her face.
“What?” She recoiled and dropped her spatula knife. It clattered onto the floor.
“I’ll do you and you do me. What say you?” He was grinning as if he were enjoying a private joke. She wanted to pick up the knife and make a mark that could be clearly identified as having come from it and only it.
“No way am I going to do that, Sherlock Holmes,” she said, not realizing what she’d called him.
He burst out laughing. “Aw, come on, G. Lestrade. It’ll be fun.”
“What did you call me?” she said, sticking her pockmarked face in his pockmarked face.
“What did you call me?” he said, sticking his pockmarked face in hers.
“Stop mimicking me!” She picked up the knife and held it toward him.
“En garde,” he yelled, holding out his own knife. That was what she and Nick had said to each other when mock fencing last term. Holmes wasn’t allowed to say that.
“Shut up!” she yelled. “Get out of my face.”
By this time the whole class had stopped what they were doing and was staring at them. Professor Tumble said, “You two, put those knives down at once. We’ll have no dangerous activities in this classroom, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison, which annoyed Amanda even more. She didn’t want to have anything in common with that interloper.
“See that you do,” said the professor.
Amanda could feel Simon’s eyes boring into her. Wiffle’s too. She told herself she didn’t care, and in a way she didn’t. What she really cared about was her self-image. How could she have regressed back to square one like this? Sure, Nick still haunted her and her father wasn’t himself, but she thought she’d evolved. Now she wasn’t so sure, and the feeling of failure was getting
to her. That Sherlock Holmes. Everything was his fault. He was still reaching out from beyond the grave and she was furious.
Scapulus Holmes said, “Tell you what. Why don’t you look at what I wrote? If you don’t like it, you can redo it. Just do that for me, would you?”
Why she should do anything for him was beyond her, but she’d been unconscionably rude already. “All right,” she said. “I’ll look at it after class.”
He gave her a big satisfied smile that stretched his pockmarks in all directions. “Thank you,” he said. And then he did the unthinkable. He winked at her again.
Before Amanda could read Holmes’s project plan, Simon corralled her, Ivy, and Amphora in the hall. “The listening devices will be ready tomorrow,” he said in a whisper.
“Yay!” Ivy said, whispering back.
“Hurray!” said Amanda quietly.
“Good,” said Amphora loudly, looking as if she didn’t believe him.
“Keep your voice down,” he said to Amphora. “I’ll have them for you before Fires and Explosions. Just wait outside the door and I’ll slip them to you.” He executed a fancy maneuver that involved turning his back to the girls and flapping a hand behind his butt.
“Sounds like a plan,” said Amanda, who thought he looked like a peacock trying to impress a peahen.
“Why do you Americans say that?” said Simon, turning back to them. “Of course it’s a plan.”
“Why do you put Rs in words that don’t have them?” Amanda said.
“I do not,” said Simon.
“Right. You don’t call me Amander sometimes.”
“Nope.”
“We do,” said Ivy. “You just don’t hear it.”
“See?” said Amanda.
“No,” said Simon. “I don’t and you’re wrong.”
He wasn’t quite a maddening as Holmes, but he could still be annoying. Amanda wondered whether he and Amphora would be able to get through the scars and bruises exercises without killing each other. Come to think of it, would any of them get through the class without doing each other in?
Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis Page 9
