Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis

by Paula Berinstein

  Kill me now. Why does she have to make everything about her?

  “And I almost forgot. Your father’s relatives in Liverpool phoned and said they’re going to call you. They’re fabulous people. You’ll have a wonderful time with them. Did you know that your cousin Jeffrey was just transferred from Brixton to Scotland Yard? Isn’t that exciting?”

  Amanda wondered when her mother was going to come up for air. How could she say so much in one breath?

  “You know,” Lila continued, “Hill is an usher in a magistrates’ court and Despina has her own line of clothing for jurors. They’re absolutely immersed in law enforcement. Such a wonderful family your dad has.”

  Where was that gingersnap anyway? Amanda felt around in her pockets. Ah. The cookie had split into pieces but it was still edible. She gulped it down and choked.

  “Darling, are you all right?” said Lila. “You’re not ill, are you?”

  She was, but not in the way her mother thought. “No, I’m not sick.” She stepped out of the classroom and made for the nearest water fountain. Her mother probably wouldn’t even hear her drink. She turned it on and let the water shoot into her mouth.

  “Anyway,” said Lila, “now that I know you’re all right I feel better. But please keep in touch more. Until those criminals are safely back in prison I’m not going to sleep.”

  Until Strangeways was repaired they sure wouldn’t be going back there, even if the police did manage to catch them. Amanda wondered how the other prisons were holding up. The UK was small, but not small enough that one earthquake, no matter how powerful, could damage all of them. On the other hand, if there were too many prisoners to fit into the country’s correctional institutions, what would happen? Would they send some of them to other countries?

  She snapped back to the conversation. “Thanks for calling, Mom. I have to go now but I’ll text you every day. Okay?”

  “Good. Don’t forget now.”

  “I won’t. Bye.” Amanda ended the call. Her heart was beating as fast as if she’d just completed a hundred-meter sprint. She really had to finish searching. With Holmes gone it would take them even longer.

  She finished drinking and was walking back to the classroom when her phone rang again.

  If this is that Despina again . . . She looked at her screen. Another unknown. It had to be that woman. She must still be at the gate trying to crash her way in.

  Amanda kept walking. The phone stopped ringing. Maybe Despina had finally got the message. Then it started ringing again, still from an unknown caller. Amanda sighed. The only way to get rid of that awful woman was to tell her in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want anything to do with her—ever. She answered and heard a man’s voice.

  “Amanda,” he said. “This is Darius Plover.”

  24

  Overwhelmed

  Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. Darius Plover was calling her? On the phone? Wait a minute. Maybe it wasn’t the real Darius Plover. Maybe it was someone playing a joke on her.

  “Hello?” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard.

  “I say it’s Darius Plover. I’m calling about the clips.”

  There was no way anyone else could know about the clips. It had to be him. OMG! But wait a minute. Maybe he was mad at her.

  “Amanda?”

  “Oh, sorry, Mr. Plover,” she said. “I was just so surprised to hear from you. I mean on the phone. I mean, hello?”

  “Hello,” he said. “Would you like to start over?”

  “No, I’m fine. I mean, how are you?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Thanks for asking. But I’m afraid I’ve interrupted you.”

  “Oh no,” she said. “Not at all. I’ve been on the phone all day.”

  Slap to head. What a stupid thing to say. Now he was going to think she was busy and hang up. Of course she was—busy, that is—but never too busy to talk to her idol.

  “Shall I call back another time?” he said.

  “No!” she said abruptly. “I mean no. This is a great time. “She didn’t think she sounded convincing.

  “Excellent. Well, then, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought I’d try you because I’m on a schedule and I’m anxious to move forward.”

  “Yes, of course. Schedules are—well, they’re very important.” What an idiot. She sounded like a complete dodo.

  “I was just wondering if you preferred one of the tent clips over another. I need to make a decision quickly and you’re my focus group.”

  Oh great. This was a huge responsibility and she didn’t like any of the clips. Now what? She had to say something and it had to be nice. Think, think.

  “Uh, I like the one with the red tones the best.”

  “You do? Good, because I was leaning in the other direction even though I had my doubts. Now I realize I should be using the deeper colors.”

  “Right. Well, I’m really glad I could help you.” Gosh, she sounded like a dork. He probably thought someone else wrote her messages for her. Surely someone who spoke as poorly as she did couldn’t write to save her life.

  “Me too,” he said. “I’m ever so pleased. Thank you, Amanda. I’ll let you go back to what you were doing now.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Any time.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  That certainly qualified as awkward conversation of the year. Worse, she hadn’t heard what he was saying but had lied to him anyway. She might have advised him to do the wrong thing! She’d idolized this man her whole life, and now that she’d actually got to talk to him she’d blown it. She reached for another gingersnap. Unfortunately she’d eaten the last one. If she wanted another, she’d have to go back to her room.

  Burping the entire way, she realized that too many things were hitting her at once. She had to find a way to get rid of some of them, or at least push them away long enough to deal with the others. What could she eliminate first? Not the whatsit. It was too important. Not the crystals. They were dependent on her and her friends for their survival. Not the film. Thrillkill would drive her crazy if she didn’t finish it. Professor Redleaf’s computer? Who knew what that was about? Holmes? He had stomped off. Maybe she wouldn’t have to see him for a while. That would help.

  As she was heading back to the dorm, she nearly ran into Amphora. She was arguing with David Wiffle.

  “I’m much more upper class than you are,” Wiffle was saying.

  “You don’t know anything about India,” Amphora said. “My family is Brahmin.”

  “Who cares what they do there?” said David. “Anyway, your highest level is lower than our lowest level.”

  “Look, peewee,” she said. “Indian civilization is way older than yours. We were around before anyone ever heard of the Saxons.”

  “I’m not a Saxon,” said David. “I’m from Cornwall.”

  “That just shows how stupid you are,” said Amphora. “Where you were born has nothing to do with where your ancestors came from.”

  “Oh yeah? Well you’re a lousy detective and you’ll never amount to anything.”

  Amanda didn’t know whether to butt in or sneak away and hope they hadn’t seen her. After about two seconds’ thought she decided it was better if Amphora didn’t know she’d heard, and she slunk upstairs as quietly as she could.

  She was surprised to find Ivy in their room. Apparently she was taking a break from searching and was putting more drops in Nigel’s eyes.

  “Hey,” she said when Amanda entered.

  “Hey.” Amanda watched Ivy with her dog for a moment and then burst into tears.

  “What’s the matter?” said Ivy, running to comfort her.

  “Oh, Ivy,” Amanda wailed.

  “Are you okay?” said Ivy, hugging her.

  Amanda sniffled. “It’s just—” She wailed some more.

  “You’re not hurt, are you?” said Ivy.

  “No,” Amanda sobbed. “Dot hurd.”

  Ivy patted her on the back, which seemed
to have no effect. She leaned down, took hold of Nigel, and pushed him at Amanda, who grabbed onto him and wailed even louder. Nigel looked as if his ears were paining him but he didn’t budge.

  “I’m not supposed to have this, but you need some tea,” Ivy said. She dug out a one-cup water heater from her tiny desk, plugged it in, and filled a mug from a thermos hidden under her desk. When the water was hot enough she immersed a bag of chamomile tea in it and shoved it in Amanda’s face. “Drink,” she said.

  Amanda blew on the liquid, making little ripples on the surface. When she thought it was cool enough she took a sip. “Ouch.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Ivy. “Burn your tongue?”

  “I’b ogay,” said Amanda, whose tongue was indeed burned. It would probably feel uncomfortable all day. “I’b zorry. I dode beed to bother you.”

  “That’s all right,” said Ivy. “I’m your friend. You’re never bothering me.”

  Amanda took another sip. Her tongue was feeling numb now. “Idz’s just dat everything’s cubbig at me all at once add I cad get anything settled.”

  “Tell me,” said Ivy.

  Amanda’s voice started to clear up. “First of all,” she said, “there’s the whatsit. I’m really worried about it. Now that Blixus and Mavis aren’t in prison anymore they probably have it and we’re all doomed.”

  “We’re all worried about that,” said Ivy, “but the best detective minds in the world are working on the problem. We’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Amanda. “If that’s the case, why are the teachers all freaking out?” The tea was nice. She was feeling better.

  “I don’t know,” said Ivy. “But we can only do what we can do, right? How’s the tea?”

  “It’s lovely, thank you,” said Amanda.

  “I know you’re upset,” said Ivy. “But try to remember the hidden treasures.” She patted the hand Amanda wasn’t using to hold the tea.

  Amanda took a long sip. She hadn’t thought about Ivy’s secret weapon for some time. The idea of giving herself up to her curiosity seemed to help her friend keep her cool. Could it work for her too?

  “The treasures, yes. Which reminds me about the crystals. Those are literally hidden treasures, aren’t they?” Ivy nodded. “I am curious about them, but all I can think of is that Blixus is going to find them and abuse them. We have to save them.”

  “We will,” said Ivy. “I wish I could see them. They must be a sight to behold.”

  Amanda felt bad for her. Ivy didn’t usually complain about her blindness, but she had to feel disadvantaged sometimes. Amanda wished she could wave a magic wand and make her see again. “It’s not that easy. We have to get to London, then we have to find the crystals, and what if he already has them?”

  “One step at a time,” said Ivy. “We’ll manage that. We did it before and we’ll do it again. Or at least you did. And in the process you discovered what strong stuff you’re made of. What else?”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, Ivy,” said Amanda. “Anyway, these stupid relatives of mine came out of the woodwork and are calling me all day long.” She knew she was exaggerating but didn’t care.

  “What relatives?”

  “Oh, some dumb relatives of my dad’s. From Liverpool. Well, of course they’re dumb. They’re Lestrades.”

  “So’s your dad,” said Ivy. “He isn’t dumb.”

  “Yes, but he’s different,” said Amanda. “And then my mother calls and starts hovering. The original helicopter parent. Aaaaaah!”

  “Your mother can be difficult,” said Ivy, making a cup of tea for herself. The water boiled in seconds with one of those little electric one-cup doohickeys. “That must not have been pleasant.”

  “No,” said Amanda. “Now she wants me to text her every day. She thinks the Moriartys are going to get me.”

  “It’s just a little text, right?” said Ivy. She mashed the teabag.

  “Nothing’s a little text with my mom,” said Amanda.

  “You’ll handle it. I’ll help you. What else?”

  “Scapulus. He’s driving me crazy.”

  “Oh, right, Scapulus. Boy, has he changed. He’s been acting so weird lately. Do you think this is the real Holmes coming out and the earlier one was just an act?” She blew on the hot tea.

  “I can’t even tell what’s an act anymore,” said Amanda. “You are talking to the most gullible person in the world.”

  “Nick was clever,” said Ivy gently. “He fooled all of us.” She sipped the tea and flinched. It was still too hot.

  “I should have known,” said Amanda. “Now I’m wondering if Scapulus is either bipolar or another mole. And by the way, what’s with the bad boy act?”

  “He’s trying to be tough,” said Ivy. “I’m guessing he’s feeling insecure and wants to look less vulnerable.”

  “He’s acting like an idiot,” said Amanda.

  “True,” said Ivy. “But I think he’s scared inside.”

  “Scared of what?” said Amanda. “He is a Holmes. They don’t scare.”

  “I don’t think there’s a scared gene,” said Ivy. “He’s human like the rest of us.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. Anyway, who cares about him? The book is important. The crystals are important. Blixus is important. Scapulus is not important.” Ivy opened her mouth to say something when Amanda interrupted her. “And then Amphora.”

  “What about Amphora? You’re not arguing with her too, are you? I’ll fine you.” Ivy giggled.

  “No, I’m not, but I just heard her having the weirdest fight with David Wiffle in the hall. You won’t believe this but they were arguing over who was more aristocratic.”

  “Oh no,” said Ivy, trying the tea again. It seemed to be fine because she took several sips.

  “Oh yes,” said Amanda. “And then he told her she was a lousy detective and would never amount to anything. She looked like she’d just met a dragon or something.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Ivy. “You know how insecure she is.”

  “I know,” said Amanda. “But I think she might be getting worse. Not that David has the best judgment, but that was all she needed to hear. She’s already having trouble in Logic. I heard her complain that Professor Ducey was out to get her.”

  “Professor Ducey? Never.”

  “I know. I think she’s starting to lose it, Ivy.”

  “Oh great. Just what we need. Say, you don’t think she has PTSD from the earthquake, do you?”

  Amanda thought for a moment. “I guess it’s possible. Everything has been so stressful around here lately. It’s amazing anyone is acting normal. Speaking of which—well, not speaking of which exactly, but on the subject of all the stressful stuff, do you think the book—I guess we don’t have to call it a whatsit anymore—could be in the secrets trove? How could we possibly search that? There are thousands of compartments.”

  “Let’s think about this logically,” said Ivy. “Could the book fit in those compartments?”

  “Yes,” said Amanda. “Definitely.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think so.” Amanda picked up a book and tried to estimate its size.

  “But you don’t know?”

  “Well, I, uh . . .” She held up the book and looked at it back and front.

  “What are you doing?” said Ivy.

  “Measuring,” said Amanda.

  “And?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say it can,” said Ivy. “The next question is, how could it get in one of them?”

  “Someone would have had to put it in there,” said Amanda. She replaced the book.

  “Deliberately?”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  “And who would do that?”

  “Someone with a key?”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Ivy. “And where are the keys?”

  “I have no idea,” said Amanda. “Professor Snaffle’s office?”


  “How many keys are we talking about?” said Ivy.

  “Billions. There are two keys for each compartment. Even if one of them is the same for all the compartments, that leaves thousands of unique ones.” Somehow it didn’t matter that her math was flawed.

  “And where could you store thousands of keys?” said Ivy. “I mean, that’s a lot of keys.”

  “I don’t know,” said Amanda, feeling defeated. “We could ask Editta to calculate how much room they’d take up.”

  “Let’s do that later,” said Ivy. “But whoever put it there—if someone did—would not only need access to all those keys, wherever they are, but also have to be able to tell which key goes to which compartment.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “You know exactly what I’m trying to say,” said Ivy. “It isn’t practical. I’d say the chances of the book being there are slim to none.”

  “Think so?” said Amanda. She was relieved. That would have been some project. Of course she still wanted to get into the compartments, but just for curiosity’s sake.

  “Yes, I do,” said Ivy. “So we should look in the more logical places. Of course, that means London.”

  “Yes,” said Amanda. “It does.”

  Late that night Simon texted Amanda and told her that he had both good and bad news. This sounded intriguing and she knew she wouldn’t be able to wait for the details. “Common room?” she texted back.

  “CU in 2,” he answered.

  She wasn’t supposed to be downstairs so late, but everything at the school was so chaotic that Mrs. Scarper had given up trying to track the girls. Still, there might be teachers lurking about so it was best to be careful.

  She tiptoed down the stairs and snuck into the common room where Simon was waiting for her. He must have been there when he texted her. He couldn’t have run from the boys’ dorm that fast.

  Before she could tell him that she’d rather hear the bad news first—better to get it over with—he said, “Here’s the bad news.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Pretty bad,” he said, leaning close. “The only way to save the crystals is to commit genocide. I mean we have to do it.”

  “What?” she said, pulling back so fast she thought she might have wrenched something. “I thought Blixus would be committing genocide if he made crystals just to kill them.”

  “He would,” said Simon. “Come back here. I don’t want anyone to hear.”