Agent Angus

by K. L. Denman

  “Why not just admit your lie? If she’s as nice as you say she is, she will forgive you.”

  I give him a look. “Shahid.”

  “Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll help. What do you want me to do?”

  I grin. “Excellent. How about this? You make a face, and I’ll try to guess what it is.”

  He stares blankly.

  “That’s good. That’s the face of Missy Turner in math class. It means you don’t understand.” My grin widens. “See? I can do this. Now, make the face of defiance. I need to know that one.”

  Shahid’s attempt to show defiance is useless. He simply drops his head to the table. It hits with a solid clunk.

  “No, no,” I tell him. “I need to see your face.”

  He moans, and when he finally looks up, his face is all scrunched. He puts a hand to his forehead and moans again.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s pain,” I say. “But that’s okay. I should know that one too.”

  At one time, it would have been easy to avoid Ella at school. Ella sightings were rare. But recently, that’s changed. She is no longer as elusive as Shahid’s hand-eye coordination. Even though yesterday was the first time I actually spoke to her, she has been popping up almost daily.

  Today I see her more often than ever. I narrowly avoid a close encounter in the cafeteria. When I round a corner in the library, she’s in the very aisle I had planned to enter. I ask Shahid to go on high alert. This is a system we created long ago to avoid Some People—otherwise known as bullies—when they’re in mean mode. Shahid’s height makes him an excellent lookout, and he doesn’t fail me now. When I attempt to visit my locker at the end of the day, he spots Ella in close range. I dodge her for the third time by ducking into the washroom.

  “Phew,” I say.

  “Exactly,” says Shahid. “Maybe we should reconsider studying the ninja arts.”

  We’ve discussed this before. Ninjas receive training in stealth. Stealth would be a handy skill. But when we found out we’d also have to learn combat skills, we put that plan on hold. Neither of us is comfortable with violence.

  “There’s no time for ninja study now,” I say. “Faces are my top priority.”

  A guy we know simply as Grunt emerges from a toilet stall. “Ergh,” he grunts. “Freaks. Ungh.” And he leaves.

  Shahid’s eyes widen, and he covers his mouth and nose with a hand. I would call his expression “stricken.” He croaks, “Grunt didn’t wash his hands.”

  I nod. “He never does. And you know what? You make that same face, every time. Can you freeze like that for a moment? I’d like to study the details.”

  Shahid doesn’t freeze. He drops his hand, his eyes narrow and a whole bunch of other stuff happens, fast. Little changes in his face occur that involve his brows, his nostrils and his mouth. And then he slaps his hand back in place and tries to fake the face. His eyes go superwide, and something funny happens to his ears. They move.

  “Forget it,” I say.

  “What?” he asks. “This is the face. Go ahead. Study it. Take notes if you want.”

  “No. It won’t work. You’re just like an atomic particle, Shahid. You behave differently when you’re being watched. I really need to find a mentalist manual.”

  “Just go online.” He sighs. “There’s plenty there.”

  “So you know more about them than you said,” I accuse.

  “I know it takes years of study.”

  “I don’t have years.” I crack the washroom door open and peer out. “But I might have luck. Looks like the coast is clear. Let’s go.”

  We step into the hallway. It’s almost empty now. It’s amazing how quickly students clear out at the end of the school day. I go to my locker and am dialing in my lock combination when Shahid makes a peculiar sound. “Gack.”

  “Huh?” I ask.

  And a different voice says, “Angus?” It’s Ella.

  I spin around so fast that I feel dizzy. Or maybe it’s seeing her that makes me disoriented. Whatever it is, I gape at her and say nothing.

  “I’m so glad I found you,” she says.

  I shoot a look at Shahid, who is bobbing in the background. He’s shifting from foot to foot and shrugging his shoulders. I suspect that means he knows he failed me.

  “Ella,” I squeak.

  And then a very strange thing happens. Ella emits a little whimper and starts blinking rapidly. Her mouth quivers, and she opens her arms wide. For one terrifying second, I think she expects me to hug her. This is exactly what my Nana Carter does when she wants a hug. Not that hugging Ella would be like hugging Nana. But it would take a lot of nerve.

  Happily, before I can react, Ella blurts, “It’s gone!”

  “Gone?” I repeat. “It? Uh…”

  “My sketchbook. Someone stole it out of the art room.”

  “No!” I gasp.

  “Yes. I just left it for a few minutes, on my work table. And when I got back—” Her voice breaks, and she whimpers again.

  “That’s terrible,” I say. “Did you report it to the teacher?”

  “Yeah. But he…I don’t know. He just seems to think I lost it. Or that someone picked it up by mistake.” Ella sobs as she adds, “But I don’t believe that. I did a drawing on the cover of my book so it would be unique.”

  “Then it should have been obvious that it was yours.”

  “Exactly.” Ella fastens her brown eyes on me. “Angus? Do you think you could use your mentalist skills to help me figure out who took it?”

  My mouth opens and closes and opens and closes, and nothing comes out. Finally, a gruntlike sound occurs. And that’s it.

  Ella drops her gaze to the floor. “That’s okay,” she mutters. “You don’t have to help me.” She turns away.

  “Wait!” Boldly, I reach for her arm.

  I don’t actually catch it, but she stops and says, “Yes?”

  Shahid is spinning one of his long arms in a circle. It looks like he’s trying to turn the handle of a large crank. I have no idea what this means. But then he mouths the words, “Tell her!”

  He wants me to tell Ella the truth. I gaze at her standing there waiting for me. She looks like a puppy hoping for a treat. And I blurt, “I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Four

  Ella’s smile is warm—bright. It’s as beautiful as the gaseous outer layers of star glow. “Thank you, Angus,” she breathes.

  “No problem,” I croak. And once again, I catch Shahid’s movements in the background. This time he’s simply shaking his head.

  “So what do you think we should do first?” Ella asks.

  “Uh…”

  There’s a space of silence until Shahid says, “Maybe we should visit the scene of the crime.”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “That’s definitely first.”

  “Really?” Ella asks. “But I already searched the art room. It’s not there.”

  “No. Of course not.” My mouth feels dry. “But it would be helpful for me to see the, uh, layout of the room.” This sounds lame, even to me. And then inspiration strikes. “Also, I’d like you to tell me who was in the room at the time. And where they were positioned.”

  “Oh.” Ella nods. “That makes sense. But I’m not sure I can remember where everyone was.”

  “That’s why we need to go there,” I say. “It’ll help jog your memory.”

  “Right.” Ella glances down the hall. “Should we go now?”

  “No time like the present, I always say. Ha ha.” I don’t always say that. I never say that.

  Shahid rolls his eyes, but Ella just says, “Okay,” and starts walking.

  I follow, and Shahid falls in beside me. I think he only does this so he can jab his pointy elbow into my ribs. I refuse to look at him. I don’t have time for his opinion right now. I know I’m an idiot. The question is, how can I prevent Ella discovering it too?

  The answer is obvious. I must continue to avoid her. By the time we get to the art room, I’ve got an updated plan
. If it was a computer program, it would be called Avoidance ~ Version 2.0. I barely pay attention when Ella points out the last known location of the sketchbook. That changes when she mentions the girl who shares her worktable.

  “She’s really good at sculpting in clay. I let her borrow my sketches when she was working on her bust.”

  Shahid and I make eye contact, and I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. “Um,” I begin. “She used your sketches to work on her bust?”

  Ella’s forehead wrinkles. “Yeah. You know, like one of those?” She points. Sitting on a shelf is one of those disturbing statues of a head, neck and shoulders.

  “Oh. Right.” I feel my face getting warm. It’s possible I may need to learn about art too. I shrug off my back-pack, reach in and fish around for a notebook and pen. When I turn back to Ella, I’m ready to ask, “So what is this girl’s name?”

  “I don’t think she’d steal my book,” Ella says.

  “Probably not.” I hold my pen ready to write. “But she has a motive. We need to consider all potential suspects.”

  Ella sighs. “I guess. Her name is Rachel. Rachel Stone.”

  I gape at Ella. I know Rachel Stone. Okay, know may be an exaggeration. But I know who she is. Everyone knows who she is. “The Gaga Girl.”

  Behind her glasses, Ella’s eyes flash. “People shouldn’t be judged by what they wear.”

  I hold up a hand. “Of course not. No. I just meant…”

  “She’s got an artistic soul,” Ella says. “She can’t help expressing it.”

  “Right.” I nod.

  Shahid emits a sound. “Gack.”

  “Huh?” I ask.

  Then a new voice demands, “What are you people doing in here?”

  We turn and see the art teacher, Mr. Wilder. Everyone knows who he is too. He stands with his arms folded across his chest. His long gray hair has partially escaped its ponytail. The trademark ponytail, bound with beaded leather and feathers, is one of the things that make him stand out. Another is his habit of wearing dresses. Shahid has told me they aren’t really dresses, they’re caftans or something. They still look like dresses.

  His gaze rakes over us, and I notice his eyes are bloodshot. He doesn’t look friendly. More like a snake preparing to strike. When his beady eyes find Ella, he raises an eyebrow. “Ella? You know students aren’t permitted in here without supervision.”

  Ella’s cheeks flush pink. “Sorry, Mr. Wilder. I forgot my favorite pencil.” She raises her hand and waves a pencil.

  “Hmph,” Mr. Wilder says. There’s an edge to his voice as he adds, “Such dedication. Even on a Friday. On your way then. I need to lock up.”

  We turn as one and leave. Once we’re out the door, I mutter, “Now he’s concerned about security? Seems like a case of too little, too late.”

  Ella is still pink. “I guess.” She takes a deep breath and asks, “So what should we do next?”

  Here’s where Avoidance ~ Version 2.0 comes in. “I have a few leads to follow,” I say. “But while I’m conducting the investigation, it’s best if you aren’t seen with me.”

  Ella stops walking and stares. “Why not?”

  I talk fast. “If people see us together, as in, if the culprit sees me with you, it will tip them off.”

  Together, Ella and Shahid say, “Huh?”

  I force myself to speak slowly and clearly. “Picture this. Let’s say I want to check out a suspect like Gaga…I mean, Rachel. I would observe her from a slight distance. I’d watch for clues, such as a glimpse of the sketchbook. Or her displaying guilty or furtive glances.” This sounds impressive, even to me.

  I go on. “If the suspect noticed me lurking nearby, they’d think nothing of it. But if they saw you”—I nod at Ella—“they’d know we were after them. Therefore, we must split up at once.”

  “Oh,” Ella says. Her lower lip quivers in a fascinating way, and she drops her gaze to the floor. “But…” She’s quiet for a moment, and then asks, “How will I know what’s happening?” She raises her eyes again. “Can we keep in touch on Facebook?”

  Facebook, she says. I tried that. But I never got into it. My only “friends” on there were Shahid and my mother. It didn’t matter before, but it would be embarrassing if Ella saw how pathetic I am at social networking. Now that I think about it, that’s a cruel aspect of Facebook. Why should the number of “friends” we have be publicly displayed?

  I shake my head. “That’s too risky,” I say. “Suspects could notice our connection there too. How about email?”

  She smiles. “Okay. Do you want me to write down my address for you?”

  “Sure.” I smile too and hand her my notebook. Ella writes her address in my notebook. Then she asks me for mine and she writes that down too, at the bottom of the page. She tears off the little strip of paper and tucks it into her pocket.

  Chapter Five

  Shahid and I spend Friday evening online. We start by researching mentalists. It turns out Shahid was right, they are a peculiar bunch. Not that there’s anything wrong with peculiar. It’s cool that some of them create illusions and do magic and all. But to believe that reality is all in the mind? That’s pushing peculiar to the limit.

  “What if Ella finds out about this crazy stuff?” I moan. “I never should have told her I’m one of them.”

  “You shouldn’t have told her a lot of things,” Shahid replies.

  “Yeah, yeah. I don’t need to hear about it. I need to learn about facial expressions.”

  We find some sites with drawings of faces showing emotions like anger, confusion and surprise. I study these, and then I test my skill on a site that shows photos of straight-faced people. A second photo of these people displaying an emotion flashes briefly. The site claims that humans often display “micro expressions” that reveal our true feelings. I’m supposed to identify the emotion shown in the flash photos. I get the answer wrong every time.

  “I told you,” Shahid says. “It takes years to learn how to read people.”

  I’m getting tired of him being right. “So it’ll take awhile. But I’ll bet I can at least follow clues.” I shake out my hands, pop a few knuckles, and then get busy typing in a search for detective skills. Thousands of hits come up. We spend the next hour hopping from site to site. A standout piece of advice says it’s important to study your suspects.

  “Do we even have suspects?” Shahid asks.

  “Absolutely. Gaga Girl and Mr. Wilder.”

  Shahid snorts. “As if.”

  I’ve already entered a search for Rachel Stone, but almost nothing comes up for her. “Maybe if I were her friend on Facebook,” I mutter, “I’d find something there.”

  “You have no good reason to suspect her.” Shahid sounds very certain. He thinks he’s right yet again. “And Mr. Wilder? You don’t even have a bad reason to make him a suspect.”

  “Yes, I do. He’s got beady eyes. And he had a tone of voice.”

  “A tone of voice?” Shahid scoffs. “Who doesn’t have a tone of voice?”

  I don’t waste time trying to convince him. The fact is, I may have a hunch. Detectives get hunches all the time, and they don’t ignore them. So I type in a search for Wilder Artist Teacher. I luck out right away when an image of Mr. Wilder as a young man pops up. He wore a ponytail back then too. Plenty of text comes up on the site with his photo, and we start reading.

  Years ago, Mr. Wilder was a promising young artist. He had his paintings on display in art galleries. An old write-up says he could be another Picasso. I’m not sure who that is, but it sounds impressive. Sadly for Mr. Wilder, things didn’t turn out that way. Other articles trash his work. One says a flock of pooping peacocks could create finer art. Finally, there’s a short blurb that says he’s fallen to teaching in a public school.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Shahid asks.

  “Don’t ask me.”

  The blurb goes on to say, Kel Wilder has given up on himself. His failed attempt to pass off another a
rtist’s work as his own is proof of that.

  “Whoa!” I tap the computer screen. “See that? Mr. Wilder took someone else’s art.”

  “It doesn’t actually say—”

  I don’t let Shahid finish. “What if he’s done it again? Ella’s really good, you know. What if he took her sketchbook and he plans on pretending it’s his work?”

  “Hmmm. That would explain him not bothering to look into its disappearance.” He blinks a few times, then says, “Angus, I think for once—you could be right.”

  We exchange high fives, guzzle energy drinks and eat the rest of our red Twizzlers in celebration of this discovery. In Mr. Wilder, we have our prime suspect.

  “Wily Wilder,” I murmur.

  Shahid nods. “Good one.”

  “Yeah. But if he’s really wily…” I pause to choose my next words carefully. “Our investigation must be covert.”

  “As in, we need to spy on him?” Shahid asks.

  “Exactly.” So we start researching spy gear. We find many amazingly cool gadgets. There’s a remote-control robot with a hidden camera. It’s expensive, so we discuss installing a camera on Gordon.We soon rule this out because Gordon is two feet tall and makes a loud whirring sound. People would notice him.

  The next item that captures our attention is the Gryphon Rocket Wing flight pack.

  “An actual rocket pack,” Shahid breathes. “Can you imagine? We could spy from the air.”

  Unfortunately, users of the rocket pack must be launched from an airplane. And it isn’t actually available yet. If it was, it would probably cost a lifetime of allowance money.

  We agree to get practical after that, set some priorities and figure out what we actually need. We decide it’s important to get audio and video recordings. We could capture evidence and then go home to review it. We might catch Wily Wilder making a micro expression. If we could freeze that moment, we might even be able to figure out what it means.

  But all the gadgets that seem perfect aren’t. There’s an audio and video camera that looks like a button. It comes with extra look-alike buttons. If you sew them all onto a shirt or jacket, the camera button blends in. No one suspects a thing. Sadly, it costs almost $200, and who knows how to sew on buttons?