by S. C. Davis
For one, it gave me a time constraint for getting into the lab and back before lunchtime. Since she sometimes brings home papers to grade, there was a good chance she wouldn't even go back to work if she came home at lunch.
Secondly, it meant I had to take a trip back to Sad Town before she got home to get my sick face back. At least I could ease off a bit this time, so it would look like I was feeling well enough to return to school the next day.
As soon as Mom left around seven-thirty, I pulled out my new spy watch. I hadn't used it yet, so I was excited to play around with it for the first time. I sent my first group message to the club members: “Home under the weather today, I’ll be back tomorrow for the meeting.”
I got a couple responses from the others. “10-4” from Chase, “Feel better” from Britta, “See you then” from Ethan. But I was surprised when my personal cell phone chirped. I looked to see a text message from Wes. It was just a question mark.
I typed back a quick response about my plan of faking sick and visiting the lab, for him not to worry, and that I didn't need rescuing this time. He never responded. I wondered if I had hurt his feelings about the rescuing part.
I spent another quarter of an hour playing with the watch settings, testing out different tones and display options. Then I snapped back into consciousness and looked at the clock. It was almost eight o'clock.
I had to decide on my method for getting into the lab. Should I just go and wander the hall discretely until I saw Kieran leave? Should I try to set up a diversion? Yell “fire” to clear the building?
Then something else occurred to me. Kieran was teaching all of Dr. Wyatt's classes in his absence, so I could be sure that he would be out of the lab during those times. I had no idea whether or not he would lock the lab behind him during the day, but I had to find out.
I knew I could look up the teaching schedule by professor on the college’s website; I had done it a time or two when I was trying to get in touch with Mom, but couldn’t remember her class schedule.
I grabbed my computer and navigated to the college's website, then through the department pages until I found the course schedule for physics classes. I typed “WYATT” in the search box, and was rewarded with Dr. Wyatt's entire teaching schedule for the fall semester. For Thursday, there was only one entry; a lecture at eight. In other words, right now.
I quickly jumped out of bed, threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, grabbed my boots and backpack, and dashed out the door. I half-jogged to the college, slipped inside the science building, and walked casually down the hall toward Dr. Wyatt's lab.
I felt a sense of relief when I got close enough to see that the door was open. I was sure Kieran wasn't there, but I carefully crept in anyway, looking around the corner into the lab before walking all the way in. As I suspected, no one was there.
I headed toward the counter where all the oils were kept, searching for an empty bottle to pour the Jasper Oil into. I opened a few drawers and cabinets until I found a box of clean, unused bottles. I pulled the Jasper Oil v. 5 out of my backpack, unscrewed the lid and carefully poured about half of the contents into the fresh bottle.
I figured it was best to leave the original bottle in the lab, so the labeling and handwriting was consistent. I kept the new unmarked bottle for us, tucking it back into the box and stuffing it in my backpack.
Having seen where Kieran had retrieved the keys for the locked oil cabinet before, I knew exactly where to find them. I unlocked the cabinet and reached up to place the Jasper Oil v. 5 bottle at the top, next to where I expected version six to be. But there was nothing. I scanned the rest of the bottles in the cabinet, but couldn't find anything labeled Jasper.
He must keep them somewhere else now, I thought. I decided I didn't have time to mess around and look, so I placed the v. 5 bottle on the top shelf anyway. I closed and locked the cabinet, and returned the keys to the drawer they came from.
When I opened the drawer, I saw something I hadn't noticed before when I retrieved the keys. There was a note in Dr. Wyatt's handwriting. Of course there were documents with his handwriting all over the lab, but something about this note caught my eye.
There were random words throughout the letter that were capitalized. Words that weren't proper nouns and shouldn't be capitalized were, and some words that should have been capitalized weren't. The message in the note seemed totally senseless, but perhaps I just didn't understand the context. The note was written for Kieran, after all.
kieran,
Hey sorry i had to borrow some items, but don't worry, they're all accounted for. Elizabeth from the museum has the Light. she says there's another one you can use in the office supply warehouse. Please while you're in there, look for some orange bulbs for Me. you will Eventually have to go downstairs.
I didn't know Dr. Wyatt at all. I had no idea what his personality was like, or what types of notes he might leave for anyone else, but the wording and handwriting in this letter seemed very strange to me. The random capitalizations were unexpected for a PhD, and the tone of the letter had a hint of distress.
Then I noticed a post-script at the bottom of the page. It was written differently. For one, the capitalizations were suddenly correct. For another, the handwriting was slightly different. Where the first part of the note was written neatly, as if it were well thought-out, this post-script seemed to be written in haste.
It reminded me of the post-script that was on the very first note I had seen from Dr. Wyatt; the one instructing Kieran to use coconut and shea oils in Jasper.
P.S. If you need me, go and find Mrs. Curie. She will take you to Pisum, where Mr. Planck can answer your question.
My heart leapt at the sound of someone walking into the lab. I turned to see Kieran entering, looking puzzled once he saw me. Without thinking, I reactively stuffed the note into my pocket.
“You're from the group that came to see me a couple weeks ago from the middle school, right?” he asked.
“That's right,” I said. I hoped my face didn't appear as red as it felt, and I hoped my voice hadn't sounded as shaky as my racing heart.
“Well, welcome back. What can I help you with this time?”
“Oh, I was only...just...” I stammered. “I really just came by to let you know how the project went.”
He stared at me, waiting for me to go on.
“Uh, it went fine,” I said, unremarkably. Kieran looked a little disappointed. “I mean, it went great. Our teacher was really impressed. We all passed.” He brightened a little at that.
“So, yeah, I just wanted to let you know that, and to thank you once again for your help,” I finished, feeling a little less nervous than when I started.
“It was my pleasure,” he said smiling.
“Well, I'd better be going. Thanks again!” I said, and bolted out the door.
Chapter 25
The Missing Oil
KIERAN SHOOK HIS HEAD and smiled at the young girl awkwardly rushing out of the lab. But he thought her visit odd; it was Thursday at nine in the morning. Why wasn't she in school? He shrugged off the thought. For all he knew, it was a teacher work day.
Kieran began setting up his workstation for the day, gathering the notes and equipment he needed and booting up the lab computer. He grabbed his keys from the desk drawer and headed over to the locked oil cabinet. He reached up and pulled down the bottle that was on the top shelf. It felt light. He glanced at the label, confused. It said Jasper Oil v. 5.
Weird, he thought. I must have been tired when I cleaned up the lab yesterday. Must have swapped five and six by accident. Only, he didn't remember using version five for anything yesterday.
He walked across the room to a large locked drawer where they had been keeping the bottles of older versions of Jasper, along with a logbook of the formulas that were used for each.
When he opened the drawer, his heart fell. The drawer was only about two-thirds as full as it usually was, with all the bottles toward the back still in pl
ace. They had labels reading 'Jasper Oil v. 1' up to and including version four. Those bottles were dusty, having not been opened for years.
There had been several bottles of version five, and two bottles of version six, in addition to the one he had been working with and keeping in the locked cabinet on the wall. They were all missing, as was the logbook.
Kieran tried not to panic as he wracked his brain for an explanation. He didn't remember even opening this drawer for several days, but he was quite certain he had replaced the version six bottle in the cabinet like he always did, every day. It just didn't make any sense.
Kieran looked back at the half-full bottle of Jasper Oil v. 5 in his hand; the one that he had just retrieved from the cabinet. He flipped it upside down to take a look at the bottom, where he always wrote the date that it was mixed.
“23 September,” he read. It was written in black marker, barely visible against the dark brown glass. “This was the last bottle of version five that we mixed. It's the one we were working with just before Dr. Wyatt left and before I started a new batch of version six,” he thought out loud.
Then he remembered what he had done with that bottle. “It's the one I used to demonstrate to the—Hey! That kid!” he said. He bolted out into the hall after the girl, but she was already gone.
Chapter 26
Mr. Gregory’s False Confession
LATER THAT SAME DAY, Mr. Gregory made his way to the front office to collect his mail and turn in his grades for the end of the nine-week period. While he stood shuffling through envelopes in the small nook that held the teachers' mailboxes, a young man walked into the office. The receptionist greeted him, and he greeted her back with a crisp Irish accent.
Curious, Mr. Gregory thought. He decided, based on the man's age, that he must be an international student at the college. When the receptionist asked what she could do for him, the young man's response was very surprising to Mr. Gregory, prompting him to hang back and listen.
“I'd like to speak with the principal right away. It's urgent. It's regarding a theft that I strongly suspect was committed by some of the students here,” the young man said, clearly upset.
The receptionist raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Yes, wait right here, I'll go and get him,” she said, and she scurried to the back toward the principal's office. An instant later she returned with the principal, Mr. Meyer, who looked very concerned.
Mr. Meyer shook the man's hand and introduced himself, to which the young man responded, “I'm Kieran McGowan, a PhD student of physics at Bradbury College. I really hate to be accusing children of this, but I have good reason to believe it's true.”
Kieran then began to explain the visit from the six Brisby Middle School students, the oil he gave them, and the return of one of the students to his lab that morning. He then explained how he knew the bottle he’d found was the same one he had given the students, and how only moments after the girl left he discovered the missing oils.
Mr. Meyer and the receptionist listened intently with furrowed brows, giving a look of mixed concern and apology.
Mr. Gregory's pulse was quickening. He knew exactly which six students the man was referring to, and the girl that visited today had to be Jenna. She was supposed to go last night! What was she thinking going during the day?
He was beginning to feel nauseated with worry. It wasn't the school's punishment of the kids he was worried about; it was the fact that now they would be linked to Dr. Wyatt's lab, and he knew it was just a matter of time until the Rosalind leaders found out about them.
“I’m terribly shocked and sorry to hear this, Mr. McGowan,” Mr. Meyer said once Kieran was finished with his explanation.
“As am I. I promise you, I don't take this lightly, accusing these kids of this. I searched very hard for another explanation, but I simply can't ignore what seems obvious to me, as disappointing as it is,” Kieran said with a shrug.
Mr. Meyer nodded, stroking his chin in apparent deep thought. After a few moments, he spoke up. “Would you be able to describe the students?”
Mr. Gregory felt his anxiety rising. The student body was only so large. The S3C would be easy enough to identify, as long as Kieran’s memory was clear. He knew he had to do something before Kieran gave any descriptions.
He tossed the envelopes aside and marched into the office before anything else could be said. The other three turned in surprise when they saw him, clearly not realizing anyone else had been in the room. Mr. Gregory stood and looked from Mr. Meyer to Kieran.
“It was me,” he said. “I took it”.
Chapter 27
The Reprimand
MR. GREGORY DID HIS best to come up with an explanation on the spot. He fabricated a story about wanting to enter the group of students into a state-wide science fair. He told them how impressed he was with their demonstration of the Jasper Oil, and that he decided to 'borrow' some more oil so they could win the contest.
He told them it was entirely his doing and that the students had no idea it even happened. Mr. Meyer took on a look of shock, while the receptionist appeared angry that he had dragged the poor angelic children into this.
“Seth!” Mr. Meyer said after a moment. “I'm honestly in disbelief. This is so unlike you. Why in the world would you even think of doing something like this? You were once a graduate student yourself, working hard on your own research. Can you imagine someone stealing yours?”
Mr. Gregory tried to look shameful, even though what he felt was relief that they had apparently bought the story, and that the kids were off the hook. But he also felt something else. He knew that this wasn't going to be without repercussions; he could only hope that they came from the school only, and that Rosalind didn't find out about this.
He felt disappointed that he was letting down the students. He knew that, whatever the degree of punishment he was about to receive, they were going to have to do this on their own now.
Mr. Meyer shook his head and looked down at the floor, then back up to Mr. Gregory, sorrow on his face.
“Seth, I'm sorry, but I don't think I have a choice but to call the police,” Mr. Meyer said. Mr. Gregory nodded slowly, trying to wrap his mind around how much his life was about to change.
-----
Kieran watched the face of the young teacher who had just admitted his crime. He could sense the man's disappointment in himself. He wondered if Seth Gregory was asking himself how he even got to this point in his life.
According to what the principal just said, Mr. Gregory had once been a graduate student himself. Perhaps he had dreamt of a prestigious career in academia, completing ground-breaking research and making a name for himself in the scientific community.
But Kieran had never heard of him. And it was because he was here, teaching middle school science instead. Seeing pieces of his own fears in Mr. Gregory's acceptance of his failure, Kieran took pity on the man.
“No, that's not necessary. I don't want to take it to that level,” Kieran said, to looks of surprise from the other three. “He's made a mistake. He's not a criminal. To be honest, I can make more oils. I've kept the formulas in a few different places.”
Mr. Gregory was speechless. And Kieran understood. He was surprising even himself by his reaction. Finally, Mr. Gregory spoke.
“Thank you…so much. I'm so sorry about all of this. I don't know what came over me,” he said. “I'll get the oils returned to you right away.”
Kieran waved his suggestion away. “Ah, do your project first. I'm not in any hurry. I'll look forward to seeing them returned after.”
-----
Mr. Meyer was stunned by how this had been resolved. He was extremely relieved, but was also confused over why Kieran had so quickly changed his tune. Must be a scientist thing, he thought. The receptionist, however, still appeared angry with Mr. Gregory. Mr. Meyer knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with him getting off scot-free.
Kieran left after a few final awkward exchanges with the princ
ipal and Mr. Gregory. After he left, Mr. Meyer gave a heavy sigh once Mr. Gregory turned to face him again.
“Well, Seth. I'm still baffled by this behavior. But it seems you two have worked it out somehow, even if I don't understand it.”
He was prepared to dismiss Mr. Gregory without any further discussion or punishment, but then the receptionist cleared her throat. Mr. Meyer turned to see her glaring at him.
He sighed again. “Still, what you did is a poor representation of our school, and the fact that it was almost pinned on the students is extremely...dishonorable.” Mr. Gregory appeared crushed by the word. “I'm glad that it's not being taken to a higher level, but I'm afraid I must still take some action as your boss.”
Mr. Meyer thought for a moment about what that action would be. “I’m going to ask you take an unpaid leave of absence...for” —he looked at the receptionist for guidance, who gave him another sharp look— “one week?” he suggested, gauging her reaction.
The receptionist looked cheated, and her glare intensified. Mr. Meyer, fearing another long period of cold silence from his assistant as he’d endured many times before, made a provision to Mr. Gregory's sentence.
“The suspension will have to begin now, though. Now through next Friday,” he said. At that, the receptionist looked back to her own work, indicating that it was a satisfactory compromise.
“Oh,” Mr. Gregory said. “I understand. Could I just quickly go and talk with—”
