Arts and Thefts

by Allison K. Hymas

  “It’s not like they took your newspaper picture right there,” I said. “That happens later, with your painting.”

  “I know, but really? Rushing the stage?”

  “Oh, you knew we were going to do it,” Hack said. “You would have been disappointed if we hadn’t.” His phone beeped and he looked at it. “Showtime.”

  Case nodded, an evil glint in his eye. “Mess with the art show, will he?”

  Oh yeah. My friends probably thought Aaron was the primary bad guy. The news of Lee’s arrest would have yet to hit the rumor mill. “Go easy on him, okay, guys? He might not be the criminal sludge bucket you think he is.”

  Case and Hack looked at me, shocked. “Who do you think we are, Becca Mills?” Case asked.

  “We have nothing but compassion for kids who turn to crime,” Hack added.

  “But they don’t have to know that right away,” Case finished.

  They’re scary when they do that.

  “Want to come? I’m sure you’d love to ream out a criminal.”

  After doing it twice that day, I was a little reamed out. Besides, I had an idea. “Love to, but can’t. There’s something I need to do. Catch you later?”

  They nodded and I ran back to the shed and gathered up all the bits of my and Becca’s disguises. Time to return the clothes. It wasn’t like they were mine, anyway. The poncho, the muumuu, the hats, and the sunglasses. Even the buttons from our shoes. Everything except the shirt on my back went into a giant wad in my arms.

  I must have looked strange as I walked into, around, and out of the art museum’s gift shop. The place was busy, so I got a lot of weird looks from shoppers. But I didn’t care. I walked through to the Lost and Found, which, despite the shop’s busyness, was deserted.

  Well, almost deserted. As I set the bundle down carefully, a voice said, “Hey, Jeremy.”

  I almost jumped out of my skin. I could have sworn there was no one in there! I looked around and saw Larissa by the door.

  “I was at the lockers with my family and saw you come in,” Larissa said. She reached for the bundle. “Let me help you with that.”

  I pulled away. “I’ve got it.”

  Larissa stepped closer, looked at the bundle, and tilted her head. She reached under the poncho and pulled out two sets of brushes, the kind sold at the art museum’s gift shop. Which I had just passed through with a bundle of very obscuring cloth in my arms. “With all these people around too?” she said. “Pretty bold, thief.”

  I snatched them back. “I’m not a thief. I return what was stolen or lost. Everyone knows Diana or Justin could have won if they hadn’t been sabotaged. They were robbed and they deserve something. Last year Aaron had a win stolen from him, and no one did anything about it. Maybe if someone had helped him then, the sabotages wouldn’t have happened this year. So, if no one else is willing to give the victims back what they lost, it falls to me.”

  Larissa didn’t say anything. She just held the brushes in her hands. “Or me.”

  “What?”

  “I could give the brushes to them. I have connections through my sister. And since you were the one who took them, wouldn’t it be safer for you if you didn’t have them anymore?” Larissa stopped. “Unless you want to be the one who gives them to Diana and Justin.”

  I smiled. Normally I would have liked the glory, but it didn’t seem important in the moment and Larissa had made a good point. “Good thinking. You’d make a decent retrieval specialist. But it is a loss, not being able to get attention for this one. What will you give me in return?”

  She looked startled. “Uh, what do you want?”

  “The painting. The one you made to replace Quinn’s real painting. I want that one.”

  She crinkled her forehead. “You’re welcome to it, after everything you did today. But . . . why? It’s not that good.”

  I shrugged. “It’s good enough. I like the monster.” And more than that, I liked what it meant. Case says art is about subtext, and I would enjoy having a painting with the subtext of a girl willing to do anything to protect her sister.

  Larissa smiled. She tucked the brush sets into the waistband of her pants. “I’ll deliver these as soon as I can. The painting, my painting, is behind the bases in the storage room. I swapped it for Quinn’s real painting during the awards ceremony. You can pick it up from there.”

  “Great.”

  “Are you going to keep that shirt?”

  I looked down at the dirty plaid. “No choice. I don’t think whoever lost this would recognize it. If it cleans well, maybe I’ll return it when I come back to pay for those art supplies.”

  “Pay? I thought you were a thief.”

  “I thought I told you, I’m not. I just didn’t bring enough money today.”

  Larissa nodded and walked to the door. She paused, her hand on the door handle, and looked back at me. “I’ll go in with you. On the brushes. I’ll pay half.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Consider it my thank-you. It was fun, today. Even with the fake accusation and getting lost in the air vents. It was exciting.”

  I smiled. I knew how she felt. I’d been feeling it since my first job, that rush of adrenaline. “If you liked that, there’s a lot I could show you.”

  “Yes, please!”

  “I guess I’ll see you around,” I said.

  “See you around.” And then she was gone.

  Smiling, I left the museum and headed to the help-office storage room. Maybe bringing home some art would keep Mom from killing me over the shirt thing.

  The door was open, so I just walked in and picked up the painting. The fiery monster glared at me. It reminded me of a warm version of Becca. I tucked it under my arm and left the storage room.

  As I returned to the path, Becca burst out of the help office. “Jeremy, wait.”

  “Gah!” Again, I nearly jumped out of my skin. “You two are so similar.”

  “We two who?”

  “Never mind.”

  Becca pointed. “Why do you have that painting?”

  “Gift from the painter. How’s it going with Lee?”

  She shrugged, walking down the steps to meet me on the sidewalk. “Not bad. Your recording was very helpful. Exactly what we needed, by the way. Mom saved your file and gave me back the camera, which left me free to catch this on tape.”

  Becca pressed the play button, and Detective Mills’s voice said, “Well done, Becca! You trusted your instincts and let them lead you to the truth. You’re going to make a great detective one day.”

  She beamed and I patted her shoulder. “Good job. So your mom has everything she needs?”

  “Oh yeah. This and the paintbrush, and Lee got a lot more chatty when Mom talked to him, but then, Mom usually has a way of getting people to cooperate.”

  “I bet she does.” That time spent with the Elder Mills was still terrifyingly vivid.

  Becca got closer. “It would be easier if we had Aaron, though.”

  “Unless I’m very wrong, you’ll be seeing Aaron soon.”

  Becca tilted her head. “How sure are you?”

  “Pretty darn.”

  “Wilderson, is this some kind of thief thing? What have you been up to?”

  Stealing paintbrushes, just like you accused me of this morning. Ain’t you glad to be right? “This is harmless, I promise. If you need anything else for the investigation, like my statement or whatever, I live across the street. Just come over and get it from me.”

  Becca smiled. “Thank you.”

  “There was one other thing,” I said. “Did you listen to the tape?”

  “Not all of it. Not yet, but I still have it saved. Why?”

  “Lee knew about you. About your past jobs, and that you’d be here, tracking him, at the show. He knew things he shouldn’t have known.”

  Becca furrowed her brow. “Maybe my reputation precedes me.”

  “Yes, but not in a good way.” I lowered my voice. “He knew
about the Mark job. He knew we had worked together.”

  Becca’s lips tightened. “That’s impossible. We covered our tracks.”

  “I thought so too. But Lee knew about everything. I think this source warned him about you before he came here today, so Lee knew to try to throw you off by letting Quinn take the heat.”

  “That is interesting. How did he get this information? Did he say?”

  “Lee told me he had a source who told him everything, but he wouldn’t give me a name.”

  Becca nodded. “Lee’s being very forthcoming about sabotaging the paintings, but he hasn’t mentioned any kind of source. It could just be someone from our school spreading rumors. But still. Someone who warned him about me and knows about us . . . We should find out who this source is. I’ll try to get it out of Lee. He’s going to have a long, lonely summer. Maybe he’ll be more willing to talk in a few months.”

  I shuddered as I thought about Becca’s interrogation tactics. “You do that. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and see what I find out.”

  “Be careful. This person knows about you, too. They might know other things that you won’t want anyone else finding out. Your past jobs come to mind.”

  That was a scary thought. “Still, I’ll see what I can turn up.”

  “Let me know as soon as you find something. And, again, thank you for all your help today.” Becca pushed some hair behind her ear. “It meant a lot to me. I mean that.”

  I smiled back and stuck out my hand. “What are partners for?”

  Becca shook my hand. Her grip was firm and warm.

  A sound like someone choking made me drop that hand and turn around.

  Oh no. No. No.

  Forget Lee. Forget his friend’s impossible knowledge. Forget Becca and Detective Mills. Forget Mom and Dad and Rick and everyone who had ever or could ever make my life difficult. This was a hundred, million times worse.

  Case stood there, looking like he had swallowed his tongue. Hack stood beside him, cleaning his glasses so hard he was going to etch the glass with his shirt. Aaron was with them, apparently of his own accord, looking scared. As my friends gaped, he hurried into the help office.

  “Uh, hi, guys,” I said. “Uh, how long have you been standing th—”

  “Partners?” Case spat.

  “Partners?”

  “That long, huh.”

  Now Lee’s mysterious friend wasn’t the only one who knew about Becca and me. My own friends knew. Oh man. If looks could kill, they’d have blasted my remains into dust by now.

  Becca patted me on the back and walked into the help office. I was left alone, clutching a painting and staring at my two best friends. No explanation, no matter how clever, could take away the truth they had just heard.

  My heart sank, lower and lower through my stomach on its way to my feet. Lee wasn’t the only guy who was going to have a long, lonely summer.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Somehow, and with much help, I managed to complete another book. I didn’t run an official contest, but if I did, these people would be the winners:

  The Best Agent award goes to Lauren E. Abramo for being there for me and for taking care of business like a boss. Thank you for all your help and support.

  Best Editor, Amy Cloud. Thank you for taking my goofy stories and helping me make them something special. I’ve loved working with you on these books.

  Best Copy Editor, Jen Strada, for her careful, detailed copyediting that put the final polish on the book.

  Best Artist goes to Matt David, and Best Art Director to Karin Paprocki, for yet another cover illustration. I can’t stop smiling at Jeremy with his green mustache!

  Love and gratitude to my best and only family, for believing in me and in my dream of writing. Grace, thank you especially for being a great reader and for listening to me as I discussed my plans for Jeremy’s continuing adventures.

  Thanks also to Madeleine, Jenna, Kiersty, Bekah, and all the other readers who helped me smooth out the rough edges of this book, trim down the garbage, and perfect the ending. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  TURN THE PAGE

  FOR A PEEK AT THE FIRST BOOK ABOUT JEREMY’S ADVENTURES:

  FIRST OFF, I AM NOT a thief. I am a retrieval specialist. Big difference. Thieves take what doesn’t belong to them. They steal. Me, I take back the things thieves steal and return them to their rightful owners. The job runs everywhere from crazy to boring to dangerous, but someone has to do it. Kids need protection from the jungle out there.

  If you’ve ever been in middle school, you know what I mean. Bigger kids rip sixth graders off for lunch money, new shoes, whatever. Even teachers contribute to the problem by confiscating cell phones and iPods. I have the highest respect for teachers—my mom is one— but they don’t always understand that the cell phone belongs to your dad, not you, and that if you don’t give it back right after school, you’re grounded.

  So I step in. One meeting with me over a cafeteria lunch or before class and I guarantee to return your stolen property before the late bus leaves. No payment needed— I just ask that you pass my name on to someone else who needs me. And don’t tell the teachers that I retrieved your stuff. Or Becca Mills. Especially Becca Mills.

  Still convinced I’m a thief ? Read on. After you become more familiar with my method, you’ll change your mind. Where to begin? How about somewhere exciting . . . ?

  • • •

  The tiles froze my bare knees as I knelt in front of the backpack. I’d like to tell you my heart raced and sweat dripped down my forehead, but I never get nervous on a job that routine. If anything, I felt annoyed at the school for pumping the boys’ locker room full of icy air. Why can I almost see my breath in the one room in school where people strip down?

  Anyway, the bag didn’t belong to me. But the Hello Kitty wallet shoved at the bottom sure didn’t belong to the owner of the tough-looking blue-and-black backpack with the X Games key chain.

  The client: Carrie Bethesda. First-chair trumpet in the concert band. Sixth grader with a habit of carrying multiple twenties in her wallet. Her parents trusted her with a month of lunch money at a time—a bad idea, as it turned out.

  The mark: Adam Lowd. Nothing out of the ordinary: eighth grader with a taste for after-school pizza that left him constantly short on cash. He’d lifted Carrie’s wallet during a scuffle in the lunch line, or so Carrie suspected.

  She was right. I found the wallet crammed between Lowd’s history textbook and a wad of old vocabulary tests. A quick check verified that all $43.75 was still there. This girl was loaded. All that cash might have tempted a real thief to pocket it and leave the client destitute, but I tucked the wallet, bills and all, into the pocket of my hoodie for temporary safekeeping.

  My watch beeped. Ten minutes until the end of eighth-grade gym; the students would come back at any minute to change out of their uniforms. Gotta love gym— the only class where you have to leave all your belongings in a room with minimal security. No one’s around while class is in session, and half the time, people forget to lock their lockers. On top of that, the gym lockers are so small that backpacks have to be left in the open, like Adam’s was. It’s like the school tries to make my job easier. I zipped Adam’s backpack and then left, one hand in my hoodie pocket, resting on the retrieved wallet.

  And because it’s written in the fabric of the universe that no job can go off without a hitch, with the whir and click of a camera Becca Mills stepped in front of me in the hall outside the gym. “Jeremy Wilderson,” she said, twirling her little silver camera by its strap. How did such a tiny girl manage to block the whole hallway?

  “Hi, Becca. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “Shouldn’t you?”

  “Ms. Campbell let us go early after we promised we wouldn’t get into mischief.” A true statement. That camera wouldn’t give her anything on me.

  Becca smiled like I imagine a cobra would, if it had lips. “Breaking promises now?”

/>   I raised my hands. “Hey, I’m clean. No trouble here. Why don’t you go investigate Scottsville’s illegal gum trade? I swear there was some under-the-desk dealing during homeroom.”

  The twelve-year-old detective stepped closer. Her dark hair gleamed in the June sun coming through the dirty windows. “If there’s any illegal gum trading, I bet you’re jaw-deep in it.”

  “After your last three investigations, I’d think you’d know gum trading is not my game.”

  “Right. Thieving is.” Becca’s lip curled. “You disgust me.”

  “Disgusting? Me? I’m a picture of cleanliness, both physically and morally.”

  “If you’re so ‘clean,’ where is your backpack? Why were you in the gym locker room right now when your last class of the day is science?”

  I sighed. I should have remembered: She’d memorized my schedule back when a history teacher’s test answers disappeared between fourth and fifth period, and Becca was certain I’d stolen them. It wasn’t me; the teacher remembered he’d left the answers in his car. The way Becca acted, though, you would have thought my innocence personally offended her.

  “Like I said, I got out of class early,” I said. “It’s a nice day. I thought I would put my stuff in my gym locker before I go outside so I wouldn’t have to carry it around until after track practice.”

  Becca’s gray eyes narrowed. Her hands lifted, reaching toward the slight bulge in my hoodie pocket. An actual frisking? Really?

  “Whoa,” I said, backing away. “I know I have an athlete’s body, but hands off the abs. People will talk.”

  Becca drew away. “You disgust me.”

  “You already said that.” I shoved my hands into my hoodie’s large front pocket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the sunshine calls.”

  As I walked away, Becca said, “Your thieving will catch up with you, Wilderson. I’ll make sure of it, even if no one else does.”

  I turned and saluted her, which, judging by her scowl, she did not appreciate.

  The bell rang, and I hurried away down halls beginning to crowd with kids. I had to steer through the mess like a getaway driver at rush hour to get back to my locker and retrieve my own backpack. Yeah, I lied to Becca. I wouldn’t have to if she would loosen up and see that I provide a necessary service, instead of trying to put me in detention for the rest of my middle school life.