CHAPTER 25
That day, Principal Weeks was waiting for me outside class as the final school bell rang.
“If you can hang around in my office for a few minutes, the crossing guard said she’d describe the box thief for you once she was done with school traffic.”
So I found myself in the principal’s office again. But doing detective sketches wasn’t like cleaning desks. It was almost … fun.
I had never seen the crossing guard up close before. Or maybe crossing guards weren’t that interesting to me. At least, not as interesting as vending machines with Caramel Whale Eggs.
“Elvin, this is Tina West-Easterly.”
“Hi,” I said tentatively, not sure of what I just heard.
“Those are my parents’ last names!” she said. “You could say I was born to give directions.”
Or be confused, I thought.
“So, Tina,” Principal Weeks said, “do you remember anything new or unusual about the cars leaving the school parking lot around three thirty on Monday?”
“There was a long silver car, an antique. Driven by the guy with the mustache. I remember that one.”
“That sounds like Mr. Vamos, the gym teacher,” Principal Weeks said. “He usually drives a small silver car, but he does have a red antique. It was a convertible, right?”
“Yes,” Tina said. “He was driving it with the bottom all the way up because it was a nice day.”
“You mean the top all the way down,” Principal Weeks said.
“Sure. That’s what I meant.”
“Was there a big box in the back seat, do you remember?”
“Nope, only the guy with the mustache driving in the back seat.”
“You mean the front seat,” Principal Weeks said.
“Exactly.”
Principal Weeks and I looked at each other. Clearly, the crossing guard had crossed up a lot of things in her mind. I hadn’t begun to draw anything yet.
“There was a car I hadn’t seen before,” she said, squinting her eyes, apparently in order to think better. “It was a truck, actually. A blue pickup. And it did have a big box in the back.”
“Tell us more,” Principal Weeks said. “What did the driver look like?”
“The driver had shoulder-length hair and very thick glasses. And was wearing a brown jacket and a hat.”
“That sounds like Mrs. English,” Principal Weeks said. The math teacher often wore a hat to drive back home to her farm because she couldn’t fit sunglasses over her thick prescription ones.
“Nope. This was a man.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I think I know which teacher you’re talking about. She’s one of the first to arrive every day?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
“Well, imagine somebody who looks like her but is a man. Driving a blue truck, not the sporty black car she usually drives.”
“That’s me with the sporty black car,” Principal Weeks said. “Mrs. English drives a small, old yellow one.”
“Forgive me if I mix up some of these things,” Tina said. “I see a lot of cars enter the school parking lot each afternoon.”
“You mean leave the parking lot,” Principal Weeks said, barely containing her frustration.
“Sure.”
Principal Weeks was done asking questions. “Ms. Tina, nothing you said has made much sense.”
“I see a lot of cars, ma’am,” Tina replied. “I’m good at cross-guarding. There hasn’t been an accident during the sixteen years I have been doing this.”
Principal Weeks gave in. “True enough. You’ve been great. Thanks for trying to help.”
After Tina West-Easterly had left, I showed a sketch to Principal Weeks.
“Mrs. English as a man!” she chuckled. “That’s spot-on, even if it doesn’t help us. Why don’t you stop by tomorrow morning before class, Elvin? Let’s see if we can come up with more leads. Keep your thinking cap on.”
What, exactly, is a thinking cap?
Whatever it was, I was ready. “Carlos and I had a list of potential suspects. I feel like we can figure this out.”
Speaking of Carlos, where had he been all day? I didn’t have any run-ins with Peter Zorber, but it seemed like Carlos had vanished. Last time I saw him, he was being followed down the hall by Zorber. And he, as well as pretty much every student, would have left by now. Before leaving school, I checked my locker. I was shocked by what I saw.
CHAPTER 26
What I really needed was some flipdisc time with Carlos, but I had to settle for one of my sisters. Andrea was on dinner duty, so Amanda joined me.
“Unlimited supply of moisturizer!” she said dramatically as she spun off a long toss of the Frisbee. She had a good arm.
“I assume that’s a good thing?” I said, letting the Frisbee settle into my hand.
“Duh.”
“Also, you’re supposed to say it right before it lands,” I said.
I flicked the Frisbee into the air. “Carrot peeler for your retina!” Amanda let it fall.
“I know what you did,” she said. “Both you and Andrea. Pretending to be me so that Peter Zorber wouldn’t be at my recital. It was mean. Milk that’s been sitting out in the sun for fourteen days!”
“He wasn’t even there for you,” I said. “I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true. Snorkel full of scorpions!”
“I’d like to see how you feel when you like someone and then I lie to them and say you’re sick,” she said angrily. “Diaper full of monkey brains!”
“Fine,” I said. “But I would never like a total jerk. Bleach milkshake!”
“It’s none of your business who I like. Just leave me alone. Naked salsa dancing in front of Grandma!”
“If you wanna hang out with him, I’d be happy to leave you alone,” I said. “Reciting every single line of Shakespeare’s plays from memory!”
“Shark teeth in your face!” Amanda said after chucking the disc right back at me.
At this point neither of us was saying anything that would make the other person want to catch the Frisbee. Finally a voice came from inside the house announcing a more fun activity:
CHAPTER 27
After dinner, Mom handed me the phone.
“Where were you today? You need to see what I found in my locker,” I said, explaining the discovery.
Carlos yelled into the phone.
Oh no.
“After Principal Weeks took you into her office, Peter Zorber followed me down the hall and cornered me at my locker. He said I had to bring you to him after school, or else I was going to get a wedgie even worse than the one he gave me last year.”
“I remember that. Your underwear ripping was so loud it echoed down the hallway.”
“Right. So I took matters into my own hands. Literally. After morning classes I snuck into the upstairs bathroom and changed out of my underwear.”
“That’s where you were during lunch?”
“Yep. And by the way, I don’t recommend not wearing underwear when your gym class is playing volleyball.”
“Ugh,” I said.
“So at the end of the day,” Carlos continued, “I came around the corner near Peter Zorber’s and Walker Bundt’s lockers, and I yelled, ‘You want my underwear? Here it is!’ And I balled it up and whipped it into Peter’s face and then took off.”
“They didn’t catch you?”
“Sayonara, bullies!”
“I wish I could have seen that,” I said. Although I figured this gave extra motivation for Peter Zorber to make my inevitable punishment reeeally bad.
“So, why were you in Principal Weeks’s office again?” Carlos asked.
“I was doing some sketches to help her figure out who took the box of shirts.”
“Without me? I thought we were doing that together! I’m running around with no underwear, trying to save you from Zorber, and you’re off playing cool school detective without me?”
“We can still do
that.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t accidentally run into anyone again, or you’d be back drawing my mug shot for the principal,” Carlos said. “Speaking of which, have you thought of anything cool we can draw for Mrs. English?”
“Haven’t thought about it,” I said. Carlos still felt like I betrayed his friendship after the ice cream incident. If the awkwardness was a heat rating from a hot-sauce bottle, it would have been at four fires right now.
“Well, we’re still doing The Z tomorrow night, right?” I asked. “Maybe we can think of something then.”
The Z was a giant entertainment complex that had movie theaters, air hockey tables, and a bunch of video games. But there was one main reason why we went there: laser tag.
If flipdisc was our favorite outdoor game, laser tag was our favorite indoor game. And because Friday was Field Day, Thursday was technically the last day of school. We had planned a special trip to The Z to celebrate.
“Sure,” Carlos said.
Like candy in the teachers’ lounge, laser tag had a way of smoothing over all kinds of problems.
Drawing faces based on other people’s descriptions was like a tricky puzzle. It was challenging but also fulfilling. I was good at this and felt useful. So after dinner, I went to my room and used the journal to practice for my future.
CHAPTER 28
Even without mysteries and investigations, the day before Field Day was a strange one. It was like a relaxed version of school. Clay, for instance, smelled just a little bit worse than on a typical day.
There wasn’t much work to do, so the teachers had us help them clean their classrooms, do little odd jobs, or write short essays about what we had learned over the course of the year. And we were all given yearbooks, which we spent much of the day signing for each other.
We also knew that it was the last we’d see of some of our friends. Kids would be moving on to other schools next fall, and there were a few families who would be moving away over the summer.
It was even sad to think that it was the last time I’d see certain teachers.
I waited for Carlos in the lobby, where Principal Weeks motioned us into her office.
My latest drawing was taped to the wall and being admired by the faculty, although nobody could identify the person.
“It’s great work, Elvin,” Principal Weeks said. “I think you’ve found a new job.”
I had to admit, it was terrific to be in the principal’s office for positive reasons.
“Any more thoughts on the shirts, you two?”
“We got nothing,” said Carlos, also feeling important at having been asked.
“That’s too bad. I’m going to make an announcement, just in case. Even if we don’t find the official gold and blue shirts, we’d still like to have Field Day shirts, so we’ll have to figure out something else.” Then she reached into a big box and pulled out a white shirt. “We might all wear these.”
Carlos and I gasped in unison. It was almost like our hearts had been given wedgies.
It was bad enough that we wouldn’t have our regular Field Day shirts. This was ten times worse. Boys at Villadale would rather wear no underwear than a shirt with Zorber’s name on it. Except maybe Walker Bundt.
It was all beginning to feel personal. Peter Zorber wasn’t just trying to ruin the end of my year, but everybody else’s, too.
“Let’s hope somebody finds the box,” Carlos said, speaking for both of us.
I arrived late for my first class—not a big deal on the last day of school. But all eyes seemed to be on me as I settled into my seat.
“It’s a good thing you weren’t at your locker,” whispered Clay. “Peter Zorber was waiting there for you all morning, with Walker Bundt.”
Zorber, Zorber, Zorber. I was tired of hearing that name.
“He was telling everybody he was going to wedgie you on Field Day in front of the whole school,” Clay added.
Part of me wondered if I shouldn’t just walk up to him and say, “Go ahead.” It felt inevitable, and I was tired of living in fear.
Just then my thoughts were interrupted by the loudspeaker, in what would be the last announcement of the year.
“Attention, all students and faculty: our blue and gold Field Day shirts have gone missing. If anyone knows what happened to the box that was in the teachers’ lounge, please come see Principal Weeks in her office as soon as possible. Thank you.”
CHAPTER 29
The school day was over.
The school year was over. Mostly. Well, except for Field Day, and me versus Peter Zorber, and an unsolved mystery. Would we be catching the Zorbers in a scheme to steal their own shirts, or would we be helping the Zorbers by finding out who had stolen them?
I stopped by the principal’s office on the way to catch the bus home. Several teachers were there. Nobody acted like it was a big deal when I walked in, probably because I had been there so much lately.
“Elvin, no one came forward about the shirts,” Principal Weeks said, “so this is what we’re going with.” She handed me one, as if I had asked.
“Well, at least we have something,” Mrs. English said.
You could hear more than a few ugh reactions from kids passing by the principal’s office as they made their way to the double doors.
I might not be able to stop Peter Zorber from yanking me up in the air by my underpants, but I didn’t have to wear his name on my chest. So I fought back the only way I really knew how: with ink.
The teachers had almost finished their discussions about Field Day when Mr. Trinkle said, “Hey, Elvin—what are you doing?”
I held the shirt up for all of the teachers to see.
“Love it!” the principal said, followed by the agreement of several teachers.
“Wait!” Mr. Trinkle said. “I have a terrific plan. That is, if you are up for it, Elvin.”
CHAPTER 30
“I knew it. Well, maybe you’re not really my friend after all, Elvin.”
Click.
Silence.
That’s how Carlos responded when I told him about Mr. Trinkle’s plan.
This was the night that Carlos and I were supposed to go laser-tagging at The Z.
Instead, I was sitting at a table in the school cafeteria and staring at another table, which was piled high with Zorber’s T-shirts and colored markers. Mr. Trinkle’s plan was that I would replicate the “Zorber’s bird” shirt I had drawn in the principal’s office over and over again—in gold for every person on the Gold Team, and in blue for every person on the Blue Team.
“These are great, Elvin,” Trinkle said. “Your classmates will love them!”
Maybe, but that news somehow didn’t make me happy.
The fluorescent lighting was giving me a headache.
Drawing on top of the Zorber name over and over again was giving me even more of a headache.
Why had I agreed to do this?
At first, it seemed like a cool idea to draw on shirts. But now, as I faced the gigantic pile, it seemed a lot less cool. And it wasn’t worth losing my best friend.
I finished my twelfth shirt and then blocked out a big number 12 on the back in blue marker. I drew it with a shadow behind it, just to make it different.
“Looks great,” Mr. Trinkle said.
There were still tons of shirts left to do. This was supposed to be fun, but it felt a lot like detention. In fact, it felt like I was still back there.
The next shirt I pulled toward me was blank. I looked at Mr. Trinkle.
“There weren’t enough shirts that say ‘Zorber’s’ on them. The rest are just plain white. We figured you could just write ‘Zorber’s’ yourself,” Mr. Trinkle responded.
Oh, heck no. I wasn’t going to write the Zorber name on anything.
The only way out of this was the way I got into it: by drawing. But it wasn’t quite enough. If this was going to be any good, then someone else needed to be here.
“What’s the matter, Elvin? Wh
at do you need to keep going? Do you want more pizza?”
“I need to call somebody,” I said.
That somebody was Carlos.
“Do you want to play flipdisc right now?” I asked into the phone.
He paused a minute before answering. “I thought you were drawing T-shirts all night,” he said sleepily.
“I am.”
“I can’t help you, E. I can’t draw.”
“No drawing. Flipdisc. All night.”
“I don’t get it. How are we going to…?”
“Trust me,” I said. “Come to the school right now.”
CHAPTER 31
This was how you made Field Day shirts.
It wasn’t laser tag. But it might have been better, because it was a game we had invented. A kind of indoor flipdisc that only Carlos and I could play.
Instead of throwing a Frisbee, I yelled out a color and a number. “Gold seventeen!”
And just like in flipdisc, Carlos would yell something back: “A skyscraper eating doughnuts!”
And then I’d get busy.
“No way. I want this one!” Carlos said. He’d said the same thing after the one before that, and the one before that.
I did half of them in blue and half of them in gold. The markers would run out before our ideas did.
“Blue nine!”
“A robot being stung in the butt by a bee!”
Mr. Trinkle felt like we had out-cooled his original idea, and he wanted to participate somehow. “Mind if I play a little guitar while you guys keep crushing these shirts?” he asked before going down to the teachers’ lounge to fetch his instrument. (I knew it was his guitar!)
Elvin Link, Please Report to the Principal's Office! Page 5
