That day, I’d arrived at school with a mission: I was going to confront Andrew to see if I could get him to come clean.
“Safety glasses on,” Mr. Osborne instructed. “I’m going to pass out dry ice pellets so you can see sublimation up close.” He began moving about the lab, using tongs to place a couple of pellets onto flat trays on our worktables. “Use your tongs to place the dry ice inside the rubber gloves I gave each group. Then tie off the gloves like a balloon.”
Amy was my lab partner as usual, and she got to work as soon as we’d received our pellets. After we’d each tied off the dry ice in our glove, the rubber hands began to expand.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and pulled it out. Noah had sent me a link. I tapped it to see that another video had been uploaded by the blurred blogger.
“Check it,” I murmured to Amy, carefully holding my phone below the worktable’s surface so I wouldn’t get busted for being on it during class.
I had the volume down, so we couldn’t hear the blogger’s creepy deep voice, though I was surprised to see that the mystery host was in front of another animated background, this one filled with floating poop emojis. After a few moments, the video cut to a camera angle inside the biology lab. Students began to rise and gather their things—Mrs. Livingston must’ve just dismissed class.
“Look,” Amy said, pointing to the top of the screen.
In the back of the classroom, a panel under one of the cabinets flopped down and dozens of white rats poured out of the opening. Even though I knew they were just mechanical rodents, they looked very real on my screen. My guess was they seemed real in person too; in the video students were screaming and scattering as the rats spread out across the room.
The feed cut to a camera angle from the hallway outside the biology classroom. The view was focused for a moment on a closed door before it flew open. Students streamed out followed by a swarm of rats.
Pop!
Back in our classroom, someone’s glove had popped as the dry ice sublimated. Several students laughed, and a few covered their ears, waiting for their own gloves to pop.
I turned my attention back to the video, which showed the action from another camera angle. I even saw myself run into view. I watched all over again as Jim picked up one of the toy rats, and then dropped it when he noticed its stinky surprise.
Pop! Pop-pop-pop!
Amy didn’t seem fazed by the exploding gloves. She grabbed my phone and slid back the progress bar. “Did you see that?” she asked as the view returned to the interior of the classroom. “This wasn’t shot from a phone. Look at the camera angle.”
Sure enough, the interior of the classroom was being shown from above, as if the camera were mounted high on the wall. Of course Amy and all her editing skills would notice a detail everyone else takes for granted—the camera angle.
“The academy has security cameras inside the classrooms?” I glanced around the chem lab, but I didn’t see any. I knew the school had cameras in the hallways, but not inside the classrooms.
Amy looked around too. “Maybe it’s just some of the classrooms?”
Pop! Pop!
We barely noticed as both of our gloves blew; we were too focused on the rewound video footage. As before, it had cut to the scene from out in the hallway. I hadn’t noticed it the first time, but now I processed that the scene was shot from two cameras, both of which appeared to be mounted high up on the wall.
“Whoever uploaded this hacked the school security system?” I asked.
Amy shrugged. “Looks like it.”
I glanced over at Andrew. His focus was on his inflating glove. I knew he’d hacked Raider, so maybe he was skilled enough to hack into the school’s system too.
As most of the gloves had blown, Mr. Osborne dragged a large plastic trash can to the front of the class. “Remember what I said yesterday about expanding gases in confined spaces? Well, I have another demonstration for you.”
The teacher unscrewed the cap from a half-drunk water bottle. He took a long sip before grabbing another dry ice pellet with a pair of tongs and then dropped the chunk into the bottle. The remaining water began to bubble, and a light fog wafted out of the opening, drifting toward the floor.
“You might see this effect in haunted houses or old movies,” Mr. Osborne explained. “You get even more fog when the water is heated.” He screwed the cap back on and held the bottle over the trash can with a pair of tongs. “Now, as I’ve said at the beginning of most of these experiments, don’t try this at home.”
I lost interest in Andrew and the video. Along with the rest of the class, I watched as the plastic bottle slowly expanded, making crinkling sounds. The ridges and indentations smoothed out and then the plastic label popped off.
“That ought to do it,” Mr. Osborne said as he dropped the bottle into the trash. He took a step to the side and held up a finger. “Wait for it.…”
Everyone was silent, their attention fixed on the front of the room.
POW!
My classmates jumped before breaking into excited conversation. Some kids even applauded.
“Okay, gang,” Mr. Osborne said, raising his hands. “Grab some glassware, thermometers, scales, and dry ice. I want rates of sublimation at various temperatures.” We all rose from our stools, heading for the supply closet and the ice chest. “Tongs and safety glasses,” Mr. Osborne said sternly. “And no sealed containers. Oh, and let’s get some windows open. Can’t have you passing out while you run your tests.”
There was a smattering of laughter as I joined a couple of other students in opening the windows. The chemistry lab was one of the few classrooms where the windows did open, angling out to let in fresh air. Although that hadn’t really helped much during Stinky’s experiment.
While everyone was away from their worktables, I seized the opportunity to talk to Andrew. I caught him as he was coming back with supplies.
“Was it you?” I demanded.
“Was what me?” he asked back.
I crossed my arms. “The pranks. Hacking Raider. The Not-So-Swift blog?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He tried to push past me, but I held my ground. “It sounds like something you’d do. Anything to make the school look bad.”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Hello?” he said, tapping my chest with a thermometer. “Anybody home, Junior? It’s my school too now.”
I pushed his hand away and narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, and why is that?”
Andrew’s lips tightened. “That’s none of your business.”
“I bet you’re here just long enough to sabotage us again. You’ll probably be back at Bradley as soon as you get enough pranks to broadcast on your stupid blog.”
“Is that your weak theory, Sherlock?” Andrew asked with a laugh.
“What are you going to do? Make it look like Sam was behind everything just like you did at camp?”
“I said I was sorry, Junior.”
My face flushed with rage. “Stop calling me that!”
“You fellas want to get back to work and take a trip down memory lane some other time?” Mr. Osborne asked. He had a grip on each of our shoulders. I hadn’t even seen him walk up behind us. “I haven’t sent anyone to the principal’s office yet, and I would hate to start with you two.”
I let out a long sigh. “Sorry. We’re fine.”
As I returned to my worktable, I was surprised to see the rest of the class eyeing Andrew and me. Luckily, Amy had gathered all our supplies, so I could bury my embarrassment in focusing on our assignment.
“That looked a little… intense,” Amy observed.
“Yeah. Andrew denied everything,” I said as I lit the Bunsen burner and began heating our beaker of water.
I tried to forget about Andrew and just concentrate on the steps of the experiment. Amy and I recorded temperatures, weighed dry ice pellets, and did our best to come up with the requested data. I must say, with all the bubbling and smoki
ng beakers, the place looked more like a mad scientist’s lab than usual.
When class was over, Andrew ducked out before Amy and I had finished putting away our supplies. I thought about asking Amy to cover for me again so I could catch up with him, but then changed my mind. What was the use? He would just deny everything like he did before.
As we were leaving the classroom, a loud alarm blared. Our school had had fire drills in the past, but this one was nothing like those. The deafening repetitive buzzing sounded as if the school was having a nuclear meltdown or something.
Amy and I ran up the hall to find dozens of students standing in a wide semicircle around one of the walls. Most of them had their hands clamped over their ears.
I spotted Noah and ran up to him. “What is that?!” I shouted, trying to block out the racket.
Noah pointed to a box mounted on the wall. It was about twelve centimeters wide and had a comically large red button sticking out from the front. Big white letters printed across the button read DO NOT PUSH.
“This is what happened when someone pushed that?” Amy shouted.
Noah nodded.
I glanced around, half expecting steel doors to slam shut around us as the entire school went on lockdown. Instead, I saw classmates laughing and covering their ears. Apparently, the blaring alarm was punishment enough.
“Has anyone tried pushing it again?” I asked.
“I did!” Noah called over the racket. “Right after I pushed it the first time!”
My jaw dropped. “Wait, you pushed it?!”
Noah shrugged. “Well… yeah.”
“Why?”
Noah waved toward the wall. “Because it said not to.”
“Don’t you think that’s why you shouldn’t have pushed it?” Amy asked.
Noah rolled his eyes. “Something like that pops up in plain view, you have to see what it does.”
The guy had a point. In a school full of curious kids, someone was bound to push it sooner or later. If it hadn’t been Noah, it would have been someone else.
“Well, are you satisfied now?” I cried over the deafening buzz.
Noah shook his head. “Not so much, no.”
“How do you shut it off?!” Amy shouted.
Holding my ears tighter, I moved closer to the box. Noah peered over my shoulder as I leaned in. There were no wires or conduit leading to it.
“Maybe the battery will run out,” I suggested weakly.
But that didn’t seem to sit well with Noah. “That’s it,” he cried, grabbing it on either side and giving it a big yank. Nothing happened. He leaned forward and examined the box again before turning back to the gathered students. “Anyone have a screwdriver?”
“I got it,” Amy said as she slid off her backpack. Of course Amy had a screwdriver handy. Her backpack put Batman’s utility belt to shame. She quickly produced the tool and handed it over.
Noah took the screwdriver and jammed it into a seam on the side of the box. After a few seconds (which felt like an eternity with the blaring alarm assaulting my ears), he managed to pop off the front. He held the cover, following two wires trailing into a mechanism nestled in the other half. With a tug, he jerked the front half free, snapping the thin wires, and the alarm stopped abruptly. Everyone cheered.
Breaking the connection must’ve cut the power.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that happened. As Noah leaned in to get a better look at the mechanism, blue liquid squirted out.
“Ack!” Noah sputtered as he got a face full of the stuff.
The cheers of the crowd turned to laughter. The prankster had struck again.
8 The Evidentiary Expedition
“WHAT WAS NOAH THINKING?” SAM asked as she unpacked her lunch. “Especially with all the pranks going on.”
I shrugged as I salted my green beans. “To be fair, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
“No way,” Sam said.
Amy opened her container of pasta and grinned. “It was a very enticing button.”
Sam laughed. “You too, Amy?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have pushed it,” Amy replied. “But I can definitely see the appeal.”
Sam took a bite of her sandwich and nodded at me. “Deena Bittick told me about your blowup with Andrew Foger today.”
I winced. News sure traveled fast around our school. Deena wasn’t even in our chemistry class.
“Thanks for standing up for me, Swift,” Sam continued. “And just so you know, word is getting around that Andrew is the prankster.” She gave a devious grin. “I may not have to get him back after all, thanks to you.”
I felt a pang of guilt. Sure, I was 99 percent positive Andrew was the prankster, and I admit I wasn’t his biggest fan, but I didn’t mean to start a rumor about the guy. Besides, Sam should know better than anyone that starting rumors was never a good idea. It was partly my fault that she’d been blamed for Andrew’s last attack on our school.
“I didn’t realize the entire class and Mr. Osborne were listening,” I explained.
Sam opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Noah slamming his tray down onto the table.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said.
I glanced up to see that most of my best friend’s face was stained dark blue. So the three of us did what you’d expect if one of your friends found himself in a similar predicament: We burst out laughing.
Noah shook his head and threw himself into the chair. “Go ahead. Get it over with. But if I hear one more Smurf joke, I’m going to break something.”
“That many, huh?” I asked.
Noah began counting on his fingers. “Barry Jacobs, Alicia Wilkes, Tristan Caudle…”
“Did anyone say you’re looking a little blue today?” Sam asked, trying to keep it together.
Noah turned to her, wide-eyed. “Yeah! Mr. Wilkins.”
The three of us laughed even harder.
Noah rubbed the side of his face. “It won’t wash off, you guys. Seriously. I don’t know how long I’ll be like this. I’m thinking of skipping tomorrow.”
“You could quit school altogether and try out for the Blue Man Group,” Amy suggested. She barely managed to get out the line before she lost it.
Noah threw his hands up. “Thanks a lot, Ames. No one’s used that one yet.”
“So I take it you don’t think the pranks are funny anymore?” I asked.
Noah pointed to his blue skin. “Does this look like an amused face?”
“It looks like a lack-of-oxygen face,” I shot back. That set Amy off again; Sam almost choked on her drink. Noah glared at me across the table.
I held my hands out. “Okay, okay. That was the last one. Promise.”
Noah shook his head. “Man, when I get my hands on Andrew. Excuse me… Andy. I was already mad that he hacked Raider.”
“I bet Mr. Davenport will handle everything for you,” Sam suggested. She went on to tell how I started the rumor that Andrew was behind everything.
“Oh, man. You did that?” Noah asked. “Toby Nguyen said something about that, but I had no idea you started the story.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, me neither.”
“Speaking of hacking,” Amy interjected. “Tom and I think Andrew hacked into the school’s security system too.” She told them about the high camera angles we’d seen in the videos on the blurred blogger’s page.
Sam popped a piece of fruit into her mouth and grinned as she chewed. “Then Davenport will definitely get him.”
As my friends tried to guess what kind of punishment Andrew would get, I thought of those weird camera angles. It still seemed strange that the academy would have cameras in some classrooms and not others. It seemed even odder that I’d never noticed them before. Sure, security cameras were supposed to be unobtrusive, but two cameras so close together outside biology class seemed like overkill. I don’t know why, but something about the entire setup really bugged me. And if there was one thing I kn
ew about myself, my subconscious would obsess about this conundrum until I got my questions answered.
I popped a few more tater tots into my mouth before grabbing my tray and standing up. “I’ll catch up with you later. I have to check on a few things.”
“Can you figure out how to wash off blue dye while you’re at it?” Noah said. “I’m asking for a friend.”
I chuckled. “You should check with Mr. Osborne. He might know.”
Noah’s eyes lit up. “Hey, good idea.” He began to wolf down his food. “Maybe I can catch him.”
I didn’t wait for Noah. Instead, I dumped my tray and left the cafeteria, hitting the stairs and heading up to the third floor. When I reached the landing, I glanced up and spotted the security camera mounted above the stairwell entrance. The little black dome no doubt housed a camera with a clear view straight down the hallway, but that wasn’t the one I was concerned with, so I kept going down the hall.
When I reached the biology classroom door, it was shut, so I knocked lightly before turning the knob and pushing it open. The room was dark, and Mrs. Livingston was nowhere to be seen. I immediately spotted the open panel I’d seen on the video. The long, thin piece of wood under the cabinet remained flat on the floor after the toy rats had escaped their hiding place.
I spun around to look for the security camera on the opposite wall, but there was nothing there except Mrs. Livingston’s posters and infographics. I moved closer—could it be hidden somehow?
Still not seeing anything out of place, I pulled out my phone and pulled up the video. With no one around, I turned up the volume to see what the blurred blogger had to say:
“Did I mention that they teach biology at the Not-So-Swift Academy? Well, check out how these brave students react when a few lab animals stage a mutiny.” The video cut to the overhead view. I paused it just as the panel under the cabinet fell open.
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