Class 12B Fights Back

by Tim Harris

I recognize the look on Mr. Bambuckle’s face. It’s the knowing look he had when he was talking to Carrot about the drone race. Something strange is going to happen. I just don’t know what.

  Mr. Bambuckle clicks his fingers, and a bird flies into the classroom. It lands on his shoulder. The bird has shiny blue feathers that are the same color as Mr. Bambuckle’s suit.

  “Is that your bird?” says Scarlett.

  But Mr. Bambuckle isn’t listening to Scarlett. He’s listening to the bird. He nods and whispers something we can’t hear. The bird chirps brightly and flies back out of the room.

  “What was that about?” asks Ren.

  “Birds are marvelous creatures,” says Mr. Bambuckle. “Did you know that carrier pigeons were used to relay messages in times of war?”

  Carrot’s face lights up. “I did! Some war pigeons have even been awarded medals for bravery!”

  “Right you are, dear Carrot!” says Mr. Bambuckle. He clicks his fingers again, and the bird flies back through the window. It loops around his head and then zips to the back of the room before heading straight for one of his pockets, disappearing inside.

  “You keep a bird in your pocket?” asks Ren.

  “Don’t you?” says Mr. Bambuckle. “What’s the world coming to?”

  “What kind of bird is it?” says Scarlett.

  Mr. Bambuckle smiles. “A blue jay, I should think. I picked him up in Canada.”

  “Does he have a name?” says Carrot.

  “Dodger.”

  “Dodger is beautiful,” I say. “He looks like a jewel.”

  Slugger calls out from the other side of the room. “Speaking of jewels, I heard there’s a jewel thief in town!”

  “I beg your pardon, dear Slugger?” says Mr. Bambuckle.

  “A jewel thief. In town. Someone robbed the jewelry store last night.”

  “I bet it was Leroy Slip,” says Sammy. “The police never catch him. He always gets away.”

  “Leroy Slip is the ultimate escape artist,” says Vex, a dreamy look in his eye. “They say he is addicted to two things: fine jewels and large cakes.”

  Ren’s eyes have gone misty too. “A jewel thief? In Blue Valley? It sounds like the perfect case for me to solve…”

  Mr. Bambuckle allows a moment’s silence. “This doesn’t sound like a case that needs solving,” he says. “It sounds more like a case that needs catching.”

  He looks at me and taps the side of his nose.

  • • •

  My brother, Toby, will be turning seven on Saturday. Mom and Dad are organizing a party for him. I can hear them talking about it now. I hope they don’t invite the McHagils again. Last time Harold’s mother came to our house, she brought haggis balls with her. They made the Toddler Brigade spew all over our living room, all over our dining room, and all over pretty much every other room in our house. Apart from my bedroom. I always keep the door locked when I know the Toddler Brigade are around.

  I’ve decided to buy Toby a bike. He has been hounding Mom and Dad for one for months. He can be a little bit annoying at times, but he’s family, and Mom and Dad taught me that family is important.

  I’ve also decided to go through with my idea.

  Bake a cake large enough to hide your little brother’s birthday present—a new bike!

  I close my workbook and put it in my bag. I’m glad Mr. Bambuckle likes my idea. I hope Mom and Dad do too.

  I race downstairs to share my plan. “A bike will be the perfect gift,” I say. “Toby’s wanted one for a long time.”

  “You’re a lovely sister,” says Mom. “I think it’s an excellent idea, and it will finally stop him from pestering us!”

  “I’ll help you make the giant cake,” Dad offers.

  Mom shakes her head. “I’m afraid we don’t have any cake pans big enough for something like that.”

  An idea pops into my head. “What about one of those novelty cake shops?” I say. “They sell enormous cakes that people can fit inside.”

  Mom’s face lights up. “Of course!”

  • • •

  Dad is humming. He’s in a good mood. “I’ve been doing some research,” he says.

  “About what?” I ask.

  He lowers his voice so that Toby can’t hear. “Novelty cakes. Big ones. I’ve put an order in.”

  “Thanks, Dad!” I whisper. I give him a mini high five.

  “Now it’s over to you,” he says. “You need to find out what kind of bike Toby wants.”

  “I’m on it,” I say.

  Toby is in the living room watching television. He has the news channel on. I sit down next to him and pat him on the arm. “Hey, awesome little brother,” I say.

  “Hey, awesome big sister,” he says. Cute.

  “You know that bike you’ve always wanted? What color is it?” I know he’ll say “blue.”

  “Pink.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Hot pink.”

  I am genuinely surprised. “Okay. And what features do you want?” I know he’ll say “lots of gears.”

  “A bell.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. A loud one.”

  I am genuinely surprised again. I try for a third question. “Leather seat, right? You’ve always said you wanted a leather seat.” I know he’ll say “yes.”

  “No. I want spoke beads.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. I want lots of spoke beads that pop like cap guns when they bang into each other.”

  Sometimes my brother surprises me.

  A voice on the television distracts me. “There has been another robbery in Blue Valley today.”

  I nudge Toby. “Can you please turn it up?”

  “This morning, Blue Valley Bank was robbed of over a hundred thousand dollars in cash, gold, and jewels. This follows the burglary yesterday at Blue Valley Jeweler’s. Police have yet to make any arrests, though it is believed they are closing in on a suspect.”

  Interesting.

  Dad pokes his head around the corner. “Victoria, do you mind coming to the kitchen? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  I know Dad wants to ask me about Toby’s bike, so I string him along for a while. “What do you need to talk to me about?”

  “Oh, just some things,” he says, trying to play it cool.

  “Like what?” I say.

  “You know…things!”

  “What kind of things?” says Toby, who is now interested.

  Dad is starting to frown. “Things Victoria and I need to talk about.”

  “Can’t we discuss it here?” I say. I like teasing Dad.

  “No, we need to discuss it in the kitchen.”

  “Can I come too?” says Toby.

  Dad is cracking. “Victoria Goldenhorn, come to the kitchen right now, please! Toby, you stay put and watch television!”

  I join Dad in the kitchen, and he laughs when I tell him I was only kidding. “You’re too clever for your own good,” he says. “Now, what did you find out about Toby’s dream bike?”

  I tell him about Toby’s wish list.

  “He’s a funny kid, that brother of yours,” says Dad.

  “I’ll go shopping after school tomorrow,” I volunteer. “The bike shop is open on Friday afternoons. I checked the website.”

  Dad is becoming even more excited about our plan. “Perfect! Then, once you’ve bought the bike, you can take it to the cake shop, and they can put it inside the cake.”

  “I’ll ask them to deliver it on Saturday morning,” I say. “Just in time for the party.”

  “The timing will be tight,” says Dad, “but it’s worth it.”

  • • •

  I walk into the bike shop, holding a wad of ten-dollar bills. I had to break open my pig
gy bank, but family is worth it.

  There are rows of bikes lined up along the floor of the shop. There are even bikes hanging from the walls and roof.

  I make my way over to the children’s selection and find a hot-pink BMX. It has a basket on the front and ribbons hanging off the handlebars.

  “That’s our most popular model for girls,” says a shop assistant behind the counter. She steps out and wheels the bike to the middle of the floor.

  “It’s for my brother, actually,” I say. “It’s his birthday tomorrow.”

  “How lovely. Does he want any extras?” says the lady, gesturing toward a glass display.

  “Spoke beads and a bell, please.”

  The lady unlocks the display case, and I choose a large silver bell and some metal spoke beads.

  “Your brother must love making noise,” she jokes.

  I pay for everything, and the lady adds the parts to the bike. “Have a nice weekend,” she says.

  I push the bike outside. I don’t want to ride it. That should be Toby’s honor.

  The novelty cake shop is only a few blocks away, so it shouldn’t take too long to get there. I start wheeling the bike along the sidewalk.

  Ding! Ding!

  Click! Clack! Click! Clack! Ping!

  Click!

  Ding!

  Clack! Clack!

  The noise is unbelievable.

  The clapper inside the bell bounces around, slapping the lip of the bell like a loose tongue. It sounds like somebody is trying to drown pots and pans.

  The spoke beads pop like mini machine guns. If I close my eyes, I can imagine someone is cooking popcorn with nuts and bolts. I want to bolt. But I have to push the bike steadily. I need to look after it for Toby.

  Everyone on the sidewalk is staring at me. They move out of the way as though I’m covered in spiders.

  But I’m covered in noise. The bike is too loud. It’s annoyingly loud.

  Ding!

  Click! Clack! Click! Ping! Ping!

  Clack!

  I hope Toby knows what he’s wished for. To stay positive, I remind myself of the joy he’ll have on his face when he sees the bike.

  I reach the cake shop and push the bike inside.

  Ding! Click!

  The shop clerk is speaking with a police officer. The officer looks familiar. I think he visited our school when Mr. Sternblast organized a field trip to the police station last month. Mr. Sternblast took all the credit, but it was really Mr. Bambuckle’s idea.

  The clerk hands the police officer a receipt and points to a huge cake sitting near the door.

  The officer smiles and leaves the shop. He taps the cake near the door on his way out. It must be made of cardboard, because his tap makes a hollow thud. I think I hear something moving inside the cake, but the clerk is talking to me.

  “Can I help you?” he says.

  I push the bike closer to the counter.

  Ping! Clack!

  He looks at the bike and raises his eyebrows.

  “My dad ordered a cake,” I say. “A big one—big enough to put this bike in.”

  The attendant’s eyes shine as he remembers. “Yes, of course! I spoke to your father on the phone just ten minutes ago. Victoria, isn’t it?”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Okay, Victoria, everything is ready to go. The cake is in the storeroom. If you leave the bike with me, I’ll put it inside the cake for you. Our van will pick it up first thing in the morning and deliver it to your house.”

  “Perfect,” I say.

  I head for the door and push it open, relieved to be rid of the bike. As I do, a tapping sound comes from inside the cake next to the door.

  I don’t think cakes are supposed to do that.

  • • •

  It’s Saturday morning, and our house is buzzing with excitement. Toby can’t stop jumping on his bed. He loves birthdays, especially when it’s his own.

  “Are you sure there won’t be any haggis balls?” I ask Mom.

  “Positive,” she says. “The Toddler Brigade is safe today.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and I run to answer it. A man wearing a baseball cap has wheeled a huge cake to the door. “Delivery for Goldenhorn,” he says.

  “That’s us,” I say.

  He pushes the cake into the living room. I think I hear a muffled cough inside the cake, but I can’t be sure. Besides, bikes don’t cough.

  Dad pays the deliveryman, and he leaves.

  “Everything is ready,” says Mom happily. “Now all we have to do is wait for the guests.”

  The first guest to arrive is Grandpapa. He is wearing his favorite checkered cloth cap, and his beard is as bushy as ever. I give him a big hug and take him into the living room.

  “How’s my beautiful granddaughter?” he says. “Has that Damon asked you to marry him yet?”

  “Only a hundred times,” I say. “He took me to the movies, but that didn’t go so well. And you’ve probably heard about the wedding.”

  “Your mother told me the horrendous details,” says Grandpapa, winking. “Speaking of horrendous details, did I ever tell you about the time I was stuck on a sinking battleship?”

  I shake my head and sit on the couch next to Grandpapa. I love it when he tells me his stories. I listen closely, because that’s what you do with family.

  By now, other guests are arriving. Toby has invited his school friends, and they swarm into the living room and start playing video games. Toby cranes his neck to get a better look at the enormous cake.

  Soon, our cousins arrive. Mom lures them into the living room with some of her famous cookies.

  Finally, everyone is here, and it’s time for Toby’s special surprise. I give Dad a nod.

  Dad stands next to the cake and asks for everyone’s attention. “Today is a very special day for someone in this room.”

  Toby can’t stop grinning.

  Dad winks at the birthday boy. “Someone in this room is about to get a very big surprise.” Toby’s eyeballs are almost touching the cake. “Surprises don’t come much bigger than this,” says Dad.

  Suddenly, the lid bursts off the cake, and a policeman jumps out. He looks a little dazed and blinks at the lights. Then he spots Grandpapa. The policeman leaps at him, knocking him off the couch.

  “What are you doing?” cries Grandpapa.

  “What is he doing?” cries Dad.

  “Best party ever!” cries one of my cousins.

  Toby is shaking in the corner.

  Mom has fainted.

  Everyone else is staring, their mouths opening and closing like goldfish.

  The officer has Grandpapa’s hands in a tight hold. He handcuffs him and flashes his shiny police badge. “You’re under arrest for the burglary of Blue Valley Jeweler’s and the Blue Valley Bank!”

  “I’ve done no such thing!” says Grandpapa.

  “We know it’s you, Leroy. We’ve been tracking you for months.”

  “But I’m not Leroy. I’m just an old man!” cries Grandpapa. “I’m interested in checkers, reading the newspaper, caramel donuts, and reminiscing—not jewel heists and robberies!”

  The officer tightens the handcuffs. “Nice try, Leroy. We finally got you.” He pushes Grandpapa toward the front door before adding, “I might even get a promotion out of this.”

  Grandpapa is whisked outside to a waiting police van. The van skids up the road and disappears around the bend.

  Later that evening, Mom is still pale-faced. She plonks a plate of microwave lasagna on my lap and flops onto the couch beside me.

  Toby is staring blankly at the television screen. “I didn’t ask for a police officer,” he says to nobody in particular.

  Dad hasn’t said much since he returned from the police station. He did m
anage to explain that Grandpapa is still upset but has been released and is recovering from the ordeal at home. He also mentioned something about Grandpapa demanding that the police buy him a whole box of caramel donuts to apologize. Apart from that, Dad’s been quiet.

  Something catches my eye on the television. “Toby, can you please turn it up?”

  Toby reaches for the remote.

  A reporter is standing outside the courthouse. “Despite a bungled trap, police have managed to arrest the criminal behind a recent string of robberies.”

  Everyone sits up and stares closely at the screen.

  “It is believed the police had planned to send an undercover officer—hidden inside a novelty cake—to the criminal’s house to catch him with his loot. However, the botched operation saw the cake delivered to an incorrect location, resulting in a false arrest.”

  The courthouse door behind the reporter opens. A bearded man wearing a checkered cloth cap just like Grandpapa’s is led down the stairs by an officer.

  The reporter shoves the microphone in the officer’s face. “Is Leroy Slip guilty of the recent crimes?”

  The officer nods. “That’s correct. Mr. Slip has managed to escape our grasp on countless occasions. Today, however, we finally got our man.”

  Leroy Slip growls at the camera. He looks like a younger version of Grandpapa.

  “Well, I’ll be,” says Dad.

  The officer seems to be enjoying the limelight. “Leroy Slip is the master of elusion, but he couldn’t fool us this time.”

  “So how did you manage to catch him?” asks the reporter.

  The officer smiles. “With clever planning and some good old-fashioned luck. You see, Mr. Slip has the reputation of being a cake lover. We knew he couldn’t resist a large novelty cake. Our officer was hidden inside, ready to catch him with his stolen goods.”

  “But wasn’t the cake with your police officer sent to the wrong address?” says the reporter.

  “That’s correct. We’ve since released the man who was falsely arrested. Once we realized our mistake, we immediately sent Special Forces to Mr. Slip’s address. That’s when things went our way.”

  “What do you mean?” says the reporter.

  “The cakes may have been mixed up, but luck was on our side,” says the officer. “There was a children’s bicycle inside the cake delivered to Mr. Slip. A birthday present, I believe. Mr. Slip tried to use the bike to escape with his loot when the Special Forces closed in, but there was no way he could escape us on that bike. It made enough noise to wake the dead!” He points to something away from the camera.