Middle-School Cool

by Maiya Williams

  “You really read everyone’s file?”

  “Everyone’s,” Edie confirmed. “Please continue.”

  Jory trained his eyes back on the page and started over.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bickel,

  After careful consideration, we have come to the difficult decision that we must excuse your child, Ronny, from further instruction at this school. His inability to sit quietly without disrupting his classes by loudly belching or passing gas every three minutes has forced us to request that you investigate other options for his education. A new private school that seeks exactly this kind of child with special needs who cannot function in a normal school setting will be opening in the fall. We hope you will take advantage of it. Meanwhile, we suggest that you not tell your child about his expulsion but instead make it seem as if the school system has somehow failed you rather than the other way around. It is important that your child approach his new school with a positive attitude.

  This decision is final, so please don’t pester us with phone calls or threats of lawsuits. We have enough information on your child to bury you.

  Yours (but not for long),

  Principal Leonard Gravestone

  “Wow,” Ruben said when Jory had finished. “I know Ronny Bickel. He’s a nice kid. Gassy, but nice.”

  “All the letters were personalized,” Edie explained, “but the point is basically the same: your child is too much trouble, we don’t want him around. See ya. Now, a few people’s files didn’t have the letter—Victoria’s, for instance.…”

  “He didn’t need to send us a letter. I wasn’t at Horsemouth Middle; my mom homeschooled me last year,” Victoria explained.

  “Yes, that’s what I figured. Two of the eighth graders and four of the sixth graders also didn’t have letters. They probably had similar circumstances.”

  “This is depressing,” Jory said. More than ever, he felt like sitting on the window ledge, but it was exactly that kind of behavior that had put him in this school to begin with.

  “So all of us are big fat losers,” Victoria said bitterly. “And the fact that we’re here means everyone knows. The administration, the teachers at Horsemouth Middle, our parents, everyone.” She was surprised that she didn’t feel any tears welling up in her eyes. Normally, a blow like this would send her fleeing to the bathroom, but now … She felt horrible but somehow she seemed to be weathering it.

  “What can we do about it?” Aliya asked.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it,” Taliya answered. “We have to accept that we were tricked.”

  “There is something we can do,” Jory said. “We can report the truth. We may not like it, but I think every student has the right to know what’s really going on.”

  “The truth is hard to swallow,” Margo murmured.

  “Well, I’d rather choke it down than live in a fantasy world,” Ruben said. He turned to Edie. “You need to track down Dr. Kaboom and get that interview.”

  “Easier said than done,” Edie replied. “I already told you, I don’t think he uses that office. While his secretary was away from her desk, I looked through his appointment book. Turns out that not only did he not have any appointments, it wasn’t even a real book! It was a box of chocolates disguised as a book. So I know we’re all wondering the same thing.…”

  “Yes, what kind of chocolates?” Margo blurted, then quickly added, “No, wait! I mean, where is Dr. Kaboom?”

  “That’s right. And this is where I’ll need everyone’s help,” Edie said. “I found these in the pocket of one of his suits.” She brought out the business cards. “They’re for the Bravington Bijou,” she said, handing them out to her classmates.

  Leo held the card an inch away from his eyes so he could read it. “So what does this mean?”

  “Why would Dr. Kaboom have so many business cards for that particular theater? My guess is that he distributes them for some reason. Maybe he’s part owner of the place and wants to promote it. And if that’s true, then maybe we can find him there.”

  Jory examined the laminated card. Edie’s story had taken on a great deal of importance. It was up to him, as leader of the class, to make the decisions. He looked up, meeting the expectant gaze of his classmates, and smiled. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Anyone up for a field trip?”

  • • •

  The next morning all the journalism students met at the bus stop in front of the grocery store in Horsemouth, where you could take the number 9 bus to Bravington. Ruben brought the four dodgeballs, which stirred up protest from the others until he assured them he had trained the balls to behave. They had in fact become his pets, and he had even named them: Rolly, Bumpy, Whammer, and Professor Plum. “They’re not bad, they’re just misunderstood,” he explained. Margo had brought some cinnamon rolls. She’d sprinkled them with the tiniest bit of courage, which she’d gotten from Manny “off the record.” This fortified everyone’s resolve. By the time the bus finally arrived, they were all eager to pursue the investigation, regardless of the danger it posed to either themselves or their grade point averages.

  The Bravington Bijou was a lovely old building, built in 1904. Ornate wood carvings and brightly painted walls depicting a Parisian street theme provided whimsical décor. The theater had fallen into disrepair in the 1970s, but the Bravington Historical Society had saved it from demolition and restored it to its former beauty. It was now used for small stage shows and silent films, which rotated throughout the week.

  “I’ve been here before, for a birthday party,” Leo said to Edie as they entered the lobby. “It was a troupe of French mimes. I couldn’t see what they were doing from the back row, so the other kids had to describe it to me. It sort of ruined the effect.”

  Ruben examined the poster propped on the easel outside the theater entrance. “There’s a magician today. The Great Gumballini.”

  “I love magic,” Margo squealed. “It’s so magical.”

  “I know what you mean,” the lumberjack, aka Sam, rumbled gruffly, swinging his axe onto his shoulder and giving Margo a wink. Margo blushed.

  “We’re not here to see a show,” Aliya started.

  “We’re here to solve a mystery,” Taliya ended.

  “And watch where you’re swinging that thing,” Aliya warned.

  “You nearly gave Leo a haircut,” Taliya chided.

  “Maybe we should ask the lady in the ticket booth if she knows anything,” Victoria said, and pointed to the freestanding booth in the center of the lobby. That sounded like a good idea, so the students approached the booth.

  “Can I help you?” said the ticket lady. She was actually a teenage girl with long, straight brown hair and oval glasses with white frames. Her purple sweater had a strange feather ruffle around the neck that made her look like an exotic bird.

  “We’re not here to buy tickets,” Victoria said. “We’re looking for somebody and we were hoping you could help us.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because … you have no reason not to.” Victoria was afraid this would happen. Sometimes when people get a little bit of power, they like to lord it over you. Teenagers especially. “Please? We really need to find this person,” she added.

  “Well, I really need to sell some tickets,” the girl replied tartly. “This magician is terrible. Nobody ever comes to his shows.”

  Jory stepped forward. “Let’s make a deal. We’ll buy tickets and you’ll answer our questions, okay?” The girl pretended to consider it but was clearly melting under Jory’s radiant charm.

  “Deal,” she said after a minute. “That’ll be seventy-two dollars for the nine of you.”

  The students handed over their money and the ticket girl pointed to a jar on the counter. “Tip?” The students exchanged wary glances, but the ticket girl merely tapped the jar with her finger. “It’s customary to tip someone if they give you extra service.” Jory sighed, placing an extra two dollars in the tip jar. The ticket girl beamed. “Okay, so what’s this person look like
?”

  Jory scratched his chin. “Well, he’s tall and lanky, with silver hair and a mustache that curls up at the ends. He’s got a handsome, lean face, but his nose is a bit big. He wears glasses with rectangular frames, and he’s got funny-looking teeth. Like a horse’s.”

  The ticket girl squinted as though she was thinking very hard but then shook her head. “Nope, can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone who looked like that.”

  “Are you sure?” Victoria interjected. “He might work here or be a frequent visitor or maybe even an investor?”

  “Sorry, guys, can’t help you. Enjoy the show,” said the ticket girl, snapping her gum, which was the sign that the short period of her helpfulness had come to an end.

  Edie glared at her. “She just ripped us off! Ruben, can’t you get those balls to give her a good pounding?”

  “She’s pretty well protected by that booth,” Ruben said. “Besides, I’ve rehabilitated these balls to do good, not evil.”

  “Well, I’m not rehabilitated,” Edie muttered, noting the name tag pinned to the ticket girl’s sweater. “Look out, Myrtle Brickman.”

  “Should we see the show?” Margo suggested.

  Ruben shrugged. “We might as well. We paid for it.”

  “Someone’s going to have to describe it to me,” Leo reminded them as they entered through the double doors.

  The theater space was intimate, with only a hundred chairs. They easily found seats in the front row center, as they were the only people in the audience. As soon as they sat down, the lights dimmed until the entire room was completely black. Mysterious music filled the air. After a minute or so, the lights suddenly came up, and there on the stage sat a huge treasure chest with its lid open. A small brown poodle wearing a tiny tuxedo jacket and a little top hat skipped onstage from the wings. He jumped into the box and the lid shut. In a flash the lid sprang open again, and a very tall man stood up, wearing a tuxedo and top hat. He was clean-shaven, with slick black hair and a sharp, upturned nose. Stepping from the chest, he raised his arms in exultation and proceeded to take a deep and dramatic bow as the nine audience members applauded politely. The applause turned to giggles as the little dog popped his head out of the chest and barked happily.

  “He really does stink,” Edie giggled to Jory as the magician slammed the lid shut.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I am the Great Gumballini! Welcome to my show! In the next hour you will witness illusions that will daze … dismay … and amaze you, as well as fantastic meats of fabric … feats of magic.”

  The students were indeed amazed, but not because of the magic.

  “It can’t be,” Margo whispered.

  “But it has to be,” Edie answered.

  “It’s him,” Leo insisted. “That’s his voice. How many people mangle words like that? Not many.”

  “This guy doesn’t look anything like Dr. Kaboom,” Ruben pointed out.

  “Anyone can put on a costume,” Aliya said.

  “And a man who works in the theater would know exactly how to apply makeup convincingly,” Taliya agreed.

  As the students whispered among themselves, the Great Gumballini removed his hat and tapped it lightly with his wand. “Now just say the manic works—I mean, magic words—Abbott Costello … abacus dabacus … candelabra Santa Barbara …”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, it’s abracadabra,” yelled Victoria. “And it doesn’t matter what the words are, just do the trick, Dr. Kaboom!”

  The Great Gumballini dropped his wand. “Who … who’s out there?” he said, shading his eyes in an attempt to peer past the stage lights. But then the house lights came up. Jory had gotten out of his seat and turned them on.

  “You are Dr. Kaboom, aren’t you?” Edie accused, arms crossed.

  The magician blinked his eyes. He gulped twice. “Show’s over,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He threw something on the ground, and the next moment a bright blue flash and a great puff of purple smoke filled the teens’ vision. When the smoke cleared, the magician was gone, but the little brown poodle could be heard barking backstage, amid the clatter of running footsteps and the odd crash of props being knocked over.

  “Come on!” Jory shouted, vaulting onto the stage. “He’s getting away!” Everyone but Leo clambered up the steps on either side.

  “I’ll just stay here,” Leo called, knowing he would be of little help.

  “I’ll watch the lobby,” Sam the Lumberjack said. “In case he comes back around that way.”

  Everyone else fanned out backstage in pursuit of the wily magician; everyone except Edie. Edie knew that magicians, like super snoops, were experts at using trapdoors and secret hiding places. Instead of following her friends backstage, she stepped inside the chest.

  Sure enough, the box had a false back that flapped down when pressed. The curtain was only a few feet away, but Edie was sure they all would have noticed it moving if the magician had escaped that way. No, there had to be some other sort of secret door. Searching the stage with her fingers, she was pleased to find a crack that gave a little when she thumped it with the heel of her hand. When she hit it hard, it swung open. Slowly, she lowered herself into the hole, her toes gingerly searching for support. She found some bars attached to a wall that served as a ladder, and she quickly climbed down.

  Once Edie reached the bottom, she realized that she was in the basement underneath the stage. Though the lighting was dim, she was able to make out several other ladders that presumably led to other trapdoors. The space held a multitude of props and set pieces. A large white gazebo stood on a platform that seemed like it could be elevated onto the stage through a wide trapdoor overhead. A line of confetti cannons stood next to an antique water tank, and five large golden hoops hung on the wall. Edie could’ve spent hours in that room, but the barking dog reminded her of her mission and she followed the sound down a long passageway.

  Edie was certain she was on the right track; as she ran, the sound of the dog got closer and closer. But her confidence faltered when she finally caught up with the pup. The poor thing had been locked in a birdcage. He pressed his furry face against the bars, trying to squeeze through, his expression desperate.

  “You poor thing!” Edie unlatched the door and the dog leaped into her arms, joyfully licking her face. “Okay, okay,” Edie laughed. “That’s enough.” She held him up in front of her, his body squirming as he strained to lick her face one more time. “I bet you hate this hat and jacket,” Edie said, struggling to peel them off the wriggling animal. Indeed, the poodle looked much more comfortable unclothed. Edie sighed and put the dog down. The magician had disappeared, as magicians are known to do. Now that the dog had stopped barking, the only sound she could hear was the stampede of her friends upstairs, still searching for the Great Gumballini backstage. She knelt down and stroked the little dog, and he quickly rolled onto his back for a belly rub.

  “Do you know where your master is?” Edie said absently. The little dog rolled back to his feet and barked. Edie looked at him, amazed. “Don’t tell me you understood what I said,” she murmured. The little dog barked twice more, and in an instant he was off.

  Edie raced after him. He turned left, then right, and then right again through the labyrinth of hallways lined with doors. They could have been storage closets, dressing rooms, or bathrooms, but Edie didn’t stop to find out, instead following her adorable canine guide. Finally, he stopped outside one and sat down dutifully. He barked, scratching the door lightly with his paw. Edie took a moment to catch her breath before she pushed open the door, flicked on the lights, and gasped.

  Hundreds of marionettes hung from the ceiling and lined the shelves. In Edie’s opinion, there was nothing quite as creepy as a marionette. Their garishly painted faces with exaggerated features disturbed her, and the grotesque manner in which they moved, tugged by some unseen manipulator, made them appear to be hostages forced to entertain against their will. Marionettes were particularly creepy if they were like t
hese marionettes—close to life-sized, propped in unnatural positions or swinging listlessly from their strings like recently executed criminals.

  Aha! A clue! The marionettes were swinging, yet there was no open window or breeze from an air conditioner! That meant somebody had recently disturbed them, and from the direction of the swinging, that person was in the back of the room. Edie slowly made her way through the puppets, passing a king, a queen, a baker, a hunter, a genie, and a thief. On and on she went, until she finally stopped in front of a magician sitting on a crate with a very sad expression on his face.

  “I found you, Dr. Kaboom,” Edie said. The little dog barked gleefully, springing into a series of joyous flips. “With help from poochie here. He really likes you. Doesn’t seem to want to leave your side.”

  “Yes, he’s very needy,” the magician said with a sigh, lifting him up. Immediately, the dog covered his face in slobbery kisses. “His name is PJ, though I’m thinking of changing it to Traitor.” Just then, the others arrived. They had discovered the staircase that led downstairs and made a beeline for the one bright light illuminating the hallway. Edie waited patiently as the others wandered through the dangling puppets, commenting on their creepiness, until they were finally all together.

  “Dr. Kaboom, we are the journalism students from Kaboom Academy,” Jory began, but the magician held up his hand to silence him.

  “I’m not Dr. Kaboom,” he said.

  “You most certainly are,” Victoria asserted, holding up a silver-haired wig in one hand and a false nose and glasses with a matching silver mustache in the other. “We found this disguise in your dressing room. If you put these on, you’ll look just like him.”

  “Don’t forget the teeth,” Margo said through the false teeth that she had inserted into her mouth.

  “Eww, I hope you washed those first,” Edie said. Margo looked startled for a moment, then quickly spit out the prosthetic piece.

  “Look, it’s true that I pretended to be Dr. Kablam, Kerbloom … Kaboom, but I’m not really him. He hired me. I’m Winston Leroux, amateur magician.”