Dr. Egan remained silent, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.
There was the clicking sound of approaching high heels, and Celia White fluttered into the basement. Her hawklike stare raked Griffin and the team. “I knew it! I knew if there was trouble, this bunch would be behind it!” She turned to the principal. “This time they won’t be getting off so easily! This time the punishment will fit the crime!”
Dr. Egan wheeled on her suddenly. “If the punishment fit the crime, you’d be thrown off your newspaper, and I’d lose my job. Our crimes are the same. We railroaded Griffin just because of his past.” He faced Griffin, his expression open and sincere. “I don’t even know what to say to you. I’m so sorry. I was stupid and unfair, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
Darren was astounded. “You believed all that?” he blurted.
“I’ve been standing here for a few minutes,” the principal informed him. “I know exactly who rescued the ring — and who tried to steal it.” He looked meaningfully at Darren and Tony.
“Well, I don’t believe a word of it!” Celia White stormed, her birdlike features glaring and severe. “They’re bamboozling you just like they’ve bamboozled their parents and this whole town. I’m the only one who holds them accountable!”
“Innocent people don’t have to account for anything,” the principal stated firmly. “I’m sure that when I ask Mr. Clancy to look in the ceiling, he’ll find a pack rat’s nest. At that point, the charges will be dropped. And of course Griffin will come back to school with his friends, where he belongs — if he’ll have me as his principal.”
Griffin nodded ecstatically, too overcome with emotion to speak out loud. Could this be true? Was the nightmare finally over?
The team mobbed him in a frenzied huddle of high fives and bear hugs. Shank awarded him a bone-jarring backslap.
“That’s awesome, man,” Ben managed, his voice choked up.
“Dodgeball won’t be the same without you,” added Shank, mussing Griffin’s hair.
And there, his face pushed downward by Shank’s pistonlike fingers, The Man With The Plan beheld a terrible sight.
The green light on his PEMA anklet was blinking.
30
Griffin watched, horrified, as the warning light turned solid red.
Wild eyed, he checked the modified cell phone on his belt. It was still powered on. “Melissa, what’s happening? Why is it doing that?”
Melissa’s normally stringy hair stuck out like a static electricity demonstration as she checked the device. “The transmitter is still working,” she replied, mystified. “Maybe the hub in your basement rebooted itself somehow.”
“My parents!” Griffin exclaimed in true pain. “They must have come home and restarted the hub! Now the cops are on the way to my house — and when they find me gone —”
“But you’re off the hook,” Ben protested. “Just tell them about the pack rat.”
“I’m no lawyer,” Shank put in uneasily, “but I don’t think you’re allowed to break house arrest even if you shouldn’t have been on it in the first place.”
There was a moment of agonized indecision. Yes, Griffin had been proven innocent. But would Detective Sergeant Vizzini accept that excuse? Had Griffin cleared his name for the Super Bowl ring only to be arrested for a PEMA violation?
The silence was broken by, of all people, Dr. Egan. “Let’s move!” The principal grabbed Griffin’s arm and began to haul him up the basement stairs, running full bore.
Griffin had to scramble to keep pace. “Where are we going?”
“Home!” came the urgent reply. “And fast!”
They hit the main floor just as Hail Caesar was letting out. The entire audience, hundreds strong, filled the building.
Dr. Egan did not intend to let the crowd slow his progress. Barking “Excuse us!” and “Coming through!” he dragged Griffin on a full-sprint obstacle course down the hall and out the double doors to the parking lot. He shoved Griffin into the passenger seat of his Hyundai and threw himself behind the wheel.
With the play concluded, there was a long lineup of cars waiting to make the left turn onto Cedar Neck Road. The principal veered away from the jam, jumped the curb, and plowed across the lawn, flattening the school’s SAFETY FIRST sign.
“Dr. Egan, what are you doing?”
“I got you into this mess,” he replied as the car bumped onto the road, “and I intend to get you out of it. What’s your address?”
“Two-thirty-one Poplar. But —”
The principal pressed the pedal to the metal, and they roared down the street at double the posted limit. Griffin gripped the door handle as the Sonata ran a light and screamed across the intersection in a high-speed left turn.
Dr. Egan accelerated, weaving in and out of traffic. Griffin was astounded. He had only seen such aggressive driving in Hollywood car chase scenes. To experience the real thing with stubborn, by-the-book Dr. Evil was simply beyond belief.
“If the police catch us, you’ll lose your license for a year!” Griffin protested.
“The only police I’m concerned about,” the principal replied with determination, “are the ones on their way to your house — and whether or not we can beat them there.”
Sure enough, a siren could be heard not far away. As Dr. Egan blasted through the turn into Griffin’s neighborhood, they could make out the reflection of police flashers on the low clouds. It was going to be close.
The Hyundai hurtled onto Poplar Street and fishtailed to a stop in the Bings’ driveway. No cops — they’d made it! But as Griffin and his principal exited the Sonata, a squad car wheeled onto the block, lights blazing.
“Quick!” Griffin rasped. “The back way!”
They raced around the side of the house and burst in through the kitchen door.
Mr. and Mrs. Bing were at the counter, pale with worry, cell phones in their hands, awaiting news of their son.
“Griffin, what have you done?” his mother moaned.
“I’ll explain later!” Dr. Egan puffed. “In a few seconds the police are going to be here, and it’s urgent we convince them that Griffin has been home all night!”
And before the Bings could respond to this statement, there was insistent pounding at the front door.
“Police! Open up!” called a familiar voice.
They trooped through the house, and Mr. Bing admitted a very agitated Detective Vizzini.
“I have to tell you folks — I’m blown away. Was I speaking Swahili when I explained how much trouble Griffin would be in if he left the house with that bracelet on? Why is it so hard for you to take me seriously? I’m a sergeant of detectives! With a badge! And a gun …”
His voice trailed off as he spied Griffin, comfortably established on the living room couch beside Dr. Egan. His gaze traveled to the PEMA unit on the boy’s ankle. The light was solid green.
Vizzini’s eyes narrowed. “We received an alarm code from that anklet not five minutes ago. Are you telling me that Griffin has been home the whole time?” He looked from face to silent face.
“Well,” Mrs. Bing offered carefully, “I was just in the basement, and I noticed that the transmit light on the hub was out. So I pressed the reset button. Maybe that’s what happened.” It was the truth — with a few important points left out.
“That makes sense to me,” Dr. Egan put in helpfully. “The computers at the school are constantly coughing up strange error messages. Most of the time we just ignore them.”
“Maybe,” the officer mumbled, unconvinced. “May I ask what you’re doing here, sir? Wasn’t there a big event at the school tonight?”
The principal nodded. “With all the excitement in the building, we made an amazing discovery.” He reached into his pocket and produced Art Blankenship’s Super Bowl ring. “It turns out that Griffin didn’t take it after all. Believe it or not, a pack rat found Griffin’s lost retainer and exchanged it for the ring.”
>
“You can’t make this stuff up,” added Griffin honestly.
The officer was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he said, “I guess it’s possible it happened that way. But you have to understand that this has gone further than my desk. Griffin’s under a judge’s order. And it’s going to take a judge to lift it.”
“That will happen first thing tomorrow,” Dr. Egan promised. “You all have my word.”
Vizzini turned his attention to Griffin. “In the meantime, the anklet stays on, and you stay put. I’m not even going to ask about that thing on your belt — even though it occurs to me to wonder why a kid who’s stuck in the house needs a cell phone.” He held up his hand as Griffin opened his mouth to speak. “Uh-uh — not a word. I’ve got a nose, and it’s telling me something smells. But if what the principal says is true, and you’re really innocent, I hope you understand that I’m only doing my job.”
“I’m the one who has to apologize,” Dr. Egan said humbly to Griffin and his parents. “This is entirely my fault. The only thing I offer in my own defense is who could have believed all this was the work of a pack rat? But that’s still no excuse for how badly I misjudged you, Griffin.”
“Thanks, Dr. Egan.” Dr. Evil would never be his favorite person. But Griffin had to give the guy credit for admitting he was wrong.
Later, when Vizzini had gone and Griffin was ushering the principal to the door, Dr. Egan was still contrite. “If there’s anything I can do to make this up to you, all you have to do is name it. If it’s within my power, I’ll make it happen.”
Griffin thought it over. “I’m fine with it, Dr. Egan. I just want to get back to my old life. But there’s this eighth grader at JFK — Sheldon Brickhaus. You might have noticed him tonight — the big kid with the square head. He’s a really good guy, a loyal friend, even though he looks kind of scary. Plus, he’s smart — and if he stays at Jail For Kids, he’s never going to make anything out of himself. I’m positive that, if he had a chance to go to our school, he could turn it around.”
The principal regarded Griffin with respect, impressed that the boy had asked a favor for a friend, rather than for himself. “I’ll see what I can do.”
31
The Cedarville Middle School production of Hail Caesar received only one review. It was by Celia White in the Herald.
She hated it.
According to her, the only saving grace was the performance of the star, Logan Kellerman, who showed “poise and professionalism under the worst circumstances any actor could ever possibly face.”
She also mentioned that this would be her final column for the Herald. After thirty years, she was quitting to write a book. It was to be a work of nonfiction, chronicling the legal battle of the Bartholomew family suing the Cedarville School District over the ownership of Art Blankenship’s Super Bowl ring.
Dr. Egan vowed to fight the lawsuit all the way to the Supreme Court. In his opinion, too many people had suffered over that ring for the school to give it up.
“I appreciate your coming with me, Griffin,” said Mr. Bing, pulling the van to a stop in the dirt parking lot of the orchard. “I’m going to need all the moral support I can get today.”
“I’m glad it worked out, Dad.” Griffin hitched up his pant leg and examined the pink skin above his ankle where the PEMA bracelet had once been.
This trip — to accompany his father on the field test of the Vole-B-Gone — was his first outing after the official lifting of his house arrest. Even with Dr. Egan pleading his case, it hadn’t been easy to convince Judge Koretsky that the entire Super Bowl ring incident had been a misunderstanding. She had even demanded to see the pack rat in question. Luckily, the light-fingered rodent had not been difficult to find. The Drysdales had adopted him. He was the current pride of Savannah’s menagerie, with his own cage and a new name: Arthur — after Art Blankenship, assistant linebacker coach of the New York Jets team that won it all so many years ago. Resplendent in his rodent harness, Arthur went on long walks with Savannah and Luthor, whose confinement had been lifted by animal control — so long as he was kept at least five hundred feet away from football fields.
Mr. Bing’s face was careworn as he popped the hatch and removed the Vole-B-Gone prototype. “Who am I kidding? I can’t make this thing work.”
“It works great, Dad,” Griffin amended. “It isn’t your fault the voles stay away.”
“Then it might as well not work at all,” his father said, totally discouraged.
Griffin surveyed the vast property, thousands of fruit trees planted in tight rows along rolling hills that stretched as far as the eye could see. Man, it was nice to be out in the open! He hadn’t realized how cooped up he’d felt under house arrest.
“How do we know this orchard even has voles?” he asked. “We can’t very well catch them if they aren’t here.”
His father shook his head sadly. “This place has suffered vole damage for decades. There are voles, all right. The problem is my prototype. It was a mistake from the start. And after the test, my investors are going to know it.”
Griffin flashed him an encouraging smile. “Think positive, Dad. I have a gut feeling about today.”
A gleaming black SUV roared into the parking lot. Mr. Bing let out a nervous breath. “Let me greet my investors.” He handed the Vole-B-Gone to Griffin. “Wish me luck!”
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Griffin said confidently.
As soon as his father’s back was turned, he pulled Shank’s bottle of Rendezvous in Paris out of his pocket. Hefting the prototype, he sprayed generous shots of the sickening-sweet perfume on the bait station, the floor of the trap, and, for good measure, the bars of the cage.
Wrinkling his nose from the powerful stink, Griffin looked around. A pair of beady black eyes had already appeared in the dry brush that ringed the parking lot, gazing hungrily up at the Vole-B-Gone. Moments later, a second vole poked out of the grass, followed by a third. Tiny pink noses sniffed excitedly at the bewitching aroma of Rendezvous in Paris.
Perfect. Three voles, and the trap hadn’t even been set yet. By the time this demonstration was over, they were going to be lined up to get in.
There were advantages to being friends with the son of a nuisance wildlife removal expert.
Poor Mom and Dad had suffered mightily being the parents of The Man With The Plan. Griffin wanted to do everything he could to make it up to them.
Sheldon Brickhaus did not squander his opportunity to get out of Jail For Kids and enroll at Cedarville Middle School. He was not a straight-A student, but he kept his grades up and his nose clean. With encouragement from Dr. Egan, he even joined the football team.
Shank had never played football before, so his skills were mediocre in every area but one. His talent for bone-jarring tackles turned out to be as impressive as his talent for dodgeball. Suddenly, the Cedarville Seahawks had the most feared linebacker in the county.
The score was tied 7–7 in a misty, muddy home game when Shank forced a fumble and brought the Seahawks offense back onto the field.
Coach Egan tapped Darren Vader on the helmet. Darren jumped up eagerly. He had been riding the bench a lot since his attempt to make off with the Super Bowl ring on the night of Hail Caesar.
Amid the wind, rain, and crowd noise, no one noticed that, when Darren tried to take the field, Shank wrapped him up with powerful arms and drove him backward into a stand of bushes. Nor did anyone detect that the Seahawk who took Darren’s place in the lineup was a lot shorter and smaller than the player who normally wore number 23.
The ball was snapped and handed off to the newcomer. Number 23 blasted through the phalanx of defenders, sidestepping tacklers and leaping athletically over blockers. By the time the runner reached daylight, a burst of blazing speed left every other player on both teams standing still in the mud.
“Wow!” Coach Egan exclaimed in amazement. “When did Vader get so fast?”
Number 23 streaked the
length of the field and crossed the goal line with an acrobatic front flip, spiking the ball with a mighty splash. The home crowd roared its approval.
Basking in triumph, the ball carrier ripped off the Seahawks helmet and threw it high in the air. Down cascaded long honey blond hair. It was Pitch Benson, at last living the football glory that had been kept from her.
All at once, the thunderous crowd noise was replaced by shocked silence. The only cheering now was coming from the thicket, where Griffin, Ben, Shank, Savannah, Logan, and Melissa held the real Darren — minus his jersey — captive.
“I got mugged!” Darren wailed.
The referee blew his whistle, disallowing the touchdown, and the scoreboard operator scrambled to take the six points away from the Seahawks. Pitch ran off the field before she could be thrown off, joining the celebration in the thicket.
Dr. Egan shot a furious look in their direction, but the blizzard of high fives continued.
Sure, Griffin thought, it was probably stupid to risk trouble so soon after the last time. But it served Darren right. And who was entitled to this moment more than Pitch, after being shut out of the team?
If there was one lesson being framed had taught Griffin, it was that he was surrounded by the greatest people on the face of the earth. Back when all the evidence had been against him, Ben, Pitch, Savannah, Melissa, Logan, and, in the end, Shank had never given up on him. Not even when he’d given up on himself.
Griffin Bing believed in planning 100 percent. But there was something more important than having the right plan.
It was having the right friends.
About the Author
GORDON KORMAN’s first two books featuring Griffin Bing and his friends were Swindle and Zoobreak. His other books include This Can’t Be Happening at Macdonald Hall (published when he was fourteen); The Toilet Paper Tigers; Radio Fifth Grade; the trilogies Island, Everest, Dive, and Kidnapped; and the series On the Run. He lives in New York with his family and can be found on the Web at www.gordonkorman.com.
Framed Page 13