Pennybaker School Is Headed for Disaster

by Jennifer Brown

  “Byron the Rat King,” I said. “Yeah. He was polishing the pedestal.”

  “Or,” Chip said ominously, leaning over me, “wiping off fingerprints.”

  “You mean—”

  He nodded, excited. “Who other than the criminal himself would be wiping down the very pedestal that was the scene of a crime? And why else would he be wiping it down?”

  “He was polishing it,” I said softly, but I didn’t sound convinced by my own words. Byron had been so quick about it once he saw me there. He couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “He was covering his tracks.”

  I opened my mouth to tell Chip he was crazy, full of silly guesses, and there was no way Byron the Alligator-Human Hybrid had stolen the head. But I couldn’t deny that his theory made sense. Byron was strange, seemed to live in the basement, had been missing the day the statue disappeared, and was seen the very next day, wiping away what might have been the only evidence that could lead to the thief.

  “That does seem suspicious,” I said.

  “I knew it!” Chip crowed, dancing around me. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!”

  I stood up. “We should tell somebody, right? Principal Rooster? Maybe my mom? Yeah, my mom and dad.” I started to walk toward the house.

  “Wait!” Chip grabbed my elbow and pulled me back. He was surprisingly strong for such a small guy. “Not yet. We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we don’t have any proof. The legal requirement of burden of proof is on the prosecution, not the defendant.” I gave him another what-are-you-talking-about look, and he let out a gust of frustrated air. “We can’t just go around pointing fingers and saying he did it. We have to have proof that he did it.”

  “But he wiped that away,” I said. “That’s our proof.”

  “Our proof can’t be there is no proof. But don’t worry, I have a plan.” He motioned for me to lean in closer. “We sneak into the custodian closet and find our proof there.”

  “Sneak in? How are we supposed to do that? Even if your mom lets you take a day off from school …”

  “Let me worry about that. I’ll wear my persuasion socks. She’s putty in my hands when I wear those. It’s not like anybody at Boone Public would miss me.”

  “Well, my teachers are definitely going to notice that I’m missing. Plus, what if Crumbs and Zelda the Mop are in the custodian closet when we sneak in?”

  “You really need to stop calling them that. But …” He pulled me in even closer, so close that our noses were almost touching, which meant my back was practically bent in half trying to get down to his height. “We don’t go during school hours.”

  I squinted. “You mean …”

  “We go right now. You have a bike, don’t you?”

  TRICK #19

  HOCUS POCUS BATS AND NOISES

  Of all the things I never thought I would be doing in this world, I especially never thought I would be breaking and entering into the school I didn’t like with a boy I didn’t like. Yet there I was, the sun starting to set and Chip Mason’s hind end wriggling in my face.

  “Did you get it yet?” I asked, wincing as his butt pressed up against my nose. His feet were in my hands. I was supposed to be giving him a boost, but he was a lot heavier than I expected him to be, and my hands kept sinking until I was cheek-to-cheeks with Chip Mason.

  “Not yet; boost higher,” he said from above. “I can’t quite reach this last screw.”

  I grunted, putting all my muscle behind it, and lifted my arms. His shoes were digging into my palms, but at least his back pockets were no longer within breathing distance. Chip wiggled some more, there were a few soft metal scraping sounds, and then the ventilation grate from the boys’ restroom fell past my face and landed in the ivy below.

  “Got it!” he called. “Lift me higher!”

  Even though I was already shaking and sweating, my interlaced fingers aching, I dug deep and lifted him higher. He pulled up onto tiptoes, teetered for a moment, and then hoisted himself through the hole where the grate had been. There was an echoey thud, a splash that sounded very toilety in nature, and then, “I’m in!”

  “Shhh!” I hissed, looking over my shoulders. But one of the great things about Pennybaker being on the top of a hill was that I could see nobody else was anywhere around.

  He opened the window next to the grate and poked his head out. “I’m in,” he repeated.

  “Now go to the door I told you about, and I’ll meet you there.”

  The sun had dipped below the horizon, and shadows were inking the bricks surrounding the side door—what everyone called the recess door. Hidden by vines on one side and a line of trees on the other, it seemed the safest entrance into the school.

  I heard echoey footsteps on the other side of the door and my heart quickened, my palms flooding over with sweat now. We were breaking and entering. This was a crime. The kind you saw on TV shows. If we got caught, we would be in huge trouble. Like, jail trouble.

  But if nobody found the missing head, I could be in jail trouble anyway.

  The latch on the door creaked and the door swung open, Chip Mason grinning on the other side. One shoe and pant leg were soaked.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  He looked down, then flapped his hands dismissively. “I landed in a toilet. No big deal. It was mostly flushed.”

  Mostly? I didn’t know if I really wanted to walk around with a guy whose pant leg had been in a mostly flushed toilet.

  “Come on.” He motioned for me to follow him. “I saw the basement door over here. And you have to hear this.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the darkened hallway of my school. The door shut behind me with a loud click. It was done. I’d broken and entered. I might as well investigate now, so I could have a story to tell my bunkmate in prison. Chip was hurrying down the hall in front of me, his shoes making a step-squish sound.

  But as we passed through the deserted vestibule and emerged on the other side, I began to hear something: a raspy growling noise surrounded by an odd twanging. Chip stopped short and cocked his head to one side.

  “What is that?” I whispered.

  He pointed toward the basement door, which was hidden beneath the stairs in a corner so dark you could have hidden every spider in Boone County back there. And probably some snakes. With bats for pets. I rummaged through my pockets in hopes that I’d stashed Grandpa Rudy’s glow fingertips in there.

  Grandpa Rudy used to enthrall me for hours on end, passing lights through his ears, up his nose, into his mouth, through his leg. It wasn’t until after he died and I found his fingertips that I realized it was all sleight of hand, that he was turning lights on and off on his fingertips and making it look like the light was disappearing. I carried his fingertips around often, because you never knew when a boring moment might crop up and you could work on your own hand skills.

  But I forgot that I’d been super mad when I changed out of my uniform and had been in such a hurry to get outside and start scraping off the spitwads that I’d forgotten to put them in my pockets. I was going to have to climb into the dark spider/snake/bat den without illumination.

  The growl and twang was back, and Chip, who’d been reaching for the door handle, stopped short. His worried eyes were practically glowing in the dark.

  “Do you think it’s something alive?” he whispered.

  “Well, I’m not sure if something dead is really a better option,” I answered.

  “Good point. Let’s go in.”

  Before I could protest, Chip pulled open the door, exposing a steep wooden staircase and bare cinder block walls, which were covered with cobwebs. A single lightbulb hung on a string, swaying. The noise started up again. It was so much louder—and so much more chilling—than before.

  “I just remembered something,” I whispered. “I think I was supposed to be home for dinner.”

  Chip reached back and grabbed my arm. “Don’t you want to
clear your name?”

  I did. I really, really did. We walked down the steps toward the noise.

  TRICK #20

  TRICKED BY NAW

  “NAAAW … NAAAW … NAAAWNAAAW …”

  The noise only grew louder as we crept down the stairs and into the shadowy basement. Brooms and mops were lined up against the wall, looking like a creepy, skinny audience to whatever was going on in the far corner, behind the furnace. Mop buckets and shelves with rows and rows of cleaners and sprays and that powdery stuff they sprinkle on vomit stood in our path, and we had to wind around, every step making my legs wobblier and wobblier. I was starting to weigh how embarrassing it would be to hold Chip’s hand for safety. Maybe worth it.

  “NAAAW …” A grinding throat noise and a twang. “NAAAW … SAYNAAAW …”

  “Chip!” I whispered. He didn’t hear me. “Chip!” I whispered louder. He turned. “I think we should go.”

  He made a gesture with his two fingers at his eyes. “Look out for the missing head. It could be hiding anywhere.”

  “But what about that noise?”

  He had already turned and was walking straight toward the very noise that he didn’t seem to hear. I glanced around nervously, hoping I would see a glint of light bouncing off Mrs. Heirmauser’s slightly misshapen nose and could get out of here before we found out what, exactly, was making that noise.

  I was so busy peering into corners that I forgot to look in front of me. Chip had stopped short, and I didn’t know it. I bumped into him from behind, sending him sprawling up against a stack of metal dust pans. It was probably a pretty small clang, but it sounded so loud that I pushed my hands over my ears and squinched my eyes tight.

  “NAAAW—what was that? Who’s there? Who is it?” the voice from the other side of the furnace boomed.

  Positive: so the noise had been coming from a human.

  Negative: a very angry-sounding human.

  “Run, Chip!” I yelled, and made for the stairs, but I only got a couple of steps before I felt something grab the back of my collar. I yelped. “He’s got me! Save yourself! Call 9-1-1! Send my father! Tell my mom I loved her! Don’t forget me when I’m gone! Heeelp!”

  Chip sauntered into my line of vision, his fists stuffed into his pockets. “It’s okay, Thomas,” he said. “It’s just the custodian.”

  “But he’s got me! He’s going to steal me, too!”

  “Simmer down now, kid,” a voice said in my ear, only it wasn’t as gruff and growly as it had sounded before. It was more … nasally. “I’ll let you go as soon as you stop squirming.”

  You would think I would’ve stopped fighting then, but for some reason I didn’t. I even looked at my feet with dismay as they continued to kick the air, little grunts and gasps coming out of my mouth. Chip and the custodian stood there patiently, the grip on my collar never relaxing, until I finally just gave up, my body going limp. I was breathing hard.

  “You done?” the custodian asked. I nodded. He let go of my collar, and I scrambled behind Chip. I realized I was looking at the same custodian I’d run into in the vestibule not that long ago. Byron the Basement Dweller. He put his hands on his hips. “Now, what are y’all doin’ down here?”

  “We’re here to solve a mystery,” Chip said proudly.

  “Are ya now? What kind of mystery? Is that what that one meant when he said I was gonna steal him, too?”

  “The statue,” I said, pointing accusatorily at him over Chip’s shoulder. My finger shook, which kind of took away from my point. “You stole the statue. We’re here to get it back.”

  “You mean the statue from upstairs? I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Let’s just check the facts, shall we?” Chip said, clasping his hands behind his back and getting a good pace going. I felt exposed as he walked back and forth, but I was happy to let him speak. “Fact number one: you were the only custodian left unaccounted for on the day the head went missing. Fact number two: you were spotted wiping down the pedestal the very next day.” He stopped and faced Byron head-on. “Almost as if you were wiping off fingerprints. Fact three: you know the school inside and out, including the many places where one might be able to stash an ill-gotten artifact.”

  “Fact number four!” I said. I was getting into this.

  Chip looked at me. “I don’t actually have a fourth fact.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I gathered myself, then pointed at Byron again. “You’re caught, red-handed. Now, tell us where the statue is.”

  To our surprise, instead of hanging his head and leading us to a dusty corner, Byron began to laugh. First a little giggle, and then a head-back howl. “You two broke in here because you think I stole the Heirmauser statue?”

  “Didn’t you?” I asked.

  “The facts are the facts,” Chip said.

  “Yes, yes, well, y’all are welcome to search the whole basement over if you think it’s down here. Feel free to clean the place up while you’re at it. I’ve got work to do.”

  “What kind of work?” I asked. “School’s been out for hours. I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here this late.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And are you—the one sneaking around in the dark—going to tell on me? Won’t they be interested in finding out how exactly you got into a locked school?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Chip said. “That reminds me. You might need a mop in the first-floor boys’ room.” He flicked a few drops of water out of his shoe.

  Byron shook his head and started back around the big furnace, where he’d been when we got here. “See yourselves out before I call Principal Rooster,” he said. “Who, by the way, was the one who asked me to polish the pedestal. So it would be nice and shiny for when the statue is recovered.”

  I followed him around the furnace.

  “What was that noise you were making when we got down here? What is it exactly that you’re hiding back …”

  I trailed off as I saw what was behind the furnace. A small lamp on the floor, illuminating an open book. A beat-up metal folding chair. And, balanced on the seat of the chair, a guitar. Byron picked up the guitar and looped the strap around his neck. He strummed a few strings.

  “Singing,” he said. “I was singing. That was why I wasn’t here the day the statue was stolen. I was auditioning for a country-and-western show. That ‘noise,’ as you call it, was me trying to learn a song. I’m having a hard time getting my ‘naw’ to sound right. NAAAW … NAAAW …” His mouth opened wide. He looked really ridiculous.

  So ridiculous he had to be telling the truth.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Chip, who had come around the corner and was making “O”s with his own mouth while he watched Byron struggle with his. “He didn’t do it.”

  “But we haven’t searched,” Chip said.

  “We don’t need to. It’s not down here. I believe him.”

  Chip’s shoulders drooped. “Yeah. I guess I do, too.”

  “NAAAW …,” Byron growled from behind the furnace. My eye twitched.

  Louis XIV: Naaaw’d to death.

  TRICK #21

  A CLUE APPEARS! RAZAMATAZZ!

  I was no longer having an Uneven Desk Adventure, but Wesley had changed his Nationwide History Day project to “The History of Great Betrayers.” And he was very loud about doing his research.

  “Hey, Flea, did you know that the definition of ‘betrayer’ is ‘one who disappoints the hopes or expectations of someone,’ or ‘one who is disloyal’?”

  “Really?” Flea answered. “Does it say anything about taking things that don’t belong to you?”

  “Oh, you mean, like Nationwide History Day ideas and treasured art, maybe? No, it doesn’t seem to say anything about that. But I haven’t researched any specific betrayers just yet. Did you have any specific betrayers in mind?”

  Oh, boy. I almost preferred the thunking.

  I raised my hand. “Mr. Faboo?”

  “Yes, Thomas Fallgrout?”

  “May I use the re
stroom? It’s sort of an emergency.” A Stop Listening to Wesley Emergency.

  “Come right back, please.”

  I darted out of the classroom, relieved to be in the empty hallway, where I couldn’t see or hear anybody. I went to the restroom and did my business, but I still wasn’t ready to go back to class yet. There were only about ten minutes left in the period—if I played my cards right, I could get back just in time to pack up and leave. I devised a plan to pretend the cafeteria’s ham salad had demanded a lengthy bathroom stay, which would have been totally believable.

  I didn’t know where to go or what to do to pass the time, so I went to the fancy stair railing and listlessly ran my fingers along it as I walked back and forth around the balcony that looked down over the vestibule below. And the empty pedestal.

  I wished I could see some obvious clue. Something that would blow the case wide open. Trophy case, office, health room, empty pedestal. Empty pedestal, health room, office, trophy case. Trophy case, office, health room, empty—

  I screeched to a stop. Took two steps back. Leaned over the rail and squinted. Had I seen what I thought I’d seen? I squinted harder.

  Bright blue. Dented up like a brain. Resting right on the base of the pedestal.

  Looking left and right over my shoulders, I sprinted down the stairs, around and around and around until I was in the vestibule. Miss Munch was coming out of the office just as I stepped onto the landing. I didn’t have a hall pass, and I was pretty sure neither Miss Munch nor Mr. Faboo would understand why I would need to use the restroom on the bottom floor when there was a perfectly good restroom right next door to our classroom.

  I ducked under the stairs and held my breath, hoping Miss Munch wouldn’t see me. She wandered through the foyer, reading a paper, paused next to the empty pedestal and began to place her hand over her heart, then seemed to remember that the head wasn’t there and scurried away, patting the back of her hair. I pressed myself farther under the stairs, my eyes pulsing with my heartbeat and my lungs ready to explode. I waited until her footsteps faded away before I finally let out a burst of air, bending over with my hands on my knees while I panted away the black spots in front of my eyes.