Visions of what will happen if I get kicked out of Alanmoore whip around in my head. If worse comes to worst, maybe I can become a refugee and seek asylum at Moby’s house. Who knows, maybe they’d even adopt me. It’d be kinda cool to have a last name I don’t have to spell for people.
My cousin Jarek is in the little glass ticket booth playing around on his phone when I race around the corner in front of the theater. He’s never seen me run before, which explains his raised eyebrows. I fling open the door to the lobby, drop my bag, and suck in deep gulps of air.
Jarek comes out of the booth, looking around to make sure no customers are watching. The lobby is empty.
“What’s the big hurry, cuz?”
I suck in a few more breaths, then tell him the story, starting with Lockhart threatening me in her office. When I get to the part about the Arch hiding behind the Dumpster, he motions me into the closet he uses for an office.
When I finish, he looks me straight in the eye. “And you did not take the booger-man?” he says suspiciously.
“Boogerloo,” I correct him. “And no. I swear it wasn’t me.”
He strokes the small patch of whiskers he thinks is a goatee. “So what are you going to do?”
“I need some time to make a plan. Can I stay here?”
He nods, then wrinkles his forehead. “What do I say if Uncle Kasmir calls?”
I haven’t thought that far ahead. “Just tell him I’m helping you count your Junior Mint inventory or something.”
“Will do, dill-doo.”
I shake my head. “That’s not a thing.”
“I’m trying to start a new saying. You don’t like it?”
“Never say it again.”
He looks hurt but quickly recovers. “You can sit in theater three. No one came to the three o’clock show.”
I stand up and thank him. When I turn to go, I spot an old cordless phone on top of the filing cabinet. “Will that phone work in theater three?”
He takes it out of the charger and hands it to me. “Enjoy the show.”
Before I settle into the theater, I go to the projection booth and turn the volume all the way down. It’s weird watching a movie in a theater with no sound, but it’s actually the perfect place to hide out for a few hours. The movie is in black and white, probably part of one of the film festivals the Clairmont is always hosting. On the screen a lady is talking to a guy playing a piano in a bar. I try to read their lips for a minute, but I lose interest when a different guy comes over and starts giving the lady a weepy look. An older teenager whose voice I don’t recognize answers the McQueens’ phone.
“Yeah?”
“Uhh, is your brother home?”
“Depends. Who’s asking?”
“I’m Chub.”
“Chub?” There’s a pause. “You the bald one the lads won’t stop jabbering about?”
The visual of any McQueen “jabbering” makes me pause for a second.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“In that case, the runts are here. Which one ya want?”
“Whichever one feels like jabbering,” I say.
There’s muffled yelling as the older McQueen hollers for one of the triplets to answer the phone. A minute later there’s more yelling and then one of the McQueens comes on the line.
“Chub?”
“Yeah. Which—who’s this?”
“It’s Darwin.” I can tell by his tone that he’s insulted I can’t tell which one I’m talking to.
“Hey Darwin. Listen, it’s about school. Things have gotten a little . . .”
“. . . Hinky?”
“I guess.” He might not talk to me if he knows the Boogerloo was taken, since they’ll be suspects too, so I don’t mention it. “I think I might need your guys’ help with something.”
“Yeah, we figured you’d be calling sooner or later.”
“You did?”
“We thought you’d ask us to dig something up on old Lockhart for you.”
“And?”
He sighs. “Not much. She’s pretty clean. We think she’s dating the guy who made that preschool project of a mascot.”
“Yeah, she already hinted at that.” I do my best to hide the desperation in my voice. “So, nothing I can use to get her to back off.”
“ ’Fraid not. We did find out some interesting stuff about some of the new kids at school though.”
I’m about to tell him I’m not interested when he says, “You ever heard about a kid they call the Getter?”
Everyone’s heard about that kid. Supposedly the Getter can get you anything you need, for a price.
“That’s just a legend.”
“Well, that legend transferred to Alanmoore when they closed Trondson.”
Maybe the Getter can help me put my hands on a certain glass piece of . . . art.
I try to sound uninterested. “What’s this kid’s name?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you still have the magical ability to turn Ds into Bs.”
I haven’t been to detention yet so I don’t know if I can still get access to the librarian, Mrs. Belfry’s, computer to change grades, but I’m desperate.
“I can work something out.” I hope it’s not a lie.
“Good. Do you have a pencil?”
I rifle through my bag and find a pen and paper.
“I’m ready. What’s his name?”
The McQueen laughs. “Her name is Margot Mercedes.”
While I’m writing down the name and the number he says, “We know you’ll figure out how to handle Lockhart.”
I get a sour taste in my mouth. They shouldn’t be relying on me right now. I can’t even take care of myself these days.
“I’m working some angles.”
“That’s our boy.” I can almost hear him wink.
I hang up and dial Margot Mercedes’s number. The phone picks up on the first ring. The voice is almost too quiet to hear. “Hello.”
“Can I speak to Margot, please?”
“Can I say who’s calling?”
“No, that’s okay.” No reason to give out my name if I don’t need to.
“I see.”
A moment later Margot takes the phone. “Hello?”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “Is this the Getter?”
“Who is this?”
“That’s not important right now.”
She sounds bored. “The caller ID says the Clairmont Theater. Should I come down there and find you?”
I slap my head and drop the whisper. “No, I go to Alanmoore. I heard you’re the person to talk to if I need to . . . acquire something.”
Now she lowers her voice. “You heard right. That theater is fifteen minutes away, but I have a bike so I’ll be there in five.”
I run downstairs and let Jarek know it’s okay to let Margot in when she gets there, and on my way back up grab a soda and a bucket of popcorn to munch on. I take my favorite seat in the center of the theater and wait for the Getter to show up.
I’m shoving the first handful of butter-soaked goodness into my mouth when the curtain parts and a little kid walks in. She’s dressed like she’s going to Sunday school: pigtails and lots of plaid. She looks at the screen, then fixes her eyes on me.
“The bathroom is downstairs.” Popcorn shrapnel shoots out of my mouth even though I close my lips.
“Good to know.” It’s the same voice from the phone.
The McQueens must’ve made a mistake. “Margot?”
She walks to the end of my row and puts her hands on her hips. “Listen, let’s skip the part where you point out that I’m not old enough to go to Alanmoore, so I don’t have to point out that you’re a bald seventh grader.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Um, okay.”
“Good.” She struts down the aisle toward me. “Homeschooled until last year. Tested out two years ahead. Voila, fourth grader in middle school.” She stops in front of me and poin
ts at my head. “What’s your story?”
“I got lice and tried to get rid of them with chemicals.”
She sucks air through her teeth. “Yikes. I bet you read warning labels now.”
I make a one-note laugh. Even though the theater is as cold as a meat locker my head starts to sweat, so I change the subject. “How’d you become a Getter?”
Her hands go back to her hips. “Actually, I’m the Getter. The difference is small but significant.”
I volley her joke back at her. “Like you.”
At first she’s not amused, then she smiles. “Yeah, I like that.” She sits next to me. “I’m really good at getting what I want. Older kids are nicer when I help them out. Voila, I became the Getter. You do what you gotta do to fit in. You know how it is.”
I consider telling her I’ve never really tried to fit in, but then change my mind.
She grunts as she lifts an oversize purse onto her lap. “You want some Junior Mints for that corn?”
I shake my head.
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She rips the top off the box and stuffs a few in her mouth, followed by a handful of popcorn.
“So, what is it you need got?” she asks.
I try to think of a way to say it without raising any red flags. I draw a complete blank.
“This is confidential, right?”
She holds up her palms. “Of course.”
Before I can chicken out I blurt, “I need a genuine Wahoolie Electric Kangaroo, and I need it quick.”
She pops another handful of mints in her mouth. “That’s easy. There’s one in the trophy case at school.” She dusts off her hands and closes her bag to go.
I lower my voice for effect. “No, there isn’t.”
She looks at me, confused, then realization spreads across her face. “Somebody stole the Boogerloo?”
I look around as though someone may have heard. “Yeah.”
“When? I saw it today.”
“Sometime this afternoon.”
Judging by the look on her face, the gears in her head are spinning. She squints and gives me a suspicious look. “Why do you want it?”
“I have my reasons.” I don’t want her to know how much I need it and drive the price up. “Let’s just say it’s very important that it gets got.”
“You don’t strike me as an art collector. Are you into mascots?”
“Something like that.”
“You shoulda called yesterday. I just sold a slightly used kangaroo costume. It had this weird stain, but the buyer didn’t mind.”
Last year Moby stained the arm of the school’s old mascot costume with purple Gatorade while improvising during a plot. Margot must’ve found it after the custodian, Mr. Kraley, threw it out. I can’t help wrinkling my nose remembering how bad the inside of the mascot costume smelled. “Who the heck would want that?”
She makes a tsking noise and wags a finger.
“Right, confidential.”
She stands up suddenly and she’s barely taller than I am sitting down. She shoves the rest of the mints into my hand. “I’ll be in touch if I come up with anything.”
I jump to my feet. “So that’s it.”
“I need to go. I have another appointment.” She skips down the row and out of the theater.
Telling her what I’m looking for was a mistake. Something like that is worth way more than I’d ever be able to pay for it. And what was the deal with her suddenly remembering another appointment?
She’s one of a very few people who know the thing is missing, and she’s on her way to some sort of mystery appointment. For all I know she might’ve stolen it. I need to follow her and see what’s up.
I shout good-bye and thanks to Jarek as I sprint out the door. I look both ways, then run to the corner and look up a side street before I spot her pedaling away. There’s no way I can keep up with her on her bike. I’ll have to guess where she’s going and pray that I’m right.
Where would I arrange a secret meeting with someone? I’d pick a spot where a kid wouldn’t look out of place.
Suddenly, I know where I would go if I were her.
Instead of following her, I cut through an alley I used several times last summer as a shortcut to the park where I practice tai chi.
I quickly find the hole in the fence where the chain-link part isn’t attached to the post and slide through. Then I dash under the cover of a giant willow tree across from the main playground. Deep in the tree’s shadow is the perfect spot to watch the rest of the park. A quick scan tells me she isn’t there. I’m about to call it a bad hunch and head for Moby’s house when I spot her pedaling her blue one-speed up the path. She stops at the climbing castle at the center of the playground, flips out the kickstand, and casually strolls over to a bench and sits.
I look around to see if anyone is walking toward her, but she is just sitting on the bench alone.
“What is your deal, kid?” I whisper under my breath. Then I notice her lips are moving. She’s talking, but there’s no one on the bench with her. I’m about to declare her crazy when she stands up suddenly, just like she had with me. When she walks away, the person sitting on the bench behind hers with their back to her stands up to walk away too.
I’d recognize that luxurious mop of hair anywhere. But what I need to know is if the Arch is here to buy or to sell.
CHAPTER 7
I get home before my parents and fake a stomachache to get out of dinner. It also builds a little presympathy in case Lockhart calls and blames me for the theft. It really sells my story when I fall asleep at seven thirty out of pure mental exhaustion.
The fact that I wake up alive the next morning means Lockhart must not have called. I throw on clothes and race out of the house before my parents wake up. I need to get to school early and search for the Boogerloo. Plus, I don’t want to look guilty by not showing up the day after it disappeared.
With nobody to talk to, I have plenty of time to think. Who would even want that thing enough to steal it? No matter what scenario I imagine, I end up in the same place every time. It’s probably not even about the Boogerloo; it’s about needling Lockhart and in the process maybe getting her to expel someone you only pretend to like. A vision of the Arch’s cocky grin flashes in my mind. If he did steal it, and manages to pin it on me, it’ll be sweet revenge for ruining his poker career last year.
Then another thought occurs to me. What if it wasn’t him? Lockhart put the heat on a bunch of students, not just the two of us. Is it possible he’s just as desperate to clear his name as I am?
I’m guessing at a list of possible suspects when I trip over something and face-plant on the sidewalk.
“Dude!” a voice says behind me.
I hop up, dust my jeans off, then look back.
Megumi crawls out of the hedge that runs down the side of the school and looks me up and down. “Are you okay?”
“I think I’ll live,” I say. But based on the vicious case of pins and needles in my wrists, I’m not entirely sure I will.
She squats down and gathers up the papers that tumbled out of my bag when I fell, then hands them back to me with a smile. “Sorry. I guess my feet were sticking out.” She nods toward the hedge. “It’s a good place to read.”
“There’s a nice spot behind the Dumpsters,” I offer. “It smells really bad, but you get used to it.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I like the hedge. It’s not as . . .”
“. . . Garbage-y?” I start to sweat, suddenly aware I just admitted that I like to hang out behind a Dumpster.
“Exactly.”
A tiny pebble is stuck in the scrape on my hand. I pick it out and flick it away. Her forehead wrinkles in a nervous look.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I lie.
Her face softens. “I’m really sorry.”
I don’t want her to feel bad so I change the subject. “Why are you here so early?”
“My stepmother is a horrible cook so I leave early when my dad
is out of town.”
I laugh. “How horrible?”
“On the first day of school she made me a bowl of crushed-up ramen with milk poured on it. I think she thought it was Japanese cereal.”
“My mom makes headcheese and eggs.”
“What’s headcheese?”
I shake my head. “You don’t want to know. But it’s worse than it sounds.”
Megumi laughs, then kicks a bark chip back under the hedge.
“Is your dad gone a lot?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s for work.”
“I wish my parents would get jobs like that.”
This time she doesn’t laugh; in fact, her smile disappears completely. I make a mental note to not bring that up again.
Then it’s her turn to change the subject. “Why are you here so early? Headcheese again?”
I want to say it’s because my parents don’t travel enough, but I don’t want to make her feel bad. “I have to find something before school.”
She nods and we stand in silence for a minute. I want to read Ronin Girl more than anything, but there’s something else about her that makes me want to hang out with her. Just walking away doesn’t feel right. “Want to talk about comics at lunch?”
She pushes out her lower lip. “I guess.”
She raises and lowers her shoulders and then walks past me toward the front door. When she’s a few feet away she stops and turns around. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
I hope so.
I go around to the back of the school by the parking lot and sneak in through a side door. I take the back stairs to avoid Lockhart. If she wants me, she’ll have to come find me.
As kids fill the halls I head to the main staircase and walk down to the landing between the first and second floors. The trophy case is at the bottom of the stairs, so the landing is the best place to see it without being spotted from the principal’s office.
Half of me stupidly expects it to be there, that maybe Lockhart had it in her office to polish it or something. I hold onto that hope until I hit the landing, squat down, and see that it’s still gone.
Electric Boogerloo Page 5