Shelby fires up the inquisition stare and aims it at the Arch. “Wait, you ran past him, but he made it to the school first?”
The Arch gives her a confused look. “Yeah, why?”
Shelby shakes her head in mock disapproval. “It appears someone’s spot on the track team may be in jeopardy this year.”
Shelby pats Sizzler’s arm and he smiles, showing off more food selections in his braces than Alanmoore’s cafeteria.
I thought Moby or the McQueens had pulled the alarm. “The alarm saved us. We were caught in the office, and she was unlocking the door when you pulled it.”
The Arch gives me the same odd look Shelby had a moment before. “We?”
Megumi materializes out of the crowd and gives a shy wave. “Hi.”
The Arch straightens up and the look of panic suddenly drains from his face. “Oh, hey, Megumi.” His voice is all phony, all the Arch.
Megumi smiles back at him. Shelby and I both roll our eyes.
Then Moby pipes up. “Wait, you never told us if you saw the video.”
Now Megumi looks at me and raises an eyebrow. In all the excitement I forgot what we were after in the first place. “We saw it.”
Everyone leans in, eyes wide.
“Well, do you know who the thief is?” Shelby practically yells.
I look around to make sure no one is listening, then lean in. “Kind of.”
Shelby throws her hands up. “What does that mean?”
“It means everyone knows the thief. It was the Alanmoore kangaroo mascot with the stain on the arm.”
The Arch takes a step toward Moby and puffs out his chest. “Wait, the one he used when he tried to poison the track team by putting soap in the Gatorade last year?!”
I nod.
“So what are we waiting for? Let’s turn him in and get this over with.”
Moby looks from me to the Arch and back. “Wait, what?”
I put up my hand. “Relax, Archer. It wasn’t Moby.”
The Arch takes half a step back, and Moby lets out a small sigh of relief.
Then Megumi says, “It could’ve been literally anyone in the suit. There’s no way to prove it wasn’t him, or even you for that matter. You don’t have any idea who it was.”
But I remember something Margot Mercedes said to me at the Clairmont, and without meaning to, I touch my fingertips together. “I might not know who it was, but I know someone who does.”
CHAPTER 14
The rest of the afternoon I avoid the hallway in front of the office as if it were filled with dentists wearing clown masks. Lockhart obviously realized she’d been set up by a fake Wahoolie, and if she was fired up enough to beat the Arch in a footrace back to school while wearing high heels, I don’t want to bump into her.
After the final bell I rendezvous with Moby in the parking lot to walk home. I don’t want to call the Getter from my house, so I’m hoping we can go to his place instead.
Moby looks sheepish. “So what do we do now?” he asks.
I look around to make sure there aren’t any authority figures lurking nearby, then urge him around the corner with a jerk of my head. When we’re behind the ivy-covered fence the Arch climbed over earlier, I say, “When I met with Margot Mercedes at the Clairmont last week she told me something that I totally forgot about until this afternoon.”
Moby’s jaw slackens. “Whoa!”
“I haven’t even told you what she said yet.”
He closes his mouth and shakes his head like he’s clearing out cobwebs. “Sorry. What did she tell you?”
“She told me she didn’t have the Boogerloo, but that she had just sold the old kangaroo mascot costume with a Gatorade stain up one arm.”
I give him time to put it together on his own. After several seconds without one, something like realization hits him and his jaw flops open again.
He stops walking, looks at the ground, and puts on his most focused look. After a minute he tries and fails to snap his fingers. “Wait! Are you saying Mr. Kraley, the janitor, who usually wears that costume, stole the Boogerloo?”
I slap my forehead. “What? No! I’m saying Margot knows who the thief is because she sold them the suit last week. We have to convince her to tell us who she sold the suit to, and there’s the thief.”
We start walking again. It’s quiet for a second, then Moby says, “Or Margot stole it and she’s just trying to throw you off.”
I think back to the two-second glimpse I got of the surveillance video. It could’ve been almost anyone, but I doubt it was the shortest kid in school. Still, if your looks are a dead giveaway, you’d probably wear some sort of disguise during a daring daylight caper.
“I don’t consider her a suspect just yet; let’s call her a person of interest.”
I think we’re alone on the stretch of sidewalk, so the voice behind me makes me flinch.
“I hope you aren’t talking about me.”
Megumi is a little too good at appearing out of nowhere and making me download a folder in my shorts.
“Geez, Megumi. You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that.”
She gives me a raised eyebrow. “I’d think a smooth criminal like you would be a little bit better at looking over his shoulder,” she replies. “Hi, Moby.”
I half expect Moby to have disappeared into Hong’s market when I turn around, but to my surprise he’s still there. I have to give him a second look; I’m almost positive the top button of his shirt wasn’t buttoned a second ago.
“Hey,” he says. I think it might be the first time I’ve ever heard him directly address a female besides his mom, or Shelby.
For the second time today Megumi uses her sleeve to wipe sweat off my head. “Seriously, dude. The flinching, the sweating. For a guy who claims to be innocent, it’s not a good sign.”
I look at Moby for backup, but he just shakes his head. “Innocent people don’t usually sweat.”
Of course, the fact that everyone is staring at my head only makes it sweat even more. “Moby, you’ve known me for years. I’m always sweaty!”
Megumi laughs. “Chub, we know you’re innocent. We’re just messing with you. Right, Moby?”
Confusion washes over him. “Oh, right. I was totally just messing with you.”
“You guys are too funny,” Megumi says. She taps Moby’s arm and he freezes like one of those goats that faint whenever you open an umbrella. “So who’s this ‘person of interest’?”
My instinct tells me not to say too much, but she knows what’s on the video already. “I know someone who knows who bought the kangaroo suit.”
Megumi’s eyes go wide. “The one the thief was wearing?”
I nod.
“Wait, how do you know that this someone knows who bought it?”
“Because she told me.”
Megumi looks stunned by the revelation. “Well if you know who it was, why haven’t you turned them in?”
“She didn’t tell me who bought it, only that she sold it to someone. That’s what we’re going to Moby’s house to find out right now.”
Moby raises his hand like he has a question.
“What, Mobe?”
“We can’t go to my house today. I have a colonic at four.”
By the way Megumi winces, a colonic probably isn’t something I want to tag along to. Then again, his parents usually pay whenever we go do stuff. . . .
Megumi grimaces. “What kind? Water?”
Moby shakes his head. “Coffee.”
She sucks air through her teeth. “Oooh, brutal.”
“It is what it is,” Moby says.
I hate to interrupt their sidebar, but I need to get the Getter fast, and my best option for calling her is going out for coffee right when I need him most. Then something dawns on me. “I guess I could go to the Clairmont to call her.”
Moby looks too distracted by his coffee outing to reply.
Megumi seems confused. “That dumpy old theater? Why would you go there?”
<
br /> I don’t really want any more people at school knowing about our private spot, so I stall.
Then Moby jumps in. “His cousin is the manager. It’s kind of our hangout. We get to watch movies before they’re released. It’s pretty awesome.”
Megumi looks impressed. She pushes up her lower lip and bobs her head back and forth like she’s weighing some options. “That’s a pretty long walk. We could go all the way over there, or we could go two short blocks to my house.”
I do like the idea of less exercise. Plus, she might have even more awesome comics there. “What’s the parent situation?”
“Like I’ve told you, Dad’s never home. My stepmom, Kendra, is probably out doing yoga with her shih tzu or something. I’m not supposed to have people over, but I don’t really care.”
With Moby’s house burnt as an option, the decision is pretty simple. After recommending he go with decaf so he can sleep tonight, I say good-bye to Moby, and Megumi and I head off toward her house.
Megumi doesn’t talk, so I say, “How’d you get into comics?”
She pauses for a second, then replies, “My dad’s majorly into them, so they’re always around at the house.”
The thought of a parent being not only a fan of minimal supervision but of comic books too makes my head swim. The feeling is like what I imagine it’s like to unwrap a Christmas present and see that it’s exactly what you asked for, not some slightly weird dollar-store knock-off.
“That’s pretty cool that your dad’s into comics.”
She shrugs. “I guess. What are your parents into?”
Part of me wants to make something up, but what’s the point? “They like coupons and helping me build my character.”
She tries to look like that’s not the worst thing she’s ever heard, but pity shows on her face. “So, do those things take up most of their free time?”
I laugh, and then she does too.
“Not all of it. My mom makes czarnina and kiszka for the older people in the Polish club, too.”
“What are those?”
Now’s my chance to confess some of my family’s deepest secrets. Hopefully, she still lets me into her house after this. “Kiszka is blood sausage, and czarnina is duck blood soup. I know it sounds weird, but they’re actually both really good.”
I watch her face, waiting for the nausea to set in. It doesn’t. Instead she just nods. “I’d try it,” she says.
I can’t hide my shock. “You would?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“I guess I just figured you’d think it was disgusting, like everyone else does.”
She gives me a look that says I’ve just said something dumb. “We lived in Japan until I was eight. Trust me, we ate stuff that people here would think is a lot weirder than that. I do have one question. Where does your mom get all that blood?”
One thing my dad and I see eye to eye on is that neither of us wants to go shopping with my mom. I’d rather discuss where babies come from with my grandparents than go to the store with her. “I don’t know where she gets it.”
“So for all you know your parents are vampires.”
I try to imagine my mom chasing down and feeding on anything more agile than a bowl of soup. “I guess.”
“And having vampire parents is way cooler than having one who’s into comics.”
It’s the first time I’ve told anyone other than Moby one of my Polish secrets, and suddenly I don’t feel quite as different as I did just a few minutes ago.
A block later we are walking along the high, ivy-covered stone wall that separates the area’s fanciest neighborhood, Maplehurst, from the rest of the city.
Megumi pats my shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
I look around. There’s nothing but stores and the wall. Then I realize where she’s taking me. “You live in Maplehurst?”
She looks embarrassed. “Yeah.”
I’ve never been behind the wall, but I’ve dreamed about what the houses in there look like. I instantly conjure a picture of a stone castle with a million fireplaces and decide that’s where Megumi lives. I’m so wrapped up in thought I don’t even realize she’s stopped walking. I turn and go back where she’s standing next to the wall.
“It’s through here.” She puts her hands into the ivy, spreads it a little, and then steps through and disappears. I put my hands in the same spot and step through it too. I pass through an old archway in the wall that has probably been hidden for so long that nobody except Megumi knows it’s still there. We come out on the other side in a backyard that looks like a golf course.
“Is this your house?”
She shakes her head. “No, but it’s the only shortcut through the wall. C’mon.” She leads me along a fence to a gate, and we slip through it. Once we are out of the backyard I get my first good look at Maplehurst. It’s even more spectacular than I imagined.
The houses are old and majestic, with lots of columns and big windows. I’m pretty sure my mouth hangs open as I follow her down the street, gawking at the houses. We turn down a cul-de-sac. There’s room for about a dozen versions of my house on the street, but there are only three of them here. The ones on the left and right don’t catch my eye, but the one in the center does. It looks like a slightly smaller version of Wayne Manor, where Batman lives when he isn’t Batmanning, complete with even more ivy covering one entire side. The best part is we’re heading straight for it.
Megumi punches a code into the keypad on the front door and lets us in. We walk into a room that really seems like there should be a butler leading you through it.
“Welcome to mi casa.” She waves her hand in a sarcastic imitation of a model on a game show showing off a prize.
I’ve never been in a house this big before. It even makes Alanmoore feel cramped. For a second I wonder if she doesn’t see her dad very much because he can’t find her in such a huge house.
“Wow, your house is . . .” I can’t come up with big enough word.
“Ridiculous? I know. My dad thinks that buying a huge, stupid museum like this place makes up for a lack of actual parenting. Pretty lame.”
It sounds like a decent trade-off to me, but I keep that to myself.
We pass a huge glass table in the middle of the entryway and Megumi flips through the pile of mail sitting on it. She picks out a large envelope and rips it open. “This is interesting.”
“What?”
She reads the shiny brochure she pulled from the envelope. “Emerald Con. It’s next week. Do you want to go?”
Emerald Con is the annual comic book convention in Seattle. I would probably lop off and sell up to four of my toes to be able to go. “Seriously?”
She tosses the papers back onto the table. “I’ll get us tickets if you want.”
I try to answer, but the sound that comes out isn’t an actual word.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you want something to eat?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She spins and darts off. Her voice echoes back to me from down a long hall. “Go in the room with the double glass doors. I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Okay,” I call back. “Can I use your phone while I’m waiting?”
There’s silence, so I’m about to ask again when she replies, “Food first.”
I guess it won’t hurt to have a quick snack before I make the call to Margot. I cross the foyer and push open the glass doors. The room looks like a social club where old-time gangsters would play cards and smoke cigars. An immense wooden desk takes up the end of the room right in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The rest of the walls are lined with shelves crammed with enough books to keep Kyle the library wonder boy busy until he’s old enough to grow a beard. Instead of the fuzzy, cottage cheese–looking ceilings in my house, the ceiling in here is made of a dark wood that shines like a basketball court. As if it couldn’t get any better, there’s a TV bigger than my parents’ mattress hanging off the wall opposite the desk. I head toward it and gently sit on the cou
ch in front of it. I’ve never had my butt hugged, but the feeling of sitting on that couch is the closest thing I can imagine to it.
My eyes wander to the end table next to the couch. There’s a picture of a guy in a cheesy cheek-to-cheek pose with a young woman. I can’t say I recognize him, but something about his face is familiar.
Megumi kicks open the doors and comes into the room, her arms loaded with snacks. She dumps them on the couch and then dusts off her hands. “That’d be cool if you could go to Emerald Con with me.”
She’s almost acting like I’m the one doing her the favor. “What are friends for?”
She opens a box of Pocky, pulls out all of them in a bunch, and bites off the end. “I wouldn’t waste a ticket on a poser, but it seems like you know your stuff.”
I open a bag of chips and grab a few. I don’t want to appear too eager, but going to Emerald Con is slightly more important to me than things like going to college, or maybe air. “I’ve been meaning to go for a long time, but I’ve never been able to make it. I think tickets are, like, seventy-five dollars.”
“Well, if you know Ronin Girl, you deserve to go. Consider it an early—or late—birthday present.”
I look around the room again and my eye settles on the photo once more. Something about the guy throws up a flag in my head.
Megumi crunches on some chips behind me. “It should be a good Con this year. Lots of big names.”
Then something clicks and I suddenly realize why I recognize the guy in the picture. “That’s Tatsuo Kobayashi. He wrote Ronin Girl.”
I turn to Megumi and she nods.
“You weren’t kidding about your dad being into comics. I mean, the picture isn’t autographed or anything, but that’s still pretty cool. I thought I was a fanboy.”
When I turn around Megumi has a serious look on her face. Great, it took me less than a minute to mess up my invite to Emerald Con.
“Megumi, did I say something wrong?”
She takes a deep breath. “My dad’s not a fan, Chub.”
“Then why does he have Kobayashi’s picture in his office? And who’s the lady?”
Electric Boogerloo Page 10