by Marty Chan
“Library! Quick!” I yelled. “Before she finds another way in.”
We sprinted to the school library. Inside the room, Trina waited for us beside the computer. The computer was off and there was nothing around the station.
“Get anything, Trina?” Remi asked.
She shook her head. “She must have turned off the computer before she came after us. Wait a minute. Where’s the Stuffy Spy?”
“I gave it to Mikayla,” I said. “She set it down right here.”
“Maybe she grabbed it after we ran,” Remi suggested.
I shook my head. “She didn’t have it when she was banging at the door.”
Trina said, “Do you think someone else took it?”
“Don’t the kindergarten kids come to the library around now?” Remi asked. “Maybe one of them grabbed it.”
“Oh, great. We lost our spy gear and we still know nothing?” I asked.
“Not nothing,” Remi answered. “When I was doing the stakeout, I noticed she plugged in a flash drive to the computer. Whatever she’s doing must be on that stick. All we need to do is get our hands on that flash drive.”
I grumbled, “Wouldn’t need to if you worked the camera right.”
“What?” Remi asked.
“Never mind,” I said. “This stakeout’s a bust.” I stomped out of the library. I wanted him to follow me and tell me everything about this hockey school and why he kept it secret, but the only person who caught up to me was Trina. I glanced back. Remi walked the other way. I’d give him one more chance to come clean.
“What’s wrong with you?” Trina asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
I left her behind as I headed to the classroom. If I could throw myself into the investigation, I wouldn’t have to think about what Remi did. As I entered the room, Mikayla was putting away her backpack. I watched for any sign of the flash drive, but she didn’t pull it out. I decided to move in for a closer look, but I should have been watching my back. Nathan grabbed me in a headlock and dragged me into the room. “Who wants to see if Chan’s ticklish?”
The boys in class rushed over and poked at me. I laughed as Kennedy found a ticklish spot in my ribs. Nathan cranked his headlock a little tighter. I grabbed his arm and tried to pull myself out, but he was too strong. He spun me around so I could see everyone in the classroom.
Mikayla cracked a huge smile. Nathan let go of me when Ms. Nolan entered the class. We scrambled to our seats. The entire afternoon, I could feel Mikayla’s gaze on me. I was sure she suspected what we were doing. She was probably the spy in the bushes and the first chance she had, she’d erase her flash drive. The only way to stop her was to get my hands on the stick, but first I had to find out where she kept it.
At the end of class, she packed her gear into her backpack, leaving nothing in her desk. She was like a snail, carrying everything on her back. I started to follow her, but stepped on Kennedy’s foot.
He yelped, “Watch where you’re walking. You don’t want to mess with a karate expert.”
“Sorry, Kennedy.”
He gave me a karate pose. “Hi-ya! I don’t care if your uncle is Jackie Chan.”
“Ease up, Anderson,” Nathan said, clapping his hand on Kennedy’s back. “You’re not allowed to use karate in the school.”
“Sorry, master.” He bowed. The pair left the classroom together.
I followed them to the doorway and scanned the hallway for our suspect. Trina joined me.
“Any sign of the flash drive?” I asked.
She shook her head. “But I’m willing to bet it’s in her pencil case.”
The only thing Mikayla hadn’t put in her backpack was a cherry-red pencil case. She clutched it to her chest as she headed to her locker.
“I wonder if Remi saw her put the stick in the pencil case. We should ask.”
I shook my head. “He won’t know.” Truth was I didn’t feel like talking to Remi. I wanted him to know what it felt like to be kept in the dark. Trina dragged me to the school shed. While she compared notes with Remi, I glared at my friend and waited for him to come clean about the hockey school. He didn’t say a thing about moving to Edmonton. I’d give him one more chance. Just one more and that was it.
“How do we pry that thing from Mikayla’s hands?” Remi said.
Trina suggested, “We could always steal the flash drive.”
I shook my head. “Yeah right. She’ll catch us before we get two feet with it.”
“Not if she doesn’t know it’s gone,” Trina said. “We just have to make a switch. Remi, what colour was it?”
“Black. It looked like the one in the Stuffy Spy.”
“Great, so we just have to find the Stuffy Spy and pull out the memory stick,” I said. “Oh wait, the Stuffy Spy is stolen.”
“We can’t swap out the memory stick, but we know she keeps it in her pencil case,” Remi said.
“So.”
“We could switch the pencil case.”
“Not a bad idea, Remi,” Trina said.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “She’ll know we took it as soon as she opens the fake case.”
Remi smiled. “We keep her distracted so she doesn’t go into her case. Buy enough time to see what is on the memory stick.”
Again Trina nodded. I hated that she agreed with him.
“And I suppose you just happen to have an identical pencil case?” I said, sneering at my friend.
He beamed. “No, but I’m sure we’ll be able to find one at your dad’s store.”
Trina clapped Remi on the shoulder. I rolled my eyes. One more chance. I’d give him one more chance, but that was it. This time I meant it.
It took a couple of days to track down the right pencil case, but Remi found one in his sister’s closet. He showed up at the secret shed with the decoy.
“It’s not an exact match,” I said.
“Close enough,” Remi said.
Trina nodded. “We just need to buy some time.”
He opened the case to show it full of pencils and erasers. Trina beamed, impressed. So did our new partners, Samantha and Ida. We needed their help to keep Mikayla distracted and they were more than willing to help bring the cyber bully to justice.
Trina outlined the plan. “You guys get the pencil case, pass it to me and then keep Mikayla distracted so I can check what’s on the drive. Everyone got it?”
Ida asked. “Are you sure the proof is there?”
Trina nodded. “Positive.”
The girls looked at each other and nodded to Trina. They headed toward the school. As they neared the kids, Ida grabbed Samantha’s backpack.
“Keep away!” Ida yelled.
“Give it back.”
Some of the girls sneered at the commotion, but the boys were like golden retrievers and the backpack was like a bright yellow tennis ball. Ida launched the backpack into the air and Nathan caught it. He passed the backpack to Eric Johnson, who hot-po-tatoed it to Kennedy. Within seconds, all the tongue-wagging grade six boys were playing keep-away from Samantha.
She played her part. “You are going to be sorry. Give that back. It’s got important things in it. Don’t drop it.”
The boys laughed as they tossed the backpack to each other. Meanwhile, some of the girls inched closer. Mikayla ignored the action. I waved to Remi. He ambled behind the group of gawking girls and snatched Eloise Gervais’ backpack from her shoulder.
“Keep away!” he yelled.
Eloise shouted, “Give it back.”
Too late. Remi launched the backpack at the pack of grade six girls. It landed on the ground with a dull thud. Not one girl moved to grab it. If boys were dogs, girls were cats and it took more than a slobber covered tennis ball or Eloise’s backpack to get them to move.
“Get Mikayla’s backpack,” I yelled. “I hear she’s got licorice in it.”
If they had tails, the boys would have been wagging them. They charged at Mikayla, who clutched her backpack and ran.
“I heard Helen’s got a stash of chocolate bars,” Remi added.
Some of the boys split off from the pack and chased Helen. Their yips and yaps were infectious and soon the girls were screaming louder than the boys. Every girl’s backpack suddenly had something even more important than the last one. The girls scrambled around the schoolyard like ruffled chickens. The boys chased after them like dopy mutts. Outside the commotion was the fox, Trina. She waited for the right moment to strike. She tapped her watch and lifted her left hand straight up in the air. The signal.
I ran to Nathan as he tried to pry Mikayla’s backpack from her hands. She had a Terminator grip on the strap. She snarled at Nathan and the other boys.
“Don’t you dare.”
She held her own against the guys.
“Tickle her,” I yelled.
Kennedy picked up the challenge and poked at Mikayla’s ribs. She squealed and instantly gave up the backpack to Nathan, who ran away with it. A half-dozen backpacks flew from boy to boy, while the kids scattered across the schoolyard.
Trina charged into the fray, heading straight for Nathan, who waved the backpack in the air. There were so many bodies and backpacks, it was almost impossible to tell who had what. Almost.
I yelled, “Toss me the backpack!”
He hurled it high over Mikayla. I caught the thing and ran away. When she came close, I tossed the pack to Remi. He hurtled between Ida and Samantha. Mikayla chased him, but the girls smashed together like prison gates and trapped her between them. Remi hurled the pack toward Kennedy, but made sure it sailed over the pudgy boy’s outstretched hands and landed in Trina’s waiting hands. The boys groaned and turned their attention to the other backpacks in play.
Now it was up to Remi and me to buy Trina the time to make the switch. As Mikayla disentangled herself from the pile up with Ida and Samantha, she searched the schoolyard for her pack. Remi and I jumped her and tickled her sides, sending her into a laughing fit. She howled at us to stop, but we kept poking her ribs and reaching for her armpits until she could barely breathe. We kept at it. I thought I saw tears rolling down Mikayla’s cheeks as she howled. Everything was going according to plan.
Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder. I shrugged off the tap. Again, there was a tap; only harder. I turned. “What do you . . . ” My words died in my throat.
Principal Henday towered over me. Mikayla’s backpack dangled by the strap from his hand. Behind him, Trina shook her head at us. The mission had failed.
“My office,” he bellowed. “Now!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Principal Henday’s office felt hotter than a sauna, mainly because the thought of what he was going to do made me break out in a flop sweat. The back of my shirt stuck to the hard wooden back of my creaky chair. Beside me, Remi wiped his damp forehead with the sleeve of his Bobcat’s hockey jersey. I wondered if his status as a star hockey player might save him.
The Rake leaned forward and rested his thin arms on the top of his rosewood desk. Then he began to flip through one of two file folders on the calendar blotter. He slammed his hand on top of the other folder. I jumped at the sound, which echoed off the dingy yellow walls of his cramped office.
“You gentlemen know what these are, don’t you?” he asked, his deep voice filling the room.
I shook my head.
“They are your permanent files,” he replied. “Any trouble you cause ends up in a file. Pretty frightening, isn’t it?”
Sweat sealed my lips shut. He let the silence hang in the air, drumming his fingers on the file.
“This file will stay with you for the rest of your lives,” The Rake said, shaking his grey-haired head.
“This may be your last year here,” he added, “but that doesn’t mean your past can’t follow you to your next school.”
He let the threat hang in the air. I had hoped to start junior high with a clean slate. Judging by the way my friend stared at his shoes I think he was hoping for the same thing.
Remi asked, “What happens to the file?”
“I pass it on to the principal at your new school so he can separate the angels from the devils.”
“Are you going to add what happened this morning to the file?” I asked.
The Rake leaned back in his chair and cracked a thin-lipped smile. “Mr. Chan, it’s interesting you ask that question. Only a guilty person would ask a question like that.”
I stared at my file.
“Did you start the shenanigans?” he asked.
I said nothing.
“Well, Mr. Chan?”
He began to tap his finger on the file. I learned to resist the power of the finger of interrogation, which worked well when kids were in grade four or five, but I was a grade sixer now and I was immune to the finger. The Rake must have sensed it, because he grabbed a pen and began to click it open and closed. Not quite tapping, but still effective. I clamped my lips shut, hoping he wouldn’t write anything
“The only thing worse than causing trouble is failing to take responsibility for it.”
Remi mumbled, “What kind of trouble?”
“Will it stop us from going to junior high school?” I asked.
Principal Henday’s silence told me all I needed to know. I stiffened, waiting for him to lay down our punishment, but then a terrible idea began to rattle around my brain. I hated myself for thinking such a thing, but before I could jam the idea back into its Pandora’s Box, it jumped out.
“Remi started it.”
My best friend turned around, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth agape.
The Rake closed my file and opened the other file as he sighed, “Why does this not surprise me?”
“I didn’t start it,” Remi said. “I swear.”
The Rake tapped the file. I tried to convince myself I was getting back at Remi for hiding the news about his other school from me. I tried to tell myself that he deserved this. I had given him enough chances to come clean — to be a real friend.
“Mr. Boudreau, you disappoint me,” Mr. Henday said. “I’m surprised we’re even having this conversation, considering your father had asked me to write a reference letter for you.”
“I didn’t start the backpack war,” Remi protested.
“Then who did?” The Rake asked.
I waited for my friend to rat me out.
“I don’t know who did,” Remi said.
Despite what I had done to my friend, he was still protecting me. This was worse than if he did rat me out. My stomach churned and I wanted to come clean, but my mouth stopped working. It was like a bee stinger; once used, it wouldn’t work anymore.
“I’m going to have to reconsider writing the reference letter, Mr. Boudreau,” The Rake said as he leaned back in his black leather chair.
“But I need it,” Remi said. “It’s for . . . ” His words trailed off.
“Mr. Chan, you’d best leave so I can sort things out with Mr. Boudreau. You can wait outside for your friend.”
Remi looked at me square in the eyes. “He’s not my friend.”
His comment was like a dentist’s pick digging into a cavity. No amount of freezing could numb me from the pain of his words. I slunk out the office and into the hallway, looking back once but Remi was facing The Rake.
Trina leaned against the glass of the trophy case across from the main office, waiting for me. For us.
“Where’s Remi?”
I couldn’t tell her what I had done. I couldn’t even look her in the eyes. I wanted to be alone.
“What did The Rake do to you guys?”
I moved down the hallway to get away from her.
“Is it that bad? Is Remi still in the office?” she asked.
I shrugged.
“As long as he keeps quiet, he’ll be okay. The Rake has no proof who started the backpack riot,” Trina said.
“We should get to class.”
“Don’t you want to wait for him?”
The door to
the principal’s office opened and Remi stormed out. As he walked through the main office, he glared at me, then pushed past and headed down the hall to the French section of the school. Trina ran after him and grabbed his arm.
“What happened in there?”
“Ask the monkey butt.”
Trina glanced back at me, her eyebrow raised in confusion. I stared at the tiled floor and said nothing.
She asked Remi, “What did The Rake do?”
“I’m done. I’m out. No thanks to you two and your stupid stunt.”
“He expelled you? He can’t do that.”
“Not out of here. I’m out of junior high.”
I looked up. Remi looked like a guy who had just found out that Christmas was cancelled forever. I thought this was what I wanted, but now I wished I could take back what I said in the office.
“What’s going on?” Trina asked.
“Why did you pin the backpack fight on me?” Remi asked, staring right at me. “You wrecked everything.”
“Wrecked what?” I asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That makes two of us,” she said.
He explained, “It wasn’t for sure, but I was accepted into a sports school in Edmonton. I had to prove I had the marks and I needed a reference letter. My dad asked Principal Henday to write one for me and he said yes, but now he says he’s not so sure. He said he didn’t want my bad behaviour to reflect on his school’s reputation.” Remi turned to me. “Great going, Marty.”
“Why are you mad at him? He didn’t know you were going to the school. Right, Marty?”
I said nothing.
“You knew?” Trina asked, her eyes wide with shock. “How?”
“Does it matter?” I said. “He was going to move away without telling us. What kind of friend is that?”
Trina’s gaze narrowed into two angry slits as she started to realize exactly what I had done. She slid away from me as if I had just let out a silent, but deadly, fart. What I had done smelled much worse.