“You might as well have,” Teddy growls.
Dee Dee jumps in. “Guys, GUYS!”
“That’s just what I saw the other day!” Dee Dee
whispers excitedly. “Randy’s showing off the
CAMERA he stole from your locker, Nate!”
Teddy frowns. “How do you know?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t, exactly.”
“What’s she talking about?” Teddy whispers.
I shrug. “Who knows? I try not to spend any time
inside Dee Dee’s head.”
“Good point.” Teddy snickers. “That’s a weird
neighborhood.”
We watch as Dee Dee strolls casually over to
Randy and his posse. Then . . .
She hits the floor like a sack of potatoes. Randy
drops something. But it’s not the camera.
I hear him angrily whisper to his friends as he
stoops to the floor.
“Pick WHAT up? What ARE those?” Teddy asks.
“Beats me,” I answer as Dee Dee climbs shakily to
her feet.
“Well, go faint somewhere ELSE,” Randy snarls.
Dee Dee wobbles away from Randy and his gang
like a leaky balloon, then finds Teddy and me
around the corner.
“What HAPPENED over there?” we both ask.
It’s a Gag Me card. Those
aren’t allowed at P.S. 38. If
you get busted with them,
you’re in big trouble.
“Well, that explains why
Randy looked like he
was hiding something,”
Teddy says.
I nod sadly. “Yeah. But it wasn’t the camera.”
“I’m beginning to think Randy’s too STUPID to
steal a camera.” Dee Dee frowns. “Maybe someone
ELSE took it.”
Teddy heaves a sigh. “Maybe. But WHO?”
The bell rings. Time for homeroom.
“Let’s talk more about it later, during our free
period,” Dee Dee suggests.
I shake my head. “It’ll have to wait ’til lunch.”
Which turns out to be as exciting as Mr. Galvin’s
rock collection. All you do is walk up and down
the corridors. I feel like those old people who do
laps around the mall.
It’s Nick. But for a second, I almost don’t recognize
him. He’s walking really fast, and he’s all hunched
over. I take another look, and . . . HEY!!
Or does he? He’s too far away for me to tell for
sure. But he’s got SOMETHING tucked under his
arm. And it sure LOOKS like the camera.
I take off after him.
You’re not supposed to
run in the hallways—
ESPECIALLY if you’re
a hall monitor. But this
is an emergency. I kick
it into overdrive and round the corner. Then . . .
What idiot put a DESK here? I scramble off the
floor, ready to crank up my Nick chase again.
He’s already way ahead of me.
I can’t waste another second.
Then I look around.
The old me wouldn’t have worried about a few
papers on the floor. I would have sprinted after
Nick like a crazed bloodhound. If I’m going to get
that stupid camera back, that’s what I should do.
But I can’t.
I start picking up all the sheets and stacking them
on the desk. Not because I want to. Because I
HAVE to. Being hypnotized leaves me no choice.
The lunch bell rings. The hallway fills up with
people. Whatever chance I had to catch Nick red-
handed is long gone.
What a mess.
“I just had a chance to solve the camera mystery,
and I BLEW it . . .”
I tell Teddy and Dee Dee
about seeing Nick with
the camera and how he
got away.
Teddy rolls his eyes. “Funny how you never
mentioned that, Sherlock.”
“I can’t take this anymore,” I say miserably.
“Sorry, dude.” Teddy shakes his head. “Uncle
Pedro’s visiting my grandparents in Mexico. He’ll
be back in a week.”
“I’ve heard that sometimes a DRAMATIC EVENT
can snap a person out of a hypnotic trance!”
“What kind of dramatic event?”
Dee Dee sighs. “I don’t know.”
Okay, NOW we’re talking. Cheez Doodles make
everything better. And I’m STARVING. I didn’t eat
breakfast this morning because I was obsessing
about my hair, remember? I reach into the bag.
“What’s the matter?” Teddy asks.
“I got orange powder all over my hands.”
He makes a tell-me-something-I-didn’t-know face.
“Well, DUH!”
“And so MESSY,” I say, pushing the bag away.
Teddy’s jaw drops.
Dee Dee gasps.
I know. And now they DISGUST
me. I lay my head on the table
(after wiping it off with Teddy’s
napkin) and try to pull myself together. Francis
hates me. None of my hobbies are fun anymore. And
I can’t even eat my favorite food in the whole world.
I look across the cafetorium, and I feel like
throwing up. This is my fault. I spilled the beans
about Francis’s middle name. I might as well
have painted a bull’s-eye
on his back.
The blood starts pounding
in my head. The lunchtime
noises fade away, until all I
can hear is Randy’s voice and his stupid laugh as
he aims another kick at Francis’s butt. I stand up.
Then I flip out.
Okay, true confessions time: I’ve never been in
a real fight before. So jumping on Randy like a
rabid wolverine might not have been one of my
better ideas. But it goes pretty well at first. In fact,
I might actually be WINNING when . . .
“He ATTACKED me!” Randy whimpers, switching
to victim mode in a millisecond.
Mrs. Czerwicki nods grimly. “I saw it.”
“Not ALL of it,” comes a familiar voice.
Mrs. C. looks surprised. “This really doesn’t
concern you, um . . . er . . .”
“Francis,” he says helpfully.
“Yes, well, thank you for your input, Francis . . .”
Great. Nothing like a little quality time with the
Big Guy. I won’t bore you with the details. Basically,
he yells at me. Nonstop. For about a half hour.
“Hey,” says Francis.
“Oh. Uh . . . hey,” I answer, trying to sound casual.
He nods toward the principal’s office. “What did
he say?”
“Just what I KNEW he’d say,” I snort.
Francis shakes his head. “That’s so bogus.”
I shrug. “I guess I DID sort of ambush him. But he
deserved it.”
“Uh-huh. Probably the
stupidest thing I’ve ever
done.”
“Why? I mean, it WORKED,
obviously.”
“Yeah, I’m neater than YOU are now,” I tell him.
“That’s unbelievable!” Francis exclaims.
“Considering what it USED to look like, it’s . . .”
But I’ve stopped listening.
My eyes are locked on
a leather case tucked
&n
bsp; alongside the textbooks
on the top shelf.
I examine the case. It’s definitely the same camera,
right down to the “Property of P.S. 38” tag.
Francis is flabbergasted. “Wha—? How did . . . ?
Nate, what’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on: NICK thinks
he’s being FUNNY.”
“Nick BLONSKY?” Francis asks in surprise.
“What are you two doing out of class?” He smirks,
flashing his hall monitor badge.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply angrily.
He shrugs, pretending to
be confused. “If I STOLE
it, then how can YOU be
holding it RIGHT NOW?”
“Because you put it back. During third period.
I saw you with it.”
Another smirk. “Maybe you did, and maybe you
didn’t,” he says in a singsong voice.
“Because it was HILARIOUS,” Nick answers. “That
FIGHT you two had when you realized the camera
was gone was PRICELESS!”
What a twerp. I’m about two seconds away from
my SECOND fight of the day. “You’re a riot,” I snarl
through gritted teeth.
“We could report you to Principal Nichols for this,”
Francis adds.
“Dee Dee Holloway, super spy, at your service!”
she says, taking a bow.
The tiniest look of uncertainty creeps across
Nick’s face. “Super spy?”
Dee Dee smiles slyly. “You guys were having such
an interesting conversation . . .”
Nick turns pale. He backs away from us, slowly at
first. Then he breaks into a run.
I could hug Dee Dee. I don’t, of course. But I
COULD. “Dee Dee,” I tell her gratefully, “that
was . . . AWESOME!”
“Yup! The pigeon has landed!” she says, beaming.
Then she grabs me and Francis. “But HERE’S
what’s REALLY awesome!”
Well, if I didn’t hug Dee Dee, I’m sure not going to
KISS Francis. I stick out my hand. And so does he,
at the exact same moment.
“I shouldn’t have accused you of losing the
camera,” Francis says. “That was lame.”
“And I shouldn’t have told the whole school your
middle name,” I admit. “That was lamer.”
“This is FABULOUS!” Dee Dee squeals.
Then, with a gasp, Dee Dee turns me loose. “Nate!
There’s FOOD on your shirt!”
Makes sense. An hour ago, I was rolling around on
the cafetorium floor with Randy. “So?” I ask her.
Suddenly it dawns on me what she’s getting at.
Dee Dee’s bouncing around like her hair’s on fire.
“Remember what I said? That a dramatic event
might snap you out of it?”
I fling open my locker—my disgustingly neat
locker—and grab a pencil and paper.
“If I can draw something without worrying how
PERFECT it is, then we’ll know I’m not hypnotized
anymore!”
I go as fast as I can. No rulers. No erasing. And by
the time I’m finished, I can tell I’m myself again.
Because this definitely isn’t perfect.
But it might be the most awesome drawing I’ve
ever made.
Nick’s not in school the next day. But we don’t find
out why until Francis, Teddy, and I walk into the
Chronicle meeting after classes are over.
“Hold it,” I say. “Nick gets to stay home from
school? For a whole WEEK?”
That’s WAY better than what I got. Principal Nichols
gave me three days of detention for fighting with
Randy. Then he called my dad. Guess what they
talked about?
Ugh. Gina and her stinkin’ gavel. Couldn’t we start
the meeting with something a little mellower?
Like a foghorn?
“I’ve been working on some of these page layouts,”
Gina announces as we gather around the table.
“The group shots look really good . . .”
“What are you trying to PULL, Gina?” Teddy
demands angrily. “You only used pictures of
YOURSELF and your snobby FRIENDS!”
“And besides, NATE was supposed to supply the
candids!” Francis chimes in.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Gina,” says a voice
from behind us.
YES! Hickey to the rescue! Gina turns fire-engine
red, then corkscrews her face into a phony smile.
“All right,” she says, turning to Francis. “What do
YOU want to do?”
Mrs. Hickson nods. “I think that’s a fair solution.
But, Nate, we DO have a deadline, so . . .”
“No problem!” I say immediately. “I should get
PLENTY of good candids TOMORROW . . .”
The next morning as we walk to school, I realize
two things: (1) it’s great to be friends with Francis
again, and (2) he’s driving me completely insane.
“Nate’s right,” Teddy says. “You’re going to fry
your brain before the Trivia Slam even STARTS.”
Francis takes a deep breath. “I know, I know.”
They COULD. But I still think we’ll smuck ’em.
The cafetorium’s already mobbed when we get
there. “I wonder who Gina will get to replace
Nick,” Teddy says as we squeeze through the door.
We don’t have to wait long to find out.
Wait, did he say “whom”? That’s SO Francis. Even
when he’s trash-talking, he uses good grammar.
Teddy’s mouth gapes open. “Is he SERIOUS? Why
would Gina put an idiot like RANDY on her team?”
“Randy’s no Einstein, but he knows a TON of
sports and movie trivia,” Francis explains. “Gina’s
team didn’t have anybody like that before.”
Well . . . MAYBE. But there’s
no time to worry about it now.
Ms. Clarke is asking for quiet
and explaining the rules.
“You all know the format,” she says. “During
the preliminary rounds, you may consult your
teammates before answering each question. But
during the FINAL round . . .”
Shut up? THAT’S the best snappy comeback I’ve
got? Definitely not up to my usual standards.
I must be nervous.
“You heard Ms. Clarke, Factoids!” Dee Dee says as
she reaches into her book bag.
Leave it to Dee Dee to bring costumes into this.
But whatever. If wearing dorky hats is going to
help us take down Gina’s Geniuses, I’m all for it.
“The first question is for Amanda’s Pony Posse,”
Ms. Clarke announces.
Pretty easy, right? That’s how the Trivia Slam
works. The early rounds are ALWAYS a cakewalk.
But as the game goes on, the questions get harder.
And the candids get better and better!
Teams start dropping
like flies. Tricia’s Tater
Tots don’t know the
capital of Luxembourg.
(Trick question. It’s . . .
Luxembourg.) Artur’s
Antelopes can’t name
the only vegetable that’s
also a flower. (Broccoli.
Yuck.)
Eventually—just like ev
eryone knew it would—
it comes down to two teams.
“Okay, guys, here’s where all our practicing pays
off!” Dee Dee whispers. “Try to relax.”
RELAX? I can’t relax when we’re going toe to
toe with Gina and Randy. You think they’re
obnoxious NOW? If they beat us, we’ll never hear
the end of it.
“Nice job, Chad!” I whisper as he steps down from
the stage. He looks a little wobbly. The pressure’s
getting to everybody. And you know what they
say about pressure: It breaks stuff. So who’s going
to crack first?
“Randy,” Ms. Clarke says, “you’re up.”
Rats. A sports question. This’ll be a no-brainer.
Randy grins confidently.
The blood drains from his face. “W-wait a minute.
CHESS? Chess isn’t a SPORT!”
“It’s recognized as a sport by the International
Olympic Committee,” Ms. Clarke states matter-of-
factly. “Answer the question, please.”
But Randy’s not
a chess player.
He’s more of a
tic-tac-toe guy.
Remember, you can’t ask your teammates for help
in the final round. Randy’s got to sink or swim
on his own. And I’ve got a feeling . . .
Ms. Clarke shakes her head. “I’m sorry. The
answer is sixteen. Eight per side.”
Gina looks ready to wring Randy’s neck, I’m
snapping pictures as fast as I can, and Dee Dee’s
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