Incognito

by Shelley Johannes

  In the corner by the pencil sharpener, Mrs. Tamarack’s WANTED poster still urged witnesses to come forward.

  As the bell rang, Mrs. Tamarack clapped her hands and flicked the lights.

  Sam Darzi snuck in the door right before Mrs. Tamarack clicked it shut. With her head down, she shuffled straight to the coat closet.

  “Hi!” Beatrice said, trying to get her attention.

  Sam acted like she didn’t see her.

  But Beatrice knew she did.

  After talking to Sam’s puppet last night, Beatrice had high hopes. But Sam walked away without a word. Beatrice didn’t even get to tell her about Mrs. Jenkins.

  Watching Sam’s boots scuff across the floor brought Beatrice back to reality. The real Sam hadn’t had a heart-to-heart with her last night.

  The real Sam was not a puppet.

  She was a person, and Beatrice couldn’t make her say a thing. She couldn’t even make her stand still long enough to say hello.

  As Beatrice headed back to her desk, Lenny pointed at Beatrice’s cape, frowning. “I thought you had enough pink to last forever?”

  Mrs. Tamarack clapped her hands at the front of the room.

  “Recess?” mouthed Beatrice.

  Lenny nodded.

  “One, two, three—eyes on me!” Mrs. Tamarack called out, shooting them a look.

  Beatrice took a deep, hopeful breath.

  Nothing was different.

  Wes was the same. Mr. Hannah was acting normal. Sam and Lenny too. Even Mrs. Tamarack seemed like her normal self.

  Whatever Sam was going to do with the award, she hadn’t done it yet.

  19

  A MOVE OF HER OWN

  When recess arrived, Beatrice was the first one out the door. She inched into the trees and rehearsed her confession to Lenny.

  Down below, something stopped Beatrice in her tracks.

  Mrs. Tamarack stood guard at the center of the playground—hands on her hips, whistle between her lips.

  That part was normal.

  Beatrice was used to that.

  Standing next to the school’s award-winning disciplinarian, rocking back and forth on the heels of her boots, was Sam Darzi.

  This was cause for alarm.

  Beatrice couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t look good. Mrs. Tamarack’s forehead was scrunched up, and Sam—who rarely spoke—was doing most of the talking.

  Finally, with a nod of her head, Sam disappeared across the grass and behind the heavy doors of William Charles Elementary.

  Sam was making her move.

  Beatrice needed to stop her before it was too late.

  Thinking fast, she dropped down near Mrs. Tamarack and made a move of her own.

  “Excuse me,” said Beatrice, summoning her best manners.

  Mrs. Tamarack spun around. Her whistle shrilled in surprise. “Beatrice!” she screamed. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “No! I was trying to be polite.”

  Mrs. Tamarack rubbed her temples.

  “May I go inside with Sam, please?” Beatrice asked, still using her best manners. “We’re partners on a project,” she explained, hoping Mrs. Tamarack would give away Sam’s destination.

  “Fine,” Mrs. Tamarack conceded. “I just sent her to the library.”

  “The library?” Beatrice couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. She was expecting the office, or the classroom. Not the library.

  Unless the library was Sam’s cover story …

  “Of course, the library,” said Mrs. Tamarack. She took the whistle out of her mouth and pointed it at Beatrice. “Keep an eye on the time—and your feet on the ground. The library is not a playground.”

  After checking the coat closet in Classroom 3B, and peeking in the doorway to Mr. Hannah’s office—just in case—Beatrice found Sam nestled in a beanbag chair at the back of the library.

  The Morse code manual lay open on her lap.

  She frowned as Beatrice approached.

  Beatrice plopped down beside her. “I thought we could work on our project.”

  “I never said I wanted to do that project.”

  “There’s only one Morse code book in the library. It makes sense to share it.”

  Sam snapped the book shut.

  “Here,” she said, sliding the book across the table between them. “You keep it.”

  Beatrice fitted her fingers into Sam’s puppet and pulled it from the pocket of her cape. “What about a different trade?” she proposed. “I’ll give you your puppet back, and you give me Wes’s award?”

  Sam stared her down.

  Instead of responding to Beatrice’s offer, Sam smirked. “I can’t believe you wrote ‘Most Strict’ on Mrs. Tamarack’s award….”

  Beatrice slumped in her seat. “It was supposed to be a compliment!”

  Sam raised her eyebrows. Her smirk deepened.

  This was not going well.

  Leaning forward, Beatrice asked Sam the question that had haunted her since yesterday. “What are you going to do with Wes’s award?”

  A bit of desperation tinged her voice.

  And her question came out as a demand.

  Sam crossed her arms and raised her chin. “I don’t know yet,” she said. Then, seizing her bag, she pushed herself out of the oversized cushion.

  This time, as Sam disappeared, she wasn’t a deep-sea diver slipping into nothingness. She didn’t shuffle out of sight. She stood a little straighter than normal, and stalked away with the confidence of a special agent.

  Beatrice studied the puppet in her hand.

  Under all the tangled yarn, Sam had two eyes and a smile. Beatrice leaned back and opened Sam’s book, pondering.

  Pieces of a plan flipped over in her mind as she leafed through the pages. She couldn’t see the full puzzle yet, but she saw enough to press forward.

  The first step was finding her partner in crime.

  Before Beatrice did anything else, Lenny deserved the truth.

  20

  TRUTH BE TOLD

  Beatrice didn’t have to wait long to talk to Lenny.

  Moments later, an opportunity crashed through the library doors.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” said Lenny.

  Her hair was disheveled, and her bangs were stuck to her forehead.

  “What’s going on?” asked Beatrice.

  “I can’t stand looking at his sad face one more second.” Lenny held up a finger. Her body bent over as she huffed and puffed and tried to catch her breath.

  Beatrice didn’t need to ask who Lenny was talking about.

  It had to be Wes.

  A smattering of kids dotted the tables around them. Too many of them were peeking in their direction.

  “Come on,” said Beatrice, grabbing Lenny’s arm and heading for the exit. “We need privacy.”

  Once the wooden doors thudded behind them, Lenny’s words tumbled out in a rush. “Did you know Chloe put up that ‘Girls Only’ sign just to keep Wes out? I just asked her to take it down, but it takes a long time to change Chloe’s mind.”

  Lenny paused and took a shaky breath.

  “I know there’s still a ‘Wanted’ poster, and I know it’s a really big risk, but I think we need to give Wes his award today.” Her earnest eyes peered into Beatrice’s face. “It’s still in your backpack, right?”

  Beatrice swallowed.

  “… I have Kinkajou Fever.”

  The admission came out in a mumble.

  Lenny stared at her blankly, so Beatrice said their emergency phrase again.

  This time louder.

  “I have Kinkajou Fever!” she half shouted.

  “I need you to be serious, Beatrice.”

  “I am being serious.”

  “Wait—” Lenny’s voice rose as the emergency phrase sank in. “You have Kinkajou Fever?!”

  Beatrice nodded.

  “If you think Wes’s face was sad today, you should have seen his f
ace when Chloe first put up that ‘No Boys Allowed’ sign.”

  Her eyes met Lenny’s.

  “I had to give him the award,” Beatrice explained.

  “He has it?” said Lenny. A breath of relief puffed out of her cheeks. “Wes already has his award?”

  Beatrice stared at the floor.

  “Actually …” she admitted, “Sam Darzi has it.”

  Lenny threw her hands in the air.

  “How is that even possible?”

  “I accidently put Wes’s award into Sam’s mailbox,” said Beatrice, grimacing.

  Lenny looked even more confused.

  “I was upside down,” Beatrice told her. “And Sam’s name looked a lot like Wes.”

  Lenny’s mouth dropped open. “Sam didn’t see you, did she?”

  “She definitely saw me,” said Beatrice. “Upside down and everything.”

  “This is really bad, Beatrice.”

  “The way I see it, we have two options.” Beatrice held up two fingers. “First, there’s Plan A.” She dropped one finger down. “We cut our losses and make a brand-new award for Wes.”

  “Okay,” said Lenny. She chewed her thumbnail. “That can work.”

  “Plan A has some downsides, though,” Beatrice warned. “If we don’t get Wes’s original UPSIDE back, Sam has a lot of evidence against us. Especially since she saw me delivering it.” She lifted her hand in apology. “And your stencils are all over it.”

  Lenny clunked her head against the wall.

  “Plan B better be good, Beatrice.”

  “It is,” Beatrice said. “All we need to do is make sure Wes gets the original award.”

  Lenny lifted her head. “How do we do that?”

  This was the one piece of the puzzle Beatrice knew.

  “We need Sam’s help.”

  “Sam doesn’t even talk to us—why would she help?” Lenny slid down the wall and plopped to the ground. “We are so doomed.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Beatrice. As the words came out, her confidence grew. “I think we have a chance.”

  “Plan B’s going to work,” Beatrice declared. “I’m almost sure of it.”

  She helped Lenny to her feet as the bell chirped noon.

  “Come on,” said Beatrice. “We can figure out the details while we eat.”

  The cofounders of Operation Upside strode toward the cafeteria with Beatrice’s cape billowing behind them.

  Flying high was so much easier than lying low.

  21

  PLAN B

  Wednesday was beefy nachos day in the cafeteria.

  Nothing compared to stuffed-crust pizza, but nachos were still good news.

  The nachos came with cheese, salsa, and a big scoop of meat in a styrofoam cup, which completely grossed Chloe out. While Chloe bit into homemade peanut-butter-and-jelly, Lenny and Beatrice stood in the lunch line, brainstorming Plan B.

  “Do you think Sam would make a trade?” asked Lenny.

  Beatrice shook her head. “Already tried that.”

  “Oh,” said Lenny. Her face dropped. “Then what’s the plan?”

  She stepped forward and grabbed two empty trays from the rack.

  Beatrice didn’t answer Lenny right away.

  Her concentration was elsewhere.

  Wes Carver was meandering through the maze of cafeteria tables. Instead of looking for rocks, he was searching for a seat.

  Lenny passed Beatrice a tray.

  Beatrice accepted it absently.

  “Let’s invite Sam to join Operation Upside,” said Beatrice. She slid her tray next to Lenny’s. “Everyone wants to be included, right?”

  Uncertainty clouded Lenny’s face.

  “Can we trust her?”

  Beatrice passed Lenny a boat of nachos.

  She spied Sam in the far corner of the cafeteria, at a table dominated by fourth-grade boys. As usual, their heads were clustered over their trading cards. Sam sat two seats over, her feet propped on the table, her face masked in a book.

  As if sensing Beatrice’s attention, Sam’s gaze flicked up. Still pretending to read, she eyed Beatrice through her dark shroud of hair.

  Beatrice picked up a cup of ground beef and a container of cheese. “I hope so,” she told Lenny. “She’d be a great spy.”

  Lenny regarded Sam with a slight smile.

  “That’s definitely true.”

  “So,” Beatrice asked. “What should we do?”

  Lenny carried her tray to the cashier.

  Consideration lined her face as they checked out.

  “This is going to take some work,” she said. “When we ask her, we need to get it exactly right.”

  Beatrice and Lenny utilized every spare moment of the afternoon to perfect their plan.

  During silent reading, Beatrice buried her nose in Morse code while Lenny mapped out every possible scenario in her journal.

  During Science, they weighed their options, then used Social Studies to vote on a winner. During Math, they broke down the plan

  and divided it into three parts.

  By the time the bell rang, Phase I was complete.

  At the buses, they parted ways. From that moment forward, Beatrice would be on her own.

  Lenny cleared her throat. “Call me when you get to the safe house,” she said. “We can practice your lines one more time. Then I’ll cross my fingers until I fall asleep.”

  Beatrice nodded gratefully.

  Echo Sierra had her back—even if she couldn’t follow her home.

  It was the second-longest bus ride of the week.

  Every second Beatrice spent on the bus was one less moment she could spend preparing for tonight.

  When Mr. Madeline, the bus driver, opened the door on her street, Beatrice darted past her sister—and her sister’s friends—and hurried down the block, with only a quick wave to Mrs. Jenkins as she sped by.

  Beatrice raced up the Zinkers’ porch and plowed through the front door. After pausing to greet Henry, she grabbed the phone from the kitchen counter and sprinted upstairs to make contact.

  “I made it to the safe house,” she said, out of breath, when Lenny answered.

  “Okay,” said Lenny, crunching what sounded like a carrot. “Let’s start with Scenario #1, then try Scenario #2. I’ll be Sam. And you be you.”

  Together they rehearsed Beatrice’s lines over and over, until she was more than ready. Lenny wished Beatrice good luck; then they hung up so Beatrice could prepare the supplies.

  After gathering everything on the list, she spent the next half hour memorizing Morse patterns, writing top-secret instructions, and perfecting her escape route.

  Exhausted, she collapsed on her bed.

  Phase II was done, but the hardest part was still ahead.

  Everything hinged on Phase III.

  The final piece of the plan required patience, careful timing, and a little luck. Beatrice watched for a window of opportunity when no one would notice her missing. All evening she was on high alert, watching for a moment of peak distraction.

  Her chance came halfway through dinner when Henry picked up his plastic utensils and started a drum solo.

  A few minutes into Henry’s performance, Beatrice paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. Her eyes roamed the table to see if anyone else heard what she was hearing.

  Henry’s drumsticks were banging out a pattern.

  Rat-a-rat-a-tat. Rat-a-rat-a-rat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-rat-a-rat. Tat-a-rat-a-rat.

  Beatrice stole a glance at her brother. He looked like an innocent baby, but she knew better. Henry was playing more than rhythm.

  He was playing letters.

  The same exact letters, over and over again.

  G-O-N-O-W-G-O-N-O-W

  Henry raised his spoons above his head and brought them down with a crash. Then, in perfect Morse rhythm, he spelled it out again.

  Rat-a-rat-a-tat.

  Rat-a-rat-a-rat.

  Rat-a-tat.

  Rat-a-rat-a-rat.
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  Tat-a-rat-a-rat.

  G O N O W !

  All her doubts disintegrated.

  Henry meant the message for her.

  This was her moment.

  Beatrice balanced her fork on the edge of her plate and downed the rest of her water. It was important to hydrate before a mission.

  “Pete?” said Nancy Zinker. “Do you think Henry’s too young for music lessons?”

  “Not when he’s got rhythm like that.” Pete Zinker reached into the drawer behind him for a pair of pencils and joined the noise. “The Zinkers are in the house!”

  Nancy Zinker rushed for the video camera.

  Henry was right.

  Her window was officially open.

  “May I be excused?” Beatrice asked.

  Her dad didn’t hear the question over the beat of his drumsticks.

  Her mother peered above the video camera. “Can you take some photos while I record this?”

  “I will!” Kate chirped.

  Beatrice raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  First Henry. Now Kate.

  More than luck was on her side tonight.

  Upstairs, Beatrice suited up.

  Phase III required the deluxe ninja suit.

  Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, Beatrice stepped through the window of opportunity and onto the roof. With a little wish and a lot of hope, she took a running leap and jumped into the mystery of Plan B.

  22

  PHASE III

  It only took four moves to get from her roof to Sam’s.

  Up close, Sam’s window looked the same as it did from a distance.

  All closed up.

  The blinds were drawn. The light was off.

  Beatrice crouched down and dug into her pack. Her flashlight was at the very bottom.

  With her eyes shut and her finger on the switch, she pressed the lens to the glass and concentrated on the patterns she’d practiced all afternoon.