Chapter 8
The Class Project
Although she hated to admit it, after the first few weeks Amanda was starting to acclimate to everything at Legatum except the actual climate, which was abysmal. England was colder than her relationship with her parents, which she’d thought was about as frigid as anything could be. Sometimes it snowed and the landscape took on a kind of desolate beauty, which impressed her when her teeth weren’t chattering. Despite her ability to appreciate the cinematic possibilities of this new environment, she was so uncomfortable that she wore her parka much of the time, even in class, which elicited derision from the other students, who, she thought, had probably never even seen a real beach.
And then on Friday the first of February, something happened that shocked her.
She, Amphora, and Simon were talking in the first-floor hall, where the décor guys had installed shelves full of animal skeletons and prehistoric tools, when the dreaded subject of ancestry came up again. Amphora had said that Professor Tumble was descended from a distant relative of an extremely famous detective and Simon had gotten a weird look on his face.
“What? I suppose you’re going to tell me that that doesn’t qualify her,” said Amphora. “Just because the relative is distant?”
“No. I wouldn’t say anything like that,” said Simon miserably.
“What then? Why are you looking like that?”
“Looking like what?”
“Like a sheep that’s lost its cud,” said Amphora making a chewing face.
“You’re not very nice, you know that?” said Simon, straightening up as if trying to dominate her.
“I’m not very nice,” she said. “You’re the one who pounced on Editta about the luck thing.” She stretched her body upwards in competition. They were now the same height, although Amphora was teetering on her tiptoes and Simon’s feet were firmly planted.
“Hey, keep your voices down,” said Amanda. Sure enough some kids had stopped to stare at them.
Simon lowered his voice and moved in closer, which caused him to lose an inch or two. “I didn’t pounce. Superstition has no place in detection.”
“You did. You were right mean to her,” said Amphora, flattening her feet and trying to talk quietly, which made her words sound fuzzy and sibilant at the same time.
“Was not.”
“Were so.”
“Was not.”
“Cut that out,” said Amanda. “Now you’re both being mean. I can’t stand it.” She clenched her fists and screwed up her face. “And by the way, you were just mirroring each other with that height thing, which means you’re secretly in love.”
“Am not,” said Simon.
“I’m not either,” said Amphora.
“Shut up!” yelled Amanda. She studied Simon’s face and then it hit her. Something was really bothering him.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” she whispered, herding the little group into a corner.
“Look,” he said. “If I tell you, neither of you can ever say anything. Swear?” He looked at them hard.
“We swear,” said both girls.
He leaned in close. “Okay. Listen, then. I might not be a real detective.”
“What?!” they said in unison, causing several students passing by to turn and look.
“Shhh,” he said. “I might not belong here.”
“What do you mean?” said Amanda.
“You know how you were just talking about Professor Tumble being too distant a relative? My situation is even worse than that.”
“No,” said Amphora, who was once again shorter than Simon, if not by much.
He looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. “Yes. I’m on probation because my relative is a bit of an iffy connection. She’s sort of a relative by marriage. The stepdaughter of a second cousin of my mother’s.”
“You what?” said Amphora, stepping back as if hit by a dart.
“You heard right. Thrillkill let me in on the condition that I prove myself. If I don’t ace this first term, I’m out.” He looked so unhappy that Amanda wanted to pet him.
“Oh, brother,” she said. “That isn’t good. But do you really think they’ll care?” It seemed like a really stupid reason to expel someone. He was obviously qualified and seemed to care deeply about the profession.
“Yes, they will, so please, don’t tell anyone because they’ll try to sabotage me. You know what the competition around here is like.”
“What a stupid school,” said Amanda. She couldn’t believe people could be so petty. “Who cares who you’re related to? Everything should be based on merit. What is it with you Brits anyway?”
“It’s not a British thing,” said Simon. “It’s a detective thing.” He pulled at his cowlick.
“I’m so sorry,” said Amphora, moving back into the little huddle. “I didn’t mean to be mean. I didn’t know.”
“I know,” said Simon. “Just please don’t tell anyone.”
“We won’t,” said Amphora.
“No, of course not,” said Amanda.
“Good. Thank you,” said Simon, turning to go into the gents’.
“Do you believe this?” said Amphora when he’d gone.
“I’m as shocked as you are,” said Amanda. “I had no idea they could do this to people, or that Simon was in this position. Boy, he’s on thin ice, isn’t he?” She balled her fist and leaned her chin on it. She didn’t know him well, or even like him that much, but she wanted to do something to help him. Still, since he wasn’t actually in trouble that seemed rather pointless.
“Ha ha!” said Amphora. “Sure, if he goes outside.” Amanda was glad to see Amphora joking. Sometimes she got so prickly.
“Very droll.” Actually, it was, but she didn’t want to inflate Amphora’s ego. She was already difficult enough.
“Yes, I suppose that wasn’t very sympathetic.”
“He’s so smart,” said Amanda. “He’d be a great detective. How could they throw him out?” Her blood was beginning to boil. “We need to help him.”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do. And anyway, everything’s fine. What are you worrying about?”
“I don’t know. These detectives are hard-hearted. It’s like they’re not even people.”
“I guess they have to be like that,” said Amphora. “They have a tough life.” She was probably right, but Amanda didn’t like the implications.
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 23