The Holmes House common room was Amanda’s favorite place to hang out because it had a clear view of the back of the campus, which was beautiful even though some of the trees had no leaves and the lawn was still brown. Now she sank onto a hideous overstuffed green couch with pink flowers on it and curled her legs underneath her. Nick sat opposite in an equally atrocious bright yellow beanbag chair, settling in as if preparing to hear a long story.
A fire was crackling in the fireplace, and the clock, one of those old-fashioned school clocks that ticks every time the second hand moves, seemed louder than usual. Was it a new one? It sure looked like it. The school’s décor gremlins at work again, Amanda supposed. Sometimes she enjoyed the novelty of the constant change, and sometimes, like now, it was disorienting. There was a mood in the room that Amanda couldn’t describe—a creepy kind of silence that made her feel as if something terrible were about to happen.
“So,” Nick said. “You found something.”
“Actually, I didn’t. Not really.”
“Oh. I thought you said—”
“It’s not so much that I found something as that I have an appointment to find something.” She certainly wasn’t going to say “a date.”
“I see,” he said smiling. “An appointment, is it?”
“You laugh,” she said, “but I’ve got a plan. Don’t detectives always need a plan?”
“Indeed they do. Let’s hear it.” He looked eager. She liked the fact that he always seemed interested. It was inspiring to be listened to. Suddenly she felt that if she didn’t tell him her secret she’d die.
“Listen, the plan can wait. I want to tell you something.”
It was a risk opening up to him. She’d never done that before. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.
“Sure.”
She hesitated. “This is actually a secret,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m only telling you because you’re a filmmaker.” She thought that maybe if she led into the topic slowly, there would be a chance to bail if things went south.
“I’m honored.”
No such luck. If she didn’t tell him now she’d look like a tease. “I’ve been corresponding with Darius Plover.” She waited for his reaction.
“The director.” Of course he knew who Darius Plover was. How could he not?
“Yes.”
“Brilliant! Tell me.”
He didn’t think she was an idiot! Or if he did, he was doing a good job of hiding his true feelings.
“It started when I wrote to ask him about something that had been bothering me for a while. I was worried that my actors would leave.” She felt her face go red. Her moviemaking failures were embarrassing. Maybe she shouldn’t have started this. The ticking of that darn clock was becoming louder.
“Ha ha!” laughed Nick. “I don’t see how that could happen. You’re wonderful with me.”
Oh, brother. Her face was red enough already. He probably thought she was in love with him by now.
“Thank you. Er, just theoretically, of course. I’ve never had a problem like that.” As if. “I just wanted to make contact with someone I admire.” That was sort of true. It was the main reason she’d written to the director in the first place. Asking about actors was just her cover story so she’d have something to say other than, “You’re my hero.”
“Of course. Say, do you have to be somewhere? You keep looking at the clock.”
She didn’t realize she had been. It was rude and she reddened more.
“No, I don’t have to go. It’s just so loud today for some reason. Is it bothering you?”
“No, but I can do something about it. Let me find something to stand on.” He looked around the room.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Not at all,” said Nick, appropriating a wooden chair from the game table and dragging it over to the wall. “I’ll just . . .” He grabbed the clock and placed it down where he could look at it properly. “See?” he said, showing her the back. “There’s this little button. Oops. That didn’t work. It moved the minute hand forward. Hm.”
“You don’t have to do this. Why don’t you just put it back? I’ll be okay.”
“No. It’s bothering you and I’m going to do something about it. I just can’t find the control for the second hand.”
Suddenly he raised the clock above his head, threw it onto the floor, and stomped on it, shattering it into one huge piece and a bunch of smaller ones.
“What are you doing?” cried Amanda. Now they’d get into trouble again. How many infractions were you allowed before you were expelled?
“Fixing it,” said Nick.
“But you’ve broken it! Why did you do that?” She rushed to pick up the pieces.
“Only way,” he said, helping her.
“But it’s school property,” said Amanda.
“I’ll get them a new one,” he said.
“What if they find out?”
“They’ll never know who did it. Don’t worry. I’ll just get something to clean up this glass with. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Amanda couldn’t believe what she’d just seen. Nick didn’t care one iota if someone caught him. He wasn’t afraid of anyone. He was wonderful. If only she could be like that too.
He returned within about a minute with a whiskbroom and tray, and in another had cleaned up the mess entirely.
“Now there’s no clock in here,” Amanda said.
“No worries. I’ll just take one from some room no one ever goes in until I can get a new one.”
He was outrageous. She didn’t think she’d ever admired anyone more.
“So, as we were saying,” Nick said.
“Wha—?”
“Darius Plover. You were telling me about how you wrote to him.”
“Oh, right.” She’d completely forgotten about the director. “Uh, well, anyway, I really didn’t expect an answer, but he wrote back!” Her voice was too loud and she knew it.
“That’s wonderful! And he said . . .”
She hesitated, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Basically he told me what I already knew.”
“Yes.”
“That a director shouldn’t micromanage.”
“Sounds like good advice,” he said.
“Mmmm. So, of course I wrote back to thank him, and . . .” It was probably best not to mention her question about becoming a filmmaker when your parents are against it. “He wrote back again!”
“Splendid!”
“Anyway, now that I have this correspondence going and he’s so nice, I thought maybe I could ask him some things about explosions.”
“One of the foremost action directors working today. Who better?”
“That’s what I thought. I only wrote to him today, of course. I don’t even know if he’ll answer. But I thought . . .” She didn’t know if this was bragging or exposing herself. “He’d be a completely different source from the ones everyone else would use.”
“Absolutely brilliant, Amanda!”
She felt her face go hot. This amazing boy thought she had done something brilliant. When she got to her room, she’d pinch herself to see if she was really awake. “Thank you. Well, as I said, he may not write back.”
“But you had nothing to lose by trying.”
“No, I guess not.”
“I think you’re an excellent detective. And, I suspect, a genius of a filmmaker.”
She didn’t even want to speculate on what shade of red her face was now. “I don’t think—”
“Now don’t be modest. I can tell about things.”
“You can, can’t you? I get the feeling that you know lots of things no one else here does.” Was she looking all melty? She hoped she wasn’t. Red and gooey. What an image. She wished she were wearing her monster makeup right now. Then he wouldn’t be able to see anything.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m no different to the other students.”
Of
course he was. He wasn’t even the same species. Suddenly Amanda threw caution to the wind.
“Work with me,” she said, suddenly with no embarrassment whatsoever. She’d be fearless like him. No risk, no gain.
“Sorry?”
He hadn’t understood. She could still back out. Should she? No. He wanted her to do this. He’d just said as much. There might never be another chance like this.
“I’ve got a plan, and I really could use some help.”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
He said yes! He said yes! Let’s see what he says now. Here comes the part where I could lose him.
She hesitated. “I want to reenact the crime,” she said quietly.
His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face. “Brilliant! I love it.”
Gosh, he was positive. Amanda grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. “Nicholas Muffet, you and I are going to make a film.”
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 36