When Amanda met up with Nick in the common room, she told him what she’d seen and explained that Simon hadn’t been able to find the cook. The room had been set up to resemble an ocean liner, complete with steamer trunks, wooden deck chairs in a variety of bright colors, and a shuffleboard court. She was starting to wonder about the décor gremlins’ taste, but since the point of the constant change was to help the students hone their powers of observation, she supposed whatever they did served its purpose, even if it could be aesthetically questionable.
“That’s strange,” Nick said. “Do you suppose there’s some kind of surprise planned? Some half-term party or something?” He was sitting on the largest trunk, which sported a huge Bahamas sticker.
“I suppose there could be,” she said, selecting a smaller one with a patch from Singapore. “Ouch! This thing bit me. Wait a minute. I just realized something.”
“What’s that?” he said, crossing his legs and assuming a lotus pose.
“The cook is getting rid of sugar, right? And the desserts have been tasting bland.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’re not a sugar freak. I am, and I’ve noticed that they taste pretty awful, so I haven’t been eating them much.”
“I can tell,” he said. “You look thinner.”
She stopped just as she was about to say that he was lucky he didn’t like sweets and blurted out, “I do?”
“Yes. You’re looking quite svelte,” he said, eyeing her up and down.
He was putting her on, but actually, she had noticed that her clothes were a bit looser. OMG!
“Er, thank you. But let’s think about this. No sugar, bland desserts. This third-year student, Olivia—I talked to her at dinner one night—tells me that this isn’t the norm around here. Not that school food is ever exactly gourmet, but she said that the desserts used to be much sweeter.”
“Really?” he said. “Now that’s useful information.”
“Yes. So that means the cook has recently started doing something with the sugar.” Then something dawned on her. “Wait a minute. Do you think this is the class project?”
“I don’t see how,” he said. “Everyone is convinced that the explosion is the project.” He got up and picked up a shuffleboard paddle.
“It does seem obvious, doesn’t it? But what if they’re testing us to see if we can tell the difference between a real and a fake project, or, OMG! What if the sugar is the project and the explosion was real?”
He thought for a few seconds. “I don’t know, Amanda, but we should document this for the film.” He placed a disk in front of the paddle and shoved. It was a perfect shot.
“Yes, of course. I’ll turn on the camera. Do you mind repeating this conversation?” she said.
He put down the racket. “I’m an actor. We can redo scenes forty or fifty times. Hundreds, if necessary.” There was that grin again. Would there ever come a time when it didn’t melt her?
“Silly me. My mind is so muddled I’m forgetting obvious things.”
“It’s happening to all of us. Let’s redo the conversation.” He straightened himself up, swept his hand over his face, and looked like a whole new person.
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 40