Amanda, Ivy, and Nigel scooted off to their fires and explosions class. They wished they’d taken it last term, when the school’s garage had exploded as part of the class project. As they investigated the explosion and the fire it had started, the kids were unsure what to look for and how to preserve the evidence, but the teachers had structured the exercise to be difficult on purpose. They’d wanted to test the new class’s skill at handling an unfamiliar and dangerous situation. In the end, only Holmes House, which was where Amanda, Ivy, Amphora, Simon, Editta, and Nick had been assigned, had cracked the mystery. The other houses, especially Van Helden House, which included David Wiffle and Gordon Bramble, had resented them, going so far as to complain that Holmes House had cheated, which had not gone over well with the powers that be. Holmes House’s victory had helped melt Thrillkill’s icy exterior and led to him asking Amanda to teach the storytelling class.
The first thing Amanda noticed when she arrived at Professor Pole’s classroom was Scapulus Holmes sitting in the first row. Suddenly she remembered that she was supposed to take him under her wing and show him around. There was no way she could do that now. She’d rather be pulled apart by wild camels. Then she had a thought: maybe Thrillkill had forgotten. The kid looked like he could take care of himself just fine. He’d found his way around so far. What did he need her for? She’d done all right without a guide. What was the guy, five years old? He was a Holmes. She’d carry on normally and see what happened.
Professor Pole was an affable man in his forties. As a child he had been burned in a house fire, and half his face was scarred and some of his hair missing as a result. If you didn’t know him, you might be afraid of him because he looked kind of scary, but once he spoke he was so funny and nice that you quickly forgot.
Not only was Professor Pole fun to be around, he was also brilliant. A physicist by trade, he solved astrophysics problems in his spare time, a pursuit he found relaxing. He also hunted for fossils and had even discovered some dinosaur bones on a dig in Montana. The class promised to be challenging, useful, and fun, and Amanda was looking forward to it, despite the fact that she’d heard it could be dangerous. She was getting used to risk now and wasn’t nearly as worried as she’d been a few months before.
“Boo!” yelled Professor Pole while the students were still jabbering among themselves. A couple of the kids dropped things on the floor and one or two clutched their chests as if they’d had a heart attack. “Explosions. That’s exactly how they occur. They’re strong, sharp, loud, sudden, and almost always unexpected. But you can prepare yourselves for them, and that’s one of the things we’re going to learn how to do in this dynamite class. Ha ha!” He beamed, obviously proud of his little joke. A couple of the kids groaned, but quite a few of them broke into nervous laughter. Amanda felt her body tense up. She was just sure he was going to try to scare them again.
“You there, Mr. Bramble.” Professor Pole motioned to Gordon. “Come up here, please. That’s right. Don’t be shy.”
Gordon Bramble, a me-too sort of boy who normally relied on his friend David Wiffle to take the lead, looked embarrassed and confused, but he managed to get himself to the front of the class.
“Now, I want you to add this liquid to this beaker. Before you do, please put these goggles on.” Professor Pole pointed to a clear vessel that contained glittering blue powder. It was sitting in a pan. The liquid he was referring to resided in a smaller beaker that looked like the larger beaker’s child. Amanda had visions of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. What a great film that was with Boris Karloff. She should watch it again.
Gordon took the goggles and nervously fitted them over his eyes. They made him look like a deep-sea diver. He eyed Professor Pole tentatively, as if to say, “Please don’t make me do this.”
“All right, go,” said the professor. Gordon stood stock-still. “It’s okay. I promise.”
Shaking visibly, Gordon held his arm out as far as it would go and gingerly picked up the beaker with the clear liquid. Then, standing as far away from the large beaker as he could, he poured about a drop into it.
“More,” said Professor Pole. “Do the whole thing at once. Upsy daisy.”
This baby talk seemed to embarrass Gordon so much that he stood closer to the large beaker and dumped the clear liquid in, whereupon a sparkly blue explosion blasted out of it and overflowed into the pan. It made a snapping sound, like a whip being cracked. It was more show than danger, though. The stuff didn’t even get on Gordon’s clothes. He winced and turned away, then slowly pivoted around and, seeing what had happened, smiled from ear to ear.
“Awesome,” he said. “Can I do it again?”
“Yes, you may,” said the professor. “How about a different color? But first, let me explain what just happened. The large beaker contained baking soda with blue dye and glitter. The smaller beaker contained white vinegar. Perhaps you can smell it.” Gordon wrinkled his nose and nodded. “The baking soda and the vinegar reacted and caused the mixture to explode. So for you cooks out there, never mix those two ingredients together or you’ll have a birthday cake to remember. Now, Mr. Bramble, would you like to do the honors?”
“Professor, Professor,” yelled out David Wiffle. “Can I try?”
“You’ll get your turn, Mr. Wiffle. Let’s see what Mr. Bramble can cook up.”
Now that he knew he wasn’t going to die, Gordon really got into the experiment. He mixed several different colors of dye and glitter and put them all into the same container. The explosion they created looked like the Fourth of July. He got so excited that he managed to trip. As he started to fall, Scapulus Holmes raced to the front of the room and caught him before he crashed to the floor. Now Gordon was embarrassed again. He murmured a word of thanks and asked if it was okay to return to his seat. Professor Pole nodded.
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” said the professor. “That was quick thinking.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Holmes. Ivy was right. He did have a nice voice. He was probably a good singer. As if Amanda cared.
As he turned to go back to his seat, Holmes caught her eye. Oh no. He was probably out to get her after that awful thing she’d said. He stared for a second, then slowly began to smile in a way that seemed to say, “Thanks for the joke.” In spite of herself, Amanda felt her lips widen, and before she knew it she was grinning too. The boy gave her a wink. Wait a minute. Was he serious or making fun of her? Whatever he was up to, she would not be made a fool of again. She felt herself stiffen. Holmes and Moriarty, Moriarty and Holmes. They were two sides of the same coin. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought the ancestral Moriarty was cool. Well, she was over that bad girl stage. From now on she would give these guys the disrespect they deserved. She frowned. Seeing the change in her, Holmes’s face fell and he turned away.
Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy Page 92