Dweeb

by Aaron Starmer

  Chapter 6

  WENDELL

  A pile of cash will buy a lot of video games, Wendell thought. Hours and hours of seclusion. If he’d been more aggressive, he might have grabbed it all and headed to the door with a “So long, suckers, I’ve got some Xbox to play!”

  Instead, he stared at it and wondered what it could mean.

  “A lot of money,” Snodgrass said. “Two thousand nine hundred sixty-five dollars, to be exact. Split five ways, it comes to—”

  “Five hundred ninety-three dollars each,” Wendell said automatically.

  “Exactly, Mr. Scoop, but you all would already know that, wouldn’t you?” Snodgrass sneered.

  “Is this the prize?” Bijay asked.

  “What prize?” Denton jumped in.

  Snodgrass laughed a little. “Don’t play dumb with me, boys. The jig is up. You’re caught. At least have the decency to admit what you’ve done.”

  “What have we done?” Eddie asked.

  Snodgrass clucked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head slowly. Then he opened his desk and removed a file folder. He smacked it down on the wood.

  “Earlier this year, I had the police department come in and take fingerprints of everyone,” he explained. “Do you remember that?”

  “Of course we remember that fascist bull—” Elijah caught himself before he swore, but his anger couldn’t be concealed.

  “I did it,” Snodgrass explained calmly, his reptilian eyes fixed on Elijah, “for your safety. Young kids go missing all the time. If you have their fingerprints, it sometimes can help an investigation. It can save lives. I never thought we’d be using them for this.”

  “And what exactly did you use them for?” Denton asked.

  Snodgrass shook his head again, as if pitying him. He opened the folder and tossed stapled stacks of paper in front of each of the boys.

  “You’ve all seen CSI?” he asked.

  Wendell looked down at the papers. They were riddled with legal mumbo jumbo, black-and-white reproductions of fingerprints, and mathematical graphs that even he would have difficulty translating. He looked back up at Snodgrass.

  “Well, it takes a little longer in real life,” he went on. “But it’s amazing what science can do. We’ve got the DNA evidence as well, if you want to see it. But fingerprints are so much easier to understand, especially for boys.”

  “Deoxyribonucleic acid,” Eddie blurted out.

  “Excuse me?” Snodgrass said loudly, shifting his gaze.

  “DNA,” Eddie whispered, “I understand what it is.”

  The vice principal’s hand swooped down like a vulture toward Eddie’s head. Eddie started to flinch but had nowhere to go. Snodgrass’s talons found their way to a perch on Eddie’s buzzed hair. He patted him lightly, as one might a small dog.

  “Of course you do, Mr. Green,” Snodgrass said softly. “And so you’ll know that evidence of this sort is … incontrovertible.”

  “Incontri-what?” Bijay asked.

  “Undeniable,” Denton explained.

  “I’m so glad I don’t have to dumb it down for you fellas,” Snodgrass said. “I’m too used to talking to Tyler Kelly.”

  This made Eddie chuckle a bit. Wendell knew a thing or two about Eddie—a troublemaker by reputation. He seemed harmless enough, but seeming was one thing and being was another.

  “Something funny, Mr. Green?” Snodgrass asked.

  “No, sir,” Eddie said quickly.

  “Good,” Snodgrass said. “See, boys, Mr. Green has met with me before. The rest of you have not. Mr. Green knows I don’t find mischief humorous. And crime, there is absolutely nothing funny about crime.”

  “I don’t understand,” Denton said. “What is this all about?”

  “Look at the top of the papers,” Snodgrass said stonily.

  Wendell looked closer. In the top right-hand corner of the papers was his name, printed in a tiny font. These were his fingerprints. By the looks on the other boys’ faces, he could tell they were looking at their own sets of fingerprints.

  “Next time you plan on stealing money from the bake sale, boys,” Snodgrass said, “wear gloves.”

  “Stealing?” Wendell said. The trouble he had wished for was now right in front of him, and it didn’t feel liberating in the least. It felt like a hand around his throat.

  “From the bake sale?” Bijay smiled, as if this were all a joke. “I would have taken brownies and Rice Krispies Treats, not mon—”

  “This is preposterous,” Denton said.

  “How exactly is it preposterous, Mr. Kensington,” Snodgrass said, “that after last week’s bake sale, the entire profit of two thousand nine hundred and sixty-five dollars went missing?”

  “Well, I had absolutely nothing to do with that,” Denton said.

  “Money.” Elijah sniffed. “Who needs money?”

  “So the bake sale was successful, then?” Bijay asked.

  Snodgrass tossed a small piece of paper onto the desk. “Two days after the sale,” he said, “I received this anonymous note.”

  It was written with snippets of paper and glue, just like a ransom note. Only the letters weren’t cut from magazines. They were quite clearly taken from school textbooks. Wendell tried to think of all the kids in school he’d seen defacing schoolbooks. Was Eddie one of them?

  Eddie happened to be the first one to speak up. “So who’s the dweeb?”

  “You’re the DWEEB,” Snodgrass said. “All of you are.”

  “What in the heavens are you talking about?” Denton snapped as he jumped to his feet.

  “Acronyms are nothing new to me,” Snodgrass said, calmly motioning for Denton to sit. “Denton. Wendell. Eddie. Elijah. Bijay. Take the first letters of each of your names, put them together, and you have—”

  “DWEEB!” Bijay announced happily.

  “And when I found five hundred ninety-three dollars in each of your lockers, covered in your fingerprints … well, there’s about one thing to assume,” Snodgrass went on.

  “Absurd,” Denton grumbled, sitting back down.

  “We don’t even know each other,” Elijah protested. “I’ve got nothing in common with these guys!”

  “I’d expect you to deny it,” Snodgrass said. “That’s why I searched everyone’s lockers. That’s why I had the tests done. That’s why I waited until all the evidence was in. It makes me sad to know that some of the school’s best students could be involved in such an awful incident.”

  “That’s right, we’re top-notch students. Why would we ever be involved in something this dreadful?” Denton said.

  “Even good students crack under pressure, or decide they’re entitled to something they don’t actually deserve,” Snodgrass said. “I have to admit, the name of your little crime syndicate is clever. DWEEB. Very appropriate. Yes, you’re clever boys. Criminal masterminds, though? Hardly.”

  “We were framed,” Elijah spoke up. “This is a classic frame-up.”

  Wendell nodded in agreement. It reminded him of a video game he used to play, where the main character woke up in a hotel room with a bag of diamonds and no memory as to how he got there. The cops were on his trail, and his mission was to prove his innocence.

  “Framed? A fine theory,” Snodgrass said. “One I even entertained. But honestly, who would want to frame you?”

  Wendell thought it over. Did he have any enemies?

  Bijay proposed the only possible suspect. “Tyler Kelly?”

  Snodgrass chuckled. “Tyler couldn’t frame a picture.”

  He had a point. Fingerprints, DNA, piles of cash? Tyler wasn’t capable of something so elaborate. And who had any reason to frame Wendell?

  “I’d like to call my lawyer,” Denton said.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Elijah scowled. “You have a lawyer?”

  “This is no time for lawyers,” Snodgrass said. “I haven’t even contacted the police.”

  “Really?” Wendell asked.

  “Of course,” S
nodgrass said. “I’d prefer not to make this public.”

  “Our parents?” Denton asked.

  “They don’t know a thing,” Snodgrass explained. “And they don’t have to. I have a proposition for you boys. Something to set things right.”

  Wendell turned to the others and they looked back warily. Snodgrass rose from his desk and straightened his wispy hair with his ghastly fingers.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  Snodgrass led them out of the office, into the halls, then through a door marked STAFF ONLY; they marched carefully and silently in his wake. Behind the door was a massive room filled with boilers and pipes, the coughing lungs of the school. It was hot inside, but that didn’t seem to bother Snodgrass at all. Wendell began to sweat.

  In the back of the room was an orange door. Snodgrass pulled his hand into his sleeve, then raised it to a panel of numbers, shielding the panel from view. He punched in a code through the fabric, and a click followed. He hoisted the door open with his elbow, and cool but stale air poured out. He held his hands out, coaxing the boys through the door.

  They walked single file down a set of stairs, Snodgrass at their heels. The stairs seemed to go on forever, down and down and down. Elijah might have been right about them barely knowing each other, but at that moment, Wendell was pretty sure the guys were thinking the same thing he was:

  Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no …

  He wondered if one of the others might be tempted to make a dash for it. Only problem was, Snodgrass blocked their escape. They had no choice but to continue their descent.

  When they finally reached the bottom, they gathered together on a small landing composed of a concrete floor. Skirting the bottom edge of the walls were small glowing lights, like the ones marking the aisles in movie theaters.

  In the soft glow, Wendell could just make out Snodgrass’s face. He couldn’t read anything into it, not whether the situation gave him pleasure or filled him with fear. It was as if, in the darkness, Snodgrass stopped pretending to have emotions at all.

  Again, he pulled his hand into his sleeve, cupped it over a panel of numbers, and typed in a code. There was another click. A hidden door without a handle popped out from the cinder-block wall, revealing a sliver of light. Snodgrass wedged his elbow into the crack and pried the door open. It sounded immensely heavy to Wendell, like the door to a bank vault, or maybe a tomb.

  Snodgrass ushered them into a small room. A series of fluorescent lightbulbs lined the ceiling, flickering out a sickly light. Three bunk beds lined the wall. Five desks and five chairs were lined up in two rows, like a miniature classroom. The floor was concrete; the walls were cinder block. A tiny bathroom without a door extended out from the corner.

  It was no bigger than Wendell’s bedroom, and Wendell’s bedroom was hardly big enough to contain him. Wendell took a deep breath of the stale air, hoping this was only a short visit.

  He turned away from the others and focused his attention on a large poster that hung on the back wall. It was a photo of a man dangling off a cliff, hanging on by his fingertips. It read:

  PERSEVERANCE: What the mind can conceive and believe, it can achieve!

  Snodgrass must have noticed, because he pointed up to the poster. “Believe it,” he said.

  Wendell stared at the image. Then he surveyed the room. With all the rumors and legends that made their way through the school, no one had ever mentioned a room like this. “What is this place?” he finally asked.

  “Oh,” Snodgrass said, “that all depends. It was built years ago. As a safe place. And it still is. But now I choose to look at it as your home.”

  “Pardon?” Denton said.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” Snodgrass said.

  “Let’s,” Elijah echoed contemptuously.

  Snodgrass ignored him and went on. “We all know what you did. And we all know it could land you in places you’d rather not be. The State of New Jersey has no problem sentencing children as adults. Especially for adult crimes—”

  “But—” Denton tried to break in.

  Snodgrass’s calm tone shifted to something much louder and more manic. “But! Mr. Kensington! You will shut your limey mouth! And you will listen to me! Because I am here to save you boys! I am here to help you!”

  Denton stepped back and slipped behind Wendell. It was almost as if he was expecting Wendell to protect him, but Wendell was just as tempted to step behind one of the other boys.

  Snodgrass cleared his throat and continued in a softer but still frightening voice. “This is what’s going to happen,” he said. “I am going to call your parents and tell them you’ve all been accepted to Mensa. It’s an organization for … well, let’s just say the gifted. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. And I’m going to tell your parents that you’ve all been called away to a secret Mensa meeting in Montreal. That’s in Canada. You know, the same place you tell everyone your girlfriends live!”

  Snodgrass snapped his fingers to emphasize the joke. Wendell hung his head. It was hard enough dealing with the eighth grade without having your vice principal ridiculing your romantic prospects.

  “I’m kidding, of course,” Snodgrass continued. “Girlfriends are not your areas of expertise. But I know you’re fine students. And because you’re fine students, and because the Idaho Tests are coming next Friday, you’re going to pay for your crimes in an appropriate way. For the next week you will live in this room. You will stay in this room. And you will do just one thing. You … will … study!”

  “Is that right?” Elijah said, angling toward the door.

  “And in a week,” Snodgrass said, stepping in Elijah’s path, “you will take the Idaho Tests. And you will, of course, get perfect scores. Do this for me … and all will be forgiven. And you will be released.”

  Wendell imagined what life would be like in the room. A week alone wouldn’t be so bad. But with four others there, things would get… difficult. He wondered if they’d want to talk with him.

  Wendell turned to Bijay, the one kind face in the room. Somehow, he had managed to keep smiling, even as he looked up at the completely manufactured poster.

  “It’s a nice poster,” Bijay said to him.

  “The poster,” Snodgrass said, “will be your motto. And silence will be your promise. Now hand over the cell phones, gentlemen.”

  Snodgrass extended his hand. Denton was the first one to follow the command. As he dug into his pocket and handed off his iPhone, he said, “An entire week? Alone in here?”

  “Oh, you’ll be fed,” Snodgrass explained as he collected the phones from the others. “Looked after. Trust me when I tell you this will be a lot more pleasant than a juvenile facility. Think of it as detention. A long detention.”

  “But we didn’t do anything,” Elijah insisted.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Snodgrass said, moving over to the door. “Or feel free to tell the police. I’m sure they’ll be sooo much more understanding than I am.”

  “Principal Phipps!” Eddie cried out. “We’d like to talk to him first! He’ll straighten this out.” Wendell nodded in agreement.

  “That would be nice, wouldn’t it.” Snodgrass smiled. “Thing is, no one knows where he is. He disappeared. Took an unexplained leave of absence yesterday. Could be in Tahiti by now. That’s right….” Snodgrass spoke slowly, stressing each word as he said it. “Principal Phipps is gone.”

  “But…,” Eddie said, his voice deflating.

  “But all you have for now is me,” Snodgrass said. “And all you have is this room. I’ll be back in an hour, and I’d like a decision.”

  Before they could say another word, Snodgrass took a step backward through the door and violently pushed it shut.

  Wendell stared at the door. He didn’t move for close to a minute. When he finally turned to look at the others, he found them in the same position: frozen. Confused. Scared.

  Then he heard something. Faint at first, but gradually getting louder. From deep within the walls �
�

  Grrrrrrrr …

  Wendell turned to Bijay quizzically. Then he slowly pointed to the boy’s round belly. He crossed his fingers behind his back.

  The well-worn smile fell from Bijay’s face, and he sadly shook his head.

  Chapter 7

  DENTON

  Denton sat on the edge of a bunk bed, dazed and quivering, wondering how his life had come to this. That morning he was a good student and, for the most part, a good citizen. Now he was a criminal. Accused criminal, anyway. Convicted one, really. Because what was this room if it wasn’t a prison?

  “This is a load of crap,” Elijah said, jumping down from an upper bunk.

  “Is that right?” Denton shot back. “How so? Because you expected to get away with it?”

  “What?” Elijah said.

  “Just admit it,” Denton said dismissively. “You stole the money. You’re the only one here who would do something so dreadful, what with your sloppy clothes and your … your frazzled hair.”

  “I think his hair looks cool,” Bijay said.

  “My frazzled hair?” Elijah said. “This is your evidence?”

  “Well, what else am I to think?” Denton protested. “None of these other blokes would have done it!”

  “Well, this bloke,” Elijah said, pointing to himself, “is apparently a regular Al Capone. Because not only did I steal the money, I also framed all of you in the process. And why? So we could be locked in a tiny room together for an exciting week of Snodgrass’s Vacation Study Camp. That about the gist of it?”

  Denton shrugged. “Don’t expect me to understand the whims of Americans.”

  “I knew a guy who once spent two weeks without ever leaving his attic,” Bijay announced.

  Denton paused. He wasn’t sure he had heard Bijay right.

  “But he might have actually been Cambodian … originally, anyways,” Bijay explained. “He was trying to break the world record. Turns out the record for not leaving your attic is like fifty years, so … so … he wasn’t very close.”

  Was this a joke? Denton had heard that Bijay was odd, the type of kid who whistled in class and said blissfully clueless things. Maybe it was all an act, like performance art. Or maybe he was slow. In either case, Denton had trouble trusting him. He had trouble trusting any of these guys.