“You came!” Emily exclaimed.
“You could tell it was me?” Mr. Griswold tugged his baseball cap lower on his forehead. “I was trying not to be recognizable.”
“Oh…” Emily and James exchanged a look. “You’re not too recognizable.” And it was true—most of the kids were paying more attention to each other than to any adults entering the gym. But Emily did see a couple of teachers look over, including Mr. Quisling, who did a double take before approaching.
“Excuse me,” Mr. Quisling said. “Are you—”
“This is my uncle,” Emily jumped in, knowing Mr. Griswold didn’t want to be recognized. “My great-uncle…” Her eyes fell on James’s hair. “Steve. We invited him to watch the game we planned.”
Mr. Quisling raised his eyebrows. “Your great-uncle Steve looks an awful lot like Garrison Griswold,” he said.
Mr. Griswold stepped forward. “You’ve got me, yes, and I apologize. Emily was only trying to help, as she knows I’m reluctant to make public appearances right now. But she is right—I am here in hopes of watching their game. I know they have been working very hard on it.”
Mr. Quisling accepted Mr. Griswold’s extended hand and shook it. “Well, Steve, it’s an honor to have you here.” Mr. Quisling, who was normally stoic, smiled in a way Emily had never seen before. For a fleeting second, her teacher looked boyish, and almost shy.
“I’m not sure when I’ll have this opportunity again, so I have to tell you how meaningful Book Scavenger has been to me,” their teacher said. “It’s something I did with my son. We went through a rough patch when his mom and I divorced, and Book Scavenger gave us something to build a new relationship around. He’s in college now and has no time for the game, but we still talk about old hunts and share book recommendations.”
Mr. Griswold smiled. “That’s wonderful to hear. Thank you for sharing that.”
“I can’t seem to let the game go yet, even though my son’s moved on,” Mr. Quisling confessed. “You’d be surprised at the people I’ve reconnected with while playing.”
Emily realized her teacher might be thinking of Miranda Oleanda. This was her opportunity to speak up about Coolbrith. She swallowed repeatedly, closed her eyes, and said, “About that.”
She opened her eyes expecting Mr. Quisling, Mr. Griswold, and James to all be staring at her, but instead they were staring at Vivian, who had joined their circle.
“It’s time to start the game,” Vivian said.
The gym had filled up. The lights were still bright—they’d lower them after their obstacle course, when the dancing started. Kids were clustered around the room in circled groups and staggered lines. One dressed as something that looked like a warrior squid and another dressed as a Pikachu kept trying to mess with the game setup, but Devin and Kevin guarded the obstacle course vigilantly, chasing them away by charging at them with their cardboard box heads lowered.
Vivian cleared her throat and stared pointedly at Emily, as if she was waiting for her to say or do something.
“What?” Emily finally said.
“It was your idea,” Vivian said. “You explain it. The DJ has a microphone.”
“In front of everybody?” Emily squeaked.
Vivian was so take-charge about everything, it had never occurred to Emily that she wouldn’t take charge of this, too. That feeling of being zipped up too tight in her clothes came back, the same way she’d felt at Hollister’s party. Emily looked at James. Maybe he’d volunteer to lead it.
“The game is great,” he said. “And it was your idea. You deserve the credit.”
Mr. Griswold set a hand on her shoulder. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate speaking in front of crowds?”
He had to be pulling her leg to make her feel better. Garrison Griswold, the Willy Wonka of book publishing, creator of Book Scavenger, and planner of outlandish games and activities couldn’t ever feel the same way she did now.
“Ponder this,” he continued. “Everybody is thinking about themselves right now, not you. Many of your fellow students might be feeling anxious for their own reasons. Games can be wonderful for shaking the seriousness out of people and bringing them together. Look at all these students eyeing your game contraptions.”
The twins had fended off the squid warrior and Pikachu, but there were more curious observers pointing at the crepe paper or trying to peek in the large cardboard boxes that sat at the starting line.
Mr. Griswold continued, “Think of it like you’re passing on information. That’s it. You don’t have to be a zany game show host or a comedian. Just be you, explaining how to play a game. If you need a friendly face to focus on, look for me.”
“Or me,” James chimed in.
“I fully support you as well,” Vivian said. Her clipboard was pressed to her chin, and she gripped it so tightly her knuckles were white. Her unblinking eyes looked worried, and Emily realized that Vivian, of all people, was also anxious about talking in front of the crowd. What did you know? Take-charge, no-nonsense Vivian, who didn’t have any qualms about approaching students in the hallway to sign up for the dance committee, did not want to stand in front of the gym with a microphone.
“Are we starting the game?” Kevin and Devin joined their group, with Nisha and Maddie following behind.
“You’ll do fine, Emily,” Mr. Quisling said.
Her stage fright must have overridden her worries about coming clean to Mr. Quisling because she blurted out, “You haven’t been book hunting tonight, have you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Before you came into the gym? You haven’t found any books hidden on campus tonight, have you?”
Mr. Quisling frowned. “I’m here to chaperone the dance, not book hunt, Emily.”
“Right. That’s what I thought.”
“You can get the mic from Charlie, Em,” James said. His way of reminding her that even if her suspicion about him was right, nothing could happen while Charlie was on display in front of the whole room.
“Okay. But, Mr. Quisling, I need to talk to you about something after the game.”
Her teacher looked bemused but nodded.
Emily took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
Vivian accompanied Emily up to the stage, half guiding and half pushing. Charlie handed Emily the mic. “Push the switch to turn it on,” he said.
Classmates and grown-ups were scattered around the room. Some were already facing her, but most were still involved in conversations or goof-off dancing. Off to the side were James and Vivian, Kevin and Devin, Maddie and Nisha. Mr. Griswold stood behind them and gave her a thumbs-up. Those are my friends, she thought to herself, marveling for a moment that in a matter of months she had transformed from someone too shy to talk to anyone at the new schools she moved to, into a dance committee member leading her classmates in a ridiculous and hopefully fun game.
Charlie softened the music, and Emily spoke into the microphone.
“Hi, everyone.” Her mouth bumped the mic as she spoke, muffling her words. She pulled back and tried again. “Welcome to the Presidential Valentine’s GameCon Dance.” She waved to the banner over her head, and people in the room cheered.
CHAPTER
40
THE FACES STARING at her became a blur as Emily explained the game just as Mr. Griswold had coached. Before she knew it, she was done talking. The sudden buzzing of conversation made her realize the gym had been fairly quiet as she spoke. There had been no heckling or laughs as she explained the game, and now that she was done people were starting to volunteer for teams or standing off to the side looking indifferent. Nobody seemed to think this proposed game was ridiculous. Emily stepped down from the stage feeling buoyant with relief.
There ended up being three teams of ten people. The rest of the seventh graders at the dance crowded on either side of the gym to watch.
Emily stood with her Teddy Roosevelt team members, who included Maddie and Kevin. James had been sorted onto Team Abraham Linco
ln with Nisha. Devin and Vivian were on Team George Washington. Charlie played the sound of a loud clown horn to start the race, and they were off, the first member of each team digging through their cardboard box to find the three costume items they had to put on before proceeding through the obstacle course. Silly fast-paced music played in the background but was quickly drowned out by the shouts and claps of students.
When it was Emily’s turn, she dug through the box to grab a tie to loop around her neck, slapped a mustache under her nose, and held the spectacles over her eyes as she began hopping from Hula-hoop to Hula-hoop. The crepe-paper maze was tricky to climb over and crawl under with the tie that hung down and her stiff Scrabble costume, but at least her team didn’t have to wear a top hat. She ran to the skateboard and could sense someone in the next aisle coming up behind her. Before she knew it, the tails of James’s too-large suit jacket were flying past.
Emily’s Teddy Roosevelt team came in second in the obstacle course and faced off against Team Abraham Lincoln in the balloon stomp. As Emily ran, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Griswold on the sidelines throwing his head back in laughter. Mr. Sloan wore an Uncle Sam hat and clapped along. Mr. Quisling stood with his arms crossed over his chest but a smirk on his face, and she even saw him laugh once.
It was a wonderfully ridiculous moment, all these kids scrambling around with mustaches hanging off their lips or top hats angled over an ear, the loud pops as balloons were stomped, the happy shrieks. Even Maddie was smiling, which made Emily feel oddly proud. She and Maddie teamed up to chase James, trying to stomp his balloon. Just when they’d cornered him, Emily felt a tug on her ankle and her balloon burst. Nisha flashed a grin and said, “Sorry!” before racing away.
Emily didn’t even care that she was out of the game. She stood next to Mr. Griswold on the sidelines and cheered with him, “Go, Teddy Roosevelt!” But it was team Lincoln that ended up being victorious.
After the game, James jogged over to Emily and Mr. Griswold, his Abraham Lincoln beard pulled down around his neck and surviving balloon still tied to his ankle.
“What a game!” Mr. Griswold said. “What inspiration!” He looked up to the gym rafters with a daydreaming smile on his face. His eyes twitched side-to-side, like he was watching action on a movie screen, and his face lit up in a way Emily had only seen before in his Book Scavenger videos. “Oh, yes, I can see it now.” Mr. Griswold stepped between Emily and James, squeezing them to his sides. “Thank you both. Truly. I have to go now—I hope you understand. Ideas are like bubbles; there’s a limited amount of time before they pop.”
Lifting his ball cap in good-bye, Mr. Griswold walked to the exit, turning back to wave once. “I can’t wait to share this with you!” he called.
“We can’t wait, either,” James called back.
Emily couldn’t stop waving her hand, even after Mr. Griswold turned away. The exhilaration of the relay race going over well combined with seeing Mr. Griswold so joyful overpowered her. It wasn’t until one side of the banner hanging over the DJ table dropped onto the floor and her thoughts turned back to Charlie that she finally stopped moving her hand.
Charlie acted like he hadn’t noticed the fallen sign, fiddling with a dial on his equipment. Mr. Quisling jumped onstage to fix the banner.
Emily drew in a deep breath. “Let’s go talk to him,” she said.
“Hold on.” James bent down to pull the balloon from his ankle. He held the string as they walked, the balloon hopping behind him like an eager puppy.
They stood at the base of the stage waiting for Mr. Quisling to finish pressing down the poster tape. When he was done, he jumped to the floor and looked surprised to see Emily and James standing there. Shouting over the music and a group of girls squealing about the song that had begun to play, their teacher said, “I haven’t forgotten you two! The fog machine solution was left in the break room. I need to grab that for the DJ so he can turn on the machine, and then you can tell me what you wanted to say.”
Mr. Quisling walked off without waiting for their reply.
James tugged Emily’s sleeve. “C’mon, let’s just have fun for a little bit. Mr. Quisling isn’t going to look for the book during the dance. Charlie clearly isn’t up to anything evil right now.” He gestured to the DJ, who was in the middle of an enormous yawn.
It was hard to feel worried when laughing kids and peppy music surrounded you. The more time that passed after their visit to Coit Tower, the more Emily questioned if they’d really seen what they thought they saw. It had been raining so much, after all. Maybe the fire had been some kind of trick of light—a reflection of lightning in a puddle that they mistook for sparking. And while Charlie’s excuses for what he’d been doing during Hollister’s fire didn’t add up, James was right in that she couldn’t conclusively say he started the fire in the bookstore, either.
“C’mon.” James waved for her to follow him as he joined the rest of their committee on the dance floor. The twins had removed their Minecraft heads and layered on every presidential costume piece and were doing goofy dance moves that looked like they were trying to get gum off the bottom of their shoes. Nisha, Maddie, and even Vivian were Hula-hooping.
Mr. Quisling returned carrying a large jug, but Emily decided James was right. What difference would it make telling him what they knew right this very second? This could wait.
James picked up a fallen Hula-hoop and balanced it on its side, twisting it into a rotating blur.
Through the spinning Hula-hoop orb, Emily watched Mr. Quisling crouch next to the fog machine, twist off the jug lid, and pour the liquid. That was the last thing she remembered seeing before the fog machine exploded.
CHAPTER
41
AT FIRST, EMILY couldn’t make sense of what she was watching. The fog machine jumped, and Mr. Quisling did this weird backward crablike hop away from it. A piece of the fog machine launched into the banner, which ripped and wavered unsteadily. There was a sound, like a really large balloon had popped, but everyone for the most part kept dancing and goofing off. Emily didn’t know if that was because the repetitive beats of dance music muffled it, or because they’d just played a game that involved popping balloons so the sound didn’t stand out as bizarre.
The fog machine rattled with a succession of smaller pops, like a firework was trapped inside. People nearby started to take notice, gawking like Emily and James were.
Mr. Quisling stayed where he’d fallen, sitting up but slouched, staring at the fog machine like he’d been stunned.
The pops became more insistent, and the machine jerked around more violently. Steam hissed up at an unnatural rate, immersing the DJ booth in its cloud. The people closest to the stage dropped to the floor and covered their heads or ran away.
From the opening where Mr. Quisling had poured the solution, an orange flame rose like a hand waving for attention. The banner overhead became unstuck once again and the paper swooped down. It made a perfect bridge for the flame to jump to.
“Fire!” Emily cried.
Understanding spread like a growing wave. Shrieks reverberated, but not playful like the ones that had filled the gym only minutes earlier during the game. Drifts of students and chaperones on the far side of the room surged toward the commotion, not understanding what had prompted the sudden distress, while those who understood were pushing them back or racing toward the exit.
Mr. Quisling broke from the spell he’d been under. He propelled himself to the wall, where he pulled a fire alarm. The bleating siren overrode the music. Teachers began corralling students and aiming them toward the exit. Their voices rose above the fray, “Remember our drills! Everybody stay calm! File outside!”
At the smell of smoke, Emily’s body seized up. She coughed reflexively, even though the gym was much larger and more open than Hollister’s bookstore, but the memories of the previous fire triggered her reaction. A teacher retrieved a fire extinguisher and began dousing the banner and fog machine. James grabbed Emily’s arm,
pulling her away from the stage.
Outside, the evening buzzed. Everyone was supposed to gather in an organized fashion on the front lawn, like they had practiced a couple of months ago in a drill, but the students were a spilled bag of marbles that the adults frantically and unsuccessfully tried to gather up. A teacher marched by and yelled, “We need the attendance chart! Who has the attendance list for the dance? Nobody go anywhere until we make sure everyone is accounted for!” But some kids had already started walking home, either not hearing her or just blatantly ignoring the instructions. Others were on phones calling their parents.
A fire truck arrived, along with an ambulance and police cars.
“Why is there an ambulance?” Emily asked, worried that Mr. Quisling was injured.
“I don’t know,” James said.
Men and women jumped out of the emergency vehicles and ran into the gym. “Why is there an ambulance?” James called as they passed by, but they charged inside without answering.
Overheard conversations made it clear that nobody really understood what had gone wrong. The stories ranged from the DJ booth catching fire to Mr. Quisling defusing a bomb.
“This was Coolbrith,” Emily whispered.
James pulled off the Abraham Lincoln beard and threw it on the ground.
“Charlie brought the fog machine.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think he would do this.”
“We have to warn Mr. Quisling,” Emily said. “What if Charlie has more planned?”
James didn’t argue with her. They ran together back toward the gym, but Mr. Sloan stepped in their path, hands up like a traffic cop.
“Can’t go in there, kids. We’ve got to let the fire department do their job,” he said. “You’ll be able to collect anything you left inside later.”
“We need to talk to Mr. Quisling,” James said. “It’s important.”
Emily scanned the gathered crowds outside. The gym had been evacuated, but their teacher was nowhere to be seen, or Charlie, for that matter. “Why hasn’t he come outside yet? Is he okay?” Emily asked.
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