“Nothing’s going on,” grumbled Kermit. “These nimwads are just annoying me, that’s all.”
Daisy stared at Kermit, as cool as a cucumber. “How are we annoying? We’re just congratulating you on your math quiz.” She pointed at Baxter, Irwin, and myself. “These guys were really impressed.”
“Yeah,” I said, “you did better than me.”
“Well, whose problem is that?” Kermit sneered. Then he looked at his friends. “Let’s go, you guys.”
“Not yet,” Daisy said. Irwin, Baxter, and I suddenly tensed up. Daisy had always been the bravest one of us all. She was the one who had first confronted Baxter, back when he was a bully just like Kermit. “We just want to know one other thing,” Daisy added. “Did you … maybe—”
“I’M DONE TALKING TO YOU GUYS!” Kermit yelled, losing his temper. He put his hand in the water fountain and flicked some water in our direction. “SCRAM!”
By now the hallway was pretty clogged with people, and a few teachers had noticed what was going on, since kids were late for their next class. I looked up and saw Ms. Owenby and Mr. Klondike together, walking straight toward us.
Kermit saw them too. “Dad!” he called. “These guys are hassling me! Tell them to leave me alone!”
Mr. Klondike looked shocked, because usually it was the other way around, with Kermit doing the hassling. He stared down at the four of us. “Is this true?” he asked. “Are you children bothering Kermit?”
Irwin looked like he wanted to crawl off the side of the earth. Baxter didn’t look quite as terrified as Irwin, but he looked plenty scared. Even Daisy didn’t seem able to form any actual words with her actual mouth.
So I decided to step up. I was the founder of the CrimeBiters, after all. It was my duty.
“I’m very sorry to have to report this, sir, but we believe that Kermit was the one who stole the answer sheet.”
Everyone in the hallway gasped. Ms. Owenby looked like she swallowed a ghost.
Mr. Klondike’s eyes went wide with shock. “Excuse me?”
“It’s true,” I said, forging ahead. “We wouldn’t say anything unless we were totally sure. He was acting really weird when we were talking about it yesterday, and today he got a hundred on his quiz. I feel terrible to have to tell you this, but the evidence is clear.”
I noticed Chad Knight shake his head in disappointment. “Tattletale,” he murmured, and a bunch of other kids nodded in agreement.
“Hey, we’re solving a crime!” Irwin sputtered, finding his voice. But none of the other kids seemed to look at it that way. Even though everyone thought Kermit was scary and obnoxious, they seemed to think that we were the bad guys.
FACT: When you’re a kid, tattling on someone is pretty much the worst crime there is.
“Chad, you don’t understand,” I said, but he just shook his head, and I realized that we weren’t going to be considered heroes after all.
“Dad!” fumed Kermit. “These guys are lying! You know I would never do that, ever! I’m great at math when I try!”
“I want to believe you, Kermit, I really do.” Mr. Klondike looked at his son, and then at Ms. Owenby. “Miriam? Is this possible? Do you think my son could have done this?”
Ms. Owenby had this weird, panicky look on her face, and all of a sudden my forehead started dripping with sweat and I got a sickening feeling in my stomach. Because somehow, I knew what she was going to say before she said it.
“Uh … well … it turns out the answer sheet wasn’t stolen after all,” Ms. Owenby said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I—I misplaced it, that’s all. It was under some other papers in my office mailbox, where I found it this morning.” She looked like she wanted to follow Irwin off the side of the earth, but instead, she somehow managed to look at Mr. Klondike. “In fact, I was just about to tell you, Seymour. I’m so very sorry.”
I couldn’t even enjoy the fact that Mr. Klondike’s first name was Seymour. Instead, I felt the blood drain out of my face, and I’m pretty sure my fellow CrimeBiters felt the same thing.
“HA!” Kermit bellowed in my face. Then he did the same to Irwin, Daisy, and Baxter. “HA! HA! HA!”
“Let’s clear the hallway, please,” said Mr. Klondike. “Everyone, off to class. Let’s go.”
Then he turned to the four of us.
“I will need to see all of you in my office after school,” he said. “And I will be calling your parents.”
He walked off, and Ms. Owenby slinked away, and the rest of the kids scattered, leaving Irwin, Daisy, Baxter, and myself standing there—alone, embarrassed, and ashamed.
A single thought was going through my mind.
I wish it were yesterday.
MR. KLONDIKE’S OFFICE was way too small for four kids and their parents, so we met in the teacher’s lounge. There were a bunch of posters of other countries on the wall, almost as if the teachers liked to go in there and close their eyes and imagine they were in India or Kenya, instead of a classroom with a bunch of goody-goody tattletales with overactive imaginations.
My dad was there, and Irwin’s mom, and Baxter’s mom. Daisy’s parents both worked in the city, so she got off parent-free. So lucky.
“Thank you all for coming,” Mr. Klondike began. “We spoke on the phone about why you’re here, so we don’t have to go over all that again. But I thought it was a good idea to discuss with the children how this happened, and why it’s so important that it never happen again.” His eyes bore in on the four of us. “Would any of you like to begin?”
I was pretty sure he didn’t want the honest answer to that question. We shifted uncomfortably in our seats. So did our parents.
“Jimmy, how about you?” Mr. Klondike suggested.
Ugh.
“Er … well, it’s really bad and wrong to tell on your friends,” I said. “Even if they’re not technically your friends.” And especially if they’re the son of the vice-principal.
“We’re really sorry we did that,” Baxter added.
“Totally sorry,” Irwin chimed in.
Only Daisy didn’t answer.
“Young lady?” Mr. Klondike asked her. “Do you agree with your friends here? Is that why we’re all gathered in this room?”
She whispered something so softly that nobody could hear her.
“Could you repeat that?” asked Mr. Klondike.
“I don’t think so,” she said, slightly louder.
Mr. Klondike nodded. “Correct, Miss Flowers. That is not why we’re here. If a student does something wrong or illegal, and you know it beyond a doubt, it is in fact your responsibility to alert a teacher or administrator, although I do understand that it may make you unpopular with your peers for a time. But it is the right thing to do.”
“Why are we here, then?” Baxter asked.
Mrs. Wonk, who had this look on her face like she had just smelled a dead fish, lifted her head up. “Why don’t you answer that, Irwin? Surely you know the answer.”
“I do?” Irwin looked around nervously, then cleared his throat. “I guess, maybe, because Kermit is Mr. Klondike’s son?”
“NO!” Mr. Klondike said, dropping his pen angrily on the table. “Have we taught you children nothing in this school?”
“I think I know,” I said.
All heads turned in my direction.
“It’s wrong to accuse somebody of something if you don’t know all the facts.”
Mr. Klondike took a deep breath and sat down. “Thank you, Mr. Bishop,” he said. “You are absolutely correct.”
“Good job, son,” said my dad, even though he looked incredibly disappointed in me when he said it.
Baxter’s mom sat up straighter in her chair. “It’s this gang of theirs,” she said. “The CrimeBiters.”
Mr. Klondike looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bratford, the what?”
“The CrimeBiters,” she repeated.
“That’s not fair,” said Mrs. Wonk. “The CrimeBiters is a wonderful thing. It’s t
he first time my son has really felt a part of something, and I’m so grateful.”
Mrs. Bratford harrumphed. “Yes, well, they practically think they’re detectives in the Quietville Police Department, and it’s slightly ridiculous, don’t you think?”
I didn’t blame Mrs. Bratford for not being huge fans of the CrimeBiters, since our first official act of business was to catch her husband stealing my mom’s favorite diamond necklace. But still, what she was saying was very upsetting. At least I knew my dad would never agree with her.
“I agree,” my dad said.
I stared at him in shock. “What? You do?”
He nodded. “It’s great that you have this group of friends,” he said. “But as we’ve discussed before, it can sometimes go too far. You are young children, after all. It’s a good idea to remember that every once in a while.”
“I agree as well,” said Mr. Klondike. “While your aims are noble, it is very important to leave the crime fighting to the police.”
“Crime biting,” Daisy corrected him, very softly.
“That’s right,” I said. “We named it that because of Abby, my dog. She has helped solve a lot of cases for us.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Irwin said.
“I would,” I said.
“Here we go again,” Baxter said.
“Everyone stop!” Mr. Klondike looked at his watch. “I have a meeting down at the Board of Education, so I’m afraid we must bring this meeting to an end. Thank you all for making the time to come in today.” He shook all the parents’ hands, then turned to the four of us. We were still sitting in our chairs, waiting for something terrible to happen. Would we be suspended? Have after-school detention for the rest of our lives? Be made to clean the bathrooms for a year?
“You four are free to go,” said Mr. Klondike.
We all looked at each other, confused. “We are?” asked Daisy.
“Yes.” Mr. Klondike stood directly over us, blocking the light from the fluorescent lamps, almost like a total eclipse of the sun. “I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson here today. Good afternoon.”
As my dad and I walked to the car, neither of us said a word. Finally, halfway home, he turned to me and asked, “What were you thinking?”
“I was trying to help,” I said.
“It is important to do the right thing,” he said. “But it is more important to do the correct thing.”
I stared out the window. “I’m really sorry, Dad.”
He sighed. “It’s okay, as long as you’ve learned something. You don’t need to be a hero all the time. I know you’re trying to be like that guy in STOP! POLICE!, or that vampire in those books you love, but you’re forgetting one important thing.”
I looked at him. “What’s that?”
My dad sighed. “They’re not real.”
DINNER THAT NIGHT was not fun.
The not-fun part began as soon we sat down, when my mom said, “Your father and I have been talking.”
FACT: Whenever your mom starts with “Your father and I have been talking,” you can be pretty sure that the rest of the conversation is not going to be good.
“Uh-oh,” said Misty, who was staring at her phone.
“No devices at dinner,” my dad told her.
“But—” Misty began. Then she looked up, saw the expressions on my parents’ faces, and quickly put her phone away.
My mom continued. “I heard about what happened at school today, and obviously I’m very disappointed. There are few things more serious than accusing somebody of doing something that they didn’t do.”
“I know that,” I mumbled.
“Do you?” My mom put her fork down, which was a sign that she really meant business. “I feel like you’re more concerned with proving to everybody what a brilliant detective you are. Well, I have news for you, Jimmy. You’re eleven years old. Most detectives are quite a bit older than you.”
“Like by thirty years,” Misty said, as if I didn’t get the point.
“Jimmy,” said my dad. “We know how much the CrimeBiters means to you. We really do. But we need to put the brakes on this whole thing for a little while.”
I wasn’t quite sure what I was hearing. “What?” I said. “Are you serious? You want me to stop hanging out with my best friends?”
“Of course not,” my mom said. “We think it’s great that you have such close friends. But this idea you have, that the club’s main objective is solving crimes—that’s what we’re concerned about. Why can’t you just be a normal group of friends, who do normal, group-of-friends things?”
“Are you serious?” I asked desperately. “You want me to be normal? You’re the ones who are always telling me to be my own person, to stand out, to not feel like I have to be like everyone else!”
“Standing out is great,” my dad said. “Standing out for the wrong reasons is not.”
“FORGET YOU GUYS!” I lurched out of my chair. “Come on, Abby. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Sit down, please,” said my mom, but I pretended not to hear. Abby followed me as we went outside. I put her leash on and we walked for twenty minutes until I found myself in front of the Boathouse. I stood there and stared at the place where the gang was formed, and where we had our meetings. It used to be the best thing ever. How did it all go so wrong?
I bent down and petted Abby. “I’m sorry, girl.” She licked my hand.
Then I realized it was going to be dark soon, so I took a deep breath.
“Let’s go home,” I told Abby.
We ran all the way.
“WHAT DO YOU guys want to do?”
I was at Baxter’s house after school, watching Baxter do yet another math problem. Irwin was sitting next to him, drumming his fingers on the table, waiting for him to finish. Daisy was reading a book and kicking her legs into the back of my chair, trying to annoy me. It was working.
“What do you guys want to do?” I repeated, since no one answered me the first time.
Daisy looked at me. “What do you mean? We’re helping Baxter.”
“I’m really starting to get the hang of it,” Baxter said.
Irwin rolled his eyes. “Do you think maybe you could get the hang of it any faster?”
“I meant after,” I said. “We’re going to be done tutoring Baxter soon, and we need something to do before dinner.”
I didn’t have to say it, because it was obvious: ever since the whole Kermit Klondike disaster, we were all a little nervous about doing any CrimeBiters stuff.
I looked down at Abby, who was lying at my feet. Even she looked bored. I almost wished Daisy had brought Purrkins, because at least it would have provided a little excitement. But it turns out cats never really leave the house they live in. Isn’t that crazy?
FACT: I would not want to be a cat.
“Don’t you have your volunteer thing at the shelter?” Irwin asked. “It’s Thursday, don’t you usually go there on Thursdays?”
I shook my head sadly. “Not anymore, now that Shep has to close the shelter.”
“Ugh,” Daisy said sadly. “That stinks.”
“You’re telling me.” I got up and stretched my legs, just to have something to do. Abby got up and stretched her legs too. We looked at each other like, Now what?
And then, from one second to the next, I had an answer to that question.
“Maybe you guys can help me save it.”
Baxter looked up from his scribbling. “Help you save what?”
“The shelter.” I started walking around his kitchen as I got more excited by the idea. “When I told my dad that I wanted to help Shep keep the shelter, he looked at me like I was crazy. But there has to be a way, right?”
Daisy got up and started pacing with me. “And technically, it wouldn’t be a CrimeBiters activity, because we wouldn’t be solving a crime, right? We would be helping a person with their business.”
Irwin looked skeptical, as usual. “Hold on a second. Didn’t you say that
Shep sold the shelter?”
I nodded. “Something like that. It was Shep’s business but he didn’t own the building. The guy who does is selling it to some other people who are turning it into a shopping center.”
“Well, then,” Daisy said, “the first thing we have to do is figure out who bought it, and talk them out of it.”
I shook my head. “I asked Shep about that. Apparently it’s some investment company that wants to stay private.”
“Of course they do, but we can figure it out anyway!” Daisy said excitedly.
“Really?” I asked, feeling a slight flurry of hope.
Irwin snorted out a laugh. “You want to stop some zillionaires from buying a building? Good luck with that.”
“Irwin!” I said, sharply enough to get everyone’s attention. “Why do you have to be so negative all the time? All you ever say is why we can’t do something! Why can’t you be positive for once?”
“Okay, fine,” Irwin snapped back. “I’m positive you can’t do anything to help Shep. He doesn’t even own the building, for crying out loud!”
“I think Irwin might be right,” Daisy said. “And your dad and Shep and everyone else too. A deal’s a deal, and there’s no real way to stop it.”
“UGH!” I flopped back down onto one of Baxter’s chairs and stared at the wall. There was a picture of Baxter’s parents, which was always weird to look at, since his dad was Barnaby Bratford, famous Quietville jewelry thief. He was in jail somewhere. We didn’t talk about it with Baxter very much, but we knew he went to go see his dad every other weekend.
Which gave me an idea.
“Hey, Baxter,” I said. “When are you going to visit your dad next?”
Baxter blinked. “Um … this Sunday. Why?”
“Can I come?”
They all looked at me like I was crazy.
“Um, I’ll have to ask my mom, but I guess so,” Baxter said. “But, uh … why would you want to?”
I hesitated before answering. “Because if anyone knows the best way to take something from someone else,” I said, “it’s probably him.”
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