by K. L. Denman
“Oh. Really? Well, okay then. Good stuff. Now we can go back and follow them.” We retrace our steps until we come to the mouth of the alley. There, we pause at a solid fence bordering the sidewalk. “This is a blind corner,” I whisper. “We shouldn’t enter the alley until we know how far down they’ve gone.”
“They can’t have got too far ahead,” Shahid whispers back. “But they couldn’t be too close anymore either.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say.
But both of us are reluctant to move. And it’s a good thing we don’t. Very likely, some instinct warned us to maintain our position, because the fence suddenly wobbles. At the same time, we hear the squeak of hinges and a gruff voice calls, “Later, Rolf.”
Rolf replies, “Yeah.”
And then the alley gate slams shut and the fence goes into a major wobble.
We wait, listening for Rolf’s footfalls. Will he come back this way or proceed down the alley? When it’s obvious that the crunching sound of feet on gravel is fading, Shahid and I finally exhale.
“Phew,” I breathe. And then I realize that this is exactly what I’d hoped for. I motion Shahid forward. “Let’s go.”
“He’ll notice us following him in the alley,” says Shahid.
“So?” I feel brave and reckless. “There are two of us and only one of him. And we’re bigger. Let’s go get Ella’s sketchbook.” With that, I step boldly into the alley.
I see Rolf at once. He’s only made it past the next yard down. He’s shuffling along, hands in pockets, narrow shoulders hunched. I decide it’s best to put a bit more distance between us and his large buddy, so I don’t call out to him. Instead, I match my pace to his and keep following.
It takes me a moment to realize Shahid isn’t with me. I turn to find him still peeping from behind the fence. I jog back. “What are you doing?”
He shakes his head. “I am not the gangsta type, Angus.”
I blink a few times before I answer. “And you’re telling me this because?”
“Because I have no intention of ganging up on Scrawny Rolf.”
I find I need to blink some more before I can answer. “Shahid. You know me better than that. Did you honestly think I plan to hurt him? All I meant about us being bigger is that it seems unlikely he could hurt us.”
“Oh. Okay. We better get going then. It looks like he’s in a hurry.”
“What?” I turn, and sure enough, Scrawny Rolf has picked up his pace. “He must have noticed us! Come on!” I launch into a run. This time, Shahid gallops beside me, arms flapping wildly.
Chapter Twelve
I don’t do a lot of running. It’s surprisingly tiring. But determination must count for something, because we gain on Rolf. When I judge that we’re close enough, I slow to a fast walk.
“Hey, you. Rolf.” I pause to draw breath.
He turns around and squints at us. “Yeah?”
“I want to talk to you,” I say.
“Yeah?” he says again. His squint intensifies. “Do I know you?”
“No,” I reply. “You do not. But I believe I know you.”
He removes his hands from his pockets. “Izzat right?”
“Yes, indeed.” I puff out my chest. “And I believe that you’ve done a terrible thing.”
His brows form a knot. “What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about Ella Eckles’s sketchbook.” I glare fiercely. “You took it. And I’m here to get it back.”
“Ella…what?” The knot on his brow deepens. “Wait a minute. You’re not calling me a thief, are you?”
I maintain my glare. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing. And I’d prefer that you don’t play dumb with me.”
It’s possible that, like my brain, other parts of my body know things that I don’t. I certainly don’t tell myself to dodge sideways. But I dodge just in time to avoid Rolf’s swing. Then, as if it has a mind of its own, my arm takes a swing at him. It misses by quite a lot, but I don’t have time to worry about that, because here comes another jab from Rolf.
I manage to avoid that one too. Then my other arm gets in on the action. It swings way up, and on the way down it almost connects with Rolf’s fist. Suddenly, both of my arms are whirling like the rotor blades on a helicopter. Not exactly like that, because my circles are vertical whereas a helicopter’s are horizontal. But the action is similar.
As near as I can tell, Rolf’s arms are doing the same thing. It’s terribly shocking. I’m forced to close my eyes. Occasionally our fists bounce off each other, and it really hurts. I’m becoming exhausted, but have no idea how to make it stop.
And then a voice roars, “Enough!” I feel a pressure on my forehead. My arms drop to my sides like dead things, and I crack open my eyes.
Shahid stands between us with one hand pressed against my forehead and the other against Rolf’s. His giraffe arms force us farther apart as he asks, “Do you two have any idea how stupid you look?”
My brain refuses to picture it.
Rolf croaks, “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Especially not Ella,” I say.
“Who,” Rolf demands, “is this Ella?”
“Hah,” I say. It’s impossible to form a fierce glare with Shahid’s hand pressed to my face, but I try. “She’s the girl you think ratted you out. So you stole her sketchbook for revenge.”
“Say what?” Rolf rolls one eyeball up toward Shahid. “Is this little dude crazy?”
“I’m bigger than you,” I tell him. “Did you or did you not set off the stink bomb in school last week?”
Rolf shrugs. “Yeah. So?”
“Did you or did you not get caught by Principal Garnet?” I wriggle to increase my glare power and add, “Shahid, would you kindly remove your hand?”
“Are you going to start flailing again?”
Together, Rolf and I say, “No.”
“Fine.” Shahid’s tone is grudging. “All you have to do is back away.”
I can’t believe I didn’t realize that. I back beyond Shahid’s reach and give my head a shake. I look over to see Rolf doing the same thing. For some reason, this annoys me. “Well?” I ask him. “Principal Garnet caught you, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. But I’m pretty sure it was that troll in the can who told him.”
The troll in the can. I ponder that for a moment before asking, “And you think I’m crazy?”
He rolls his eyes. “You know who I mean. Everyone knows about the guy in the stall. He practically lives there.”
I suddenly get it. “You mean Grunt?”
Rolf shrugs. “I don’t know his name. But he’s always in there, listening to other people’s business.” He wrinkles his nose. “And he never washes his hands.”
“I know,” Shahid moans. “It’s so disgusting.”
“Too right,” Rolf nods. “But whatever. I haven’t been at school since the bomb. Garnet suspended me for a week.”
I stare at Rolf for a moment. Then I find I can’t look at him. He’s telling the truth. I know he is. That means he couldn’t have been in the art room the next day. He didn’t steal anything. My mouth feels dry. I swallow.
“Rolf,” I mutter. “I owe you an apology. I thought—but I guess that was all in my head. Never mind. The point is, I don’t think you’re a thief anymore. I’m really sorry.”
He shrugs his thin shoulders. “Whatever, man. Sounds like you were trying to stick up for a friend. That’s cool.”
“Really?” I try for a smile. “Thanks. That’s very gracious of you.”
The knot forms on Rolf’s brow again. He looks from me to Shahid and he raises a finger. It’s his index finger this time, and he points it at us. “Here’s the deal. No one hears about this. We don’t talk about it ever. Especially not in the can. Okay? We all square?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Square as square can be. Square as my mother’s squares. Like her brownies. I swear, she must measure them before she cuts and—”
“I go
t it,” Rolf says. “I’ve gotta go. I’m late for my paper route.” And he runs away.
Shahid looks at me until I finally look back.
“Now,” he says. “Now will you tell Ella the truth?”
Chapter Thirteen
There is no doubt that I have to tell Ella who I really am. Or rather, I have to tell her who I’m not. The only part I have to figure out is how. I’m so disturbed by this I can barely eat dinner.
“You need to get more exercise, Angus,” Mom says. “Then you’ll have an appetite.”
Exercise, she says. I got plenty of exercise today. I don’t tell her about that. I simply nod and return to worrying.
By early evening, I decide that my best option is to send Ella an email. That seems cowardly, but since it’s been our contact method, it makes sense. I log into my email with the idea that I’ll compose my message very carefully. I expect it will be as challenging as writing an essay about something mysterious like poetry.
It’s startling when my email shows two new messages from Ella. I open the first to find she replied to the one I sent yesterday. The one where I bragged about knowing who the culprit is. She wrote:
Hey Angus,
U r amazing! You already know who took my book? Wow! Can you give me any hints?
With admiration,
Ella
My stomach starts doing gymnastics. I don’t know the proper names for all the moves it’s making, and I don’t care. She thinks I’m amazing? She admires me? Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
Oh, girl. You have been misled. That’s what I should write to her. I should click the Reply button and type those very words. But I can’t. I can only sit and stare at the wonderful words she wrote to me.
Eventually, I rouse from my stupor, draw a deep breath and open her second message.
Angus, u won’t believe this! The culprit sent me an email! All it said was, Catch me if you can. And then below that, there was a photo of one of my drawings. I’m including the picture here in case it has some clues for u. I hope this helps u figure it out.
Ella
My hand shakes as I scroll down and find the picture. It’s an incredible drawing of an animated robot. It’s so fantastic, it almost brings tears to my eyes. And someone stole this from Ella! What sort of sadistic creep would do such a thing?
I’d give almost anything to figure that out. But the only things I’ve figured out are that I’m the crummiest person-reader on the planet, and I’m clueless about clues. I wouldn’t recognize a clue if it jumped up and down and yelled, “Hey! I’m a clue!”
I gaze at her beautiful drawing and realize that at least I can save this. I right-click on it and run my eye down the list of items in the pop-up box. I’m looking for Save until I notice the item at the bottom of the list: Properties.
Is it possible? Could the thief actually have been dumb enough to leave the properties attached to the photo? There’s only one way to find out. I open the properties box, and there’s the date the picture was taken. Today. Then I slide the cursor over to the Details tab and…
It’s all there. I see the number of pixels and the brand of smart phone used to take the picture. The gps coordinates pinpoint where the picture was taken. I swipe the cursor over the gps numbers for longitude and latitude and copy them. I paste them into an online street map program. In less than a minute, I’m looking at the street view of the house where the photo was taken.
And I recognize that house. It’s Ella’s.
Chapter Fourteen
The picture was taken at Ella’s house? What does this mean? My brain seizes for a moment. This does not compute. But then my brain starts up again, and my body freezes. Goose bumps spring up willy-nilly, all over my skin. I can’t breathe. And then I can breathe, and I’m almost hyperventilating.
Because if this picture was taken at Ella’s house, then she’s in danger. Big-time. The creepy, sadistic thief sent it to her from her very yard. Or worse yet, from within her home.
I leap to my feet. Then I fall back into my chair and type a frantic reply to her email. Leave house at once!!!!!!!!!!!
I scrabble my fingers over the keyboard to bring up a telephone directory. I find the Eckles, but there’s no number listed. Once again I leap to my feet, and this time I order them to run.
And run. I run out my back door, around the house and down the street. I make a sharp turn at the corner and run down the next street. I round the final corner that takes me onto Ella’s street and I keep running all the way to her front yard.
At that point, I collapse under a shrub. This is okay, because even though it’s possible I’ll puke, I can still use my eyes to scan the area. I may be crumpled on my hands and knees, gasping for air, but I remain on high alert.
Eventually my breathing returns to something like normal. I see no sign of a stalker, psycho or thief. Not that this is a good thing. In fact, it’s bad, because it means the lunatic may be inside the house. I manage to stand, even though my legs feel strangely bendy. I try them out for walking, and they work—more or less. I wobble to the front door and ring the bell.
Footsteps approach from the inside, and then the door swings open to reveal Ella.
“Angus!” she says. Her face turns a rosy shade of pink. “You’re here.”
“Yes,” I say. I lean toward her and lower my voice. “Don’t panic. I want you to gather your family and get them out of the house. And then we’ll call the police.”
Ella’s eyes dart about. She licks her lips. Clearly, she’s frightened. She tucks a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “Uh,” she says. “Why?”
“Because,” I hiss, “I think the guy who stole your sketchbook may be in your house.”
Her brown eyes widen. Her mouth forms a circle. The pinkness of her skin deepens, especially on the tip of her nose. And then she starts giggling. She claps a hand over her mouth to stop the nervous giggles, but seconds later, they burst through.
“Ella!” I attempt to sound stern. “You must remain calm. Please, go and get your—”
“Angus,” she cuts in. “It was me. I took the picture.”
“You?” I squeak out the word. “What? No. You drew the picture, but…”
“Shhh.” She reaches out and places her hand on my mouth. It’s as if she found my Off switch. Or maybe it’s more like she zapped me with a stun gun. I start tingling all over, and I can’t speak.
Ella looks over her shoulder into the house and calls, “I’m going out on the porch.” And then she closes the door behind her and points toward a bench. “Can we sit down for a minute?”
I nod. I sit. Ella sits on the opposite end of the bench. She looks down at her shoe toeing the bench leg and then says, “I have a confession to make.”
And does she ever. It turns out her sketchbook was never stolen. She made the whole thing up so that she could spend time with me.
“Seriously?” I ask.
She bites her lower lip and nods. “I’m really sorry. It’s just that I like you, Angus. And I thought you might like me too. I tried for months to get a chance to talk to you. But every time I saw you, you were going the other way. When I finally did talk to you, that day the school got evacuated? I thought it went well. But then you had to take off and…” She shrugs.
I’m speechless. All I can do is stare at her.
Ella’s lower lip quivers in that fascinating way. “I don’t know what got into me. But when you said you were a mentalist and you wanted to solve crimes, I got this crazy idea.” She finally looks straight at me. “I’m sorry I lied to you. You probably despise liars.”
I emit a sound. “Gack.”
“Pardon me?”
I look down at my foot toeing the bench leg. I have an impulse to run away, but I’ve had enough running—in more ways than one. It’s time to confess. I start with, “Erm.” I progress to, “Uh,” and finish in a rush. “I’m a liar too.”
Ella asks, “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m no mentalist. I
can’t read people. I don’t have a clue what people are thinking. I don’t even know what I’m thinking sometimes.”
Ella is quiet, and I risk a quick glance to see how she’s taking this. Her head is tilted to one side and, strangely enough, she’s wearing that little smile. “Go on,” she says.
I find this encouraging. I draw a deep breath and basically barf up my next words. “I lied. I was trying to impress you because I like you too. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it wasn’t.”
There. I did it. I told the truth. I don’t dare look at her now.
“That’s so sweet,” Ella says.
I gape at her. “It is?”
“Yeah. Not the lying, of course.” She shrugs and smiles bigger. “But… you like me too?”
I nod.
And then her smile fades. “But there’s something I don’t understand.”
Uh-oh. I swallow and ask, “What?”
“You identified the stink bomber. I mean, that was totally impressive, the way you picked him out of the crowd.”
I suddenly feel short of breath. I grab at the collar of my T-shirt and tug, but it doesn’t help. “Oh,” I choke. “That. Ha ha. Funny thing, you see. I see—I mean, I saw—him do it.”
Behind her glasses, Ella’s brown eyes narrow. “Reeaaally?” The way she draws the word out must indicate something. The question is, what?
I simply nod again.
And she keeps watching me, as if she’s waiting for more.
There isn’t any more. At least, not any more lies. Should I tell her that? I think I should. “That’s it,” I say.
“That’s it?” she echoes. And her eyebrows go up.
I tug at my collar again. Something about this isn’t going well. What am I missing here? “I wish I’d never done that,” I mutter aloud. “I’m really sorry.”
Her smile breaks out again, the one that reminds me of the gaseous outer layers of star glow. “Oh, Angus,” says Ella. “Me too. Do you think we can just forget all these silly glitches and start over?”
I blink at her. “You mean like a hominid version of a reboot?”