by Josh Berk
My hope that Devon won’t do anything too embarrassing is squashed when he unfolds two copies of a new top-secret file folder explaining the day’s mission. He hands one to each of us. Ebony doesn’t flinch, as if getting this file is totally normal. I read:
Good day, my coconspirators! Thank you for putting your trust in the Smileyman. I assure you, this time I have a solid plan. The school is unlocked so the teachers can come in for their meetings. And I know all about the surveillance system! Smiley Security Services is a sideline my father started. He and I actually installed the school’s T1300 digital backup system. Getting what we need will be relatively easy, due to the auto time-stamping and the fact that we only need to pull from one camera (the one in Kroener’s office) to find the footage from last Friday. I can dump half the footage to each of the two stations down in the janitor’s office, and you can each read what was said to the police. Clues will abound! Good luck and Godspeed-reading!
Ebony gives a serious nod and then signs to me, “I like him already.”
“Not so fast,” I sign. And then, so Devon can see, I finger-spell, “H-O-W A-R-E W-E G-O-I-N-G T-O E-X-P-L-A-I-N W-H-A-T W-EA-R-E D-O-I-N-G T-H-E-R-E?”
Devon looks perplexed. My stomach lurches. He hadn’t thought of this? What if we get caught? Our janitor, a kind, shriveled little man whose name tag indicates the curious moniker of Lucille, doesn’t seem like the murderous type, but I am not trusting anyone anymore. Then Devon laughs and gives an informal sign indicating that I should flip over my paper. On the back it says:
Will, don’t be all nervous about us getting caught. Janitors and all other support staff have the day off. I am 110% sure this time.
I look up and see him wiggling his eyebrows triumphantly. And I have to admit that the Smileyman has thought of pretty much everything. The three of us strut across the parking lot like the Odd Squad. Entering the school’s main corridor, I feel exposed and nervous, but Devon quickly finds a door that leads to a back stairwell going down to the basement. It is just about as charming as you’d expect the basement of a public high school to be—and, as Devon had predicted, totally deserted. Still, to my nervous eye, danger lurks in every shadow.
I am about to open the door to the janitor’s office when Devon grabs me and steps in front. He indicates that I should wait and points to the tips of his fingers, improvising a sign for fingerprints. He wears a handkerchief over his hand like a sock puppet while he flicks on the lights. The janitor’s room is a nasty little rat cave with a multitude of gray stains of unknown origin all over. Devon quickly turns on the two monitors and begins both typing furiously and scrolling maniacally with the mouse while somehow keeping the handkerchief on any surface he is touching. He had indicated that he needed my computer skills to help solve the case, but he obviously knows more than he let on. Ebony also seems impressed. “He is good,” she signs.
Devon searches for Friday’s footage on the server while I fill Ebony in on the details. I let her know about the party, the field trip, and who our main suspects are.
“What are we looking for?” Ebony asks me.
“I guess we’ll know it when we see it,” I lamely respond. “Or if you are so good at lipreading, just write down everything everyone says.” I go to rip out a page from my notebook. She smirks, shows me that she brought her own notebook (labeled TOP SECRET), and signs, “The game is afoot.”
Devon has done it. Marie Stepcoat’s nervous face appears on the monitor in front of me while the dopey grin of Chuck Escapone pops up on Ebony’s screen. He gives the informal sign that we should get to it. He signs, “I’ll keep watch,” which he must have learned just for the occasion.
We scribble transcriptions like it’s a race, quickly going through all the suspects. We see Marie Stepcoat and Chuck Escapone, Kevin Planders and Derrick Jonker. Suddenly I feel an elbow in my ribs. Ebony is laughing. She points to her screen. A huge rear end is waddling in front of the camera, taking up pretty much the whole picture.
“Christ,” I sign. “Am I really such a wide load?” She nods. I redden a little and press fast-forward on her screen so we don’t have to keep looking at my balloon face. Devon sticks his head in to see why Ebony is laughing. Ebony points and signs, “Big boy.” Devon grins. And then we see his grin in double—he is on the screen right after me. Devon indicates that we should skip that interview. He grabs the keypad, making his interview fly by at double time. He looks like a mental patient, the way his nervous gestures are sped up like that. Why doesn’t he want us to see what he had to say? Is he just saving time? Once his interview is over, he lets the footage play normally and goes back out to his guard post in the hallway.
My footage starts to run together, the same answers to the same questions. No one saw anything, no one left their buddy, no one knew nothing ‘bout nothing. Ebony taps me on the shoulder. “I hate to admit that I am having trouble here,” she signs. “But did that girl just say her name was Purple?” I look up and see Miss Phimmul’s cocky sneer on Ebony’s screen. I laugh. “Public school girls are strange birds,” I sign. “Her name really is Purple, Ebony.” Ebony shakes her head, apparently not noting the irony.
Then A. J. Fischels appears on my screen. Am I going to be the one to crack the case? But he literally says nothing. He just keeps shaking his head no, no, no. Then he says, “Are we done here?” which seems impressively ballsy, and in the blink of an eye, he slides out of the frame and is gone. Ebony is doing the interview with Leigha. I guess she feels me leering over her shoulder.
“I do not need your help,” she signs. And then adds, “OK, I do need some help.” The tape just shows Leigha crying, crying, crying. If she is saying any actual words, they are unintelligible.
“I don’t know if I can help you with this,” I sign.
“Not from you,” she signs. “From Smiley.” I make my quizzical-eyebrow face. She explains, “Obviously, she is crying hysterically. But she was not at first. I’m trying to figure out what they asked that set her off. I cannot quite see the question.”
“The detective was off camera. Nobody can help you with that,” I sign.
“Look closely,” she points. “See the reflection in the window?” I see. Hawley’s reflected gaze is fairly clear. I had missed it. Ebony is a freaking girl detective. What else don’t I know about her? “Does it zoom in?” she asks. I indicate that I will get Devon.
I go out into the hall and find him keeping watch through a little pair of binoculars that totally aren’t necessary. The hall is empty. I tap him on the shoulder, and he jumps about four feet in the air and then tries to play it off like he hadn’t just shrieked, though even I know that he did. His eyebrows tell me he is asking if I found anything. “W-E N-E-E-D Y-O-U-R H-E-L-P,” I sign. He darts into the room. Ebony has paused the footage and is pointing at the reflection of Hawley in the window at the corner of the screen.
She then says something out loud to Devon. He looks shocked. I am sort of surprised too. I had forgotten that she actually can speak and that she isn’t afraid of “sounding deaf” like I am. But her back is half turned, so I can’t see what she had said. I tap her on the shoulder and make an angry gesture. “I said,” she signs, “zoom in.” Then she adds, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Will Halpin.”
Devon picks up his handkerchief and works the controls to zoom in on Hawley’s face. It is blurry and Hawley has that stellar mustache, but, amazingly, we can see his lips pretty clearly. Devon plays the footage. And when we realize what Hawley says, Ebony and I stare at each other, gaping at the screen, rewinding a few times to be sure, gaping some more. Devon’s eyes grow huge. “What?” he signs. “What? What? What?” Ebony and I both write in our notebook the question that it really seems Hawley asked: “The baby that you are carrying—is it his?”
Devon’s jaw basically falls on the floor. And then he starts pressing buttons like a madman, shutting the units off as fast as he can. He indicates that we should duck down by violently motioning to the floor. W
e dive against the wall by the front door while he shuts off the lights.
We sit in the dark in a collective three-part panic. I put my beard on in case I need to be disguised. (Maybe I just like the beard?) Ebony and I are elbow to elbow, hunched by the front door, while Devon cowers a few feet away. There is only a tiny bit of light showing through the window in the door. I have a sick sensation like I had at the mine, like a chunk of time is being torn from my life. Neither Ebony nor I have any idea what is happening. We have to put all of our trust in the Smileyman, and I have the odd, unbidden thought that maybe there really is no noise out there and Devon has just crafted this as an elaborate ruse to see how much we trust him.
I almost jump out of my skin when I feel a sudden vibration against my thigh. I am getting a message on my Crony. Devon and I had been trying to include Ebony in the conversations all day, so we hadn’t been using them. It is, however, the perfect way to communicate stealthily in the dark. The pale light of the tiny screen illuminates the words just enough so I can see what he writes:
Smiley_Man3000: Chet, someone is out there.
HamburgerHalpin: i figured. who is it frank? lucille?
Smiley_Man3000: No. Weird thing is, I think it’s a student.
HamburgerHalpin: what the hell? who?
Smiley_Man3000: Unless I’m mistaken, it’s Dwight Carlson.
Before I can even process what this could mean, Ebony reaches over and grabs the Crony from me. She reads the screen and wrestles me away while typing. I end up reading over her shoulder.
HamburgerHalpin: who the hell is dwight carlson?
Smiley_Man3000: Chet, he’s in all your classes.
HamburgerHalpin: chet’s not typing–it’s me, the black rose.
Smiley_Man3000: What?
HamburgerHalpin: dev, it’s me–ebony. “in search of the black rose” was my favorite nancy drew book. why should i be the only one without a code name?
Smiley_Man3000: I apologize for the oversight! And while I agree that you should have a nickname, and concur that the Black Rose is an awesome choice, I’m just not sure now is the right time to be discussing it. We’re sort of in the middle of a tense situation here!
HamburgerHalpin: who is this carlson?
Smiley_Man3000: Just a kid from class.
HamburgerHalpin: is he big?
Smiley_Man3000: Nah.
HamburgerHalpin: tough?
Smiley_Man3000: Nah–my size.
HamburgerHalpin: as cute as u?
Smiley_Man3000: What?
HamburgerHalpin: ok, here’s what we’re going to do. i’ll run into the hallway and disable carlson. when i give the signal, make a run for it. don’t forget to alert the fat one.
Smiley_Man3000: What do you mean, “disable”?
But the Black Rose is already peeking out the window at the pacing Dwight Carlson. When his back is turned, she takes a deep breath and makes her move. In a sudden, powerful motion, she tears open the door and leaps on Dwight’s back. She then busts out a move somewhere between a judo throw and a hockey check. I watch in stunned amazement as Ebony pulls Dwight’s jacket over his head and pushes him to his knees. The jacket covers his eyes, effectively blinding him. She grabs the fingers of his left hand and pulls them backward while placing her knee in between his shoulder blades. Then she gives the signal. Devon grabs “the fat one” and pulls me out the door.
We are running—running as fast as our feet can carry us—up the stairs, down the hall, and out of the building. Like a real-life cartoon character, I almost literally run out of my clothes. The button on my pants has helpfully popped off, so I have to hold them up with one hand while chasing after Devon. Everything is a blur. We sprint across the parking lot, cruise past the teachers’ cars, cut through the soccer fields, and have never been so happy to see the Smileywagon. There Devon and I stand with our hands on the hood, trying to catch our breath. It is all quite beyond comprehension but, once we stop to think about it, sort of hilarious. Devon cracks a smile between heavy breaths and then, seeing me grinning through my fake beard and busted pants, lets out an uncontrollable guffaw. I immediately find myself laughing until tears—literal tears of chubby, wet joy—run from my eyes. A beautiful moment. Is there anything more sublime than two friends sharing a laugh at the absurdly weird and dangerous world? I know Devon is thinking the same exact thing. And then our moods change as suddenly and ominously as a clock striking twelve. At once we both realize that Ebony is nowhere to be found.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
What happened to her? Is she caught? Lost? Is Dwight Carlson a secret karate master who was able to reverse her hold and now has her pinned to the ground in the school basement? Everything unlikely seems to be happening. I want to send Devon a text, but Ebony still has my Crony. I can’t find my notebook. Did I leave it in the janitor’s office? Surely someone will find it. We will get busted for trespassing and hacking into the surveillance system. Worse: someone could be reading all my notes! I had little comments about everyone. It is extremely embarrassing to imagine it falling into the wrong hands. Which is to say, anyone’s hands other than my own.
I am going to try to finger-spell all this to Devon when suddenly his face lights up. He grabs his Crony. Ebony is sending him a text! I squeeze in next to him so I can read the tiny screen.
Def4Life: d, it’s ebony. log in to im–i’m def4life.
Smiley_Man3000: OMG! Are you OK?
Def4Life: u won’t believe what happened.
Smiley_Man3000: What?
Def4Life: while i was taking out carlson, your principal came down the hall!
Smiley_Man3000: Kroener?
Def4Life: i guess. he saw me fighting carlson so he tried to punch me!
Smiley_Man3000: Oh no!
Def4Life: but i blocked the punch and put him in an armlock.
Smiley_Man3000: Whoa!
Def4Life: i could have broken his arm, but he started begging for mercy.
Smiley_Man3000: Did you let him go?
Def4Life: i told him that the only way i’d let him go was if he made out with carlson.
Smiley_Man3000: !?!?!?!
Def4Life: so then he totally started kissing carlson.
Smiley_Man3000: Yowza!?!?!?!
Def4Life: and i was like “use your tongues!” and they were totally going at it for like five minutes!
Before Devon can type “!?!?!?!” yet again, he looks up like he has heard something. He makes a sheepish face and points. There is Ebony, laughing and typing as she saunters across the parking lot. I sign a few pointed words at her. She signs back that I shouldn’t “slow her roll” and explains that she was only a minute behind us because she went back to retrieve our notebooks. “Nancy would never have left anything behind,” she signs. She then takes my notebook out of her pocket and begins flipping through the pages. “Some pretty weird stuff in here, Halpin,” she signs. I tell her to mind her own business while I reach to grab it from her. “Leigha equals hot?” she signs. “Scuzzy guy loves his fingers? And why would you want to stay away from Devon?” I sign a few more choice threats before she tosses the book to me. Then I go to grab my Crony back when it starts vibrating. Ebony doesn’t let me answer it. She keeps typing while somehow avoiding my attempts to grab the device. Freaking karate master.
Smiley_Man3000: Umm, hello, guys? I’m still here.
Def4Life: sorry, that was rude of us.
Smiley_Man3000: Did you leave Carlson and Kroener making out?
Def4Life: omg, u r 2 gullible, smileyman.
Smiley_Man3000: Oh, I mean … I knew you were kidding.
Def4Life: riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
Smiley_Man3000: So what were you and Chet signing about just now? Looked like some pretty interesting signs.
Def4Life: i was explaining that i went back for the notebooks. most of the rest of the signs were curses.
Smiley_Man3000: Hey, can you teach me? I do believe I would enjoy sign-swearing.
Def4Life: that pisses me
off–the only thing hearing people want to know in asl is how to curse.
Smiley_Man3000: Oh dear, I am so sorry!
Def4Life: ah, ur lucky ur cute, smiley. i’ll teach ya. but we should probably get out of here. i think carlson went for help. also i have to get to the dojo.
Ebony signs, “Shotgun,” then throws my Crony to me. She climbs in the front of the Smileywagon while I clump into the back, exhausted and dazed. I finally get my pants to stay on. Must nap soon. Devon’s lurching driving is worse than normal as he tries out all the new swear signs. Ebony signs it first, then he repeats.