Vanished!

  “Because I wasn’t taking the same test as you.”

  That’s when the smile disappeared and panic crossed his face.

  “What?!”

  “Yeah, I was taking the test my teacher sent over from Deal,” I explained. “If you copied off my paper, you just got every answer wrong.”

  He started breathing deeply, unsure if I was joking or not.

  I wasn’t. That had been my moral dilemma. I didn’t make him cheat, but I knew that he would. He was going to get into trouble because of what he did, but in a way I was responsible.

  “Oh no,” I said. “If you bombed the test, then that’s going to knock you off the lacrosse team. And when the teacher realizes all your answers are the same as mine, she’s going to know you cheated. That’s going to get you in trouble with the honor code.”

  “Wait a second,” he said, piecing it all together. “Did you . . . It’s going to ruin everything . . . You did that on purpose . . . didn’t you?”

  I said the one and only thing that came to my mind. “Sorry, bro. I guess I didn’t see you there.”

  10.

  The Practice Room

  THE BELL RANG, THE DOORS opened, and students flooded from their classrooms, filling the hallway with the sounds of overlapping conversations, lockers closing, and rubber soles squeaking across the floor. The school day was over, which made everyone happy.

  Except for me.

  I was the exact opposite of happy as I scurried through the crowds, checking over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure I wasn’t being followed (pursued? hunted?) by Tanner. While sitting in seventh-period English I’d begun to appreciate the magnitude of what I’d done to him and realized that if he wanted revenge, I’d be at my most vulnerable during the chaos that followed the afternoon bell.

  I spied Margaret in front of the PAC, or performing arts center, and rushed right toward her.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” I snapped back as I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside.

  “Okay, someone’s in a rush,” she answered, trying to keep up. “What’s going on? Did you figure something out?”

  “Not unless you count solving our next case,” I answered.

  “You already know what our next case is?”

  “It’s a murder. My murder, to be precise. Tanner did it. Or rather, he will do it the second he sees me again. I imagine it will be violent, so there’s a good chance you won’t be able to identify my body.”

  I found an out-of-the-way corner behind a half wall and a drinking fountain, stopped, and took a deep breath that quickly became a series of very deep breaths.

  “I’m thinking there’s part of this story that I’ve missed,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  I described the escalating nature of my encounters with Tanner throughout the day. I filled her in on what happened in gym class, reminded her of the back-and-forth at lunch, and then told her about letting him copy off my algebra test.

  “But we took a different test,” she said, confused.

  “Exactly,” I replied with a smile. “But he didn’t know that. And I didn’t tell him until after he’d copied all my answers and turned it in.”

  “Wow!” she said once she put it all together. “I said to stand up for yourself, but . . . Wow!”

  “By the way, I blame you,” I added as I gave her my angry eyes. “Getting me all riled up. Telling me to use TOAST. You know I can’t resist that.”

  “Blame?” she said. “I don’t want blame. I want credit. I know you’re scared and all, but what you did . . . it’s . . . beautiful. Like years from now nerds are going to pass that story along in whispers as a beacon of hope.”

  “I just want to make sure the story doesn’t end with the line, ‘And he gave everybody a thumbs-up as they loaded him into the ambulance.’ ”

  I could tell she thought I was overreacting, but she knew I was upset so she didn’t say it out loud. “Okay, so what do you want to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. Hide. Get plastic surgery. Enter the witness relocation program. I’m open for suggestions.”

  “How about we solve the case so we can go back to Deal?” she offered.

  “That would be great,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any major breakthroughs.”

  “Sorry, no, but there was a minor development by the fire alarm. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  She leaned out and made sure Tanner wasn’t lurking nearby, then we hurried over to the back hallway. Because it curved behind the rehearsal rooms, you could see only about a third of the way as you walked.

  “I came by this morning before music and saw a man installing it,” she said.

  “Installing what?”

  As we neared the little alcove with the fire alarm, she looked up and waved at a security camera attached to the ceiling. “That.”

  “They’ve already put in a security camera? That was quick. I guess they figure if Loki returns for an encore, they’ll get a picture.”

  “Yeah,” said Margaret. “And I think it’s exactly what he wants.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Because I don’t think Loki’s going to repeat himself. He’s having fun coming up with new ways to cause chaos and if the school keeps focusing on stopping the pranks that have already happened—like they did when they closed down Chat Chat or here with the security camera—then they’ll always be looking in the wrong direction when he strikes again.”

  “It scares me sometimes.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “How good you are at thinking like one of the bad guys.”

  She smiled proudly and I examined the fire alarm. A fresh coat of pale green paint now covered the area where “Loki” had been scrawled the day before. I took a couple of pictures of the fire alarm, the hall, and even the security camera before we headed to the orchestra room. When we got there Ms. Allo was looking over a student’s shoulder at a computer. Because their backs were turned toward us, I couldn’t see who was helping her, but I could tell she was showing her how to use a computer program.

  “Then you click which instrument you want,” she explained.

  “Okay, click French horn,” replied Ms. Allo. “And then show me how to copy those three measures and have them repeat.”

  “You just click this and drag it over here,” the girl said, and demonstrated. “Couldn’t be easier.”

  “Ah-mazing. Absolutely amazing.” She noticed us and smiled. “This transcription program is going to change my life. No more hours of endless notation by hand.”

  As she talked to us, she stood up and revealed the student who was helping her.

  “Becca?” I said, caught off guard to see one of our potential suspects. It was the germophobe from French class who refused to look at Lucy and wore the hair ribbon with the purple/green/purple triple stripe.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, confused.

  “I’m in Madame Thibault’s class with you,” I said. “At least I have been for the last two days. My name’s Florian.”

  Obviously I hadn’t made any impression on her because she just stared at me blankly. This was probably because like everyone else in the class except for Lucy and me, she was a high school student, which meant she didn’t really pay much attention to lowly seventh graders.

  “Okay, well, hi,” she finally said.

  “Becca’s the student leader of our wind ensemble,” said Ms. Allo. “We’re working out some new arrangements for the fall concert.”

  Becca put some papers into a folder and slid them into her backpack. I thought she was getting up to leave, but instead she picked up her instrument case and headed toward the practice rooms.

  That’s when it dawned on me that Becca Baker was RIB—Rebecca I. Baker. That meant she’d been in one of the practice rooms when the fire alarm was pulled. She was no longer someone who just acted unusual. She was a suspect.

  “Wait,” I said, tryi
ng to stall her so Margaret and I could read her. “Do you know who you’re going to do your report on?”

  “What report?” she asked, annoyed.

  “Five minutes on a French person who impacts your daily life,” I said. “Madame Thibault acted like it was a big deal.”

  “I haven’t really thought about it.”

  Although her social signals indicated she wanted to move along, I couldn’t have cared less. I kept pressing the conversation. “I’m thinking of doing mine on Blaise Pascal. He was the French mathematician who invented the computer.”

  “Actually, he invented the calculator,” she said smugly. “You better get that right in your report. Charles Babbage built the first computer, and he’s British, not French. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to practice my flute.”

  She walked off, and Margaret and I made some small talk with Ms. Allo before we went into practice room number two. This was the room where Yin performed his amazing disappearing/reappearing act the day before.

  “What was that about?” Margaret asked as she pulled out the piano bench and sat down. “I’m doing mine on Blaise Pascal,” she added in a goofy voice that apparently was an impression of me.

  “It was a test,” I said. “She passed. Or failed. It depends on how you look at it.”

  “What kind of test?”

  “Becca’s the girl I told you about from French class,” I explained. “The one with the hair ribbon and a copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology. Now it turns out she’s also RIB, which means she was here when the fire alarm was pulled.”

  “Okay.”

  “That makes her a suspect,” I said. “But more important, she’s a suspect with something none of the other suspects have demonstrated.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Computer skills,” I said. “You saw her helping Ms. Allo when we came in.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” said Margaret. “Teachers are the worst when it comes to computers. Last week I had to show Ms. Hendricks how to save an e-mail.”

  “True,” I replied. “But there was more to it than that. Her backpack has the logo from the Stanford University summer science program.”

  “And the test was to see if she knew who Pascal and Babbage were?” she said, getting it.

  “And she did,” I replied. “She knows computers. So as the leader of the wind ensemble she not only had access to the Chat Chat page but also has the technical know-how to crash the system.”

  “Nice detective work,” said Margaret. “See what a little fear of dismemberment can do to motivate you?”

  “Very funny,” I said.

  “Now try to use it to figure out how Yin got in and out of this room,” she replied. “But you’re on your own because if Ms. Allo doesn’t hear any piano music coming out of here, she’s going to get curious.”

  Margaret started playing scales, which I found soothing. I think it’s because the gradual progression of notes fits with my sense of logic and pattern. I looked around and one of the first things that occurred to me was that all of the practice rooms were rectangular but the hallway that ran behind them was curved. Geometrically speaking that meant there had to be small pockets of space that were unaccounted for between the practice rooms and the hallway. The question was how to access them.

  The walls were covered with large acoustic tiles designed to eliminate echoes. The tiles were big squares of foam wrapped in fabric and held in place by wooden frames. There was also a narrow mirror like you’d see on the back of a door.

  “What’s the mirror for?” I asked.

  “To check your posture while you’re playing,” she answered.

  I got up and checked to see if the mirror or the tiles were movable, but they didn’t seem to be. I took some pictures, sat in the chair, and started thinking.

  Margaret, meanwhile, pulled a piece of sheet music from her backpack and put it up on the music rack. She started playing, and after listening for a little bit I said, “That’s nice. What is it?”

  “It’s the song I’m using for my talent show audition,” she said. “Which, by the way, is in two days, and I’m completely unprepared for it.”

  “You’re doing a song?” I asked. “Does that mean you’re going to sing, too?”

  She gave me an apprehensive look. “Maybe.”

  My eyes lit up. “Will you sing it for me?”

  “No,” she said, as though it were a ridiculous request.

  “Why not?” I said. “If you can sing it in front of the whole school you should be able to sing it in front of me.”

  “It’s just . . . different,” she replied.

  “C’mon. We’re besties. You said so yourself. It’s not like you can be embarrassed. And even if you were, all you have to do is look at the picture of me crying on the roller coaster and we’re all square again.”

  She thought about it for a bit before finally nodding. She started to play the melody again, but this time she also began to sing:

  I haven’t got a clue

  What I’m doing here with you

  I guess it must be true

  It’s just something that friends do

  But all throughout our history

  No matter what the mystery

  The thing that’s always true

  Is that it’s always me and you

  She stopped and gave me a raised eyebrow, perhaps a little self-conscious or unsure as she explained, “I’m figuring it out, so it’s very much a work in progress.”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Figuring it out? You mean, you wrote that?”

  “Well, I’m still writing it, but yeah.”

  “When did you learn how to write a song?” I asked, incredulous. “It’s really good.”

  “Thanks.” She looked at me for a moment and asked apprehensively, “You get that I wrote it about us, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The song,” she said. “It’s about us. ‘I haven’t got a clue.’ ‘No matter what the mystery.’ It’s about our friendship and the mysteries we’ve solved together.”

  “You wrote a song about our friendship?” I asked, truly touched.

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “Wow. That’s the coolest thing ever.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said. “I’m thinking of playing it at your funeral after Tanner finally finds you.”

  “Okay, you’re no longer cool. Now you’re just mean,” I joked. “So what’s stumping you? Not about the case; I mean about the song.”

  “I’ve never written one before, so it’s been a challenge, but in a fun way,” she said. “Like right now I haven’t figured out a chorus I like, and I’m still trying to decide if there needs to be a bridge before the final verse.”

  “You realize I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “You probably know more than you think,” she responded. “You used to sing in the choir at your old school.”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t any good. There were no auditions. All you had to do was sign up and you were in.”

  She handed me the music and pointed to different parts as she talked. “The verse is the main lyric, kind of like the poetry part. And the chorus is the part that repeats. I’ve tried a few different ones, but none of them really work for me. And the bridge is a transition from the chorus into the last verse. That’s when everything changes up right before the big finish.”

  “Kind of like when all the clues come together before you solve a case,” I joked.

  “Actually it is.”

  She demonstrated it for me and started playing some notes, but something must have triggered an idea because just like that it was as if I were no longer in the room as she started playing a series of notes over and over with slight changes.

  I stopped talking so she could concentrate and I went back to studying the room. Maybe her brainstorm would help give me one.

  The fabric that covered the acoustic tiles had something of a kaleidoscope des
ign made up of musical notes, instruments, and profiles of famous composers. The pattern seemed random, but if you let your eye isolate one item at a time, like the trumpet or Beethoven, you could see that it was actually consistent. And once I realized that, I was able to notice that one tile was wrong.

  “Check this out,” I said, interrupting her work.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Mozart,” I answered as I got up and pointed to the tile along the floor next to the mirror. “On every other one, he’s in the top right corner, but here he’s in the bottom left and upside down. Do you know what that means?”

  She looked at me and replied, “I can honestly say I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “It means that someone has taken it off and put it back upside down by mistake.”

  I got down on my hands and knees and reached around the back of the frame and pulled gently. Nothing happened, so I pulled a little harder. Finally it started to budge. Then it popped off and I fell backward. Behind the tile was a door about two feet by two feet that I opened to reveal a crawl space.

  I looked back over my shoulder at Margaret, whose eyes had opened wide.

  “Now, isn’t that interesting?” she said.

  11.

  Oh! Susanna

  THE DOORWAY TO THE CRAWL space was small, and I had to turn my shoulders diagonally just to poke in far enough to get a good look.

  “What do you see?” asked Margaret.

  “Mostly darkness,” I answered. “I can make out some shapes and a few slats of light, but that’s about it.”

  It took a little contorting, but I managed to dig my phone out of my pocket and turn on a flashlight app that let me see computer cables, electrical wiring, and the silver caterpillar-like ductwork that carried heating and air-conditioning. After thirty seconds, I pulled myself back into the practice room.

  “Think we should go all the way in there?” Margaret asked.

  “Not we, me,” I answered. “You have to start playing again or Ms. Allo will get curious.”

  Margaret didn’t want to miss out on any adventure, but she knew I was right. She resumed playing and I corkscrewed my way through the opening. I was halfway before it dawned on me that it would have been much easier if I had gone feetfirst.