I didn’t say a word. Neither did Zeke or Brian. I don’t think we had anything more to say.
“The weird thing is, I’m starting to believe you,” Ms. Walker said, frowning.
The three of us let out relieved sighs.
“At least, I’m starting to believe that you didn’t paint on the backdrop.” She shook her hair hard. Her skinny body shuddered. “It’s getting late,” she said softly. “Let’s all go home. I need to think about this. Maybe we need to ask Mr. Levy for an investigation. Maybe he can help us find the culprit who is trying to ruin our play.”
Oh, no, I thought. Not the principal. What if he decides to cancel our play? But I didn’t say anything. None of us did. We didn’t even look at one another. We followed Ms. Walker out into the hall.
I was just so relieved that she had started to believe us. And that she was letting us go.
She clicked on a hall light so we could see our way.
We took a few steps, walking behind her.
Then we all stopped at once.
We all saw the red paint spots on the hall floor. A trail of red paint spots.
“Well, look at this!” Ms. Walker declared. “Our painter was a little careless. He or she left a trail to follow.”
She clicked on more lights.
We followed the red paint splotches down the long hall. We could clearly see a shoe print in one of the bigger paint puddles.
“I don’t believe this!” Zeke whispered to me. “Someone left a trail.”
“I’m glad,” I whispered back. “Maybe the paint drips will lead us to the one who splotched up the backdrop.”
“You mean the Phantom?” Zeke whispered.
We turned a corner. We passed a small paint smear.
“At least this will prove to Ms. Walker that we’re telling the truth,” Brian said softly.
We turned another corner.
The paint trail stopped suddenly. One last tiny red puddle stood in front of a locker.
“Hmmmm,” Ms. Walker said thoughtfully, moving her eyes from the paint smear to the locker. “The trail seems to lead right to here.”
“Hey!” Zeke cried out, startling all of us. I could see his eyes go wide with shock. “That’s my locker!”
17
No one said anything for a moment.
I could hear Zeke’s breaths, short and fast. I turned to him. He was staring at his locker, staring hard at the gray metal door as if he could see inside.
“Open your locker, Zeke,” Ms. Walker instructed. She said it through gritted teeth.
“Huh?” Zeke gaped at her as if he didn’t understand what she meant. He lowered his eyes to the smear of red paint on the floor under his locker door.
“Go ahead. Open your locker,” Ms. Walker repeated patiently. She suddenly looked very tired.
Zeke hesitated. “But there’s nothing in there,” he protested. “Just books and notebooks and stuff.”
“Please.” Ms. Walker motioned to the combination lock with one hand. “Please, Zeke. It’s really late.”
“But you don’t think —?” Zeke started. Ms. Walker motioned to the lock again.
“Maybe somebody wanted to make it look like Zeke was the one with the paint,” I suggested. “Maybe someone deliberately made that trail of paint lead to Zeke’s locker.”
“Maybe,” Ms. Walker replied calmly. “That’s why I want him to open his locker.”
“Okay, okay,” Zeke muttered. His hand shook as he reached for the combination lock. He leaned his head forward and concentrated as he spun the dial, first one direction, then the other.
“Give me some light,” he said edgily.
I backed up. “Sorry.” I didn’t realize I was standing in his light.
I glanced at Brian. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. He leaned against the wall and stared intently at Zeke’s hands as Zeke twirled the lock.
Finally, Zeke pulled the lock open with a loud click.
He lifted the handle and pulled open the door.
I leaned forward to peer inside at the same time as Ms. Walker. We nearly bumped heads.
We both saw the can of paint at the same time.
A small can of red paint resting on the locker floor.
The lid wasn’t on tight. Splashes of red paint dripped over the side of the can.
“But it isn’t mine!” Zeke wailed.
Ms. Walker let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Zeke.”
“It isn’t mine!” Zeke whined. “Really, Ms. Walker! It isn’t!”
“I’m going to call your parents to come in for a serious talk,” Ms. Walker said, biting her lower lip. “And, of course, you’re out of the play.”
“Oh, nooo!” Zeke moaned. He slammed the locker door shut as hard as he could. The crash echoed down the long, empty hall.
Ms. Walker flinched from the sound. She flashed Zeke an angry look. Then she turned to Brian and me. “So you two were also involved? Tell the truth!”
“No!” Brian and I both called out. “We didn’t do it,” I added. I started to say, “Neither did Zeke.”
But I could see that it was too late. There was no way to argue against the can of paint in the locker.
Zeke was a cooked goose.
“If I find out that you and Brian had anything to do with it, I’ll remove you from the play and call your parents in, too,” Ms. Walker threatened. “Now go home. All of you.”
We turned and trudged out the door without another word.
The night air felt cold against my hot skin. I shivered.
The half-moon was covered by a sheet of gray mist. The mist looked like a ghostly figure floating over the moon.
I followed Zeke and Brian down the concrete steps. A gust of wind made my jacket flap behind me.
“Do you believe it?” Zeke muttered angrily. “Do you believe it?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. Poor Zeke. I could see he was really messed up. And when his parents got that call from Ms. Walker, Zeke was going to be even more messed up!
“How did that paint get in your locker?” Brian asked him, his eyes peering into Zeke’s.
Zeke turned away. “How should I know?” he snapped.
We made our way to the sidewalk. Zeke angrily kicked an empty cardboard juice box into the street.
“See you tomorrow, I guess,” Brian said unhappily. He gave us a little wave, then turned and started walking slowly toward his house.
Zeke jogged off in the other direction.
“Aren’t you going to walk home with me?” I called.
“No,” he shouted back, and kept going.
In a way I was glad he had left. I didn’t really know what to say to him.
I just felt so bad.
I started walking slowly, my head down, thinking hard, when I saw a small, round light floating toward me through the darkness.
The light grew bigger. I realized it was a bicycle headlight. The bike turned out of the school parking lot and rolled smoothly, steadily toward me.
When it was a few feet away, I recognized the bike rider. “Tina!” I cried in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
She squealed to a stop, bouncing in the seat. Her dark eyes caught the light of the streetlamp above us. She smiled. An odd smile.
“Hi, Brooke. How’s it going?” she asked.
Was she in the school? I wondered. Did she just come out of the school?
“Where’d you come from?” I repeated.
Her strange smile remained on her face. “A friend’s,” she said. “I’m just coming from a friend’s.”
“Were you in the school?” I blurted out.
“The school? No. Not me,” she replied. She shifted her weight, then raised her feet to the pedals. “Better zip up that jacket, Brooke,” she said. “You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?”
18
On Saturday we had play rehearsals all day long in the auditorium. The performance was only a week away.
We all worked hard,
and the rehearsal went well. I only forgot my lines twice.
But it wasn’t the same without Zeke.
Robert Hernandez had taken Zeke’s place. I like Robert, but he’s a very serious guy. He doesn’t get my jokes, and he doesn’t like to kid around or be kidded.
After lunch, Robert and Corey were rehearsing a scene together. Ms. Walker still hadn’t returned from lunch.
I wandered over to Brian. He had a paintbrush in his hand, dripping with black paint. He was leaning over the new backdrop, putting some final touches on the gray bricks.
“Looks good,” I told him. I had a sudden urge to slap him on the back and make him smear black paint all over. But I decided that might not go over too well.
I don’t know where these sudden urges come from.
“How’s it going?” Brian asked without looking up. He was filling in some spots he had missed.
“Okay, I guess,” I replied. Across the stage, I saw Tina working with a large glue pot. She was brushing a thick layer of glue onto a cardboard chandelier.
“Robert is going to be a good Phantom,” Brian said, scratching his chin with the tip of the paintbrush handle.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But I kind of miss Zeke.”
Brian nodded. Then he turned to look up at me. “You know what? There hasn’t been one practical joke since Zeke left. No scenery ruined. No mysterious phantoms leaping out at us. No threatening words scrawled on the walls. Nothing. Nothing bad since Ms. Walker kicked Zeke out.”
I hadn’t thought about it until that second. But Brian was right. Ever since Zeke had been removed from the play, the Phantom had totally disappeared.
Everything had been going so smoothly. I hadn’t even stopped to realize it.
Did this mean that Zeke actually was the Phantom? That Zeke had been doing all those horrible things after all?
“Did Zeke’s parents have a cow when Ms. Walker called them in to school?” Brian asked. “Did he get punished?”
“For sure,” I replied, still thinking about the Phantom. “His parents grounded him for life. And no horror movies. Zeke can’t live without horror movies!”
Brian snickered. “Maybe Zeke has seen too many horror movies,” he said.
“Okay, people!” a voice called loudly. I turned to see that Ms. Walker had returned from lunch. “Let’s take it from the opening of Act Two,” she called. “We’ll do the whole act.”
I said good-bye to Brian and hurried to the front of the stage. Esmerelda was in just about every scene of Act Two. This time, I was determined to remember every word.
As I stepped beside Robert, I saw Ms. Walker pick up her script from the table where she always left it. She grasped it in both hands and started to open it to Act Two.
I watched her expression change as her hands worked at the script. She let out a short, angry cry. Then she tugged some more at the thick script.
“Hey —” she shouted angrily. “Now who’s the joker?”
“Ms. Walker, what’s wrong?” Robert called.
She raised the script and shook it furiously. “The pages of my script — they’ve all been glued together!” she fumed.
Startled gasps rose up around the stage. “That’s it!” Ms. Walker cried. She heaved the script at the wall. “That was the last joke! The play is canceled! Everybody go home! It’s canceled.”
19
“Did Ms. Walker change her mind?” Zeke asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. She calmed down after a few seconds and said the play could go on. But she was in a really bad mood for the rest of the day.”
“At least this time she couldn’t blame me,” Zeke said quietly. He tossed a pink rubber ball across the living room, and Buster, his black cocker spaniel, went scrambling after it.
Brian and I had dropped by Zeke’s house to tell him how things were going. Zeke was grounded — probably forever — and couldn’t leave the house. His parents were at the movies. They’d be home in a few hours.
Buster dropped the ball and started barking at Brian.
Zeke laughed. “He doesn’t like you, Brian.” He picked up the ball and bounced it over the carpet again.
But Buster ignored the ball and kept barking at Brian.
Brian blushed. He reached out to pet the dog’s head. “What’s your problem, fella? I’m not a bad guy.”
Buster scampered away from Brian and crossed the room to search for the ball, which had rolled into the hallway.
“Well, I guess this proves there’s some other joker in the class,” Zeke said, his smile fading. He settled back on the couch. “Guess this proves that it wasn’t me doing all the bad things.”
I started to make a joke, but I caught the serious expression on Zeke’s face. So I didn’t say anything.
“There’s a phantom, and it isn’t me,” Zeke said. “And now everyone thinks I’m a liar. Ms. Walker thinks I tried to ruin the play. Even my parents think I’ve turned into a bad guy.”
“You were a much better Phantom than Robert,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “There’s less than a week to go, and Robert still keeps messing up his lines. He says he’s sorry he tried out for the play. He doesn’t even want to be in it now.”
Zeke jumped to his feet. “If we could prove that I’m not the Phantom, I’ll bet Ms. Walker would give the part back to me.”
“Uh-oh,” I said. I could see Zeke’s mind working. I knew what he was going to say next.
“Uh-oh,” Brian echoed. He also knew what Zeke was going to say.
“Let’s go to school,” Zeke said, his eyes wide with excitement. “Let’s find the Phantom this time. I really want to get my part back.”
I shook my head. “No way, Zeke —” I started.
“I really want to show everyone that I didn’t try to ruin the play,” Zeke insisted.
Brian tossed the ball to the dog. The dog watched it bounce away. “But you’re grounded, remember?” Brian said to Zeke.
Zeke shrugged. “If we find the Phantom and prove that I’m innocent, my parents will be glad I went. And I won’t be grounded anymore. Come on, guys. One more try. Please?”
I stared back at Zeke, thinking hard. I didn’t think it was a good idea. The last time we sneaked into the auditorium, we ended up in major trouble.
I could see by Brian’s expression that he didn’t want to go, either.
But how could we say no to Zeke? He was practically begging us!
It was a warm night, but I felt chilled just the same. As we walked to school, I kept seeing shadows moving close as if reaching for us. But when I turned to see them, they vanished.
Brooke, you have too much imagination, I scolded myself.
I wished my heart would stop thudding like a bass drum.
I wished I were home, watching TV with Jeremy. I had a bad feeling about our little adventure. A very bad feeling.
We didn’t waste any time trying the doors. We climbed into school through the same home ec room window. Then, once again we made our way silently down the dark halls to the auditorium.
One row of lights had been left on at the back of the seats. The stage lay dark and bare, except for the gray brick backdrop against the back wall.
Zeke led the way down the center aisle. He had given us each a flashlight. We clicked them on as we made our way to the stage. The beams of light played over the empty rows of seats. I raised mine to the stage and swept it from side to side.
No one up there. No sign of anything unusual.
“Zeke, this is a waste of time,” I said, whispering even though no one could hear us.
He raised a finger to his lips. “We’re going down below the stage,” Zeke said quietly, his eyes straight ahead. “And we’re going to find him, Brooke. This time, we’re going to find him.”
I had never seen Zeke so serious, so determined. A chill of fear went slowly down my back. But I decided not to argue with him.
“Uh … maybe I should stay up on the stage while you two go down,” Brian suggested. “I
could stand guard.”
“Stand guard against what?” Zeke demanded, raising his flashlight to Brian’s face.
I could see Brian’s frightened expression. “Against … anyone who might come,” he replied weakly.
“All three of us have to go down,” Zeke insisted. “If we do find the Phantom, I want two witnesses — you and Brooke.”
“But the Phantom is a ghost — right?” Brian demanded. “How do we find a ghost?”
Zeke glared at him. “We’ll find him.”
Brian shrugged. We could both see that there was no point in arguing with Zeke tonight.
The floorboards on the stage creaked as we made our way to the trapdoor. Our flashlights moved over the outline of the square platform in the floor.
Brian and I huddled close together in the center of the square. Zeke stomped hard on the little wooden peg, then jumped beside us.
We heard the familiar clanking sound. Then the gentle hum as the platform started to lower. The stage appeared to rise up all around us. In a few seconds, we were surrounded by four black walls.
The light from our flashlights washed over the walls as we sank lower and lower under the stage. My heart felt as if it were sinking, too — down to my knees!
The three of us stood pressed together in the center of the platform. The clanking and grinding sounds grew louder as we went down. Finally, we hit the bottom with a hard thud.
For a few seconds, none of us moved.
Zeke was the first to step off the platform. He raised his flashlight and swept it slowly around. We were in the middle of a large, empty chamber. It tunneled out in two directions.
“Here, Phantom! Here, boy!” Zeke called softly, as if calling his dog. “Here, Phantom. Where are you, Phantom?” he called in a singsong voice.
I stepped off the platform and gave him a shove. “Stop it,” I insisted. “I thought you were serious about this. Why are you making a joke of it?”
“Just trying to keep you from getting too scared,” Zeke replied. But, of course, I knew the truth. He was trying to keep himself from getting too scared.