Strange Lies Page 8

  She went back to the diagram, drawing an X on the graph paper to represent the deer, a T for Trevor, a D for DeAndre, and three W’s indicating the three witnesses. The W’s formed almost a perfect triangle around the X and T.

  “What’s that?”

  Virginia whirled around, instinctively covering the graph paper with her hand. At the height where a normal person’s head would be, there was a pair of shoulders. Virginia raised her eyes higher. It was Calvin Harker.

  “Oh, hi,” she said. “Um, it’s for Mystery Club.”

  “Cool. Can you show me?”

  “Uhh . . . sure.” Virginia knew Benny hated it when she showed Mystery Club stuff to random people. But it’s not like the diagram showed anything other than public information. Calvin sat down in the plastic chair across from her, which made her feel unsure of him. If he liked her, wouldn’t he have chosen the seat next to her?

  “So, we’re trying to figure out if Trevor slipped on purpose or not. The W’s are the three people who saw it happen. That’s Constance, that’s Yu Yan, and that’s Craig Beaver.”

  Virginia watched Calvin squint at the diagram. She’d been thinking about him all night, but now she realized she’d mentally Photoshopped his face a bit—warmed up the pallor of his skin, plumped the hollows of his cheeks. Now faced with his real-life gauntness, she wasn’t certain if he was good-looking anymore. One thing she hadn’t exaggerated were his eyes, which were a crazy green, the green of emeralds and leprechauns. Virginia had green eyes too, but not like Calvin’s; hers were murky and speckled, like a pond covered in gross algae. She decided to focus on Calvin’s eyes until she figured out if she liked the rest of him.

  “What?” Calvin said suddenly, startling her.

  “What . . . what?”

  “You’re looking at me weird.”

  Virginia tried to think of something to say. But before she could, Calvin said, “How do you know Craig Beaver was there?”

  “Constance and Yu Yan said he was. Apparently he tried to grab Trevor, but then he slipped on the banana too.”

  “Wow, that is one banana on a mission.”

  Virginia laughed, and Calvin looked surprised, like he’d been telling that banana joke all day but this was the first time anyone had actually laughed. Virginia’s mind raced, trying to think of something smart to say. What would Benny say? Something cynical and skeptical that showed he didn’t think the same way as everyone else.

  “I don’t think Craig was suspended for the bullets,” she said breezily, as if the idea had been hers and not Benny’s. “There must be something else going on. . . .”

  “Oh, I know what’s going on.”

  Virginia cocked her eyebrow at him. He’d said it so casually—surely he was joking. “Oh yeah?”

  “I’m serious. I know why Craig was expelled.”

  “Well . . . tell me!”

  “I can’t.” He shrugged and grinned as he said it.

  Virginia didn’t like being teased. She didn’t think it was cute. “Shut up,” she said. “Are you screwing with me or what?”

  “I swear to God—I swear to the universe—I’m not screwing with you. I seriously cannot tell you. I signed a nondisclosure agreement, and if I tell you, there will be a court order. I will immediately be expelled and then sued in civil court.”

  Virginia’s mouth fell open. “What? You can’t possibly be serious.”

  Calvin pressed his abnormally long fingers to his chest. “Virginia Forsythia Leeds, I swear upon my own eternal soul that I am serious.”

  “Okaaay . . . ,” Virginia said, feeling half thrilled and half weirded out that he knew her middle name.

  Calvin leaned across the table. The collar of his shirt shifted, showing a small purple bruise on his neck. Is that a hickey? Virginia thought, feeling curious and also faintly jealous. Who was giving Calvin Harker hickies? But on closer look, Virginia didn’t think it was. It looked more like . . . a fingerprint.

  At that second, Calvin swiftly adjusted his collar to cover the bruise. The motion was so casual, Virginia couldn’t be sure if he’d done it unconsciously, or if he’d noticed her noticing. He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “Listen. You can figure this out yourself. All you need is Trevor Cheek’s cell phone.”

  “His phone,” Virginia repeated.

  “Don’t. Get. Caught,” Calvin said seriously. “If you’re caught, they’ll know I tipped you off. And then I’ll be expelled, along with about ten other guys.”

  “How would they know it was you who tipped me off, then? If there are ten other guys?”

  Calvin leaned back. “Because it’s obvious that I like you.”

  Virginia inhaled sharply. So he did like her—unless he was teasing her. She didn’t think he was, though. He was reminding her of Min-Jun right now. This seemed to be the kind of guy she attracted: older, slightly weird-looking ones who didn’t bother hiding the fact that they liked her. Calvin was 100 percent better than Min-Jun, though; he was smarter and more interesting, and hopefully he wasn’t an icky pervert.

  “I better go,” Calvin said, standing up. “I have Calculus next. I’m not gonna make it without some sativa.”

  Virginia nodded vaguely, not wanting Calvin to know she was in remedial math and didn’t know what “sativa” was. She assumed it was some kind of study guide.

  “Hey, did you like my poem?”

  Virginia let him dangle for a second. “It was very . . . stimulating.” She’d pulled the word out of thin air, but was pleased with how it sounded. Stimulating.

  Calvin’s face brightened. “Stimulating! Really!”

  “Do you have any other poems?”

  “For you? A million.”

  “Shut up,” she said, her mouth twisting as she tried not to smile.

  “Good luck with your case. Maybe we’ll meet again once you figure it out.”

  “Maybe,” Virginia said coolly. She went back to her graph paper. When she was sure Calvin was walking away, she snuck a look at him over her shoulder. She liked the way he walked, and the way his nose looked in profile. Suddenly she wanted him to come back. Had she been too chilly toward him? Would he find a nicer girl to send poems to?

  You did fine, she assured herself. She’d lived with Chrissie White long enough to know that throwing yourself at guys only worked in the short term. It was better to play the field and stay in the power position until you were really sure about somebody.

  Stop thinking about boys. Virginia took a deep breath to clear her head. There was fifteen minutes of her free period left, and if she worked quickly, she could have a whole dossier of information to present to Benny at lunch. She felt as hyper as a dog chasing a squirrel. Maybe Benny would be so impressed with her dirt that he’d make her co-president of Mystery Club!

  She swept her pens and graph paper into her backpack. A little folded note slipped out and dropped to the floor. Virginia picked it up and slowly opened it.

  THE FA/NT/NG G/RL

  When she went out

  like a light

  So did the light

  Of her consciousness

  And for a moment

  All the world

  Sucked

  The cafeteria, 12:21 p.m.

  “I wonder whose blood it was.”

  “Omigod, remember that episode of Seinfeld where he gets a blood transfusion from Newman?”

  “Helloooo, Newman!”

  “NO SOUP FOR YOU!”

  How come everyone loved Seinfeld but still hated Jews? It was something Benny wondered about a lot. He presumed it was the same cognitive glitch that caused people to love rap music while hating black people. He sat alone at a table for four eating his standard lunch, which was a turkey sandwich and two cartons of 2 percent milk. He tucked an earbud in each ear so people would think he was listening to music instead of to their conversations. Most people were discussing DeAndre. Someone had gotten in contact with the hospital, and it seemed the situation was worse than Mrs. Jewel had ma
de it out to be in the assembly. Multiple vital organs had been punctured, and he’d required a massive blood transfusion. The main headline was that his football days were almost certainly over. There was much moaning over the fact that he’d miss the wonderful joy of the Homecoming game next Friday. People seemed very unaware that for DeAndre, football might be more than a game. That he’d probably been hoping to land an athletic scholarship somewhere, a hope that was now down the drain. Nothing in life was secure. No matter what you had, you could lose it in a second. That was the lesson life seemed intent on teaching over and over. I get it! Benny felt like screaming sometimes. I get it.

  “Are you Scooby-Doo?”

  “Hm?” Benny took the earbuds out of his ears.

  “Scooby-Doo? That’s you?” It was Winn Davis. He looked tired and frazzled. There were deep circles under his eyes, and his hair lacked its usual Ken-doll shape.

  “Yes. I mean, I’m Benny.”

  Winn plunked down in the chair next to him and set down his lunch tray, which was piled with enough food to feed a family of four. Benny glanced around. People were looking at them, obviously wondering why in hell Winn Davis was choosing to eat lunch with Benny Flax.

  “I need help,” Winn said in a low voice.

  “Um, of course. What can I do for you?”

  Winn didn’t look Benny in the eye. Instead he stared somewhat vacantly at his pile of food. “Last night . . . there was a . . . guy. In the girls’ bathroom . . .”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Benny said.

  This seemed to perk Winn up a little. “Oh, really? Okay, cool. I need to know who it was.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t know at this time. But I can assure you that Mystery Club is working on it.”

  “Cool . . . Okay . . . Well, I need to know as soon as you know. How much do you charge?”

  “Charge? Oh, nothing. No charge,” Benny said. “We’re a nonprofit club.”

  “Cool . . .”

  Benny narrowed his eyes, appraising him. Was it possible that Winn was the drug dealer, and he was just doing this to throw Benny off? Benny didn’t think that was a likely scenario. Winn wasn’t that clever, and he seemed genuine.

  “Listen, um . . . Hey, do you have a pen?” he was saying. “I think it would be better if I wrote this down.”

  “Of course,” Benny replied, quickly pulling a pen and a small notepad out of his pocket. Winn took them, pushing away his tray of untouched food. He paused, apparently deciding what to say. Then he wrote in sloppy capital letters:

  IF YOU DON’T FIND HIM I THINK I MIGHT DIE.

  Whoa, Benny thought. But he tried to look unfazed. It was unprofessional to seem freaked out by your clients.

  Abruptly, without saying another word, Winn picked up his tray and walked away. Benny watched him join his football player friends at a faraway table. Benny looked at the note again.

  If you don’t find him I think I might die.

  Suddenly he felt a pair of hands closing around his throat.

  “BENNY.”

  Benny jumped and almost toppled over in his chair. He swatted the hands away. They were Virginia’s.

  “Geez, don’t do that.”

  “Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.” Virginia crashed into the chair next to him. “You won’t believe the dirt I got.”

  “What? What is it?”

  She slammed a piece of graph paper onto the table and then proceeded to talk a hundred miles an hour about Calvin Harker and Craig Beaver and a conspiracy and nondisclosure agreements and golf-related Satanic orgies. Christ, Benny thought. Give Virginia an hour and who knew what kind of crap she’d dig up.

  “Stop, stop,” Benny said. “Please speak in a linear manner. You sound like you’re on crack.”

  Virginia raced on, “It has to be the golf team. Ten guys? And there’s no other group in school that has Trevor, Craig, and Calvin in it. I checked.” She slammed a yearbook on top of the graph paper. “And they do blood-letting ceremonies on the golf course to appease the gods of victory. Did you know the golf team hasn’t lost a tournament in four years? I checked that, too.”

  “Hang on. Calvin Harker told you this? That the golf team are Satanists?”

  “No, Calvin wouldn’t say anything! That’s just my theory.”

  Benny gritted his teeth. “Virginia. Tell me exactly what happened. Do not embellish a single detail or inject any theories about Satanism.”

  Virginia took a breath and started over. Benny listened, feeling only slightly less overwhelmed by her second recitation. What was with this case? Everything seemed to be happening around Virginia, with a complete lack of regard for the fact that it was Benny’s club. And what was with Virginia “checking” stuff without him? Research was his thing!

  “So what do we do?” Virginia asked breathlessly. “We get the phone, right?”

  Benny tried to think quickly. Virginia was leagues ahead of him on this one. How was he supposed to judge the proper course of action relying entirely on her reporting? He wished he could have seen Calvin’s face, observed his posture, heard his exact words. Maybe he was trying to trick them. Benny just had no idea, because he hadn’t been there.

  “I . . . I don’t think so. I think we should stick to the plan. Interview the witnesses near Trevor when he fell.”

  “Constance and Yu Yan? Come on, they’re idiots. They don’t know anything.”

  “Then we should focus on the drug dealer in the bathroom. I have new information. It wasn’t Winn Davis. Look what I found.” He pulled out his phone and discreetly showed Virginia the pictures of the X10 device he’d found in the bathroom ceiling. “It’s what the drug dealer used to control the power. It was him. We can cross Yasmin off the suspect list.”

  “Okay, fine! Then we move on to the next person, which is Trevor!” Virginia hissed excitedly. “So we have to get his phone!”

  “Okay, well . . . except how would we even do that?”

  Virginia grabbed half of his turkey sandwich and helped herself to it. She took a large bite and said, “I haf de puffak pwan.”

  Benny sighed. “Chew, swallow, then speak.”

  Virginia swallowed hard. “I have the perfect plan. You’re gonna love it because it’s simple and classic. It’s textbook.”

  Benny narrowed his eyes. Was she calling him boring? Virginia had clasped her hands together and was making a pathetic “pleeeease” face. He had a feeling that if he didn’t say yes, she would just go behind his back and do it anyway. Better to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

  “Fine, we’ll get the phone.”

  Virginia clapped her hands like a five-year-old and took another huge bite of his sandwich.

  “You’ll choke one day if you don’t learn to take smaller bites,” Benny said.

  “Fanks, Dad.”

  “You’re lucky I know the Heimlich maneuver.”

  Virginia swallowed. “Gee, I’m the luckiest girl in the world!”

  Benny frowned. He was not enjoying being the Watson in this situation. He was almost afraid to ask what Virginia’s “simple and classic” plan entailed.

  “I’ll do most of it,” Virginia assured him, as if reading his mind. “All you have to do is one tiny, tiny thing.”

  The second-floor hall, 1:15 p.m.

  I can’t do this.

  It wasn’t a tiny thing. It was a huge thing. It was the very entry point of juvenile delinquency. All the atoms of Benny’s being begged him not to do this.

  Every child in America was acquainted with the terrible temptation of the fire alarm. It was bright red, every kid’s favorite color. It had a handle that pretty much screamed “PULL ME!” It promised instant chaos: the power to upend an entire school, the power to create deafening noise and fear and disorder. All within your reach.

  It was the first thing they learned in kindergarten, drilled into their skulls over and over: never pull the fire alarm. If you pull the fire alarm, you are a worthless, selfish, evil miscreant. If
you pull the fire alarm, your life will be over. You will never become the president; you’ll become a garbage collector on minimum wage, surrounded by garbage and smelling like garbage, because if you pull the fire alarm, you will be garbage.

  Benny’s heart was pounding in time with his thoughts: I can’t DO this, I can’t DO this, I can’t DO this. His palms were clammy and cold. He was clutching a paper towel to avoid leaving fingerprints on the handle; already the brown sheet was damp with sweat.

  Logically, he understood why it had to be him. If Virginia was going to do the dirty work of stealing the phone, it made sense for her to have an alibi when the alarm went off. She was in class right now with fifteen people around her; even if she got caught stealing the phone, no one could accuse her of having pulled the alarm. And no one would accuse Benny, either, if no one saw him. He’d be one of twenty to thirty unaccounted-for students with free periods right now—not a huge pool of suspects, but few with Benny’s 100 percent spotless disciplinary record. In his five years at Winship, he’d never received so much as a uniform infraction. No one would ever imagine Benny Flax pulling a fire alarm—Benny could barely imagine it himself. And yet here he was, standing in the empty hallway, willing himself to yank down that forbidden handle.

  The longer I stand here, the more I’m putting myself at risk.

  He was starting to feel queasy and ill. He reviewed his plan in his mind. Brisk walk along the wall, hand outstretched and ready. A single, swift, forceful pull. Keep moving, duck into the boys’ restroom as quickly as possible. He’d already checked to make sure the restroom was empty. Everything was going to be fine. He wouldn’t be caught, as long as he did it right now.

  Seconds passed. Benny felt paralyzed.

  Do it. Do it, you coward!

  He took a deep breath, willing himself to move. If he wimped out on this, Virginia would never let him live it down. Who cares? a little voice inside his head demanded. Virginia’s a weird, annoying ditz! She can’t judge you! But it wasn’t just Virginia’s judgment he’d have to face; it was his own. Why did this feel like the defining moment of his life? Who was Benny Flax? Someone who could pull a fire alarm? Or someone who couldn’t?