Bound for Danger (10 page)

I nodded, remembering how the coach had told me he'd heard nothing about any hazing before we came to him. Then I recalled how he paused when I'd asked him. Did that
mean he knew? Did that mean he was involved? I looked at the principal. “But then . . . ,” I supplied.

Principal Gerther sighed. “But then a sophomore came to me about two weeks later,” he said. “He thought a friend of his was being hazed by someone on the basketball team. I looked into it and couldn't get any answers—the boy was either terrified of telling me the truth, or nothing was going on.”

Joe had been devouring his pie while intently listening to Gerther's story, but now he'd hit the crust and put down his fork. “So what happened to make you decide to get us involved?”

“It was something I learned from Janitor Ed, actually,” Principal Gerther said. “He was cleaning out the boys' locker room and came across one that had been left unlocked. Inside, he found black robes—the kind a judge might wear. And a pile of these strange, homemade plaster masks with—”

“With creepy designs on them?” I asked. “Painted in white?”

Gerther looked at me and nodded. “Bingo,” he said. “It reminded me of something the boys' parents had told me—that the hazers wore masks to avoid being identified.”

“So what did you do then?” asked Joe. “Is that when you called us?”

Gerther shook his head. “No. I looked up the locker number where Ed had found the masks and robes, and it belonged to one Jason Bound.”

Interesting.
“The star of the team,” I said.

“Yes,” said Gerther. “I'll admit, boys, I didn't want to believe he had anything to do with this. But I called a
meeting with him and his parents.” He paused.

“It didn't go well?” Joe asked.

“It went
terribly
,” Principal Gerther said. “As soon as I mentioned the possibility that Jason might know something about a hazing problem on the basketball team, his father reminded me that he is
very wealthy
—he invented the selfie stick, you know—and has access to some
very high-priced
lawyers.”

“Did Jason say anything useful?” I asked.

“He didn't get a chance,” Principal Gerther said. “His father took over the conversation, saying that he was quite sure Jason didn't know anything, and that if I wanted to accuse his son and jeopardize his scholarship, that I'd better have
very clear
evidence—or it would mean a lawsuit for the school.” He paused and scowled. “You know, BHS is still paying off that girl who claimed she found a rat tooth in her daily special from the cafeteria.”

“I suspected that the rumor was true,” I said. One of the many reasons I think Joe is nuts to order the daily special every day.

Gerther frowned at me. “I'm not at liberty to discuss it further,” he said. “My point is, we don't have the money to be sued by David Bound of Bound Industries. Soooo . . .” He held out his hands, indicating the two of us.

“So you had us join the team,” Joe supplied.

“Exactly,” Gerther said. “I know you boys are good at solving mysteries.”

“But you didn't tell us anything about your hazing suspicions,” I pointed out. “You sort of sent us in blind.”

“I know, and I regret that now,” Principal Gerther said, poking at his pie remnants with his fork. “I didn't want to prejudice you. I wanted any evidence you brought to me to be pure enough to stand up in a court of law.” He paused, frowning. “But in trying to achieve that, I put you two at risk. You have my sincere apologies for that.”

“Accepted,” I said. Joe looked at me with a little surprise, but I saw no point in holding grudges. It was clear Principal Gerther now saw just how dangerous the hazing situation was.

“Hey,” Joe said suddenly, “you're not yelling anymore.”

“Excuse me?” asked Principal Gerther.

Joe was right. “You usually speak at a . . . higher volume,” I said. “Sometimes it seems like you might have trouble hearing us.”

“Oh.”
Principal Gerther's eyes widened in recognition. “Well, to be honest, boys, my wife has told me for some time that she thinks I have a hearing loss and should look into a hearing aid. I always resisted, because I didn't want to look like an old fogey. But one of my 'Nam buddies, Herb, showed me this little tiny thing he inserts into his ear every day, that makes everything sound clear as a bell. You can't even see it!” He tapped his ear. “I decided to give it a try.”

“Wow,” Joe and I murmured at the same time.
A Principal Gerther who admits he was wrong, cares about our well-being, and speaks at a normal volume?
The times they were a-changin'.

We were quiet for a minute, absorbing this news, when
suddenly Joe straightened in his seat. “So what now?” he asked.

“Now,” Gerther said, “I think I have no choice but to suspend the basketball team until Coach Perotta can work with me to get to the bottom of this.”

“But that punishes the whole team!” I pointed out. “I don't think
everybody
is involved.”

“But it seems that everybody is aware,” Principal Gerther said. “Everyone knows about the problem, and no one has reported it. That goes against the BHS honor code, right there.”

“I think they're afraid,” Joe said quietly. “The masked guys are pretty . . . scary.”

“And the people who made it through the hazing,” I added, “have convinced themselves it was worth the struggle. It's a psychological phenomenon called ‘cognitive dissonance.'”

A brief shadow passed over Principal Gerther's face, like he had just remembered I was annoying.

“Listen,” I said, leaning forward, “can you just overturn Perotta's punishment and get us back on the team?”

“What?” Gerther asked.

“What?”
Joe echoed, looking at me like I was insane.

“Of course I
could
,” Principal Gerther went on. “I
am
the principal. But is that really a good idea? I don't want to expose you boys to further risk.”

I looked at Joe, trying to use my brother-telepathy to say:
We're so close. Let's just finish this.

At least some of that must have landed, because Joe turned to the principal with a new sense of determination. “Frank's right,” he said. “We're
so close to figuring out what's really going on. Let us get to the bottom of this. We'll get you proof. Something incriminating, on film or video.”

Gerther looked from him to me, wearing a dubious expression. He shook his head. Finally he said, “All right—but I'm sending you back in with a bodyguard of sorts.”

A bodyguard?

“Whatever,” Joe said. “As long as you get us back on the team.”

“Along with Ty, Pete, and Jayden,” I added.
They have a right to play in the championship game they helped get to.

Principal Gerther nodded. “Consider it done.” He looked at us seriously over our near-empty plates. “I feel like up to this point, I've underestimated both of you. You're good boys. Your parents raised you right.”

That was awfully nice of him. “Thanks, Principal Gerther.” I wanted to add something like,
You're nice too,
but it seemed inappropriate.

“I realize you're doing me a big favor by helping me get to the bottom of this,” Principal Gerther added. “Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

I glanced at Joe, who shrugged.
Good,
I thought.
I'll take this one.

I turned back to Gerther with an eager smile.

“Actually,” I said, “is there any way you can get me back into the B-Sharps?”

G
OOD MORNING, BOYS.”

About twelve hours after we'd parted from Principal Gerther in the Athens Diner parking lot, he welcomed us back into his office. Coach Perotta, Coach Noonan, Ty, Pete, Jayden, and some huge guy I'd never seen before were seated in folding chairs all around his desk.

“Um, hi,” I said, feeling nervous for some reason I couldn't quite place. Last night, I'd totally understood why Frank wanted to get back on the team. He hates to leave a case unsolved, and truth be told, so do I. But now I wondered if we'd glossed over the risks in the midst of our excitement.

Coach Perotta glanced up at us, clearly using all the
energy he had to stifle a scowl. He looked about as happy to see us as you would be to see a family of rats move into your kitchen cabinets. Jayden, Pete, and Ty wore more guarded, curious expressions. And the huge guy weighed at least two-fifty and had a five o'clock shadow at nine thirty in the morning. Was he someone's big brother?

“I've been talking to Coaches Perotta and Noonan about what happened yesterday during basketball practice,” Principal Gerther explained. “We think we've reached a decision.” He nodded at Coach Perotta.

“Yes,” said Coach Perotta, not quite making eye contact with us. “I think in my frustration, I may have acted hastily. I realize now that you all were clearly the victims of the hazing, not perpetrating it. Moving forward, I promise to work
with
you to solve the hazing problem.”

“And?” prompted Principal Gerther.

“And,” Coach Perotta went on, looking like he smelled something rotten, “you can all return to the team.”

Ty let out a whoop of excitement. Jayden and Pete looked pretty thrilled too—if a bit confused.

Principal Gerther indicated the big guy. “And this,” he said, “is Owen. Say hello, Owen.”

“Hello,” said Owen. His voice was as deep as the guys' on these old soul records Mom likes to listen to.

“Owen is a new student here, beginning today,” said Principal Gerther. “He's going to join the basketball team too.”

Subtle,
I thought. But if Ty, Pete, or Jayden thought this was weird, they didn't show it. They were probably too excited to get back on the team.

Frank nudged me. “Owen looks about thirty,” he whispered. “He has a five o'clock shadow!”

“Don't look a gift thirty-year-old in the mouth,” I hissed back.

Principal Gerther told the coaches, Pete, Jayden, and Ty that they could leave. He asked me and Frank to stay behind, with Owen.

“Owen is your new bodyguard,” Gerther whispered as soon as the others were out the door. “I want you to take him everywhere. His only job is to keep you safe.”

“What if Frank and I have different classes?” Joe asked.

Principal Gerther seemed to deflate for a moment, but only a moment. “He'll alternate,” he said. “He'll start out with Frank, then meet you, Joe, at your locker between classes. Then he'll go to class with you, and vice versa.”

It seemed a little complicated to me, but I'd take it. I much preferred Principal Gerther Who Cares About the Hardy Boys' Well-Being to the previous version.

• • •

Frank and I met up again at lunch. Owen was trailing me from history class, where he'd asked some surprisingly astute and probing questions about the Boer War.

“So, who are you, exactly?” I asked, wondering if Principal Gerther's ‘Nam buddies somehow had access to the CIA.

“I work for Safe 'n' Sound Security Solutions,” Owen replied cheerfully.

“You're a rent-a-cop,” I filled in.

“Exactly,” Owen said with a nod. “Do they have a salad bar here?”

“Yes, but you don't want to eat from it,” I said. “Come with me. Your best bet is the daily special. Anyway, are you armed?”

Owen snorted. “In a high school?” he asked. “No, I'm not armed, but I do have this.” He lifted his shirt, where a rectangular black box was clipped to his belt. A Taser. “If anyone messes with you or your brother,” he said, “they get fifty thousand volts!”

That was comforting, I guessed. I spotted Frank walking up to us in the food line, and we all went through and chose our food.

“The daily special,” Owen told the lunch ladies enthusiastically when it was his turn.

Frank grimaced at me. “I knew you'd turn him into you eventually.”

“What now?” Owen asked after we paid. “Where do you guys usually sit?”

“We usually sit over there,” Frank said, gesturing sort of vaguely to the back of the room, “but today, I think we should spend lunch trying to talk to Gabe Zimmerman.”

Gabe.
Frank had a good point. At our last hazing fiasco,
Gabe had lured us there, after seeming like he wanted to help us. He had to know something about who was pulling the strings.

“Good call,” I said.

It took us a little while to find Gabe in the lunchroom. We checked out all the usual moderately-popular-sophomore tables before finally locating Gabe at a table in front.

With the popular seniors.

Including Jason Bound.

I gave Frank a quizzical look.
That's weird.
They were on the basketball team together, sure, but Gabe and Jason didn't seem close, nor did they hang with the same crowd.

“Huh,” said Frank, watching Gabe with a perplexed expression. “Well, let's see if he'll talk to us.”

We walked up behind Gabe, and Frank tapped him on the shoulder. Gabe turned, his eyes widening with recognition at the sight of us—and not the good kind of recognition.

“Can we talk to you privately, Gabe?” Frank asked. “We think we have a few things to discuss.”

Jason, who was sitting kitty-corner to Gabe, looked up at us with a cool expression. “Oh, look who it is,” he said. “Coach Perotta's
favorite
players.”

Had word spread so quickly? “Hey, Jason,” I said, trying to look friendly. After all, we didn't have anything against Jason, personally. Nothing that had happened the day before seemed directly related to him.