Harper Madigan: Junior High Private Eye (3 page)

It’s almost the end of second period, and Eugene McAllister has Great PTAs Throughout History with Mrs. Marsh in room 201, so that’s where I’m headed. Mrs. Marsh has a reputation for being a hard grader and not putting up with any excuses, but she’s not Eugene’s only problem. I know who’s in that class with him and I know exactly who would have taken his lucky pencil.

Connor Mills. He’s the kind of kid who’s everyone’s problem sooner or later, and he’s been a thorn in my side ever since last summer, ever since Oliver ended up in that chair. And there’s nothing I can do about it, because Connor’s not just trouble—he’s one of the untouchables. He gets to skate through life impervious to the punishments he deserves because his mother is on the PTA. You don’t mess with the PTA and you don’t mess with Connor Mills. It’s a universal truth here at Bright Oaks, and anyone who forgets it ends up regretting it.

I make it a point to stay under the PTA’s radar, because like I told Danigail, if they ever thought I was sniffing around their business, they’d have me shut down. But Connor’s a different story. You could say I owe him, and any chance to knock him down a peg is one I’m going to take, no matter what the cost.

So I’m waiting for him right outside Mrs. Marsh’s class at the end of second period. Connor’s taller than me, wider than me, and he could swat me like a fly and we both know it. But flies bite, and I’m not about to let him forget it. I watch the door as kids pour out of it, hurrying to third period. A couple girls stop and talk as they enter the hall, clogging the way. Then Connor slides past them.

I step in front of him.

He eyes me up and down, a nasty smirk lurking at the edges of his mouth. “Good to see you, Madigan.” He lays on the charm, his voice pleasant, friendly, so that anyone passing by wouldn’t even look twice at us. Or maybe they would, wondering why someone like Connor Mills is talking to me like we’re friends. But they might also be tempted to think he’s just nice like that.

They shouldn’t be so gullible.

“Mills. I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

He sighs. “What did I do this time? Take your lunch money?” He tries to laugh it off, like he hasn’t committed crimes a hundred times worse.

“Try a pencil. It was lucky and it wasn’t yours.”

“A pencil?” He shakes his head like he thinks I’m crazy and blows a lock of hair out of his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And even if I did? I’ve got better things to do than worry about some stupid pencil.” He takes a step closer to me, lowering his voice so no one else hears. “You’re getting desperate, Madigan. You’ll never get anything on me. I’m a
saint
.” A sinister grin slips across his face as he says it, his voice heavy with sarcasm that isn’t lost on me.

I grit my teeth. Even if I could prove he took Eugene’s lucky pencil, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not enough to bust him on, especially with his mom in the PTA, and it could be too easily explained away as an accident.

As soon as Connor leaves, Eugene hurries over to me. He must have been waiting after he got out of class, not wanting to have to face Connor.

“He’s got it,” I say. “I’m sure of it.”

Eugene’s hand shakes as he holds out a piece of paper. It’s a test on great PTAs in the Middle Ages, and there’s a big red C+ written at the top. “This is how it starts,” he tells me. “Someone doesn’t want me keeping my straight A record. First a C+, then what? It’ll be a D next, maybe an… Maybe worse.” He can’t bring himself to say “F”—he doesn’t even want to imagine it.

“You’re smart, Eugene. You don’t need a lucky pencil to do well on a test. It’s all about peace of mind.”

“And mine’s in plenty of pieces. I had the top score every week last month. Connor had second, sometimes third. But guess who had first this week.”

It could have been a coincidence. Maybe. “I’m looking into it,” I tell him.

“It was sabotage,” Eugene says. “You believe me, don’t you?”

If it was anyone else but Connor, I’d say no. But it is, so I nod. “You’ll get your pencil back, and he’ll get what’s coming to him.” One way or another.

I’m eating a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich when Austin slides his lunch tray onto my table. He sits down like he owns the place. Normally I eat in my office, but today I’ve staked out a corner in the lunchroom where I can keep my eye on Connor Mills. He knows I’m watching, so I figure I’m not going to catch him red-handed with Eugene’s lucky pencil or anything, but at least he knows I’m onto him and I’m not going to back off.

Old habits die hard, and whenever I sit in the cafeteria I catch myself checking to make sure there are two extra chairs at my table. One for Danigail, one for Oliver. Even though I know they’re not going to sit here, and even though I know that if they did, Oliver wouldn’t exactly need me to save him a seat. Not when he’s already got his own chair.

So it shouldn’t bother me so much when Austin steals what would have been his spot.

It shouldn’t, but it does.

I glare at Austin. “Get out of here, Phelps, before I lose my appetite. I don’t just work alone—I
eat
alone.”

Austin glances at his plate, then at Connor’s table, where I’ve been staring. Everyone at Connor’s table is an untouchable, and their trays are all piled a lot higher than Austin’s. He’s new here, so I guess he hasn’t learned yet.

“I was right,” Austin says, acting like he didn’t just hear me tell him he can’t sit here. He holds up a computer printout with a picture of Danigail being escorted out of class by a couple of security guards. The headline reads, “Former Spelling Bee Winner Gets Ex-spelled.”

I snatch the paper from him, practically ripping it from his hands. I scan the beginning of the article, even though I already know what it must be about.

“See?” he says. “I was right. She’s trouble with a capital T.”

“Where did you get this?”

“Oh, this?” Austin examines his fingernails, like he’s too busy to answer, but a proud smile slips across his face and gives him away.

“I’m not kidding, Phelps. Answer the question.” The article’s dated this upcoming Friday, and I’m praying that’s not just a typo, that it hasn’t already gone to press.

He shrugs, all nonchalant-like. “A friend of mine on the paper gave me a sneak peek at this week’s issue. After I saw this, I took the liberty of doing a little digging.” The smile fades and he clasps his hands together, looking worried. “This girl’s got a record like you wouldn’t believe. She was straight As up through last year, but then seventh grade started and after that it’s all downhill.”

A friend on the paper? Those stuffed shirt journalist types must be closer than I thought if Austin’s made a friend already. “That’s her business, not yours.” My hands tighten their grip, crinkling the edges of the paper. I’ve seen better pictures of Danigail. Ones where she’s not being dragged off for questioning by security guards. She’s angry in this picture. A lock of her hair’s fallen out of her sagging ponytail and draped itself across her face. You can tell she sees whoever has the camera, and all her hate’s directed right at them.

This isn’t how I remember her. It’s not how I want to remember her. And it’s definitely not how I want everyone else at this school to think of her either.

Austin reaches over and jabs a finger at the print-out. “
Please
tell me you didn’t take the case.”

“She’s not expelled yet. They can’t print this.”

“Yet. She will be by Friday. Attacking another student? Sending her to the
emergency room
?” He shakes his head like he already thinks she’s guilty, like he actually understands what’s going on. “She’s got a rap sheet a mile long, and she hasn’t even been at this school a whole year. It’s not her first offense. From what I hear, Principal Vickers has been looking for a reason to get rid of her for months now. This is the last straw.”

I crumple up the article. My blood pounds in my ears. This is why I hate reporters. “You don’t know anything about her.”

“I know she’s guilty. Harper, tell me you didn’t get suckered into taking the case.”

“Why? Because you’ve already been scooped? Because it’s not going to get you an award-winning article?”

His whole face turns red, and he glances down at his untouched tray full of some kind of breaded meat and a pile of French fries.

“Yeah, I thought so. And for the record, Danigail’s
innocent
.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. His eyes flick from the crumpled piece of paper in my hands up to my face, like he’s wondering if I actually understood what the article was about. “So… you
did
take the case?” He raises his eyebrows.

Now it’s my turn to look ashamed. I shake my head, then swallow and pretend I see something interesting on the wall. “I didn’t want to get involved.”

“So she
is
guilty.” He clucks his tongue. “You’re just mad because this article’s reporting the
truth
. It’s the paper’s job to tell it like it is. It’s not their problem if the truth ruffles a few feathers.”

“Just because she has a history doesn’t mean she did this.”

“I’ve done my research on you, Harper. If you really thought she was innocent, you would have taken the case. No matter what the consequences.”

I stare at him, hating him for talking about me like I’m some kind of hero.

“But it’s a good thing you didn’t sign up for this one,” he says, prying open his milk carton and taking a sip. He starts eating his lunch, like the conversation is over. Like I ever said he could sit here, in Oliver’s spot. “Dodge specifically brought me in to keep you out of trouble.”

“And I told you, I work alone. But I’ll make you a deal. You get your friend to pull this article, and I’ll get you your story.”

He stops in mid bite, a fry hanging partway out of his mouth. “You’re going to let me work with you?”

“
Just this once
.”

His face lights up, but then he adds, “Not that I need your permission. I mean, my orders come from Dodge, not you.”

Whatever. “You want your story or not?”

“I’m in.” He holds his hand out to shake, like we’re going to make some kind of pact. When I don’t make a move, he eventually slinks his arm back. “But… what’s the story? Not that stupid pencil.”

“Don’t ever call one of my cases ’stupid.’ And as for your story?” I prod the crumpled up article. “When we’re done, this is going to look more flimsy than a wet noodle. The paper might want to look for new fact checkers, because Danigail Bates is innocent. And I’m taking the case.”

Austin puts a hand on the doorknob, stopping me from going in. “Are you crazy?” he whispers.

I peer inside the meeting room through the tall, thin rectangular window on the door, ignoring him. Bunch of angry looking teachers in there, plus Principal Vickers, who’s waving around a wooden gavel like she’s a real judge. Plus Danigail. It’s obvious from the looks on their faces that Vickers isn’t going to rule in Danigail’s favor.

“What did you think we were gonna do, just come take a peek and then walk away?” I told him I was taking the case. Taking the case means stopping whatever’s going on in there. I told Danigail I wasn’t a lawyer, but I’m not letting her trial go down without having some say.

“There are teachers in there.” He checks his watch. It’s made of real metal. Not gold, but not plastic, either. “Harper, we’re going to be
late
. To
class
.”

Who does he think I am? I invented showing up late. “Do you see any hall monitors around here?” Besides, this is more important. Whatever’s happening to Danigail in there is a hundred times worse than anything that’s going to happen to us for being “late.” Well, to him. I have this handy
carte blanche
hall pass around my neck.

“Justice waits for no one,” I tell him, because I figure with the hero complex he’s got, that’ll sound pretty good to him. Plus it’s the truth.

I move for the knob again, but he blocks me. His whole face is pale—paler than normal, even. “That’s a Board Meeting in there. They’re making a ruling and they’re not going to be happy if you interrupt them.”

I raise my eyebrows. Does he think I don’t know that? “Some journalist you’re going to be. You always play it this safe?”

“I’m going to have to report this to Vice Principal Dodge. There’s got to be some protocol for dealing with something like this. A… a paper we can get from the office, get it signed, submit it to the secretary or something to get the hearing postponed.”

“Paperwork takes forever. Once that gavel comes down, Danigail’s life is over—no after the fact piece of paper is going to save her. And anyway, there’s no protocol for interrupting a Board Meeting. You just
do it
.” I glance inside. Danigail’s looking nervous. The members of the Board are shaking their heads.

He swallows. “This is why the Vice Principal made me your partner. To—”

“Listen here, Phelps, because I’m only going to say this one more time. You might be helping me out with this case, but you’re only in it to get a story and you’re
not
my partner. I work alone, plain and simple. I don’t care what you tell Dodge.”

“But—”

I push past him and practically throw the door open. It’s now or never.

“Danigail Bates, because of your behavior, the Board suspends—”

Principal Vickers stops in the middle of her sentence, her gavel hovering above the table. All eyes turn to me, the kid in the trench coat who just busted into their meeting. There are a couple faculty members on the Board who’ve dealt with me before who look especially outraged. Everyone looks like they just swallowed a porcupine, except Danigail. Her eyes are wide and a little hopeful.

Principal Vickers glares at me. She’s old enough to have mostly white hair. Not granny blue, just white with a few peppered streaks. She scoots her chair back and stands up, clearing her throat and staring down her glasses at me.

Austin creeps up behind me, like he’s hoping no one will notice him. He could have just run off and let me do this alone, but then what would he have had to report to Dodge?

“Excuse me?” Principal Vickers says. She has a British accent that makes her sound even more in charge. “This is a meeting of the Board. A
closed
meeting. It’s not open to the public.”

I’ll bet it’s not. “I’m not here as a citizen. I represent Danigail Bates.”

Danigail’s mouth curls up on one side in the tiniest of smiles.

Principal Vickers lets out a little chuckle. “Well. This isn’t a courtroom.”

“But someone’s got to stick up for her.”

“For justice,” Austin whispers behind me, and I cringe a little inside. Whose bright idea was it to let him tag along again?

“Danigail Bates is innocent. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you’re accusing her of a crime she didn’t commit. I’m here to make sure you don’t suspend her without proof.”

“Proof?”

“Evidence. Cold hard facts. Not just wild accusations. This might not be a courtroom, but that doesn’t make you above the law.”

One of the Board members, a math teacher, puts her hands to her face and shakes her head. “But that girl’s a
menace
.”

Principal Vickers grins. She thinks she has me right where she wants me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I think you’ll find that we are not basing this on ’wild accusations.’
You
don’t know all the facts, nor is it your place to interrupt our meeting. Now—”

“I know that if Danigail gets one more suspension, like you’re about to give her right now, she’ll be expelled. And I know kids with permanent records as long as hers don’t make the school look good, especially when they’ve built them up in such a short time. Letting her take the fall for this means you get to wash your hands of it and tell everyone’s parents it’s been taken care of, that the culprit won’t be coming back. Even if it’s not true. You’d ruin her future without even looking into the facts, just like that? Because it’s easy?”

“I assure you, she’s ruined her future entirely on her own.” Principal Vickers scowls at Danigail, who looks like she wants to say something but plays it smart and keeps her mouth shut.

“I happen to know she’s innocent.” I lock eyes with Danigail, sharing a look that says it all. I’m on her side. Just this once.

“Her guilt has been vouched for.” Principal Vickers sounds bored.

“Her innocence is being vouched for
right now
.”

“On whose authority?”

“I represent Vice Principal Dodge.”

There’s a gasp that flutters throughout the room. Except for Austin, who inhales his own spit and starts choking.

“Martin? I don’t think so.” She’s already shaking her head, a know-it-all smile on her face.

Danigail’s hope withers a little. Her eyes lose the sparkle they gained since I came in the room.

“Call him right now,” I say, silently praying that Dodge will go along with this. “Ask him. I’ll wait. If he confirms my story, you hold off on your sentence, and me and Danigail walk out of here.”

“Danigail
and I
,” Vickers mutters. But she’s already dialing.

I might have a
carte blanche
hall pass that pretty much gives me free roam of this place, but there’s no getting out of a summons to the VP’s office. Especially when that hall pass has his signature on the back, reminding me that he likes to think I’m under his thumb.

Vice Principal Dodge gestures at the two wooden chairs placed in front of his desk when Austin and I come in.

“
Sit
,” he says, practically growling at us.

Austin sinks down in his chair immediately. “Sir, I can explain everything, just let me—”

Dodge pinches two fingers together and mimics zipping his lips shut. He sucks in a deep breath through his nostrils, which flare in and out. “Not. A. Word. Not a single word.”

The chair is hard and uncomfortable, as if it was intentionally made to make me feel fidgety and out of place.

“Tell me, Madigan, who gave you permission to use my authority
for anything
? Last I checked, being a detective doesn’t make you a lawyer.”

“It doesn’t matter what I am—detective or lawyer—I know
who
I am, and I couldn’t let her go down without a fight.” And if I hadn’t stuck my neck—and Dodge’s—out for her, Danigail would be suspended right now, and there’d only be a few sheets of paperwork between her and expulsion. “I had to do something. She’s innocent.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You know that for a fact, do you? From what I hear, that girl’s trouble.”

“With a capital T,” Austin mutters.

“Maybe,” I say, “but this time trouble found her, not the other way around.”

“You can prove that?”

“Not yet, but—”

“But you’d better find a way to do it real quick. Your little stunt can only buy you so much time before the Board decides to ignore you,
and me
, and move forward.” He shakes his head, waving a finger in the air at me. “The only reason I played along was because as bad as it looks that I’m backing you up on this, it would have looked even worse for Principal Vickers, my boss, to think I let you go around abusing my authority!”

Each word makes me feel a little smaller, but I don’t shrink down in my seat like Austin’s doing. I swallow down the lump of guilt and shame in my throat and know that I did the right thing. “I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.”

“I hope you’re right, Madigan, because if you’re not? If you’re even the teensiest bit wrong about her?” He snaps his fingers. “I’ll shut you down, just like that. Every case of yours brings me this much closer to losing my
job
.”

He straightens his jacket, then his tie, I guess to remind us how important he is. “This is exactly why I brought in Phelps here. To keep your investigations from getting out of control.”

“I promise I’ll keep him in check next time,” Austin says. “It’ll all be in the report—every word of what happened.”

Dodge nods at him, then raises an eyebrow at me. “Are we clear?”

“I knew what I was doing. I wouldn’t—”

“I
said
, are we clear?”

I sigh. “Like glass. If I’m wrong about her, you can shut me down.”

“Generous, Madigan, but I don’t need your permission.” He holds his hand out, like he’s expecting something. His eyes pause on the white, laminated hall pass hanging around my neck. A cold prickle of fear twitches through my veins as I watch him contemplate taking it back. I imagine being locked in classes like Sitting Still with no way out, and, worse, no way to conduct my investigation.

Then his gaze shifts to my trench coat. “You want to represent me? Then you’re going to have to look the part. Hand it over.”

I cringe inwardly. It’s way better than him taking the hall pass—I know that—but even so, it’s not easy letting go. He wants me to play by his rules, and he’s got me right where he wants me this time. Reluctantly, I slide first one arm out, then the other. The bottom edge drags a bit on the floor. A bitter taste fills the back of my mouth as I hold my coat out to Dodge. I’m hoping this confiscation is only temporary, but something in my gut—or maybe the way Dodge looks like he’s
this close
to sentencing me with a year’s worth of detention—tells me now isn’t the time to ask.

Dodge smiles as he takes my trench coat. He folds it in half a few times, then drags open a squeaky desk drawer and stuffs it inside. The drawer screeches closed, and Dodge lets out a deep breath, as if having my trench coat in his custody relaxes him.

“Now,” he says, calmly folding his hands in front of him, “
get out
.”