Project Jackalope (4 page)

I dragged her out of the side door and onto the loading dock of the school. I gritted my teeth. If Agatha wasn’t willing to help me, I didn’t know what I was going to do.

“Now brace yourself. Try not to freak out,” I said, taking off my backpack. I had visions of hysterical screaming and crying, snot, the works.

She rolled her eyes again. “Give me a break. Just open the stupid backpack.”

I unzipped the backpack and held it out to her. I probably should’ve made sure she was near a soft place in case she passed out, but it was too late for that now.

Agatha leaned forward and peeked into the backpack. “What is…is that…” She trailed off, her face going super pale and then so red I thought it would explode. Then she took a deep breath and shrieked. “THAT THIEF!”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting. My brain hadn’t even worked out why Agatha was calling Twitchett a thief when she let loose with a stream of cusswords. Most of which I’ve only ever heard on late-night movies that I’m technically not even supposed to be watching.

“That scumsucker! What a liar!” Then she let another stream of impressive cusswords fly. I knew I had to move fast. Nothing gets the teachers running faster than what they like to call “detention words.” And seriously, I don’t even think the words Agatha was using qualified as detention words. More like “expelled from school and put into juvie indefinitely” words. (I did make
a mental note to write some of them down later, though. Because honestly? Genius. I was just itching to unleash those beauties next time Nick Hurley elbowed me going for a basket.)

I grabbed Agatha the potty mouth by the arm again and dragged her across the pavement and behind a tree near the bleachers. Confession time—I don’t have a lot of experience dealing with cussing girls. There had to be a way to shut the floodgates, but I wasn’t seeing it. There must be a trick to it.

“Agatha, cut it out, okay? You’re not helping!” I wasn’t about to wait her out, either. She was insulting her way through Twitchett’s entire family line, and the girl knows her genealogy.

Agatha turned on me. “You don’t understand. That’s
mine,
okay?
Mine.
”

“Fine, it’s yours!” Believe me, if she wanted to take the jackalope problem off my hands, I wasn’t going to stop her. “He probably missed you. Here you go.”

I held out the backpack, but Agatha stared at me like I’d just farted in the punch bowl.

“No, nitwit, not the rabbit. The rabbit isn’t mine. The
idea.
I had
notes.
” She rolled her eyes and flopped down on the lowest bleacher seat.

I sat down next to her. It was all clear to me now. She didn’t understand.

“No, Agatha,” I started, trying not to sound too condescending. “This isn’t a rabbit, okay? Normal rabbits don’t have antlers. This,” I took a dramatic breath, “is a jackalope.”

Agatha gave me that punch bowl look again. “No, loser, that’s a rabbit. Or, technically, a rabbit hybrid. Chimera, if you want to get really fancy, except only in the genetic sense of the word, not the classical.”

I set my jaw. I’d read my Wikipedia. I knew a jackalope when I saw one. “No, it’s a jackalope. See the antlers?”

Agatha rolled her eyes again. “It’s an animal hybrid, and I know, because
I’m
the one who had the idea.
I’m
the one who did the research and figured out how we could create a jackalope look-alike in the lab.
I’m
the one who suggested using my rabbit’s genetic material as a base.
I’m
the one who recommended axis deer DNA instead of antelope for more traditional antlers. And
I’m
the one who planned to present the jackalope as
my science fair project.”

I opened my mouth and shut it again. Because one, I didn’t understand half of that, and two, if the part I did understand was true, I’d be ticked, too. A jackalope would beat a goldfish with an invisibility shield any day of the week. Even if it was just a hybrid whatever.

“So why was he in my bed?” I cut to the chase.

Agatha gave a huge sigh. “Because Twitchett wouldn’t let me do it.
Twitchett
said it wouldn’t work. That even if it would, it was immoral and unethical and I was too immature to recognize my limitations. And Twitchett had ‘grave doubts about my scientific integrity and entire system of ethics’ and
banned
me. Apparently, so he could steal my ideas! He’s a washed-up thieving loser hack.”

Wow, sucks to be Agatha. (Still didn’t really explain the bed part, though.)

I didn’t have a chance to say that though, because Agatha took a deep breath and went into a new rant. I scooched a little farther away from her. She was really
going at it with the air quotes, and I didn’t want to lose an eye. “I asked him to harvest Hortense’s eggs for the project. Not a lot, okay? Just a couple. And you know what he did? He told my parents about my ‘ethical disorder,’ and they had her spayed!
He fixed my rabbit.
” Agatha went off on another cussing jag, under her breath this time.

I’d kind of forgotten about Hortense, Agatha’s rabbit, but now that she mentioned it, the jackalope did look a little like Hortense around the fangs. Which, believe me, wasn’t a good thing, since Hortense was the nastiest rabbit known to mankind.

I peered into my backpack to get a better look at the jackalope/animal hybrid/whatever. It was looking pretty ticked off, nothing unusual there, and it was eyeing the opening like it was thinking of making a break for it. I didn’t blame it—Agatha’s ranting was enough to make anyone want to head for the hills. (I sure did.)

I was trying to figure out how to zip the backpack again without losing a finger when I noticed that the cussing seemed to have stopped. Pretty abruptly, too. I shot a side look at Agatha, and she actually looked like
she’d cheered up. I shook my head. I don’t understand moody chicks, and that was the fastest mood change I’d ever seen. That should have tipped me off, but for some reason I didn’t realize that cheery Agatha equals trouble.

“That really stinks about Twitchett,” I said cautiously. “But what are we going to about this guy?” I nodded toward the bag.

Agatha gave me a huge scary smile. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s fine.”

“Really?” I didn’t see how he could be fine. “How is he fine?”

Agatha smiled bigger. “He’s my new science fair project.”

I jerked the bag back so fast that the jackalope barked angrily, whipped his head out, and slashed one of the straps with his antlers. “Forget it.” Giving the jackalope back to his rightful owner was one thing, but I wasn’t going to stand by and watch Agatha trot him out to be gawked at. I don’t have much experience with the furry set, but I know Killer would’ve hated that. More than he
must hate that stinking bow Keisha’s always dressing him up in. (Not that I’ve asked, okay? I’m over it.)

Besides, Twitchett said I had a reward coming, and she wasn’t going to screw me out of that.

Agatha shot out a skinny arm and grabbed the loose strap, tugging it back toward her. “Give it.”

“Oh, no,” I said, trying not to get into a tug-of-war with her. “You can’t do that, Agatha.”

“Why not?” She gritted her teeth and pulled harder. “It’s my idea, my work. I’ve got most of my calculations—I’ll just re-create my notes. Carter can eat my dust.”

“But you can’t!” I pulled back and tried to think of a convincing argument. You know, besides the “You’ve gone psycho crazy” argument. “You’ve already got a great project. What about the idea you’re working on now?”

Agatha stopped tugging. “What idea?”

“You know, the one that’s going to beat the invisible goldfish?” I said lamely. It would’ve been a more convincing argument if I actually knew what her project was.

Agatha gave a short, scary laugh. “You want to know what my idea is? Do you?”

Believe me, I didn’t want to nod. But I did.

“I don’t have an idea, okay? I have no project. I’ve got less than twenty-four hours to beat the socks off of Carter Oliver and I’ve got
nothing.
”

I made a sympathetic face. My lame planets idea suddenly seemed pretty okay. At least it was better than nothing.

“My parents don’t want to let me around anything remotely scientific because, thanks to Twitchett, they’re afraid I’m going unleash deadly bacteria on the world or blow up the neighborhood with my chemistry set. They want me to make electricity with a potato.”

I understood. Electricity with a potato is cool, but we did that in class a couple of years ago. Even I knew she couldn’t do electricity with a potato.

“Well, that sucks,” I said in my most sympathetic voice. “But you still can’t have the jackalope.” I jerked the backpack strap out of her hand and zipped it up so quickly that I almost amputated a jackalope nose in the process.

“Animal hybrid! Not jackalope!” Agatha shrieked. “But why? What difference does it make if he’s my project? What do you care?”

I didn’t answer. I’d just seen something through the spaces in the bleachers that made my stomach drop. I dropped to the ground to get a better look.

“What are you doing?” Agatha stared at me.

I couldn’t believe it. We were in big trouble. “That’s why,” I said, pointing.

Two long black cars had pulled up next to the school.

“No way,” Agatha said, peering through the hedges at the school. We’d ditched the bleachers for some nearby bushes that were less exposed. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would the Suits care about us? Unless you let them see the rabbit hybrid. Did you? Just admit it.”

I’d filled Agatha in on all the Mr. Suit activities at our apartment, but apparently she still thought I was a doofus. “Yeah, I introduced them first off. Sheesh, what do you think, I’m an idiot?”

“Fine, sorry. But why us, then? We don’t know where Twitchett is. We’re just a couple of stupid kids.” Agatha shook her head.

“Hey!”

“Well, to
them
! They shouldn’t be paying any attention to us at all.”

She had a point. If I were looking for Twitchett, I don’t think I’d be wasting my time stalking a couple of kids who can’t even drive yet. They must have security cameras to check or phones to tap or something, right?

“Who are they anyway? Cops?”

I shook my head. “Feds. Have to be, right? Maybe FBI. Or CIA.” I went cold just thinking about it. Those CIA guys could eat you for lunch. I’ve seen the movies.

Agatha stood up. “Come on. We’re going back in.”

I grabbed her and tried to drag her back down into a crouch. “What, are you crazy? They’ll see you! I said CIA, Agatha!”

Agatha pulled her arm loose. “Your scenario doesn’t make sense, Jeremy. According to you, they shouldn’t even know you were helping Twitchett. Sorry, but there’s got to be a logical explanation. Let’s find out what it is.”

I trotted after her (keeping my head ducked down) as she walked casually back toward the school. “But…”

Agatha shot a scornful look back at me. “Relax, they’re not going to hurt a couple of kids. And I’m not going to be an idiot about it. Like some people.”

Yeah, put-downs were really what I needed. That’s the thanks I get for trying to be a good guy. We got to the back entrance of the school, but the whole way I was sure that any second now, guys in suits were going to jump me from behind.

Tori Bartholomew was jogging out of the door as we came up. Agatha shot a hand out and grabbed her by the arm as she hurried past, jerking her back like a rag doll.

“Hey, Tori, what’s up?” Agatha flipped her hair over her shoulder, all casual, like she hadn’t just jerked Tori’s arm half out of the socket.

Tori scowled at her, rubbed her arm, and pulled her tights up. Very attractive move, the hitching up of the tights. Just a shade more attractive than the wiping of the nose.

“Oh, they were making an announcement for you. Your uncle’s here to pick you up? You need to go to the
office.” Tori finished fiddling with her tights and swung her backpack over her shoulder.

“My uncle?” Agatha raised an eyebrow and shot me a significant look.

“Yeah, that’s what they said, so look, I gotta go,” Tori said in one breath. “Oh, your uncle too, Jeremy. What, are you related?” She gave her tights one last tug and hurried off around the building without waiting for an answer.

Agatha folded her arms and looked thoughtful.

“Let me guess. No uncle?”

Agatha shook her head. “Not that I know of. You?”

Nothing like a little validation to make your day. “Nope. And what does that tell you?” I bragged.

“That I need more information.” Agatha glared at me and stalked into the building, maybe a little bit more slowly than before.

I have to say, I did notice that people were staring at us as we walked through the hall, but I thought it was because I was with Agatha. (Or because they thought we were related, which really, I don’t even want to think
about.) I didn’t realize that it was because I’d been pegged as a criminal fugitive from justice. I didn’t figure that out for a whole two minutes more, when I saw the Mr. Suit types searching my locker. They were at Agatha’s, too.

I half-expected Agatha to explode and go beat them up for daring to touch her Einstein pinups, but she didn’t; she just hung back and gaped. I think she finally realized maybe I wasn’t as brain-dead as she thought.

To be fair, I was doing my own fair share of gaping when Nick Hurley punched me on the shoulder. “Way to go, man. What’d you do?”

I shrugged. “Nothing much.” I jerked my head at the Suits. “What’ve you heard?” I have to admit, as bad as things were, I was pretty psyched. This jackalope thing could be just what I needed to ramp up my rep.

“That they’re the Feds and that you guys are arms dealers. Also, that you’re on the run for embezzling money from the Mob. Or that your uncles are staging an intervention and searching your lockers for drugs.” Nick grinned. “Nobody has a clue, so you’re in the clear. But nobody believes those guys are your uncles.”

I nodded. That uncle story was pretty lame. Especially since they were using the same story for me and Agatha. I had to hand it to them, though—it was a sneaky way to get access to our lockers. Principal Turner’s so freaked out about alienating parents and family members that she would’ve opened our lockers for the family dog.

“I’d clear out if I were you, though,” Nick said, keeping an eye on the locker situation. “They’ll be done there soon, and they’ll find you. But me? I never saw you.” He punched me again and headed off down the hallway.

I nudged Agatha, who was still staring slack-jawed at the Suits. “Look,” she whispered.

One of the Suits had the shrimpy kid whose locker was next to Agatha’s by the upper arm and was whispering in his ear in a really creepy, no-concept-of-personal-space kind of way. When the kid shook his head, the Suit pressed on the kid’s neck for a second and he slumped against the wall like his bones had gone to jelly. It was just for a second, and I wouldn’t even have noticed if I
hadn’t been looking right at them. Then the kid kind of straightened up, and when the Suit asked him something else, he nodded.

“He’s done that three times now,” Agatha whispered. “Who are these guys?”

“Beats me.” That didn’t look like a CIA move. That looked like a Vulcan nerve pinch, like on
Star Trek.
I didn’t even want to think what that meant. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Agatha snapped her jaw shut and nodded. “Right. But first things first.” She narrowed her eyes and got a scary focused expression on her face. It was like she’d woken up from a coma. “Do you have a cell phone?” She held out her hand, and when I was too slow, started snapping her fingers. “Come on! Come on! Cell phone!”

“Okay! Fine!” I handed over my phone.

“They can track us with these, you know,” Agatha said. “So first thing we do is destroy them.”

“Hey!” I snatched my phone back. “I don’t think so.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Fine, we hide them. But we can’t take them with us.”

We decided that the best place for the phones was the dusty dead-bug area under the stairs. And I knew she was right—I’d read all about GPS stuff. But I still had a twinge when I turned my phone off and stashed it in the grime.

“Now let’s get going.”

“Great. Where?” I fiddled with the slashed strap of my backpack. As fun as this all was, it was important to remember that I was going around with a killer strapped to my back. And I can’t say I had a lot of faith in Agatha’s plan, no matter what it was. I mean, one more slash and I’d be carrying the jackalope in my pocket.

“Twitchett.” Agatha adjusted her bag.

Yeah, great plan, wish I’d thought of it. “Twitchett. Right. Where is he again?”

Agatha smirked. “Trust me.”

Great. But it’s not like I had a lot of other options.

We dodged Mr. Burgess, the hall monitor, and hightailed it out of the school just as the bell rang. The parking lot was pretty dead except for this white van driving around, so it wasn’t that hard to run between
the cars without anyone spotting us. The Suits weren’t guarding the doors or anything, so that was good. I don’t know what we would’ve done if they had been. Forget the jackalope: I didn’t want to end up handcuffed in a dirty cell somewhere with someone shining a light in my eyes.

We took off running, and you have to hand it to Agatha—she’s good with her evasive maneuvers. The route we took was so confusing, I wasn’t even sure where we were headed until I saw the giraffe waggling her tongue at me up ahead. “The zoo?” I squealed, and yes, my voice did crack a bit. But it was just from the shock. I mean, come on. And she called me an idiot? “Why would Twitchett be at the zoo? It’ll be crawling with Suit guys, don’t you think?”

Agatha didn’t even bother to look back at me. She was really booking it. “It’s worth a shot. And even if Twitchett’s not there, Bob will be. And Bob’s great.”

Terrific. Like I even knew who Bob was.

Bob, apparently, was Professor Twitchett’s assistant. Or at least, that’s what Agatha told me as we peered
through the window of Twitchett’s lab building. Something I probably would know if I’d ever been to Twitchett’s lab.

“So where’s Bob?” I asked after we’d scanned the room for the millionth time. So far we hadn’t seen any sign of Bob or any Mr. Suits or anything.

“Weird. He’s not here,” Agatha said. “I say we make our move anyway. Check out the office.”

Agatha didn’t wait for me to answer. She had a hairpin out and was picking the lock on the door before I even had a chance to protest. And once someone is picking a lock, there’s not a lot you can do except stand in front of them to block them from view and whistle. (Well, that’s what I do. Whistling is probably optional.)

“Got it!” Agatha said, scooting inside and dragging me along behind her. Those fourth-grade criminal habits were really paying off.

Inside it was what you’d call your basic lab. You know: It smelled funny, had Bunsen burners, lots of Pyrex, and sciencey junk. Beats me what we were looking for,
but Agatha was going to town looking through papers and cabinets and stuff. I fiddled with a nasty-looking petri dish and waited for her to get done.

Agatha slammed down a pile of papers she’d been shuffling through and snorted in disgust. “Nothing here. Nothing interesting anyway, unless you’re tracking hippo cholesterol levels.”

Which, obviously, I wasn’t.

Agatha eyed the petri dish I was holding. “That’s bubonic plague, you know. Did you get it on your hand? Because if you did, you’re going to break out in huge black boils and die.”

I dropped the petri dish as Agatha burst out laughing. “It’s not the plague, you dork,” she gasped between very unattractive snorty laughs.

“I know,” I said, pushing the petri dish away quickly and wiping my hands on my jeans. “What is it?”

Agatha wiped her eyes. “Like I know.” She tested the inner door of the lab and then whipped out her hairpin again. “We’d better hurry and check out Twitchett’s office before Bob comes back.”

She messed with the lock for a few minutes before it clicked and she swung the door open. Then she stared in shock.

I didn’t blame her. I think I’ve mentioned Twitchett’s not exactly the most tidy person on the planet. His apartment has a lot in common with a nuclear waste dump. So when that door opened, I never would’ve believed it was Twitchett’s office. It wasn’t just that it was tidy. It was more than tidy. It had been cleaned out.