Sammy Keyes and the Dead Giveaway (14 page)

Mrs. Ambler's eyes are wide, and she's stunned into silence as she tries to absorb everything I've said. Finally, she holds her head in her hands and says, “I am in a world of hurt.”

I whimper, “I'm
sorry
,” and boy, do I sound pathetic.

“No,” she says, “I'm in a world of hurt because of the way I've been railroading Heather.” She shakes her head. “What am I going to do? I was so sure she was lying to me! How could I have been so
wrong
?”

I look down, and very quietly I tell her, “You weren't.”

“What's that?”

“She
was
lying to you.” I peek at her, then look down again. “Just not about Tango.”

“Then what?”

“I…I can't tell you.”

“
What?
Why not?”

“Because I don't want you to think I'm confessing what
I
did wrong so that I can tell you what
she
did wrong.”

“Wait—are you saying you don't want to have mixed motives?”

Just then Marissa's head shoots through the doorway. She's all flushed and out of breath, and when she sees she's found us, her eyes get big and she just stands there sort of sputtering, “I was … Did you …? Is everything… okay?”

“She knows?” Mrs. Ambler asks me.

I nod. “Holly does, too, but they're the only ones.” Then I cringe and say, “And if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, please,
please
don't tell anyone else. Word'll get out and—”

She waved it off. “Sammy, I forgive you. I would have forgiven you the day it happened. It was an accident, and from what you've explained, I can see that things got out of hand.”

“Oh, Mrs. Ambler, thank you!” I actually jumped up and hugged her but got embarrassed and sat back down. “And I'm so sorry you found Tango yourself. I tried to look you up this weekend, but you're not in the phone book or at 411 or even on the Internet.”

“It's okay, it's
okay
. But, Sammy, you've got to help
me
now. What was Heather lying about? I need something! Something to distract her from suing me. Do you have any idea what I've been enduring with that mother of hers? She's a beast!”

Marissa backhanded me softly. “Tell her!”

I thought about it a minute, then said, “What does Heather want more than anything?” I gave a shrug and added, “Besides humiliating me, of course.”

Mrs. Ambler knew the answer in a heartbeat. “Popularity.”

“And if you were Heather, how would you go about convincing people you were popular, even if you really weren't?”

She just stared at me.

Finally, I said, “Okay, how about this: Were you missing anything the day Tango disappeared?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“It wasn't so much
missing
as it was
partially
missing. You probably didn't think anything of it 'cause you were worried about Tango.”

“Good grief, Sammy, just tell her!” Marissa said.

But a little light sparked to life in Mrs. Ambler's eyes. “Wait a minute …wait a minute! The seventh-grade Personality ballots! I thought I hadn't made enough copies, but … but she stole some of them, didn't she!”

I gave her a little smile. “You didn't hear that from me.”

She was putting it together quick now. “Not enough for me to notice, but enough to sway the election!” Her eyes were getting bigger and bigger. “Which explains why she got fifty-two write-ins for Most Popular!”

“No!” I gasped. “She wrote herself in for Most Popular? Like winning Best Style or Friendliest wouldn't have been enough?”

“Told you!” Marissa said, giving me a smug look. Then she added, “And it's Most
Unique
Style, Sammy.”

“Who cares?”

Mrs. Ambler scowled. “And make that winning Most Unique Style
and
Friendliest.”

“She won
both
?” I asked.

“That's right,” Mrs. Ambler said, but then scratched her head and added, “But if I can't say you witnessed her stealing the ballots, on what grounds am I going to get them thrown out and start over?”

“That's easy,” I said. “You ran off extra copies, right? So there are more ballots than there are kids. Just pull out the ones that have Heather written in for Most Popular and you'll probably wind up with the right number.”

She nodded. “Can I say I got a tip from a student?”

“Sure!” Marissa said. “How about I write a note and put it in your box?”

“That'll work,” she said. Then after a quick minute of thinking, she motioned us in like we were huddling up for a football play. “All right. Here's the plan: We don't tell anybody about your involvement with Tango or that Heather
didn't
kill Tango. I show Mr. Caan the suspicious ballots. He calls Heather in, and the pressure he puts on her will hopefully deflect the focus from my false accusation to her real crime.” She leaned back a little. “I don't get sued, you don't get crucified, and Tango can rest in peace.”

I was so relieved I couldn't believe it. But then I noticed that Marissa had a wicked look in her eye. “What,” I asked her, “are you thinking?”

“I'm
thinking
,” she said, drawing the word way out, “that it would have a bigger impact on Heather if you kept quiet about everything for now and then announced the
real
Class Personality winners at the Farewell Dance.”

“Oooooh,” Mrs. Ambler said. “That is diabolical!” She laughed. “All week she'll assume she won, then
bam
.” She nodded, and I could see the wheels racing in her head as she added, “I'm sure I can get Mr. Caan on board …I just hope that I can keep that beastly mother of hers at bay until Friday.”

I think my jaw must've hit my chest. “Mrs. Ambler,” I said, “I can't believe you're being so cool about this. I was expecting you to be so mad at me! Look at the mess you're in, all because of me!”

“Sammy, I loved Tango. He was a sweet little bird. But what bothered me most was not knowing what happened to him … or the feeling that someone — Heather — had
played a prank on me. But now that I know what happened” — she gave a little shrug and nodded out to the special-needs room — “well, in the scheme of what I deal with every day, it's minor.” She grabbed a pad and a pencil and started writing us passes to class. “And I'm actually impressed. Most kids would have been happy to let their archenemy take the fall.” She eyed me with a little smirk. “To tell you the truth, I don't know that
I
would have stepped forward had I been in your shoes.”

When she was finished writing, I asked, “So, uh, how's Hula adjusting?”

She peeled the notes off the pad and passed them to us. “Hula's fine. We got her a new friend, Jitterbug.” She laughed. “She harasses him just as much as she did Tango.”

“Hula does?”

“Oh, Hula acts demure when people are around, but she's a fiend. I wouldn't be surprised if she's the reason Tango escaped.”

My mouth was sort of dangling. “But I thought love-birds seriously bonded to each other.”

She stood up and gave a little shrug. “Lovebirds also fight.”

I couldn't believe how much better I felt. I was all bubbly inside. Lighthearted. Free! And as we hurried over to math to retrieve my backpack, I couldn't help it—I started skipping.

Skipping.

“Wow, look at you,” Marissa laughed. “You seem like a whole new person!”

“I can't believe how nice Mrs. Ambler was. She was
awesome
.”
Skip-a-skip-a-skip-a-skip!
“And you know what?”

“What?” She laughed at the complete idiot I was making of myself.

“I cannot
wait
.”

It must've been contagious because Marissa got in step, skipping right beside me. “For?”

“What do you think?” I eyed her and grinned. “The Farewell Dance!”

It was going to be a blast.

Marissa was right—I did feel like a whole new person. Everything seemed to make me laugh or smile or just, you know, skippity-do-dah inside. And maybe it was foolish or went against some verbal contract I had with Mrs. Ambler, but at lunch I caught Dot up on everything. Holly, Dot, Marissa, and I eat lunch together nearly every day, so trying to discuss it around her would be like saying, Sorry, Dot, but you're not really our friend. Besides, Dot's one of the nicest people I've ever met, and she's real good at keeping quiet about things.

Way better than Marissa.

So after telling her about Tango and Heather and Mrs. Ambler's reaction, I made Marissa, Holly, and Dot pile hands on top of mine and make a solemn vow that they wouldn't tell another soul how I'd tomahawked Tango with the door.

Now, it's happened before that I've told my friends secrets at lunch, only to discover that Heather—or, more likely, one of her witless spies—is eavesdropping. But this was such top-secret stuff that I'd made real sure that we were at a table safely away from where anybody could hear what we were saying.

But I guess that, in and of itself, was like waving a red cape at ol' Bull Brain Acosta 'cause right after we get done swearing to secrecy, Holly whispers, “Time to change topics,” and nods a nose over my shoulder.

Sure enough, Heather's working her way through the benches. But instead of glowering like she normally does when it's killing her to know what we're up to, she's saying gushy hellos to everyone as she squeezes through, being really obvious about the fact that she's coming our way.

When she reaches us, she scoots onto the bench right next to Dot and says, “Hey, Dotty. Hi, Missy. Holly…” Then she looks at me and says, “Saw you
skipping
today.”

“And your point is?”

She looks at her fingernails. “Looking forward to the dance?”

I hesitate a second, then instead of telling her to go eat bees or something, I grin a little and say, “Actually, I am.”

“Do you even know
how
to dance?”

I grin a little broader. “Can't say that I do.”

Now, I knew there was a
reason
she'd come to harass me. There's always a reason. And I guess the way I was answering her questions was irritating her, because she finally cut to the chase. “I hope you aren't deluding yourself into thinking you were Casey's first choice. He's only doing Danny a favor 'cause Missy can't go if you don't.”

“Stop calling me Missy,” Marissa said.

“Stop hanging around this loser,” Heather replied with a shrug.

Marissa started to defend me, “Don't you call her a—”

But I cut her off. “Forget it. She's just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Heather snorted. “Like I need to be jealous of a twerp in high-tops?” She shook her head and said, “You're gonna wear them to the dance, aren't you? I can just picture you stepping into a limo in worn-out holey shoes with knotted laces—”

“Hey, you should try some,” I said. “You'd probably find it a lot easier to kick-start your broom.”

One thing about Heather—she can dish it, but man, she can't take it. Her face bloomed like a red geranium, her lips twitched for something,
anything
to come back with, only before she could, Vice Principal Caan was towering over us. “Heather!” he barked. “What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be within twenty-five feet of Sammy.”

Heather rolled her eyes, scowled, sighed, and finally got off the bench.

“Heather, where are you going?” Mr. Caan commanded. “I asked you a question!”

She threw her hands in the air. “I'm just getting twenty-five feet away,” she said, trying to sound like the new “reformed” Heather, but sarcasm oozed through anyway.

“You wait right there!” Mr. Caan told her, then turned to me. “Are you really going out with Casey Acosta?”

“Going out? No!”

But Marissa sort of elbows forward, giving him a knowing look as she says, “They're get-togethering.”

“What?” He squints. “Are you going to the Farewell Dance with him or not?”

I shrug and try not to blush. “A group of us are going, yeah.”

Mr. Caan's a big guy. A strong guy. But at that moment his whole body seemed to sag. He shook his head. He closed his eyes. He took a big breath. Then he looked at us and said, “Why do you kids make life so hard on yourselves? Why does there have to be all this drama?”

I hitched a thumb Heather's way. “She's the one you want to talk to about drama. We're just trying to eat lunch.”

He sighed again and took off. And after he'd escorted Heather a safe distance from us, Holly snickered and said, “Kick-start your broom …”

Dot giggled. “That
was
pretty funny.”

But Marissa was not looking too happy.

“What?” I asked her.

Her forehead wrinkled as she said, “I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that now you
have
to wear your high-tops. As a matter of principle or whatever.”

“Marissa, it's the Farewell Dance, not the prom!”

“But we're going in a limo!”

I shrugged. “Casey said it was casual. High-tops are part of the deal I made with him.”

“But,
Sammy
…!”

“That doesn't mean you can't wear what
you
want to wear.”

“But we'll look stupid together!”

“So? Maybe you'll look good with the other girls and
I'll
be the awkward one. I don't care. I can't both go to a dance
and
dress up.”

“So you can dress up and stay home? Or go dancing and not dress up? But you can't do both at the same time?”

“Hmmm. I could also stay home and not dress up. Actually, that sounds like the best choice yet.”

“But you already said you'd go!”

I sighed. “I know. Foolish, huh?”

“Sammy!”

Dot looked at Marissa and said, “If I was going to the dance, I sure wouldn't wear a dress, Marissa.”

“But—”

“Me either,” Holly added. “Besides, it'd be pretty uncomfortable sitting on the gym floor signing yearbooks in a dress and heels.”

“But we're going in a
limo
…”

I shrugged. “So do whatever you want. Get an updo! Wear ribbons! Rub glitter everywhere! I'll still talk to you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Marissa grumbled.

So Marissa was not too happy, and then when the warning bell rang and we were dumping our trash, Casey caught up to us and caused some more rain to fall on her parade. “Have you heard?” he asked.