half-ruined, half-in-focus picture. I put the negative into a little frame, checked the focus, then set a piece of photo paper down and hit the timer.
After fifteen seconds I slipped the paper into the developer and stood back to watch the image emerge.
But there wasn’t an image. Unless the whole paper immediately turning black counts as an image.
I pulled that page out and rinsed it clean before dropping it in the trash.
I set another piece of paper down and turned the timer on for five seconds, figuring it might be underexposed, but at least I would have a better idea of what time to use.
But no. This one turned black too.
A panicky feeling started to rise up inside me as I looked at the package of photo paper. There were two black plastic bags with fifty sheets each; only the top one should have been unsealed. But they were both open. And the stacks of paper weren’t neat and even—they were irregular and off-center.
All of my paper had been exposed.
A package like this cost sixty dollars. With my current weekly allowance of twenty dollars, that meant three weeks of savings down the drain. And three weeks of more saving before I could even afford another package.
Three weeks without developing photos?
I started to feel kind of sick.
I’d told my sister a trillion times not to touch my stuff, not to even go into the darkroom, and she refused to listen.
Kasey was guilty. She had to be.
After a few deep breaths I went to confront my sister. My hands shook as I stalked down the hall and pounded on her door.
Stay calm , I told myself. Be mature.
She opened it, blue eyes wide.
“What?” she asked.
I took a long breath through my nose. “Just . . . tell me . . . why.”
“Huh?”
My calm exterior shattered like a lightbulb dropped from a third-floor window. “Why did you do it, Kasey?
What did I do to you? I try so hard to be nice to you when nobody else even wants to be your friend, and you—”
Her hands flew up to her cheeks, which flushed pink. “Lexi!” she cried, dismayed.
I took a step back. “ Why , Kasey?!”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “I swear I didn’t. I don’t even know what happened. I heard a noise and then all I remember is having the weirdest dream and then I was at school and they said come to the office because of Dad and I saw all the reports on Ms. Lewin’s desk and later they were in my bag—”
“What?”
Her face fell slack, her jaw hanging slightly open, her breath ragged.
“What are you talking about, Kase?”
She shook her head and stared at the floor.
“I’m talking about my photo paper. Someone ruined it. All of it.”
“It wasn’t me,” she said in a tiny voice.
“But wait—you stole those reports from school? I thought you said you were a student grader.”
“No!” she wailed. “I told you, I didn’t . . . I mean, I guess I took them, but I didn’t mean to. I just looked in my bag and found them there.”
“You’re saying someone framed you?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
Knowing how spiteful kids could be, it was a serious possibility. “Did you see anyone near your bag?”
“I don’t know!” she said.
My patience was paper-thin. “Kasey, either you did, or you didn’t.”
“Maybe!” she said. “I mean, I don’t remember. But it had to be someone, right?”
Someone. More like Mimi Laird, or one of her snotty little friends. I didn’t say it out loud, though, because Kasey seemed traumatized enough.
I sighed. “You’re going to have to give them back.”
“I can’t!” she wailed. “I’ll get expelled!”
“Teachers understand mean kids, Kase,” I said. “You just have to do it soon so it doesn’t look any weirder.”
“Will you help me? I’m tired ,” she said pitifully. “I didn’t sleep very much last night.”
I didn’t point out that she’d just taken a two-hour power nap.
A thought occurred to me. “Yeah, so . . . why were you in the garage this
After fifteen seconds I slipped the paper into the developer and stood back to watch the image emerge.
But there wasn’t an image. Unless the whole paper immediately turning black counts as an image.
I pulled that page out and rinsed it clean before dropping it in the trash.
I set another piece of paper down and turned the timer on for five seconds, figuring it might be underexposed, but at least I would have a better idea of what time to use.
But no. This one turned black too.
A panicky feeling started to rise up inside me as I looked at the package of photo paper. There were two black plastic bags with fifty sheets each; only the top one should have been unsealed. But they were both open. And the stacks of paper weren’t neat and even—they were irregular and off-center.
All of my paper had been exposed.
A package like this cost sixty dollars. With my current weekly allowance of twenty dollars, that meant three weeks of savings down the drain. And three weeks of more saving before I could even afford another package.
Three weeks without developing photos?
I started to feel kind of sick.
I’d told my sister a trillion times not to touch my stuff, not to even go into the darkroom, and she refused to listen.
Kasey was guilty. She had to be.
After a few deep breaths I went to confront my sister. My hands shook as I stalked down the hall and pounded on her door.
Stay calm , I told myself. Be mature.
She opened it, blue eyes wide.
“What?” she asked.
I took a long breath through my nose. “Just . . . tell me . . . why.”
“Huh?”
My calm exterior shattered like a lightbulb dropped from a third-floor window. “Why did you do it, Kasey?
What did I do to you? I try so hard to be nice to you when nobody else even wants to be your friend, and you—”
Her hands flew up to her cheeks, which flushed pink. “Lexi!” she cried, dismayed.
I took a step back. “ Why , Kasey?!”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “I swear I didn’t. I don’t even know what happened. I heard a noise and then all I remember is having the weirdest dream and then I was at school and they said come to the office because of Dad and I saw all the reports on Ms. Lewin’s desk and later they were in my bag—”
“What?”
Her face fell slack, her jaw hanging slightly open, her breath ragged.
“What are you talking about, Kase?”
She shook her head and stared at the floor.
“I’m talking about my photo paper. Someone ruined it. All of it.”
“It wasn’t me,” she said in a tiny voice.
“But wait—you stole those reports from school? I thought you said you were a student grader.”
“No!” she wailed. “I told you, I didn’t . . . I mean, I guess I took them, but I didn’t mean to. I just looked in my bag and found them there.”
“You’re saying someone framed you?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
Knowing how spiteful kids could be, it was a serious possibility. “Did you see anyone near your bag?”
“I don’t know!” she said.
My patience was paper-thin. “Kasey, either you did, or you didn’t.”
“Maybe!” she said. “I mean, I don’t remember. But it had to be someone, right?”
Someone. More like Mimi Laird, or one of her snotty little friends. I didn’t say it out loud, though, because Kasey seemed traumatized enough.
I sighed. “You’re going to have to give them back.”
“I can’t!” she wailed. “I’ll get expelled!”
“Teachers understand mean kids, Kase,” I said. “You just have to do it soon so it doesn’t look any weirder.”
“Will you help me? I’m tired ,” she said pitifully. “I didn’t sleep very much last night.”
I didn’t point out that she’d just taken a two-hour power nap.
A thought occurred to me. “Yeah, so . . . why were you in the garage this
Similar Books
