shout.
“Look at those dorks,” Samantha says. “Get a life.”
“Well. See you at school.”
“I guess I could go ask them what they know. I just hope their nerdiness isn’t contagious.”
She stands up; Karl grabs her by the wrist and pulls her back down.
“A little aggressive, aren’t we?” she says, smirking. “Not so shy after all.”
“No—I just wanted to ask: are you keeping your eye on anyone in particular?”
“I have certain suspicions. But I wouldn’t want to name any names until I have proof.”
“That sounds like the right thing to do.”
She does her left-right sneaky peek again, and lowers her voice. “Do you see Cara Nzada, in that window across the street? Doesn’t it seem a little strange that she gets on the high honor roll every year? What’s someone like that doing on the high honor roll? Methinks me smells something rotten in New Jersey, and it’s not a chemical factory.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Come on, Karl. If it walks like a duck and tastes like a duck.”
“But you just said you need proof.”
“I’m in English and Spanish with her. I’ve been sitting behind her, one seat over. It’s just a matter of time before I catch her in the act.”
In the café window, the rock star is leaning way forward and singing to Cara. She seems pleased and amused—as if this were her due, as queen.
They have a test on Moby-Dick coming up on Monday . He has to warn her.
Unless he doesn’t.
In the park, Jonah and Matt are doing the Winter Pepper, the opposite of a somersault. Lizette is staring at Karl.
He turns his head sharply, away from Lizette, away from Samantha.
“I can see it now: ‘First High School Student Ever to Win Pulitzer Prize.’”
“But why are you so fixated on this?” Karl asks. “Cheating isn’t that big a deal—relatively speaking. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”
“Are you kidding? This is a sensational story: ‘Behind the wholesome suburban facade lurks a festering pit of dishonesty.’”
“A ‘festering pit’?”
“Come on, Karl, doesn’t it bother you that people like Cara get better grades than everybody else, without even studying? When I catch them, I’m going to print their names in three-inch letters on the front page, with the headline, ‘DIE, CHEATERS, DIE.’ ”
Lizette takes a step toward Karl. Whatever blood was left in his face now drains at high speed.
She doesn’t cross the street, though. She calls to the others and leads them away, out of the park, up State Street.
“You know, you’re actually a decent conversationalist. Most people are so boring—all they want to talk about is Me Me Me. They’re so self-involved. I hate that, don’t you?”
He watches his three friends plus his replacement recede into the distance. Sadness nearly smothers him.
“Hey—I just thought of something. You could help me catch the cheaters!”
“I could?”
“You’re the guy they’ll all come to, to see if you’d give them answers. You’re the perfect bait. I bet people have approached you already.”
“No, not really.”
“Well, it’ll happen. And when it does, you’ll say, Yes! You can go undercover and catch the whole rotten bunch of them!”
She reaches around and pats herself on the back. “Who’s clever? Who’s a muckraker? Thank you, thank you.”
A police car races past them with its lights flashing, blue, white, and red. The siren gives one startling blast, and Karl jumps off the bench.
“I’d better get going now. See you, bye.”
“I’ll check in with you, Karl. Very discreetly. We’ll make a great team.”
She laughs, behind him, a happy little bird.
His mother is reading a book in the living room, with her nightly mug of tea wrapped in one hand. (It’s the bright orange jack-o’-lantern mug Karl painted in second grade, faded now, but still her favorite.) Before she can speak even one teasing syllable about his date, she sees the look on his face and
“Look at those dorks,” Samantha says. “Get a life.”
“Well. See you at school.”
“I guess I could go ask them what they know. I just hope their nerdiness isn’t contagious.”
She stands up; Karl grabs her by the wrist and pulls her back down.
“A little aggressive, aren’t we?” she says, smirking. “Not so shy after all.”
“No—I just wanted to ask: are you keeping your eye on anyone in particular?”
“I have certain suspicions. But I wouldn’t want to name any names until I have proof.”
“That sounds like the right thing to do.”
She does her left-right sneaky peek again, and lowers her voice. “Do you see Cara Nzada, in that window across the street? Doesn’t it seem a little strange that she gets on the high honor roll every year? What’s someone like that doing on the high honor roll? Methinks me smells something rotten in New Jersey, and it’s not a chemical factory.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Come on, Karl. If it walks like a duck and tastes like a duck.”
“But you just said you need proof.”
“I’m in English and Spanish with her. I’ve been sitting behind her, one seat over. It’s just a matter of time before I catch her in the act.”
In the café window, the rock star is leaning way forward and singing to Cara. She seems pleased and amused—as if this were her due, as queen.
They have a test on Moby-Dick coming up on Monday . He has to warn her.
Unless he doesn’t.
In the park, Jonah and Matt are doing the Winter Pepper, the opposite of a somersault. Lizette is staring at Karl.
He turns his head sharply, away from Lizette, away from Samantha.
“I can see it now: ‘First High School Student Ever to Win Pulitzer Prize.’”
“But why are you so fixated on this?” Karl asks. “Cheating isn’t that big a deal—relatively speaking. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”
“Are you kidding? This is a sensational story: ‘Behind the wholesome suburban facade lurks a festering pit of dishonesty.’”
“A ‘festering pit’?”
“Come on, Karl, doesn’t it bother you that people like Cara get better grades than everybody else, without even studying? When I catch them, I’m going to print their names in three-inch letters on the front page, with the headline, ‘DIE, CHEATERS, DIE.’ ”
Lizette takes a step toward Karl. Whatever blood was left in his face now drains at high speed.
She doesn’t cross the street, though. She calls to the others and leads them away, out of the park, up State Street.
“You know, you’re actually a decent conversationalist. Most people are so boring—all they want to talk about is Me Me Me. They’re so self-involved. I hate that, don’t you?”
He watches his three friends plus his replacement recede into the distance. Sadness nearly smothers him.
“Hey—I just thought of something. You could help me catch the cheaters!”
“I could?”
“You’re the guy they’ll all come to, to see if you’d give them answers. You’re the perfect bait. I bet people have approached you already.”
“No, not really.”
“Well, it’ll happen. And when it does, you’ll say, Yes! You can go undercover and catch the whole rotten bunch of them!”
She reaches around and pats herself on the back. “Who’s clever? Who’s a muckraker? Thank you, thank you.”
A police car races past them with its lights flashing, blue, white, and red. The siren gives one startling blast, and Karl jumps off the bench.
“I’d better get going now. See you, bye.”
“I’ll check in with you, Karl. Very discreetly. We’ll make a great team.”
She laughs, behind him, a happy little bird.
His mother is reading a book in the living room, with her nightly mug of tea wrapped in one hand. (It’s the bright orange jack-o’-lantern mug Karl painted in second grade, faded now, but still her favorite.) Before she can speak even one teasing syllable about his date, she sees the look on his face and
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