Lost in Cyberspace by Richard Peck Page A

I’ll sign out of my morning classes. Mr. Headbloom will cover for me. By noon I might have some solid progress to report.”
    As soon as we got to school, Aaron headed toward the media center. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got some time before homeroom.”
    â€œAaron, read my lips. I told you I wasn’t going near the Black Hole again.”
    â€œYou want Phoebe to get back?” he said. “Your mom’s going to figure out Au Pair Exchange didn’t send her. It’s just a question of time. And the Vanderwhitneys are going to wonder where she is. She could lose her job at that end, you know. Besides, I’ve got a lot on my mind and too many digits in my head. We’re in this together, Josh.”
    â€œAaron, you don’t even remember those digits you entered when Phoebe suddenly turned up. You were winging it, right?”
    â€œI’m closing in on a breakthrough,” he said, not answering. “I’m on the brink of finding a bidirectional fiber. I’m on the threshold of pinpointing a foolproof three-dimensional fax. You’ve heard of multicultural? I’m about to be multichronological. I’m—”
    â€œAaron, your problem is you can get us into trouble, but you can’t get us out.”
    We were strolling past Mrs. Newbery’s desk. She was already at it. “Just a moment, Aaron,” she said. We froze.
    She handed over a Xeroxed sheet. “This is the last reference to the Vanderwhitney family I can find for you in the 1920’s New York Times Index,” she said, “except for an obituary, which is a real downer.”
    â€œAppreciate it, Mrs. Newbery,” Aaron said, cool as a cucumber. “This will be a big help for our Parents’ Night report next week.” We strolled on toward the Black Hole, taking our time. The BOTH COMPUTERS DOWN sign was still on it.
    Inside, we looked over the sheet. You could see the date on this one—November 1929:
    Palatial Home of Late Osgood Vanderwhitney to Serve as Wing of New Huckley School
    The Huckley School that has already acquired the properties of the Havemeyer, Huckley, and Van Allen families is proposing to purchase the home of Osgood Vanderwhitney from his estate.
    The house, called the most tasteful built in the city during 1921, has recently been the residence of Osgood Vanderwhitney and his son Cuthbert, aged fifteen and now at boarding school. Osgood Vanderwhitney’s tragic death has shaken the social and financial communities. See obituary for details of his leap from the window of his Wall Street office following the recent Market Crash.
    â€œWhat’s all this?” I said.
    â€œOsgood Vanderwhitney took a dive,” Aaron said.
    â€œI see that. But why had he been living in this house with just Cuthbert? That would make anybody jump out a window. What happened to Mrs. Vanderwhitney? What about Lysander? You don’t suppose Cuthbert ...”
    The Black Hole was dead silent. We glanced around. “Maybe little Lysander vanished without a trace,” Aaron said in a spooky voice.
    â€œPhoebe—”
    â€œPhoebe wouldn’t know yet. It would have happened after she ... came here.” Aaron gazed down at the floor like there could be a small body buried there. Bones now.
    â€œA rich kid disappearing would have made The New York Times,” I pointed out.
    â€œNot necessarily.” Aaron’s imagination was really on the move now. “The Vanderwhitneys might have covered up the crime to save Cuthbert and their reputation. They could have said Lysander went off to boarding school. Why not? He was probably way smarter than Cuthbert.”
    â€œKnock it off, Aaron.” When you get right down to it, he’s really safer working at the computers than when his mind starts wandering. The bell for homeroom went, and so did I.
    â€œSkip lunch and be here,” Aaron said.
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    At noon I swung by the