The Sleepover by Jen Malone

Saturday?”
    â€œMeghan,” Paige says. I swallow hard. Did she just say my name? Paige reaches behind her back and finds my hand, never dropping her smile. She squeezes.
    â€œMeghan here lost her backpack in all the excitement of the pep rally yesterday, and we figured we’d try to find it. We checked her locker and took a quick peek around, so now we were headed to you to see if it ended up in the lost and found. Speaking of the pep rally, what do you think our chances are in the game later?”
    Paige knows exactly how to distract Principal Wexman, and for a second I think it’s going to work.
    She takes a breath as if to answer us, but then her forehead wrinkles.
    â€œI don’t understand why everyone thinks they are at liberty to roam the hallways of this school when, clearly, it is not open to students.” She darts a glance back at Veronica, who’s now in the hallway too. Principal Wexman’s gaze falls on the backpack in Veronica’s hand, and she purses her lips.
    â€œI take it this is this missing item?” she asks me.
    â€œI— It— Um,” I stammer.
    â€œ Yes! You’ve found it, Principal Wexman. Thank you so,so much! Meghan here has been superworried she wouldn’t get to finish her math assignment before Monday, and you know what a good student she is. She’s very dedicated to her schoolwork.” Paige is laying it on a little thick, but Principal Wexman doesn’t seem to notice. She reaches her hand for the backpack Veronica holds out and then passes it silently to me. But just before I grab it, her grasp tightens.
    â€œI suppose just because school is not in session doesn’t mean we shouldn’t follow proper protocol. Lost-and-found items have to be verified. Can you tell me what the contents of this backpack are to prove it’s yours?”
    â€œI— Uh— Um.” This is never going to work if I can’t spit out more than syllables. I take a deep breath and say, “Um, a notebook and, um, a math book and . . . and a calculator.”
    I know full well none of those items are going to be in the backpack, but I can’t figure out what else to say. This is a disaster.
    Principal Wexman slides open the zipper and peers inside. Her nose crinkles as she tugs a corner of Veronica’s fluffy yellow bathrobe out. She levels me with a questioning look and then stuffs her hand back in.
    â€œHuh. Weird,” Paige says right away. “Someone must be playing a prank on us. You know what: I’ll bet it’s those Hillside kids. They love to ramp up the rivalry before a big game, right? I say we don’t stand for this.”
    Principal’s Wexman’s eyes narrow, and she mutters, “Hillside,” under her breath. As much as Principal Wexman loves basketball, that’s how much she loathes Hillside Heights.
    Hillside Heights is the hoity-toity private school that backs up to West Oak and also shares our athletic fields, making us the worst kinds of rivals. We have regular school grounds; they have a “campus.” Never mind that half of it consists of the same exact soccer field and tennis courts.
    Unlike West Oak, which is mostly made out of concrete blocks, Hillside Heights is old-school, literally. Its buildings (yup, there are more than one) are ancient-looking red brick.
    Principal Wexman hates that they have a state-of-the-art computer lab and that their principal gets to live in a huge mansion on the edge of campus. But most of all, she especially despises the fact that their basketball team has stolen the state championship from us for three years running. I can tell even the thought of Hillside playing a prank on us has her good and distracted. She pulls her hand out of my backpack. It’s covered in mushed-up carrot bits. A small fuzzy feather clings to one of the pieces.
    â€œWow. Those Hillside kids are diabolical. I think this warrants a call to their