Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. Spencer whirled around.
“You’re late,” Daisy said. “Are you ready?”
Spencer exhaled, relieved to see that it was only Daisy. He patted his pockets to show her that he had the flashlight and glove.
“Good. Here’s the soap we’re supposed to give back to Mr. Hadley today.” Daisy handed Spencer the little bottle. “You should keep it.”
Spencer shoved the soap bottle into his pocket as Daisy pointed at Max. “Who’s he?”
“Oh, this is my little brother, Max.”
“You brought your little brother?” she asked.
“I didn’t mean to,” Spencer said. “But he’s great at making messes.”
Daisy nodded, understanding the importance of Max’s talent. “Well.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s get started.”
Chapter 18
“It’ll be too late to study.”
The first person Spencer and Daisy saw when they reentered the cafeteria was Mrs. Natcher. She wore a denim dress, and her gray hair was wound up in a bun. There was a purse dangling on her arm and a small bowl of plain vanilla ice cream in her hand. Yeah, that seemed right. Mrs. Natcher was a plain-vanilla kind of person. To Spencer’s mild surprise, the dowdy teacher scooped a conservative helping of crumbled peanuts and let them cascade down her ice cream.
Spencer and Daisy exchanged one final you-be-careful glance before parting ways. Spencer headed toward his family, who stood huddled in the corner.
“Hey, Mom,” Spencer said, “I’ll help Max get some ice cream, okay?”
“Actually, Spencer,” she said, “we’re going to have a bounce on the castle before ice cream. I don’t want you kids getting sick on a belly full of sweets.”
Spencer swallowed. His mom was supposed to say, “That sounds great, Spence. Thank you very much.” But Spencer wasn’t ready to give up so easily. He bent down to eye level with his small brother. “Do you want to bounce, Max, or do you want ice cream?”
“I want ice cream!” he shouted. Well, at least the three-year-old was going along with Spencer’s plan.
“Spencer, did you really just . . .” Alice put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. “If you have ice cream now,” she told Max, “you can’t bounce later.”
“I want ice cream!” the stubborn little guy demanded. That seemed to settle the matter. Alice led the other kids out the back door of the cafeteria toward the blow-up castle while Spencer led Max to the ice cream table.
• • •
As Spencer and Max accepted bowls of caramel cashew and chocolate chunk, Daisy began some negotiating of her own.
“Hello, Daisy,” Mrs. Natcher said, examining the girl below the rims of her glasses. The teacher always seemed to look over or under her glasses, never through them.
“Oh, Mrs. Natcher. It’s a good thing you’re here. I left my spelling review sheet in my desk after school. I need to study it tonight. I was wondering if I could go get it.”
Daisy had often spread false information, believing it was true. But to tell an outright lie would almost be impossible for honest Gullible Gates. Which was why she had
purposely
left her review sheet in her desk after school.
“The school is all locked up. Just get your review sheet tomorrow.”
“But the test is tomorrow, Mrs. Natcher. It’ll be too late to study.”
Mrs. Natcher ate a nibble of ice cream, thinking. Then she sighed. “Pneumonia,” the teacher said expectantly.
“P-N-E-U-M-O-N-I-A,” Daisy answered.
“Correct,” said Mrs. Natcher. “Aqueduct.”
Daisy crossed her fingers, hoping that Mrs. Natcher wasn’t going to drill her on all twenty words. Daisy began the word correctly before suddenly realizing the need to misspell. “A-Q-U-A-D-U-C-K.”
“Incorrect,” Mrs. Natcher said with a frown. Then the teacher gave the correct spelling and said, “Colonel.”
“K-E-R-N-E-L.”
“Incorrect.” Mrs. Natcher began to correct her, then frowned deeper. Digging in her purse, she produced a ring of keys. “Goodness, you
need
the review sheet,” she said, handing Daisy the keys. Daisy accepted with sweaty hands. “Bring those keys right back or you’ll be in an undesirable P-R-E-D-I-C-A-M-E-N-T. You understand?”
Daisy nodded, backing away from Mrs. Natcher while trying not to let the look on her face betray her success. Before she exited the cafeteria, Daisy glimpsed Spencer and Max, who had moved on to the toppings. Then she broke into a speed-walk down the hallway.
• • •
“Okay, Max,” Spencer said. “Do you want chocolate syrup on yours?” Max hadn’t refused a single topping and his ice cream was unseen beneath a layer of goodies. As expected, Max nodded vigorously.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Spencer whispered to his brother. “These four syrups are just for us, but I need you to take them to that table over there, okay?” Spencer pointed to the table farthest away across the cafeteria. “Can you do it?”
“I think so.” Max nodded with excitement. There were strawberry, caramel, butterscotch, and chocolate—four bottles of syrup just for him!
In a flash, Spencer untwisted the squirt caps on all four syrups. Then he set the caps loosely on top of the plastic bottles, only the sticky residue holding them in place. Spencer quickly loaded the bottles into his little brother’s arms. Max toddled away, struggling to keep a good grip on all four bottles while still carrying his Styrofoam bowl of loaded ice cream.
As soon as the disaster was on its way, Spencer changed directions and headed for the ice chests full of root beer cans. He casually grabbed two cans, shook them, and slipped them into his pockets. A second later, he snatched two more cans.
“Whoa!” someone shouted, and Spencer heard Max’s syrup bottles hit the floor. A shout went up and all of the adults in the room reached for Max. Their arms shot out like frog tongues going for a fly. Max was whisked away from the multicolored, sticky mess, dropping his ice cream in the process.
Parents converged on the syrup spill, each armed with a roll of paper towels. In the confusion, Spencer snatched as many soda cans as he could and retreated to the opposite side of the cafeteria.
Across the room, Max was attempting to recover his inverted ice cream. The mess was good, but the janitors hadn’t been summoned yet. Of course, the parents thought they could handle it.
Spencer had his cans lined up—eight on the floor, with two more in his pockets. The cans were pressurized and ready to burst. Spencer had shaken each one for ten seconds. In the middle of the cafeteria, a stranger had Max by the arm, asking him where his parents were.
Just as the adults thought they had the syrup mastered, two cans of pressurized root beer slid across the cafeteria floor. The top was punctured just slightly to allow a tall geyser of brown soda to spurt out. Two more soda grenades followed, spraying root beer onto kids, parents, and all over the floor.
Spencer cracked two more soda cans and lobbed them into an adjacent corner. Kids were crying, parents shouting. The cafeteria had been plunged into Dez-worthy chaos.
Spencer had the seventh can opened when the first parent saw him crouched behind a table and stack of chairs. It was time to go. Spencer tipped over the tower of chairs to block his retreat, then sprinted out of the cafeteria into the entry hall.
Marv had emerged from the janitors’ storage/office and was racing toward the cafeteria like a firefighter on call. There were several other people in the hallway. If Spencer could turn his back to Marv, he might blend into the crowd. He walked casually toward the drinking fountain, but his insides were trembling. Spencer lowered his lips to the stream of water, but he was too anxious to actually drink. With his head cocked at the fountain, Spencer kept his eyes trained on the hallway.
Marv entered the cafeteria to begin cleaning up. But where was Walter Jamison? The head janitor had not emerged according to plan. Any minute, the angry, root-beer-soaked parents would flood the hallway in search of Spencer. He waited only a second longer before deciding it was time to improvise.
Spencer hoped that Daisy had all the doors open as he jogged toward the short stairway that led to the janitors’ storage/office. He dug in his pocket for the flashlight and glove, maneuvering around the extra cans of root beer that jostled at his side. By the time he reached the top stair, Spencer was wearing the latex glove.
Spencer crouched on the steps, trying to see into the huge storage area. The dim stairway was the perfect place to use the flashlight. But Spencer needed to get Walter out of the basement first.
Shouts up the hallway confirmed that the parents were looking for him. He knew he didn’t have much time. Taking both cans of root beer from his pockets, Spencer began to shake them vigorously. He felt the contents pressurizing, the aluminum cans turning as hard as the shell of an airplane.
Spencer cracked the top of the first can. The soda shot out, dousing his shoulder. Spencer quickly set the can on the top step, positioning it on its side so the fountain of brown liquid shot into the storage area. He set the second can beside the first one: dual guns.
With the bait set, Spencer edged around the corner. He was out of Walter Jamison’s sight, but the parents up the hall spotted him instantly. Spencer held his position as the adults converged on him. If Jamison didn’t take the bait in the next ten seconds, Spencer knew he would have to break cover and run.
Suddenly, Spencer saw a hand close over the root beer can, setting it upright and averting the stream. Spencer spun around the corner, the flashlight flicking on. An older man was on the stairs. At first it didn’t look like the Walter Jamison from the picture. He was wearing khaki cargo pants and a red button-up shirt with a pressed collar. A big ring of keys dangled at his side. This man was totally bald and clean shaven, but the face was the same. Wrinkles around the tired green eyes, lean features well worn.
The flashlight’s white beam erupted and found its mark instantly. In the dim stairwell, the light outlined the shape of a small hammer in a cargo pocket by Walter Jamison’s left thigh.
Spencer didn’t hesitate. He flung the flashlight into Jamison’s face and leapt down the stairs at the man. Spencer’s hands grasped Walter’s leg as the old man caught the boy by the neck. Spencer grunted in pain but didn’t pull away as he managed to plunge a hand into the cargo pocket. He felt the hammer, cool and hard on his fingertips. As soon as Spencer had a firm grip on the hammer, he twisted away, turning to Jell-O in Jamison’s hands.
The old janitor gasped as Spencer staggered up the steps. The parents were waiting for him, but no one seemed to be able to get a tight grip on the boy. He flowed through their fingers like a fish through water. He sprinted across the hall to the doors that sealed off the rest of the school. If Daisy had succeeded, the doors would be . . .
Open!
Spencer burst through, running wildly down the dark hallway. He held the bronze hammer before him like an Olympic torch. Behind him, the door opened and several figures dumped into the hallway. Spencer was running too hard to be sure, but he guessed that one of them would be Jamison.
Spencer passed through another set of should-be-locked doors, praising Daisy’s name all the way to the boys’ bathroom. He kicked open the boys’ room door. The light was already on, and Spencer dashed toward the nail. Hitting the stall wall, Spencer reached up with the hammer.
For the first time, he hesitated, unsure how to pull the nail with such an antique tool. Unlike modern hammers, this one lacked the hooked prongs on the back. It was a primitive tool that seemed to have the capability only to pound nails.
Sounds of pursuit were catching up in the hallway. There was no more time for hesitation. In desperation, Spencer placed the hammer against the head of the bronze nail. A burst of golden light suddenly formed between the two objects. A pulse of power surged through Spencer’s arm. Then, like a piece of metal picked up by a strong magnet, the little bronze nail popped out of the wall and fell with a tinkle to the tile floor.
Chapter 19
“Hold my hand!”
Daisy burst outside into the fresh evening air. Behind her was a wake of unlocked doors in the school. She ran the length of the school, gasping for breath until she reentered through the front door. The scene in the entry hall was utter chaos, which meant, of course, that Spencer had done his job.
Daisy clutched her spelling review sheet in one hand, the corner wrinkled from the sweat of her grip. In the other hand, she jingled Mrs. Natcher’s keys. Daisy’s hair was matted with sweat from her short run. She was breathing hard and feeling awful about telling Mrs. Natcher a half-truth. The sooner Daisy returned the keys, the better.
The girl pushed open the cafeteria door. The place was a complete disaster. A collage of pink, tan, and brown syrups still decorated the center of the room. Everything else was laced with streaks of sticky root beer. Daisy spotted Marv in the corner, firing up a machine that squirted water and sucked up messes.
Mrs. Natcher stood nearby, gazing into the syrup splash with a mournful expression. Whether she was mourning over the ruined ice cream social or the wasted syrup, Daisy wasn’t sure.
“Got my review sheet, Mrs. Natcher,” Daisy said, snapping the teacher out of her reverie. “Thanks.” Daisy held out the keys.
The teacher took the keys and dropped them into her purse. “You missed a real disaster,” Mrs. Natcher said with a grave expression.
“Looks like it.” Daisy turned toward the exit. She needed to get to the rendezvous spot to meet Mr. Hadley.
A firm hand suddenly gripped her arm. “Coincidence?” Mrs. Natcher said. “Coincidence that Spencer, your troublemaking friend, would be up to no good while you made off with my keys?”
Daisy suddenly looked paler than vanilla ice cream. A cold fear rushed all the way to the soles of her feet.
“You’ve got some explaining to do.” Mrs. Natcher dragged her across the cafeteria, Daisy struggling uselessly to get away.
Then, out of nowhere, Dez Rylie appeared, a heaping bowl of mostly melted ice cream in his hand.
“Gullible Gates!” Dez’s eyes narrowed to a glare of revenge. “I can’t find your boyfriend, so I’ll have to settle for you!” With one swift motion, the bully shoved the bowl of dripping ice cream into Daisy’s face.