Sammy Keyes and the Art of Deception (13 page)

She grinned and scraped out her bowl, then eyed me. “It would be interesting to know whose paintings actually sell. Do you suppose that Winters woman has
ever
sold a painting?”

“Jojo said she sells a lot of them.”

Grams quit licking her fork. “You can't be serious.”

I nodded. “But that was at a price way lower than what she's charging now. He's not sure they'll move at the new price.”

“Well, what about Austin Zuni? Why do you suspect him?”

“Jojo started to say something about him at the Faire.”

“Like … ?”

“I don't know. There seemed to be something about him he didn't like. Didn't trust.”

“Oh, that's concrete evidence.” She smiled and shook her head. “Nope, the only real suspect is lovely Lizzy.”

“Boy, Grams. She really bugs you, doesn't she?”

Grams scowled. “She's probably played off those eyes her entire life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you suppose her nickname's Lizzy? You can't very well get that out of Diane, now, can you?”

“So … ?”

She shakes her head at me like I'm dense as dirt. “Lizzy is short for Elizabeth? As in Elizabeth Taylor?”

“Oh come on, Grams. Who would do that?”

“Diane Reijden, apparently.” She snags back the paper. “Now tell me about Casey.”

“Casey?”

“You don't think I missed how your cheeks rosied up when I asked about the macaroni and salsa, do you?”

“I didn't blush!”

She took her glasses off, then huffed and buffed them.

“The name Casey could be a boy's or a girl's.” She popped her glasses back on her nose. “From your reaction, I'd say this Casey is a boy.”

“So?”

“So who is he? How do you know him? Does he have a last name?”

I hesitated, then leaned forward and said, “Yeah, he has a last name: A-cos-ta.”

She blinked. Once hard, then about ten times rapid fire. Then
she
leaned forward and whispered, “No … !”

“Yup. Casey is Heather's brother.”

“They're not evil twins, are they?”

I laughed. “More like complete opposites. And he's in eighth grade.”

“But still! You can't be—”

I shoved back and cleared our bowls. “Don't worry, I'm not about to get tangled up in a mess like that.”

She just sat there, watching me rinse the dishes. And when I came back for the salsa and napkins, she gave me the same look she'd given me when I'd told her Diane hadn't set up the robbery. So I said, “Don't start thinking stupid thoughts, okay?”

“Then tell me why you blush every time you talk about him.”

“I don't blush!”

She gave me a little grin. “Pshaw.”

“Stop that!”

She grabbed my hand and said, “You can talk to me about this, you know.”

“I know, Grams. But there's really not much to talk about. He's Heather's
brother.
”

She kept her eyes locked on mine. “One's heart is not always as smart as one's head.”

I laughed. “In your case, I think it's kind of the opposite.”

“Samantha!”

“Seriously, Grams. You're completely deluded if you think Diane Reijden's an evil, scheming witch. Why can't you just admit you're jealous?” She looked really hurt, so I sat down across from her and said, “I'm sorry, okay? But I think it's true.”

She sighed, then held her notes out in front of her and sighed again. “I wish I could prove it.”

“So you can show Hudson what a blockhead he's being?”

She was quiet a long time, then said, “I guess it all just hits a little too close to home. I will never understand how your grandfather could have abandoned us for that Harley hussy.”

“I'm sorry, Grams,” I told her softly.

She got up and sighed again. “I think I'll go rest for a bit. Suddenly I'm very tired.” She gave me a halfhearted smile. “But thanks for dinner. Tell Casey it was really quite good.”

I shrugged. “If I see him.” She eyed me skeptically, so I added, “I swear, Grams, I hardly ever run into him.”

So she went off to her room and I cleaned up the kitchen. And while I scrubbed out the macaroni pan, I hoped really hard that I
wouldn't
run into Casey. Heather had probably told him everything Marissa had said at the Faire, and it wasn't something you could exactly explain away in the middle of a bunch of junior high kids. No, I'd just avoid Casey. Act like it was no big deal to me, 'cause it
was
no big deal to me. There was no way I was going to let a stupid little kiss on the hand make a fool out of me!

I should have known Heather Acosta would have other plans.

I'd been on campus all of two minutes when I heard it.

A symphony of lip sucking behind me.

Don't turn around, I told myself. Don't turn around!
Smooch-smooch-smooch! Squeak-squeak-smack!
“Oh, Romeo! Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Squeeeeeeak-smack!

I kept lugging Marissa's tote bags along, my eyes glued straight ahead. But then all of a sudden Heather and her wanna-bes zoom around and block my path, their lips sticking out like a school of smoochy fish.

I roll my eyes and say, “Excuse me, Heather, but I think this is a violation of your, uh,
parole.
Twenty-five feet, remember? Unless you're
trying
to get expelled … ?”

It's kind of a long story, but after six months of Heather's lies and tricks and—as Grams says—shenanigans, this is Vice Principal Caan's latest brainchild: a “safety zone.”

I guess he thinks you can fence out chiggers with chicken wire.

Anyway, Monet and Tenille are still making kissing noises, but their lips aren't sticking out quite so far, and they're starting to check over their shoulders for Mr. Caan.

Heather doesn't budge. “My brother says you're a liar, loser. Says he'd rather kiss a codfish!”

“He'd rather kiss
you
?” I wiggled my nose at her.

“Didn't you take a shower after the Faire? Or is that your putrid personality passing gas again?”

She was about to shove me, but Monet grabbed her in the nick of time, saying, “It's the Caan Man!” And sure enough, Vice Principal Caan was making a beeline toward us.

Heather and her friends cut across the grass acting like everything was cool, but Mr. Caan wasn't fooled. “What was going on here?” he asked me.

“Just the usual,” I said. “I want to know what she said.”

“Look, Mr. Caan. It's all right. I can take care of myself.”

“I know that, Sammy. But I've promised you we'd be on top of her, so I want to know—did she threaten you? Because if she did, she's out of here.”

Boy. Was this tempting, or what? But the fact was, she hadn't threatened me. And I suppose I could've told him all about her teasing me, but then I'd have had to explain about the kiss and really, I didn't want to get into it. Talk about embarrassing! So I just said, “She didn't threaten me. She was just being, you know, Heather. Don't worry about it, okay? It'll just get worse if you try and talk to her about it.”

“You're sure?”

“Yeah. But thanks, Mr. Caan.”

So I ran off to class, only the minute I walked into
homeroom and saw Marissa's face, I knew something was wrong. I put her tote bags by her seat and said, “Hey, what's up?”

She eyed my desk.

And that's when I saw it. Lying under my desk, wheels up, purple patch showing. “My board!” I yipped, and charged across the room.

Marissa followed me, whispering, “You're
happy
about this?”

I was all over my skateboard, flipping it around, checking it out, whipping the wheels,
zoom, zoom, zoom.
“Of course I'm happy! God, I want to go
ride.
” I tossed it on the floor and hopped on.

From behind the rulers and feathers and magnifying glass in her pencil jug, Mrs. Ambler barked, “Samantha! You can't ride that anywhere on campus, and certainly not in my classroom!”

I popped it up and called, “Sorry, Mrs. Ambler,” then said, “Wa-hoo!” to Marissa.

Marissa leaned against a desk next to mine and said, “Don't you understand the significance of this?”

“Yeah! This means I don't have to
walk
everywhere I go. I can ride!”

The bell rang as she grabbed me by the shoulders and shook. “Sammy! The significance of this is that Casey isn't holding it hostage anymore.”

“He should never have been holding it hostage!”

She threw her hands in the air. “You're hopeless.”

“No, I'm not. You just read too much into everything. Danny says
maybe
he'll see you at the Faire and
you
—”

“Shhhhh!”
she hisses, looking over her shoulder at the kids filing in.

I whisper, “—think it's a hot date. Casey's all caught up in being a thespian—”

“A what?”

“An actor! And
you
think he's kissed me for real.”

Just then Heather struts through the door. And the instant she sees me she makes that stupid kissing sound.
Squeeeeeeak-smack.

I give Marissa a dirty look. “And thanks to
you
, I now have to put up with
that.
”

Squeeeeeeak-smack!

Marissa cringes and whispers, “I'm sorry … !”

“Plus the embarrassment of hearing that he'd rather kiss a codfish.”

“What?”

“That's what she told me this morning.”

“Who? Heather?”

“Yes, Heather.”

“Well, she's lying.”

“How do you know?”

Marissa laughs, “She always lies!”

“So why's my skateboard here? I mean, according to you, this means he doesn't care anymore.

“Oh,” she says, and her face falls. “Oh, yeah.”

The tardy bell rings, so Marissa hurries to her seat. And even though I tried to act like everything was fine—even though most of me was ecstatic about having my skate-board back—the truth is, I was embarrassed. Embarrassed that Casey thought I'd made a big deal out of him
kissing my stupid hand. Embarrassed that Heather was going around telling people I was in love with her brother—'cause knowing Heather, that's exactly how she was spinning this. And embarrassed that after all this time, Casey'd finally given my skateboard back without a word.

So for the rest of the day I did the only thing I could think to do about it—I hid. Not behind trash cans or in bushes or anything like that. More just in classrooms. And when I thought the coast was clear, I'd jet over to where I was supposed to be. Even at lunch. It was so windy that Holly, Marissa, and Dot all wanted to move from the patio tables to the cafeteria, but I wasn't about to go in there.

Heather and her friends eat there.

So does Casey.

So I dragged them into an open classroom, and that's where we ate lunch instead. And I
did
do a pretty good job of forgetting about Heather and Casey and that whole mess by catching Holly and Dot up on everything that had happened at the Vault and about getting to interview Diane. I didn't tell them too much about Grams and Hudson and the Harley, 'cause I didn't think Grams would appreciate it, but I did tell them about Grams being a snoop.

“Your
grandmother
?” Holly asks. “I can't quite picture that. She seems so, you know, normal.”

I just shook my head and said, “I know. It's bizarre. And Hudson's been acting weird, too.”

“How's that?” Dot asks.

“He's just been kind of
out
of it. Doesn't really tune in to what's going on.”

Dot shrugs. “Well, he is kind of old.”

“Hudson? No he's not.”

They all stop chewing and stare at me.

“Well, he never
acts
old. He's really, really sharp.”

“Yeah, that's true,” they all say, and start chewing again.

So I was back to thinking more about Hudson and Grams and what was going on at the Vault than I was about Casey. And since Mr. Pence actually posted Heather in the back corner for “disruptive behavior” when she tried her smoochy-coochie sounds in science, I had the luxury of not having to dodge rubber bands or flying tacks or cutting remarks. I could just listen.

So I was in a pretty good mood when I blew into art. And then Miss Kuzkowski greets me with a great big, “Sammy!” like I'm a long-lost friend.

“Uh, hi, Miss Kuzkowski.”

She comes right over to me, switching to a whisper. “Wow, did you ever put on a show Friday night! I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to say hello or congratulate you. The evening disintegrated awfully quickly, as you know.”

“You can say that again.”

She leans in even closer. “Was that the wildest reception you've ever been to, or what?”

Now until that moment, all the teachers I have ever had have been, well,
teachers.
Adults who tell you to be quiet; who give you homework and send you to the office. And not only have they always been adults, they've always
been, you know,
old.
Maybe it's the way they act or the clothes they wear. Maybe it's the way they talk to you like you're a child—which makes them automatically old. Even the ones who try to talk like they're cool—you know, use all the slang that the kids use—well, they seem even geekier than the regular teachers. I mean, you do
not
want to hear your teacher say, “Sweet!” or, “Chill!” It's like seeing a guy with a big gut wearing a Speedo. You just want to look the other way.