The Case of the Exploding Loo (10 page)

I think they have the same surname too. I was going to add that to my clue list until Remarkable Student Sandeep told me that over forty million people in India have the name
Kumar. It didn’t seem such a good clue after that.

I glance up in surprise as Mr Kumar hands me a shiny new iPod.

“Every student whose test score has increased by more than five per cent since yesterday gets their own personal media player,” he explains.

Nice! The only downside is they have Ms Grimm’s face engraved on the back. The iPods, that is, not the high-performing students. Engraving students would be child abuse.

“Expensive reward,” I mutter.

“Probably discounted.” Porter appears behind me. “Mr Kazinsky, the science teacher, owns a big electronics store in town.”

“Mr Kazinsky? Of Kazinsky Electronics? Teaches here?”

I’m pretty sure there aren’t forty million Kazinskys in the world. More links. More connections. How wide has Ms Grimm cast her net?

“Why would someone with a successful electronics business want to be a science teacher?”

“No idea.” Porter scratches his mother’s face off the back of the iPod. “But I heard him thank Mother for finding such perfect guinea pigs.”

“He’s paid in guinea pigs?”

Porter rolls his eyes. The movement reminds me of Holly and I realise this is the first time we’ve gone more than forty-eight hours without speaking.

“He meant guinea pigs to test his products on,” Porter explains.

“That’s animal cruelty.” I’ve seen pictures of dogs in laboratories being forced to smoke cigarettes. I imagine guinea pigs being forced to try out Kazinsky sandwich
makers and hair straighteners. “We should report him.”

Porter’s expression makes him look even more like my sister. “He wasn’t talking about
real
guinea pigs. Mother hates animals – have you seen any round
here?”

“Only the other Remarkable Students.” I stop laughing when I see Porter’s face.

That’s worse than testing them on animals. Unless you’re an animal. I should tell the police. This might be connected to Dad’s disappearance. They want to test
products on clever people – Dad is a very clever person.

I have a new theory. Well, a new, improved theory.

+

+

=

I open my mouth to interrogate Porter but Ms Grimm swoops down and whisks him away.

I grab the seat next to Porter in Building Mental Muscle Hour and poke him with my pencil. Ms Grimm glares at me. I give her an apologetic smile and kick her son under the
table.

“Talk to me,” I hiss. “What’s going on with this place? Why did you bring me here last week? Why was the taxi driver wearing a turquoise bracelet? And why didn’t
you want your mother to know we’d met?”

“Not now,” Porter murmurs from the side of his mouth as Ms Grimm bangs her ruler on the desk and scans the room for someone to yell at.

“Just answer three simple questions.” I scribble on his paper:

He scribbles underneath, next to a doodle of a portaloo:

So I’ve learnt one thing:

Does this mean some of my clues aren’t clues at all? I need to talk to Holly. I hadn’t realised how much my conversations with her help me figure things out.

Ms Grimm raps her stick against the board. “Today, we’re discussing candidates for Cleverest Person in the World. I’ll begin by nominating James Watson, who co-discovered the
DNA double helix structure and believed biotechnology could cure stupidity.”

My hyperactive brain recalls googling James Watson for a school project.

“He claimed biotechnology could cure ugliness too,” I remember. “He said, ‘People say it would be terrible if we made all girls pretty. I think it would be
great!’”

The boys laugh, the girls scowl and Ms Grimm swaps her vote to Marie Curie. I slap my hand over my mouth to stop myself pointing out that since Marie Curie’s been dead since 1934
she’s probably not that clever any more.

Porter suggests Kate Beckinsale for World’s Cleverest Person. He explains she’s an actress who went to Oxford University but is mainly famous for being a hot vampire in the
Underworld
movies.

Ms Grimm switches off the Smart Board, snaps her stick and hands out worksheets. But she doesn’t make Porter run up and down the stairs twenty times. Teacher’s pet.

I stare out the window. We’re on the top floor and I have an almost aerial view of the surroundings.

Then it hits me. I’ve seen this pattern before.

To the left is the large square outline of the castle walls. In the far left corner are the turrets of the castle. Behind me are Mum’s favourite shoe shops. I reach into my pocket for the
copy of the map I’ve been carrying around for two months. Finally, it makes sense:

I peer at the arrows with black circles inside. I have a horrible suspicion someone was trying to draw aerial views of giant high heels.

X marks the spot.

But why? Who sent it? And what “treasure” is marked by that red cross? The more I think about Theory B (Someone has kidnapped Dad to use him as the perfect guinea
pig) the harder it is to believe LOSERS would go to all this trouble just to test electronic products.

Another theory is forming, based on James Watson’s claims. The ones about intelligence, that is. Not the ones about pretty girls. I don’t think pretty girls are relevant to this
case.

Dad was convinced it was possible to make people smarter. Ms Grimm must agree or she wouldn’t have made LOSERS’ mission statement: “To increase the intelligence of bright young
people”. That’s what she’s trying to achieve with the fish dinners, turquoise walls and motivational quotes. But what if they’re not working fast enough for her?

I have a new theory.

Wait! I forgot CLUE 24 – the taxi driver was a plant. Does that mean we can’t trust anything he said? Is CLUE 26 no longer a clue? Was Dad dropped off at LOSERS or
not? And what does this mean for THEORY C?

Argh. My head hurts. I really need to talk to Holly. Instead I have to go to Positive Thinking Hour. Ironic, considering my thoughts are mainly about kidnapping and fish dinners, and are
entirely negative.

I march to the front of the classroom, determined to confront Ms Grimm while everyone’s filling in their worksheets. But by the time I get there I’ve lost my nerve
and I just mumble, “Er, Ms Grimm, have you met my dad?”

“Met him?” Ms Grimm raises a hand to her chest and flutters her sparse eyelashes. “Yes, indeed. We were at Oxford University together.”

“With Kate Beckinsale, the hot vampire?”

Ms Grimm continues as if I haven’t spoken. “I’ve followed his career closely ever since.”

“He’s a great thinker,” she adds. “One of a kind. Although he believed you could follow in his footsteps.”

“He did?”

“Yes. I planned to discuss this with you yesterday but I was distracted by your observations on my LOSERS routine. On reflection, I realise you were merely exercising your superior
intelligence.”

“I was?”

Ms Grimm nods. “Sometimes it’s difficult for those as intelligent as you or I to remain entirely positive. Luckily, my Mental Conditioning Room can help with that.”

“Your what?”

Ms Grimm asks Mr Kumar (maths) to watch the class and holds the door open. “Come! I’ll show you.”

I follow her, hoping she’ll tell me more about Dad.

“Mental conditioning?” I process the words. “Isn’t that another way of saying brainwashing?”

“Would that be so bad?” Ms Grimm strides down the long, turquoise corridor. “If you ask me, most people’s brains would benefit from a good wash.” She turns another
corner and pushes open a heavy wooden door. “Here we are, Hawkins. Welcome to my Mental Conditioning Room.”

I expect a scary white laboratory full of screaming student guinea pigs wired to machines. Instead, I find a cosy library with floor to ceiling shelves overflowing with books and magazines. The
latest scientific journals are piled on a round wooden table in the middle of the room and in each corner is a black leather reclining chair with turquoise earphones attached. A large silver mirror
on the back wall reflects everything, making the room look bigger than it is.

Ms Grimm pushes me down into one of the black chairs. “This is where we help our most advanced students develop their abilities. All you have to do is put in these earphones.”

I fight the urge to shove her away. I like it better when she’s being nasty. At least you know where you stand. It’s a relief when a mobile phone alarm goes off in the corridor and
her creepy smile vanishes.

Mobile phones are strictly forbidden. You’d think if one of the “brightest young people in the country” managed to smuggle one inside then they’d have the sense not to
set the alarm. Is someone looking for trouble?

Screeching in indignation, Ms Grimm flies to the door, pausing long enough to bark, “I’ll only be a minute.”

A minute is probably all she needs to assassinate the rule-breaker. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and breathe more easily. Every step towards the phone-offender is a step away from me.

My relief fades when Porter sprints past the doorway brandishing a mobile phone. What’s he doing? His mother is clearly wondering the same thing.

“Porter Brian Grimm!” Ms Grimm powers down the corridor behind him, “Come back here, this minute!”

Ms Grimm’s fast, but Porter’s faster. She yells for backup. A man in thick glasses and slightly-too-short trousers bursts out of the room next door and chases after them, a heavy key
chain jangling against his leg.

With the action taking off in the other direction, I sink back into the nearest leather recliner and stare at myself in the mirror. Is this the me I’d have seen a month ago? Dad gave me an
article once, about Heraclitus’ theory of flux, which suggested everything is in a state of constant change. But how much can you change before you become a completely different person? Four
weeks ago I’d have disapproved of Porter breaking the rules. Today I want to cheer him on. (Quietly.)