Top Ten Clues You’re Clueless (12 page)

“Just need a little break,” she says. “You know how it is.”

“I thought—” he starts again, and then cuts himself off. “Never mind.”

“It’s freezing over here!” Zaina hugs herself.

“That’s kind of the point.” Tyson smiles at her.

“But does it have to be so cold?”

“Yes,” Micah answers.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I wish the cops would hurry up and get here,” Gabe
says. “I’m so done with cleaning.”

“You’d seriously rather be arrested than stuck here cleaning?” Tyson asks.

“I’m not going to be arrested.” Gabe sounds completely confident.

I spray down the door in front of a display of ice-cream sandwiches and my stomach
growls again.

“Chloe, are you okay?” Tyson asks. “You look kind of pale.”

I find a smile and try not to make direct eye contact when I answer with a breezy,
“Fine!” and then change the subject. “You guys, seriously, who do you think would
have done this?”

“Agnes,” Sammi says without hesitation.

Everyone reacts with the same kind of shock I feel.

“Why her?” Tyson asks.

Sammi turns, propping one hand on her hip. “Seriously, it’s the perfect cover. She
seems like the model employee. She’s worked here forever. She’s probably got, like,
a million cats at home and she needs more money for Cat Chow.”

Gabe laughs. “Maybe she’s been secretly embezzling from the company all this time,
and one day she’s not going to show up for work and we’ll find out she fled the country.”

“To live on a private island with all her cats,” Sammi adds.

“I’m serious, you guys.”

“Oh, come on, Chloe. We’ll never figure this out. It could have been anybody. It could
have been Solomon himself.”

“There’s got to be something we’re missing. Some clue. I checked out the padlock earlier,
but there were no marks—” I cut myself off with a gasp. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Micah asks.

I drop to a crouch and brace my head with my hands. “I’m so stupid!”

“Did you figure it out?” Tyson asks.

“No!” I look up at them. “I touched the padlock earlier. My fingerprints are going
to be all over it. They’re going to think it was me!”

“No, no.” Tyson hunkers down in front of me and puts a hand on my arm. “I’m sure there
are tons of fingerprints on the box. Don’t worry about it.”

“How could I be so stupid?” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m not a detective. What was
I thinking?”

“So, wait. You’ve actually been trying to solve this? Like a detective?” Sammi’s voice
is closer than I expected, and I open my eyes to find them all in a loose circle around
me. Tyson is still down on my level.

Heat rushes into my face for the kajillionth time, but I don’t fight it. What’s the
point? I’ve already embarrassed myself enough today. “Yes,” I admit. “I don’t know.
I was bored, I guess, and it was at least something kind of interesting to think about.
I thought maybe I could—never mind.” Not that I’d be willing to admit it out loud,
but I kind of loved the idea of being the one to solve it before the cops got here.
Too much Nancy Drew in my past, too much Sherlock Holmes in my present.

“I can’t picture you in police academy,” Gabe says thoughtfully.

The flush in my cheeks deepens. “I don’t want to be a cop.” I feel like a dork. “I
read too many mysteries, I guess. It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Micah says. He’s now sitting cross-legged, facing me from a short
distance away. “Who says you can’t solve a mystery? Maybe you’ll be a detective later.”

“Seriously?” I look at him in disbelief. Who goes around planning to be a detective?
But that makes me wonder about him. “What do you want to do?” I ask.

“Ideally, I’d like to be on the first manned flight to Mars, but I don’t know if I’ll
qualify.” The look on his face says he’s dead serious. “If not, I still want to work
for NASA. I think it would be almost as good to be on the team on Earth for the Mars
flight.”

No one says anything for a few beats. Surprisingly, it’s Zaina who speaks first. “I
believe you will, Micah.”

He smiles widely. “Thank you, Zaina.”

Sammi nudges Gabe’s foot with hers. “What are you going to do next year?”

He sighs as he leans back against the frozen-veggies case. “College. Basketball. Same
shit, different school.”

“Do you even like basketball?”

He shrugs. “I don’t
not
like it. It’s just that I don’t really have a choice so it’s hard to care.”

“Why don’t you have a choice?” Micah asks.

“My dad went to Notre Dame. My brother and sister both went to Notre Dame. I’m a
legacy
. That’s where I’m going.”

“You don’t get any say? That’s kind of rough.” I shift to sit since my legs are starting
to fall asleep. It’s numbingly cold on the floor with my back against the freezer,
but I don’t want to move right now. I wrap my arms around my upraised knees.

“That’s kind of bullshit,” Sammi says.

Gabe nods, but he looks down at the ground. “I wish he’d let me have some input in
where
I was going to go.”

“Why don’t you apply to some other places?” I ask.

“He’ll only pay if I go to Notre Dame.”

“Good problems to have,” Tyson says.

He’s been quiet, and now we all look at him.

He licks his lips. “College is a given for you. I have to work my butt off just to
get there.”

Gabe’s mouth moves like he’s trying to say something, but he can’t work it out.

“So, you know, just be glad you know you’re going,” Tyson adds.

“Dude, I get it.” Gabe puts his hands up. “Poor little rich kid whining about how
hard his life is. That’s why I didn’t bring it up.”

“Where would you go if you had a choice?” I ask.

“Honestly? I don’t even know. I’ve never really thought about it since it wasn’t an
option.”

“It
is
an option,” Tyson insists.

“Not if I want my dad to be happy.”

“Who cares if he’s happy?” Sammi asks.

Gabe stares at her for a long moment. “I guess I do.”

“What about what you want?”

He shrugs. “It’s a good school.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to go along with what makes other people happy.”

“Oh, really?” Sammi looks at him, and I have a feeling she’s not just talking about
school.

“I understand,” Zaina speaks up. “My dad expects me to be a certain way, and most
of the time, it’s easier to cooperate.”

“How does he feel about you not wearing the
hijab
?” Micah uses both forefingers to trace the outline of a head scarf.

“He doesn’t mind that so much. My mother doesn’t wear it, either.” She shrugs. “But
other things . . . sometimes it’s not worth the fight.”

“I know the feeling.” Micah nods.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” Sammi asks. “Why are you homeschooled?” She says the last
word like it tastes bad.

“I started out in regular school. For kindergarten, you know? But it was too easy.
My parents wanted me to move up to first grade, but the school wouldn’t let me because
I was too young. So my parents decided to homeschool me for kindergarten, and then
first grade. They thought maybe the rest of the class would catch up and then I could
go to school.”

“Did you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “See, I’m really smart.” And because it’s Micah talking, no one
protests. I don’t even think he’s trying to brag.

He continues, “I just kept getting further and further ahead of people my age, so
there was never a time I could go back in. So, I stayed out. My sister, too.”

“Does it get boring?” I ask.

“Not really. We do a lot of stuff outside the house, depending on what we’re studying.
But honestly, that’s why I wanted to get a job,” Micah says. “I have other homeschool
friends, and some friends in my neighborhood. Sometimes I do video chats with my teachers
or other homeschoolers, but it’s not the same as being in the same room with other
people. Do you know what I mean?”

“Believe me, it’s overrated.” Sammi crosses her arms.

“I don’t understand.”

“Haven’t you heard? ‘Hell is other people.’”

“Jean-Paul Sartre,” Micah says.

She rolls her eyes. “You do know everything.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little cliché?” I ask. “The whole high-school-is-hell thing?
I mean, it’s not great, but it’s not horrible every minute, right?”

“You should try it being me,” Sammi says.

“What’s so bad about being you?” Tyson asks. His tone says she’s full of it.

“Gosh, where should I start?” She clasps her hands with mock enthusiasm. “Well, there’s
getting called a dyke every day. There’s the fact that none of the girls will talk
to me because they think I’m checking them out, and none of the guys will talk to
me because they think I’m into girls.”

“Are you?” Micah asks.

She gives him a look. “Are you serious?”

He nods. “I don’t know what you are. How would I know if I didn’t ask?”

Her pale mouth hardens into a line. “No. I’m not. I like guys, okay?”

“Huh,” Tyson says in surprise. I check the others for their reactions. Zaina is watching
Sammi intently, Gabe seems distracted by something on his pants, and Micah is nodding.

I can’t be the only one wondering. “Then why do you dress like that?” I ask.

Sammi looks down at her baggy jeans and skater shoes. “I like my clothes. Why do you
dress the way you do?”

“Me?” My clothes are about as middle-of-the-road as you can get. I don’t like to stand
out. Red hair has always done that for me without any extra help.

“Yeah. Why do you have purple shoes? Why do you wear glasses? Why do you always have
your hair in a ponytail?”

“I—I don’t know. I just do.”

“Exactly. I dress the way I feel like I should dress.” Sammi runs a hand over her
short blond hair. “If people are so narrow-minded that they think I’m gay just because
I have short hair, that’s not my problem.”

“But if it makes you miserable at school, why wouldn’t you try to fit in more?” I
ask.

“Because that makes me miserable, too. Why should I have to fit in with everyone else’s
idea of what makes someone beautiful? Why does everyone care so much? I’ll never look
as good as Zaina, so what’s the point?”

Zaina startles at the mention of her name. “You don’t want to be beautiful,” she says.

“Everyone wants to be beautiful.” My eyes roam over the black waterfall of hair swept
over her shoulder.

“People make assumptions about me, too,” she says.

“Because you’re Muslim?” Micah asks.

“Most people don’t know that I am,” she says. “They think because I don’t wear the
hijab
that I’m something else. Greek, Russian, Mexican . . . whatever they want me to be.”

“Does that bother you?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“So, what did you mean about assumptions?” Tyson asks.

“They assume that because I’m beautiful, that I’m cold. And mean.” She looks down,
her lashes brushing her cheeks. “And that I’m easy.”

“What?” Sammi asks.

“People assume that beautiful girls are sluts,” she says.

“Bullshit,” Sammi says.

Gabe sucks air through his teeth. “I think she’s kind of right.”

“You think just because a girl is pretty that she wants to screw everyone?” Sammi
demands.

“A lot of guys do,” he says. Fire lights in Sammi’s eyes, and Gabe searches the rest
of us for backup. “Tyson, help me out. Don’t you think that’s true?”

“I don’t know.” Tyson looks uncomfortable. “
I
don’t think that
,
but maybe other guys do. I don’t know.”

Gabe settles on me next. “Chloe. Be honest. Who’s the most beautiful girl at your
school?”

It’s an easy question. “Jessica Mueller.”

“And what do you think of her?”

I picture Jessica in my head. Tall; long, sleek brown hair; perfect skin. She’s probably
the most popular girl in school. Hangs out with all the coolest guys. Rumor has it
she’s been with at least half of them. And that’s just what I’ve heard as the new
kid. It’s not like people spend a lot of time talking to me. I lick my lips. “They
say she’s kind of a slut, I guess.”

Sammi sighs. “High school is complete bullshit.”

“I don’t know if she is, though,” I try. “I’m new.”

Zaina pushes the bulk of her hair behind her shoulders. “See? I’m right.”

My ears go hot again. “Maybe.”

“People at my school assume the same thing about me,” Zaina says.

“And are you? A slut, I mean?” Gabe asks her.

She glares at him. “No. Are you?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” He grins, showing off his dimples. “I mean, I’ve been
with some girls, but that doesn’t make me a slut.”

“And being with some guys doesn’t make Jessica Mueller a slut, either,” Sammi says,
shooting me a dirty look.

The heat in my ears spreads across my temples and cheeks. “I know that.”

“So, you see? People make assumptions about you no matter what you look like,” Zaina
concludes.

“Amen to that.” Tyson holds his hand up for a fist bump. Zaina looks at it curiously
for a second, then bumps, smiling. “You should try going into a store looking like
me,” he says. “Everyone thinks I’m there to rob it.”

Of course the chatterbox center in my brain has something to add. “When I go into
a store at the mall, someone always follows me because middle-class white girls are
the biggest shoplifters.”

Tyson laughs. “Seriously?”

I nod, and so does Sammi. “I know it’s not the same thing, but . . .”

“That’s funny,” he says. “It’s not as bad as people crossing the street when they
see you coming, but I feel you.” He leans into me for a moment, our shoulders touching.

“People don’t bother crossing the street when they see me coming,” Sammi says with
a grin. “They’d rather be up close when they call me names.”

Considering we’re talking about racism and harassment, I can’t quite figure out why
we’re all smiling. Maybe it’s just the fact that we’re all on the same page about
something. Or maybe you just have to laugh at horrible things sometimes.