Sammy Keyes and the Dead Giveaway (3 page)

I actually happen to be really good at hiding in closets because for almost two years now I've been living with my grandmother in a seniors-only building—something that may not
seem
like a big deal but is, seeing how me getting caught would mean her getting evicted.

In other words, we'd both be living on the streets.

So I've become real good at hiding in closets and peeking through cracks in doors because that's exactly what I do when someone unexpected comes to the apartment.

But still, experience or not, I was shaking. I mean, eviction
is one thing, but Heather catching me with terminated Tango in hand?

That would be death by gossip squad.

So it took me a minute to realize that Heather was acting strange. She was moving sort of twitchy, glancing over her shoulder, sort of
tip
toeing. And the look on her face was almost euphoric. Like she couldn't believe her good luck.

No doubt about it—that girl was up to something.

But what?

I leaned a little closer to the opening in the closet door and watched as she hurried over to Mrs. Ambler's desk. She didn't seem to notice that the birdcage was open or that little Hula was inside it, all alone. She was focused on casing the desk.

She checked over the top of it quickly, then leaned sideways so she had a better view of the walkway through the windows. Then she rolled open a drawer. “C'mon… c'mon,
c'mon
!” she muttered, pushing it closed and opening the next one. Then I heard her say, “Yes!” and suddenly she had a stack of blue papers in her hand. She checked the windows again, then slammed the drawer closed and stashed the papers in her backpack.

What had she stolen?

Tests?

But what tests? Heather didn't have any classes with Mrs. Ambler, just homeroom. And why steal more than one test? She'd taken a whole
pile
of them.

Then it hit me—ballots! She must be stealing seventh-grade Personality ballots!

But…why steal them now? We hadn't even voted yet.

With a sickening
thunk
, the reason clicked in my brain. And just as I'm having the frightening thought that Heather is
way
smarter than I am, the classroom door opens and Tawnee Francisco and Brandy Cavaletto walk in.

“Hi, guys!” Heather says, cool as a breeze as she moves toward the door.

“Hey, Heather,” they say back, and as they're heading for their desks to drop their backpacks, Heather sails out of the room, taking
her
backpack with her.

So there I am, an eyewitness to one of Heather's sneaky crimes, unable to do anything about it. I mean, I couldn't just pop out and say, Stop, thief!

I had a dead bird in my hand.

And yeah, Heather's crime was premeditated while mine was accidental, but still, something about what I'd done felt much worse than what Heather was doing. So she was going to win Friendliest Seventh Grader by cheating.

Me, I'd murdered a
love
bird.

Then I hear Tawnee say, “Hey, Brandy, look. The bird-cage is open,” and right after, Mrs. Ambler walks in. “Mrs. Ambler?” Tawnee asks. “Did you leave the birdcage open on purpose?”

There's a moment of hesitation, then Mrs. Ambler says, “No!” and hurries over to her desk. “Good girl, Hula,” she coos as she shuts the cage. Then she starts looking around. “Tango?” she sings out. “Here, pretty bird, come here, sweetheart!” She makes little ticking noises with her
tongue as she moves around the room. “Tweet-tweettweet! Here, pretty bird! Tweet-tweet-tweet!”

My heart's absolutely
ka-blam
ing inside my chest because she's moving closer and closer to the closet. And part of me wants to jump out and cry, I'm so sorry! It was an accident! and beg for her forgiveness. But I'm hiding in her closet like a criminal.

I looked guilty as sin!

“Come on, buttercup!” Mrs. Ambler twitters, only two feet away from the closet door. But just as I'm about to collapse from the shakes, she turns to Tawnee and Brandy and says, “I don't understand—where could he be?”

“I don't know, Mrs. Ambler,” Tawnee says. “The cage was wide open when we came in.”

“But … who opened it?”

Tawnee and Brandy both shrug.

“Was anyone here when you got here?”

Tawnee and Brandy look at each other. “Uh … Heather was.”

“Acosta?” Mrs. Ambler asks, and there's a twinge of fear in her voice.

The girls nod.

The warning bell rings, so Mrs. Ambler moves around the room faster, looking all over. “Tango…here, pretty bird… come on, fella …”

Tawnee checks the bookcases and the floor beneath the windows. “He didn't crash into a window…I don't think he's here.”

“Then where
is
he?” Mrs. Ambler's face is all pinched up like she's about to cry. “And who opened the cage?”

Then Brandy says, “We used to have a lovebird, and he could unlatch the cage by himself.”

“He could?”

Brandy nods. “Once he figured it out, he did it all the time. We clipped his wings so he couldn't fly away, but we still kept the cage locked.”

“But if Tango opened the cage, where is he now?”

I should have just stepped out of the closet right then. And if Mrs. Ambler had been alone, I would have. But Tawnee and Brandy were there, and they weren't the kind of girls to keep something like me popping out of the closet with a fluffy little bird corpse to themselves. They'd spread the news like fertilizer, and in no time the story would grow and blossom. There'd be no way of trimming it back. I'd be the Lovebird Murderer until the day I died.

So I just stood there, my knees wobbling like crazy, my hand all sweaty around the broken bird.

Then Tawnee says, “Uh …maybe you should ask Heather?”

Kids were already filing in. And pretty soon everyone was flapping their lips about Tango. Then right before the tardy bell rang, Heather slid in.

“May I see you a moment?” Mrs. Ambler asks, pulling her aside and maneuvering her over to guess where?

The closet.

“Yes, Mrs. Ambler?” Heather asks like a total innocent. I can see the profile of both their faces. Can count Heather's earrings … one, two, three, four, five …

What if they can hear me breathing?

Mrs. Ambler keeps her voice low as she says, “You were in the classroom earlier this morning?”

“
This
classroom?” Heather asks, and it's easy to see she's buying time.

Mrs. Ambler snaps, “Yes, Heather.
This
classroom. What were you doing in here?”

“What I was
doing
in here?” Heather asks.

Now, this is typical Heather tactics. Act innocent and avoid the question. If anyone
questions
your innocence, act insulted. If
that
doesn't work, threaten to sue.

So when Mrs. Ambler says, “Yes, Heather. What were you doing in
this
classroom
this
morning?” true to form, Heather gives an innocent shrug and says, “I was just dropping stuff off. Why
else
would I be in here?”

But Mrs. Ambler's got her eyes locked on Heather.

“Do you have something valuable in your backpack?”

“Uh … valuable?”

“Yes, Heather, valuable.”

“Nooo …”

“So why did you take your backpack with you?”

Heather hesitates, then tries to recover by saying, “Look, I just swapped books, that's all. I always take my backpack with me!”

But Heather's eyes are shifty, and Mrs. Ambler can tell she's guilty, only she doesn't know it has nothing to do with her bird!

Mrs. Ambler crosses her arms and says, “A minute ago you said you came in here to drop stuff off. What is it? Swap books, or drop stuff off?”

“Both! And why's it matter!”

“Now would be a good time to tell me the truth,” Mrs. Ambler says. Her voice is hard, and it's making me shrink way back in the closet.

“I
am
telling you the truth!” Heather whines.

Mrs. Ambler shakes her head. “You never come to homeroom early, Heather. I may have been a fool to think you'd turned over a new leaf, but I'm not stupid.”

“I…I don't know what you're talking about!”

“I can see in your eyes that you do! Just tell me, okay? Where is he?”

In a heartbeat, Heather's face smooths back. “Where is
he
? Where is
who
?”

“Tango!” Mrs. Ambler cries. “Where'd you put my bird!”

“How should I know where Tango is!” Heather puffs up and starts squawking like an angry jay. “I can't believe you're accusing me of this. I didn't
touch
Tango!”

“You're lying, Heather. I saw it in your eyes.”

Heather gasps. “You can't just call me a liar! It's against the law!”

“So is stealing my bird.”

“Why would I want to steal your stupid bird? And where is he, huh? Where is he if I stole him? Here — you want to check my backpack?” She swings it off and rips it open.

But Mrs. Ambler doesn't even look. “Where did you go after you were in here, Heather? Where did you take my bird?”

I'd never seen Mrs. Ambler like this before. And she sure wasn't following proper protocol or whatever teachers
are supposed to do when they're mad at a student. She was just letting Heather have it.

So Heather zips up her backpack, swings it on, and gives Mrs. Ambler a steely look as she says, “I've got a roomful of witnesses here. You've called me a liar, and you've called me a thief. Apologize, or I'll sue for slander!”

Mrs. Ambler just stands there, looking her in the eye.

“Fine!” Heather huffs, then spins around and storms out of the room.

The class is dead quiet as Mrs. Ambler goes to her desk and plops down in her chair. And everyone seems to be holding their breath as she just sits there, staring at her birdcage.

Time ticks by. Mrs. Ambler doesn't lead the Pledge. She doesn't read the announcements. She just sits there.

Then finally, she stands and says, “A show of hands, please. How many of you come to homeroom early, rearrange your books, and leave again
with
your backpack?”

Not one hand goes up.

“Sometimes I drop something off,” Cassie Kuo offers. “Like my lunch? Or a project?”

Mrs. Ambler heads for Heather's desk. “What does she have first period?”

“Math,” Monique Halbig says.

“Second?”

“Social studies,” Derrick Stern says.

Mrs. Ambler digs through Heather's desk, then announces, “Both books. No lunch. No project.” She shakes her head. “She's lying. I could see it in her eyes.”

At this point I'd gone from facing the gossip squad to
seventh-grade suicide. If I got caught now, kids would think I'd tried to frame Heather. I could just hear them: Sammy was in the closet the whole time, can you believe that? And we thought
Heather
was sneaky… man!

And I know it would have
looked
that way, but I really wasn't trying to be sneaky. I was just scared. And if it had been Marissa out there getting blamed, I would have bit the bullet and stepped out. But this was Heather the Horrible—the person who'd terrified me into diving for the closet in the first place.

Then a little voice started whispering in my ear.
This is perfect!
it told me.
Heather's framed you for all sorts of things this year… so what if she gets blamed? It would serve her right!

So I stayed hidden. And when the passing bell rang and kids filed out, I listened to the little voice some more.
Put the bird down
, it whispered.
Put him under that old jacket. That way if you get caught leaving the closet, you may still be able to lie your way out of it.

Now, I know from experience that the trouble with one lie is that it usually takes more lies to cover it up. And if you don't watch out, you wind up telling lies to cover up the lies that are covering up the
original
lie.

But the fact is, I saw no way of telling the
truth
. So I ditched Tango under a jacket, wiped my hand on my jeans, and let my mind turn to the business of cover-up lies: I'd “missed” homeroom, so I needed a note from Grams excusing me for being late. But getting a note from Grams would mean having to explain things to her, and let's just say that it's been a long time since Grams
attended junior high. There was no way she'd understand why confessing what I'd done would be seventh-grade suicide.

Besides, just thinking about telling her I'd killed a bird and hid in the closet made me queasy. It sounded so… cowardly.

So I decided to do what lots of kids do when they miss school—forge a note.

But I couldn't exactly forge a note in the closet. And I couldn't exactly go to the media center to compose one, either.

No, I had to get
off
campus, then come back with the note and act like I'd overslept or something.

The trouble was Mrs. Ambler. How long would I be trapped in this closet, waiting for her to leave the classroom?

Lucky for me, she must've been anxious to talk to Vice Principal Caan about Heather and the bird because she grabbed her birdcage and filed out with the rest of the kids when homeroom was over.

I didn't waste a second. I slipped out of the closet, out of the classroom, and beelined over to the service alley that delivery trucks use to bring in cafeteria food. The coast was clear, so I ran down the alley, squeezed my backpack, my skateboard, and myself through the chain-link gate, then hit the sidewalk.

My heart was like a jackhammer inside my chest as I escaped school, praying that no one had seen me. And when I reached the end of the block, I dared a look over my shoulder.

Nobody was watching.

Nobody was chasing.

I took some deep breaths and tried to calm down. Just a few simple lies, I told myself. I could handle this. Just a few simple lies, and it'd be all over.

No one would ever know.