Sammy Keyes and the Hotel Thief (10 page)

Hudson nods at the cookies. “So the lady likes shortbread.” He looks at me and smiles. “With tea, I suppose?”

I laugh. “Exactly.”

“I'll have to remember that.”

“For the next time she comes over?”

One of his eyebrows arches up. “She told you about that?”

“Nope. I saw you myself. From the roof of the mall.”

“Well I never.” He leans forward and says, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Hudson wraps up a piece of cake and says, “Here. Give this to your grandmother and tell her I hope she'll stop by again soon.”

So I run home, and before Grams can say anything about me taking so long I give her the piece of cake and say, “Hudson says hi and he hopes you'll stop by again soon.”

“Cake?” She starts to take it, then says, “You go ahead. I prefer the shortbreads.”

So I had a second piece of cake, and for the rest of the night Grams made me work on my knitting and purling. And you'd think time would go by real slowly, but it didn't. Knitting makes you think. Your fingers are busy pushing yarn around and pretty soon your brain starts wandering, looking for something else to do.

I thought about Hudson and Rockin' Rick and about things not being what they seem. And I thought about other people I know—like Mrs. Graybill and Officer Borsch—and wondered again why they were the way they were, and if maybe they had secret lives as
nice
people. I also thought about Gina and T.J., and what being
them
would be like.

But after a while I started thinking about having to go to school the next day, and what I was going to do about Heather Acosta. And the more I thought about Heather and her stupid Help Heal Heather Fund, the more I wanted to get back to school and straighten things out.

Trouble is, I didn't have a clue how.

SIXTEEN

The minute I got to school I could tell Heather'd been doing a lot of talking. While I'd been home putting knots in wool, she'd been busy burning up the phone lines, telling everyone what a monster I was. Kids would see me and stop to whisper to their friends, or point and cover their mouths.

And since Marissa hadn't shown up yet, I was walking around all by myself feeling really dumb. Then this brown-haired girl with studs and loops loading down her ears comes up with a couple of friends and says, “Heather happens to be my best friend, and if you ever touch her again...” She looks around a minute, thinking.

“What? You'll pin me down and machine-gun my earlobes?”

Just then Heather shows up.

Now Marissa had told me Heather's nose was taped up, but I guess I wasn't expecting to see what I saw because I took one look at her and busted up. I mean, she's standing there with ten hoops in her ears, and she's looking at me over the top of this enormous
cast
on her nose. It was so big I wanted to grab a pen and sign it.

But all that gauze and tape plastered on her face didn't stop her mouth from working. She gives me the evil eye and says, “C'mon, Tenille. Let's go before she breaks your nose, too.”

So Heather and her groupie leave and I'm left standing there with the feeling that something's not quite right. When Marissa finally shows up I say, “Didn't your cousin break his nose once?”

She parks her bike. “Brandon? Yeah. Doing a back dive off the edge of our pool, remember? Why?”

“Did they tape up his nose?”

She shakes out her hair. “Yup.”

I can see Heather at the tables, talking to Tenille. I nod in that direction and say, “Did it look anything like that?”

Marissa takes a look. “Wow! It's even bigger than it was yesterday! You must've really nailed her!”

The bell rings for homeroom, and while we're all standing there mumbling the Pledge my eyes shift over and stare at that mountain of tape on Heather's face. And pretty soon I'm wondering: what's gauze doing on her nose? I mean, if I broke it, I broke it on the
inside
. There's no reason to put gauze on the outside unless it's cut, and I know I didn't cut it.

Then I start thinking about how the tape on Brandon's nose had been smaller and kind of skin-colored. Heather's nose was buried in athletic tape, the white stuff they wrap your ankle with when you sprain it in sports.

Then it hits me. Her nose isn't broken at all. She's just putting on a show to get people to hate me. And it's working.

*                  *                  *

I hadn't missed much, being suspended. Miss Pilson was still talking to herself in Old English, Mr. Tiller was still moving X around the chalkboard, and Mr. Holgartner showed the second half of another video that had more static than socks on polyester pants. And when lunchtime finally rolled around I
still
hadn't figured out what I was going to do about Heather.

That is, until I heard her in the lunch line, standing a little too close to Danny Urbanski, telling him, “...and Dr. Gant says I can't take it off until Friday. It is
so
embarrassing! He says I really should be home taking it easy, but I just can't afford to miss that much school. That brat Samantha only got suspended for one day and I have to wear this all week. It's so unfair, don't you think?”

Marissa whispers, “Bro
ther!
Don't you just want to—”

“Pop her in the nose?” I say, and then we both laugh. Marissa won't admit it, but she's had a crush on Danny Urbanski for ages. A major crush. And watching Heather move in on him was steaming her potatoes.

She turns to me. “You're right, she's faking it. If only we could prove it!”

I go digging through my pockets and Marissa asks, “What are you looking for?”

“Some change.” I pull out a few coins and give her a little smile. “I've got an idea....”

“What is it?”

“I don't know if it'll work but it's worth a shot. Stay here. I'll be right back!”

I found a pay phone right outside the office, and I got lucky—the girl using it was just hanging up. I hunted through the phone book until I found him in the yellow pages—Bertram Gant, MD.

By now my heart's beating like crazy so I take a deep breath, pop in the coins, and say, “Hi, this is Heather Acosta,” when someone answers the phone. “I came in a couple of days ago with a nosebleed?”

The receptionist says, “Oh, Heather. Yes, I remember.”

“May I speak with Dr. Gant? Or maybe a nurse?”

“The doctor is in with a patient right now—let me pull your chart and see if one of the nurses can help you.”

I say, “Okay,” and let me tell you, my heart's beating in my ears and I'm having a lot of trouble breathing.

Finally a lady comes on the phone. “Hello, Heather, this is Mary. How can I help you?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could call the school for me.”

“Call the school? Why?”

“Mr. Caan—our vice principal? He's making me wear a bandage on my nose.”

There's a long silence on the other end of the phone and for a minute I thought I was wrong.

Finally she says, “A bandage? For a simple nosebleed? Why on earth...?”

Well, that's all I needed. I started sniffling like I was trying not to cry. “It's so embarrassing! He says I have to wear a bandage just in case it
was
broken or fractured or something. He says that if anything happens to it in P.E. he doesn't want the school to be liable or something. I don't understand it....All I know is that all the kids are making fun of me and I just want to die!”

Now Mary wants to get this straight. She takes a deep breath and says, “You're telling me that your principal—what is his name?”

“He's the vice principal—Mr. Caan.”

“Mr. Caan insists that you wear a bandage on your nose because he doesn't want to be responsible if you get injured again?”

“That's right. He made me put gauze and tape over the whole thing and he says I can't take it off until Friday.”

“What?”

“Can you please just call the school and talk to him? Tell him it's not broken and that I'm fine—that it was just a little nosebleed and I don't need to wear these stupid bandages?”

“I most certainly will!”

I look up the school's number real quick and give it to her. Then I hang up the phone and race back to the lunch line to find Marissa.

I grin at her and she whispers, “Where'd you go?”

Heather's only a few people ahead of us so I say, “I'll tell you when we're sitting down.”

So we make it through the line and we're just about to sit down at a table when the loudspeaker blares, “Mr. Caan, please come to the office for a telephone call. Mr. Caan, to the office, please.” I nudge Marissa and grin up at the loudspeaker and, she says, “What did you do?!”

So I tell her. And pretty soon she's got a hand in front of her mouth and we're both giggling and peeking over at Heather a few tables away.

A little while later, Mr. Caan comes steaming into the cafeteria. I kick Marissa under the table and say, “It's show time.”

Now Mr. Caan was probably supposed to take Heather to his office and straighten things out with her there, but he didn't. He found her and stood towering over her, yelling, “What do you think you're trying to pull? Take that ridiculous tape off your face right now!”

Heather sputters, “But Mr. Caan! The doctor says—”

Mr. Caan's looking like he's ready to kill her. “Yes, I
know
what the doctor says! I just had a very enlightening conversation with Dr. Gant. I've spent the last ten minutes listening to him read me the riot act about how
I've
been forcing you to wear a bandage on your nose. I ask you again, Miss Acosta, what are you trying to pull here? Why are you wearing that ridiculous bandage when all you had was a simple nosebleed?”

By now the entire cafeteria is quiet. And I mean
quiet
. No one's even breathing.

Heather turns as red as her hair. “But...but...”

“Take it off. Right now. All of it.”

Pretty soon all the kids are whispering and moving in, trying to get a closer look at Heather peeling athletic tape off her face. And when all the tape's off her snotty little nose, Mr. Caan says very quietly, “Come with me.”

I don't want to miss a minute of this so I say to Marissa, “Come on!” and we start following them outside.

But Heather forgot her purse, and when she goes racing back to her chair to get it, who does she see? Me.

All I do is give her a little smile. But it's enough to make her figure out that I had something to do with the trouble she's in. She comes after me saying, “You little—” and pretty soon she's all over me, trying to scratch my eyes out.

Mr. Caan comes racing back, and while he's trying to pull her off me, Heather tries to punch me in the face.

It was probably the first punch she'd ever thrown—it just didn't have much experience behind it, if you know what I mean. Instead of coming straight at me, it came around from the side. And since I could see it coming a mile away, what do I do?

I duck.

And who does she hit?

Mr. Caan.

Now I don't think it hurt him too much, but I do think it was like poking an angry bear with a fishing pole. Mr. Caan practically drags Heather out of the cafeteria and pretty soon everyone's coming up to me, telling me “Way to go,” and stuff like that.

Then Danny Urbanski says, “Hey! What happened to all that money they were collecting for Heather?” and that starts everyone else saying, “Hey, that's right! Where's my money! I want my money back!”

And there's Tenille, standing in the middle of the pack with her eyes darting around, looking for a way to escape the cafeteria before she gets mugged. But it's too late. Somebody sees her and calls, “Hey, Tenille! Get back here! We want our money! Where is it?”

Tenille's smile is as sweet as vinegar. “Heather has it—really!” Then she starts blubbering. “Oh come on, you guys...she made me do it! I didn't know! How was I supposed to know?”

I call over to her, “Oh yeah, right! I bet you want everybody to believe you didn't know she pricked me in the rear end with that stupid pin, either!”

Before Tenille can stop herself she says, “Oh, she told me
that
—she just never told me her nose wasn't broken! Honest!”

I give her a little smile and all of a sudden she realizes what she's done.

She says, “No, wait, I...That's not how it happened,” but everyone's already shaking their heads and leaving.

Then Danny Urbanski comes up to me and says, “I'm glad you punched her. She deserved it.”

Marissa grabs my arm. “Did you hear that? Can you believe it? Danny said he was glad you punched her.” She pumps her hand in the air. “Yes!”

*                  *                  *

Kathleen Spencer was the office aide when Heather's mother showed up to have a meeting with Mr. Caan, and she said you could hear Mr. Caan's voice clear through his door and all the way down the hall. She also said that Heather spent the whole time before her mother showed up in the Box and that after the Acostas left the secretaries went crazy whispering about how Heather had been suspended for three days. They said that they couldn't remember anyone being suspended for three days, let alone a girl.

When I got back to homeroom at the end of the day, sure enough, Heather was missing. Marissa comes running up to me saying, “Have you heard?” and pretty soon
everyone's
running up to me saying, “Have you heard?” and telling me they never believed her in the first place. Right.

On our way home from school Marissa says, “You want to get an ice cream?”

I say, “Sure!” and when we get near the mall she points and says, “There's Oscar!”

So we race across Broadway and when we get close we start slapping our feet on the sidewalk and making a bunch of noise. “Hi, Oscar!”

He stops and cups his ear, so Marissa calls, “Two Double Dynamos, please!”

He smiles and nods and pretty soon
chinga-chinga-chinga
he makes us change and we've got our drumsticks.

Now Marissa wants to sit right down in the grass and start on hers, but I say, “C'mon, I want to show you something.”

So we take our cones and go inside the mall, and as I'm taking her up the escalator she says, “Where are we
going?
”

I just smile and lead her over to the “Employees Only” door; then I latch on to her wrist and drag her inside.

She whispers, “Sammy, no! What are you doing? Isn't this against the law or something?”

I keep on dragging. “C'mon, I know what I'm doing!”

That doesn't do much to convince her, but she comes along anyway. When we get to the door to the roof, she peeks around it like she's checking a stall in the girls' room. “Are you sure this is okay?”

I disappear around the corner and she comes charging after me. And when she gets on the roof her eyes bug out and she says, “Wow! This is
cool
.”

I take her over to one side and say, “Look. You can see St. Mary's and the Salvation Army and...” and then I tell her about everything I'd seen when I was up here before and how you can see so much more with binoculars.

She says, “Check it
out
. You don't even need binoculars—this is awesome!”

So we run around the roof of the mall shouting at each other. “Look! Look!” until finally Marissa says, “I'll bet I can see my house from up here.”

“I'll bet you can't. There are way too many trees in the way,” which is true. East Jasmine is like buried in trees. They probably have enough trees there to start a forest.