Sleepover Stakeout (9780545443111) (10 page)

I snuck up to Mr. Plati's door. I couldn't make out the words he was saying, but it was clear that he was using his angry voice. It wasn't exactly yelling, but it was loud enough that I could quietly push the door open an inch and he wouldn't notice.

“And you're sure you had nothing to do with the fire?” Mr. Plati was asking Zane skeptically.

My heart sped up.

“Yes, sir,” Zane answered with a tremble in his voice. “You know me. I've never been in trouble before. I would never do something like this.”

There was a long pause. I wished I could put my eye up to the crack to see their expressions. Why didn't Mr. Plati believe Zane? Of course he had nothing to do with the fire. My chest squeezed.

“We have a problem, then, Mr. Munro.”

“What is it?” Zane asked.

I felt so bad for him, facing this all alone in there. Why would anyone want to put Zane through this?

Mr. Plati let out a long sigh, like he was deeply disappointed. “The problem is that, in addition to setting the fire, you've also now lied to me. Because I know you were at the field house. I have evidence.”

My mind scrambled. Evidence? What evidence?

I heard the squeak of a drawer opening. And the light thud of something being placed on the desk. Then I heard Zane gasp.

I couldn't take it anymore. I risked it and put my eye up to the crack.

“This was found at the scene of the crime,” Mr. Plati said. “Look familiar?”

He lifted a small black item in his hand. A wallet. Zane's wallet.

I rocked back on my heels like I'd been slapped. Whoever set the fire had stolen Zane's wallet or found it after he'd dropped it. Then they put it at the scene to frame him. I was overcome with anger. My face felt like it was burning.

“Are you going to deny that this is your wallet?” Mr. Plati asked. “Because your student ID is inside.”

Zane paled. “No, I mean, yes, that's my wallet. But I lost that a few days ago.”

Mr. Plati raised his eyebrows. “Inside the field house?”

Zane shook his head. “No. I've never been in the field house. It wasn't open yet.”

“But when Mr. Gray ran in to try to stop the fire” — Mr. Plati pointed a finger at the wallet — “he found this on the floor.”

“I — I — I,” Zane stuttered.

I'd never heard him this nervous. My heart went out to him.

“Someone's framing me!” he blurted. “I got a threatening e-mail and everything!”

Mr. Plati leaned forward on his desk and clasped his hands. “Is that really the tactic you're going to use?”

“It's the truth,” Zane said, bewildered. “Why would I burn the field house?”

Mr. Plati let out an aggravated grunt. “I overheard a conversation in the hall last week, between the soccer team and the basketball team. It seems some of you boys on the soccer team were all riled up about the field house.”

Zane's face turned bright red, and he looked down at the floor. “We're just mad because the basketball team gets a brand-new field house and we're basically kicked out. We used to practice here and now we have to go all the way to the high school for practices. It's not fair.”

Mr. Plati nodded. “I heard that. It would've been hard not to, since you were using such a raised voice.”

“We were angry,” Zane muttered.

“But how angry?” Mr. Plati asked quietly. “Angry enough to ‘burn the field house down?'” He used finger quotes as he said the words.

I nearly slid down to the floor in shock. He was
quoting
Zane? Zane
threatened
to burn the field house down?

Zane's shoulders shook. “I was only joking when I said that. It was just one of those things you say but you don't mean.”

“That's what I assumed at the time,” the principal said. “I thought to myself, ‘Zane Munro is a good kid. He's angry right now and that's why these words are flying, but he certainly doesn't want the field house to burn down.'” He shifted in his seat. “But the problem is, Mr. Munro, that the field house
did
burn down. A week after you said that. And your wallet was found at the scene.” He took a long pause. “Are you sure there's nothing you need to tell me?”

Zane's eyes were glassy. “No, sir.”

Mr. Plati leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm disappointed in you, Zane. I hoped that you'd be honest and face what you did. You're better than this.”

Zane banged his hand on the arm of the chair. “I didn't do it, Principal Plati. I swear! Someone is framing me!”

But Mr. Plati only shook his head. “I've already called your parents. They're on their way. The police will be taking over from now on. You can show this supposed e-mail to them. In the meantime, you're suspended from school and banned from school events. No soccer games. No dance.”

My heart broke into a thousand pieces. Only a few minutes ago, it had seemed like Zane was going to ask me to my first dance. I'd been so excited and had so much to look forward to. And now it was all falling apart.

In a deep, sorrowful tone, Mr. Plati ended with, “And the rest depends on the results of the investigation.”

I scurried back into the hall. Zane emerged from the office a moment later, looking stricken.

“I heard everything,” I whispered.

Zane looked up at me with eyes that held no hope. “You believe me, right? I did say that about the field house, but only because I was mad. I didn't mean it. I never, ever would have done something like this.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and said firmly, “I believe you. I know you didn't do this.”

Zane's shoulders sagged. “I'm in huge trouble, Norah. I'm suspended and I might even get charged with a crime.”

I clenched my fists. Not if I had anything to do with it.

 

Kim Harrington
is the author of several critically acclaimed novels for young adults. Sleuth or Dare is her first middle-grade series. She lives in Massachusetts with her family. You can visit her on the web at
www.kimharringtonbooks.com
.