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“If we snuck down the pole, we could go out through the back—climb over the fence.”

“They'd probably see us going down the pole—and even if they didn't, what about our bikes?”

“We could come back and get them later,” I said.

“I don't think we have much of a later. Once the sun comes up, the painting will be discovered, along with the bikes,” Oswald said.

“I'd prefer they find the bikes than find us.”

“If they find the bikes, they
do
find us. Bikes have registration numbers. It wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to trace them back to us.”

“And then they'd know who did this, and you'd be in big trouble,” I said.

“We'd
both
be in big trouble.”

Strangely, I hadn't even thought of me being in trouble. I was so worried about Oswald, it had just sort of slipped my mind that I was going to get in trouble too. Denial was an incredible thing.

“So just lay back and relax,” Oswald said.

“I am laying back, but relaxing isn't going to happen.”

“Close your eyes. Think nice thoughts. Just use your imagination and go to your happy place.”

“I can do that. I'm imagining that I'm on a tropical island…warm sun…and I'm not lying on the ledge of a big billboard with a police car right below me.”

Oswald laughed and then stopped himself. He had been louder than either of us would have liked.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Especially about getting you into this. I didn't mean to get you into trouble.”

“If I was you, I'd be less worried about the police and more worried about Julia. She's going to kill you when she finds out you kept all this from her.”

He didn't answer right away. “You stay up here, and I'm going down to turn myself in. I'm going to ask to be taken into protective custody.”

“That won't do you any good,” I joked. “She'll just wait until you get out and then kill you.”

I looked over the ledge. The police car was dark and silent. Were they having lunch or an extended nap?

“So what do you think of my portfolio?” Oswald asked. “Do you think it's good enough to get me into art college?”

“If I was the dean of admissions, I wouldn't let you in.”

“You wouldn't? Why not?” he asked.

“I'd be afraid that the first time you failed a course, you'd paint a wall at the college with a mural featuring my face on the body of a donkey.”

Oswald chuckled. “I'm not through with the mayor yet.”

“How about if we save those new ideas for tomorrow? I'm going to close my eyes and transport myself to a happy place…away from you.”

Chapter Twelve

I opened my eyes. Why was it so bright? Hadn't I closed the blinds? And it was chilly and—I sat bolt upright as I remembered exactly where I was. The sun was up, and there was traffic flowing on Erin Mills Parkway. A few cars were already in the parking lot below us, but the police car was gone.

“Oswald, get up!” I yelled.

He sat up. His expression was both shocked and confused.

“We have to—”

“Get away, quickly!” he screamed.

He grabbed his pack, and we went through the opening and down the pole rungs. I had to move fast to stop him from stomping on my fingers. I jumped over the last few rungs. I grabbed my bike and thumped it along the path, through the hole in the fence and into the parking lot. Oswald was right behind me.

“Ride, ride,” he screamed.

He threw his pack on his back, and we raced away, hitting the sidewalk and then the road, where traffic was racing by. We didn't stop—we just picked up speed, racing along the edge of the road, a combination of fear and adrenalin pushing us forward. Oswald turned off the road and onto a path, finally stopping in a thick patch of trees.

“We're okay…I think,” Oswald panted.

“Good. We got away…clean away.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost seven thirty.”

“Seven thirty!” he exclaimed. “School starts in less than thirty minutes, and I can't afford to be late. Mr. Singh threatened that one more late from me, and he'd demonstrate that his ceremonial kirpan could have actual uses.”

“He wouldn't actually stab you,” I said.

“No, but he did say that he'd use it to cut my marks in half.”

“If we go right now, we can make it. Just.”

“Okay, let's ride.”

We rolled into the school parking lot. It was filled with cars inching along, either dropping kids off or looking for a parking spot. There was only a minute or two to spare.

“Go—leave your bike with me and I'll lock it up,” I said.

He jumped off his bike.

“And you don't have time to go to your locker. Just give me your pack, and I'll put it in my locker.”

“But you'll be late.”

“I can afford to be late. Just go…you Wiz, you.”

He smiled, handed me the pack and then raced off to class.

Chapter Thirteen

I glanced over at Oswald. He looked as tired as I felt. He had made it to class on time. I'd been a couple of minutes late, but Mr. Singh hadn't said anything. I was just surprised that neither of us had fallen asleep so far and the period was almost over. I was starting to drift off now, though, and figured I'd take a little nap in second period.

There was a knock on the door, and by the time I turned to look, Mr. Roberts had stepped into the room.

“I'm very sorry to disturb your class,” he said, “but I need to speak to two students.”

There are lots of students in this room. Please, please, please don't say—“Oswald and Ian,” he said.

Great. Perfect.

“It shouldn't take long,” he said.

Okay, maybe it would be all right. There might be dozens of reasons why he'd want to speak to us. Besides, what we'd done last night was off school property and outside of school hours.

We both got to our feet. I flashed a weak smile. Oswald looked worried. Julia, who knew nothing about anything, still looked worried for us. We followed Mr. Roberts out into the hall, and I skidded to a stop. There were two police officers waiting for us, and even worse, the mayor and his bodyguards were just a dozen feet farther down the hall. This was bad—this was awful. Strangely, though, I couldn't help thinking that Mayor Dumfrey really did look like the egg Oswald had just painted. Or maybe the egg looked like him.

“These officers have requested to speak to you two,” Mr. Roberts explained.

“Sorry to take you out of class,” one of them said. “I'm sure it's nothing but a misunderstanding.”

He smiled. That was supposed to be reassuring. Instead, I thought about a crocodile smiling before biting me.

He held out his hand. “But first, introductions. Which one of you is Ian?”

“That's me.” I offered my hand and we shook, but then he brought my hand up and looked at it, turning it over, staring at it. What was he doing?

“It's not him,” he said. “His hand is clean. No paint.”

“What?”

He released my hand.

“But look here,” the other officer said. He was holding Oswald's hand up in the air. There, visible for everybody to see, was red and blue paint.

“And if I'm not mistaken, those are some of the colors and shades used on the latest painting,” he said.

“You mean the latest vandalism!” the mayor snorted. “Take him away and throw him in jail!”

I grabbed Oswald's other hand. “You're not taking him anywhere!”

“Sorry, Ian, you'd better stay out of this—they're police officers,” Mr. Roberts said.

“Then they should know the law better than anybody. He's a minor, and they can't take him anywhere or question him without first seeking the permission of his parents or offering a lawyer to be part of the interview if parents or guardians cannot be found.”

“Look who thinks he's a lawyer!” the mayor snorted. “Arrest the one for vandalism, and the other for resisting arrest!”

“Ian?” Mr. Roberts asked. “How do you know this?”

“I took law last semester. I got a 92.”

Mr. Roberts turned to the officers. “Well?”

“If he isn't eighteen, then we have to—”

“I'm
not
eighteen, not for another month!” Oswald said.

“So is Ian correct?” Mr. Roberts asked.

The officer looked like he didn't want to answer. Finally he nodded his head in agreement. “He needs to have a parent or a lawyer.”

“And he's going to have both!” I exclaimed.

I pulled out my phone, then suddenly remembered that it was against school policy to use it on school property or during school hours.

“This time, it is an emergency,” Mr. Roberts said, reading my reaction.

“Thanks, sir.” I hesitated for a second. I had two parents who were lawyers. They were both really good lawyers. But one of them scared me far more than the other. I punched in that number.

It rang and rang and—“Mom, I need your help…no, I'm okay, it's Oswald… the police are here, so I need you to come to the school…what?…sure…okay, I'll tell him. See you at school.”

I hung up. “Oswald, my mother said—and I quote—that you ‘are, for the first time in your life, to keep your mouth completely shut.' Understand?”

He nodded. He looked scared.

“Your mother is a lawyer?” the officer asked.

“Both my parents are lawyers.”

“Wait. Your last name is Cheevers. So that means your parents are Sarah and David Cheevers.”

“Great,” the other officer said. “Just great.”

That reaction and the looks on their faces gave me some satisfaction and a little confidence. I got the feeling they were more than a little afraid of my mother too.

“I suggest we get out of the hall. It's almost time for class change,” Mr. Roberts said. “We can wait in my office.”

“This is ridiculous!” the mayor bellowed.

“What part of following the law do you find most ridiculous?” Mr. Roberts asked him.

The mayor looked speechless, perhaps for the first time in his political life. I was going to say something now that would get him talking.

“He shouldn't even be here,” I said, pointing directly at the mayor. “Separation of the legal and political process is as guaranteed in our system as separation of church and state.”

“Are you trying to kick me out?” he demanded. “I can be here if I want to—”

“No, you can't. This is a police investigation, and if you don't leave, then I think somebody should contact the press,” I said.

The mayor looked like he was going to pull a full Humpty Dumfrey and explode into a million small pieces. I wondered if his bodyguards could put him together again.

“I'm surprised the kid only got a 92,” one of the officers said to the other. “Again, he is correct about those eligible to be part of police process. I guess somebody might want to explain that to our captain.”

“But…but…but…” the mayor sputtered.

“I'm not even sure why he's on school property to begin with,” I added. “Shouldn't he be escorted off or charged with trespassing?”

“I'm the mayor! This is my city, and I can go anywhere I want in it!”

“No, you can't,” Mr. Roberts said. “I happen to know the Education Act fairly well, and Ian is, once again, correct. But as principal, I will extend a courtesy and allow you to wait in the vice-principal's office.” He turned to me. “If that is acceptable?”

“As long as he doesn't talk to Oswald or be present when he's being questioned,” I said.

“You really think you can run this, don't you?” Mayor Dumfrey said, trying to stare me down. “I'm the mayor and—”

“And you shouldn't be able to talk to me or any other student, either, especially when you attempt to intimidate me like that,” I said.

The mayor started toward me, and Mr. Roberts stepped in between us and stared him down. Mr. Roberts, former Marine that he was, and standing taller and wider than the officers and the bodyguards, was doing a little intimidation of his own.

“And my mother also said that I was to stay with Oswald the entire time until she arrives,” I said. That was the first thing I'd said that was a lie.

“That's no problem,” the officer said. Mr. Roberts turned to the mayor. “Let me escort you to my vice-principal's office.”

Mayor Dumfrey nodded, but looked over at me. “Some people think they're pretty smart,” he muttered as he was led away.

One of the officers turned to the other. “I'm willing to bet
he
never got a 92 in anything.”

I laughed, and the mayor, still walking away, looked back at me angrily. He must have thought I was laughing at him. He was right.

“That guy is a piece of work,” the officer said under his breath. He looked at Oswald. “Couldn't you have worn gloves or used some paint thinner to clean your hands?”

Oswald went to answer.

“Not a word!” I yelled before he could speak.

“I wasn't trying to get a statement,” the officer said. “I was just trying to give him some future advice. He's not the only one who's unhappy about us being here.”

“Okay, sure. Can I have a minute before we go? I just need to gather up our stuff.”

“We have lots of time before your mother arrives.”

I looked directly at Oswald. He made a motion like he was zipping his mouth closed. I hurried into the classroom and found the entire class staring at me. I realized that not only had the door been open a little bit, but they had been listening to everything that had been said.

“Can I speak to Julia for a second, sir?” I asked Mr. Singh.

“You may take as much time as you need. I would not wish to infringe on your rights.”

I pulled her into the corner.