“She’s not? Then who is?” said Binky.

  “It’s a mystery,” said Melanie.

  “But if she’s not the scholarship girl,” said Binky, “why does she wear those dreadful cardigans?”

  “That’s also a mystery,” said Melanie.

  “It is not a mystery,” protested Friday. “It is a perfectly rational fashion choice.”

  “Oh dear,” said Melanie, checking her watch. “It’s three minutes to four, so if Binky doesn’t appear behind the boys’ locker rooms in the next one hundred and eighty seconds, he’s going to get beaten up for not turning up for his beating.”

  “Really?” said Binky. “If I’d known I was going to get in a fight today, I would have worn my watch.”

  So they all hurried off to the boys’ locker rooms. It was an unattractive brown building that smelled unpleasant. The locker rooms were built into the slope on the side of the football field, so even though the building was single-story at the front, it was two-story at the back, which provided a large double wall to shield would-be pugilists from the eyes of the teaching staff.

  When Friday, Binky, and Melanie arrived, Simmons was already there. He was a tall, slim boy and, unlike Binky, he seemed to have his wits about him. He had brought along a dozen friends and boxing enthusiasts. No doubt he was confident of a victory and wanted plenty of witnesses.

  Simmons had already taken off his jacket and was rolling his shoulders, warming up so that he didn’t strain himself in the imminent thrashing.

  “What do I do?” asked Binky in a whisper to Friday.

  “Take off your jacket, too,” said Friday. “It will buy us some time to think.”

  “It’s a shame we’re not allowed cell phones,” said Melanie. “We could have called Daddy’s helicopter and gotten him to airlift you out of here.”

  “Your father has a helicopter?” asked Friday.

  “Oh yes, he hates being stuck in traffic,” said Melanie.

  “I suppose the ambulance service might airlift me out of here if my injuries are serious enough,” said Binky, cheering up at the idea. He liked a good ride. He proceeded to roll up his sleeves, which took a while because his forearms were very large.

  “Okay,” said Binky. “Now what do I do?”

  “Traditionally, in amateur fights you have to step closer to your opponent so that you can taunt and belittle him,” said Friday.

  “Why?” asked Binky. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

  “It’s more to psych yourself up,” said Friday. “So you can bring yourself to hit him.”

  “So running isn’t an option?” asked Binky.

  “There are twelve of them and only one of you,” said Friday. “Unless you are incredibly good at running, there’s little point.”

  “I’m not fast at anything with my feet or my brain,” said Binky. He stepped forward and Simmons did the same.

  “You need to learn a lesson,” said Simmons. “You need to learn respect for your elders and betters.”

  “Really?” said Binky. He was getting confused (a common problem for him). “I thought you were mad because you got a D on your assignment.”

  “Don’t answer back to me,” said Simmons, who was now pointing his finger at Binky’s face.

  As Simmons took two steps forward, Friday watched him closely.

  “Binky!” called Friday. “I know what you should do!”

  “You do?” said Binky. “Thank goodness.”

  “From the way he is standing I can tell that Simmons has a recurrent knee injury in his right leg, and given his lanky frame and this school’s emphasis on competitive sports, it’s probably from too much high-jump practice,” said Friday. “And he has a distaste for violence, because he is taking a long time to get around to hitting you.”

  “I am not,” objected Simmons.

  “Binky, the key to all martial arts is compromising your opponent’s balance,” said Friday. “Don’t think. Sweep his right leg!”

  Binky did as he was told. Not thinking was his strength. He leaped onto his left foot and swung his right foot forward to knock the other boy’s foot from underneath him.

  “Ow!” cried Simmons as he fell on the ground.

  “You won!” cried Melanie delightedly.

  “You cheated,” accused Simmons as he writhed in pain on the floor.

  “I don’t see how that can be the case,” said Binky. “I only did as I was told.”

  “Binky, I said his right,” chided Friday. “Not your right. You swept his left leg. Now he’ll have two knee injuries.”

  “Oh dear,” said Binky. He bent over Simmons and apologized sincerely. “Terribly sorry about that. Never been good with left and right.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Binky,” said Melanie. “It worked. It’s the thought that counts.”

  “I didn’t know I’d had a thought,” said Binky. “I’m glad it was a good one.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” said Friday, addressing Simmons, who was still writhing on the ground. “All fist fighting is stupid. You have to use your hands to do any number of important things: write, play piano, catch a ball…”

  “Pick your nose,” added Binky.

  “Yes, even pick your nose,” agreed Friday.

  The other seniors had gathered around their friend, unsure of what to do. They were a little embarrassed because Simmons appeared to be crying.

  “Maybe we should leave before any of the other seniors decide they want to hit Binky,” suggested Melanie.

  “All right,” agreed Friday. “So I declare this fight to be officially over.”

  “But my paper!” protested Simmons. “Because of him I got a D for handing it in late. If I don’t maintain a C average, I get thrown off the lacrosse team.”

  “Really?” said Friday. “I didn’t know it was that easy to get excluded from sports.”

  “Only from varsity teams,” said Melanie. “If you’re not on a team, they still make you do some sort of exercise, such as running around a field. Or worse … aerobics.”

  Friday shuddered.

  “I’m the captain of the team!” exclaimed Simmons. “I can’t get thrown off.”

  Friday felt a twinge of sympathy. She couldn’t empathize with someone wanting to play sports. But she understood not wanting to let people down. This was an Achilles heel for her as well. And seeing Simmons on the floor, clutching his knee and struggling not to cry in front of his friends did make Friday feel guilty.

  “Don’t worry,” said Friday. “I’ll investigate this matter for you. If Binky says he handed your assignment in on time—”

  “And I did,” said Binky.

  “Then I believe him,” continued Friday. “Because, no offense to Binky, but I don’t think he has the intelligence to lie.”

  “I don’t,” agreed Binky. “And no offense taken.”

  “There is more to this, and I promise to get to the bottom of it for you,” said Friday to Simmons, “on the condition that you must never challenge Binky to a fight again, because he is a large simple boy who can, when given the proper instruction by me, hurt you seriously. Let’s go.”

  The study hall bell rang. All the students scuttled off in different directions except for Simmons, who hobbled between two friends.

  “Thank you so much,” said Binky as he, Melanie, and Friday turned back to the dorms.

  “That’s all right,” said Friday. “Anything for Melanie’s brother.”

  “How much do I owe you?” asked Binky.

  “Owe?” asked Friday. “Nothing at all.”

  “I heard how Delia paid you to get her off that stealing charge,” said Binky. “I don’t want to be a cheapskate. I’ll pay the going rate.”

  “Delia paid her five hundred dollars,” said Melanie. “Do you even have five hundred dollars, Binky?”

  “Goodness no,” said Binky. “But I’m sure I’ve got something you’d like.”

  “She’s not going to want your Xbox or your PlayStation,” said Melanie. “Friday is an intellectual.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Friday. “I like Wii. I like it when an avatar does things for me.”

  “I know!” exclaimed Binky. “I’ll give you a baseball bat!”

  “But I don’t play!” Friday said. “Not any sport. My parents are both academics. The only good thing they ever did for me was write a note to my school saying they refused to let me participate in any body-contact sport, ball sport, or cardiovascular exercise because it violated their academic principles.”

  “No, no, no,” said Binky. “Not that type of bat. You’d never play with it. It’s an autographed bat, signed by Babe Ruth.”

  “That sounds valuable,” said Friday. “I couldn’t take that from you.”

  “It’s okay,” said Binky cheerfully. “I’ve got two. Uncle Henry got me one for Christmas, and forgot that he’d already gotten me one for my birthday.”

  “But still, Binky—” said Friday.

  “I won’t take no for an answer,” said Binky. “Baseball bats can be totally useful to have around. Apart from playing baseball, they’re handy if you need to hammer a nail into the wall or squash a cockroach without getting goo on your best shoes. Or you could take it with you if you go walking in the swamp again.”

  “Why?” asked Friday.

  “You might need it to bop that yeti fellow on the head,” said Binky earnestly as he ran off to his dorm.

  Melanie and Friday kept walking.

  “I like your brother,” said Friday.

  “Yes,” agreed Melanie. “He’s just like a big puppy. Except that you don’t have to clean up his poop or take him for walks. So really he’s even better than a puppy.”

  Chapter

  15

  The Stakeout

  And so the following Monday, at nine, Friday and Melanie left the breakfast hall and headed in the opposite direction to the sports fields.

  “What will we say when Miss Spitzer catches us skipping PE?” asked Melanie.

  “She’ll be angry, but I doubt she’ll report us,” said Friday. “I think on some level Miss Spitzer will be secretly relieved. It can’t be fun trying to teach people like us to have hand-eye coordination.”

  Friday and Melanie entered the administration block. The social studies staff room was in the west wing, just along the corridor from the Headmaster’s office. There was no one in the staff room when they arrived.

  “What do we do now?” asked Melanie. “Should we hide in a closet?”

  “I find it is usually better to hide in plain sight,” said Friday. “It’s very hard to explain your way out of being in a closet. But when someone realizes that you shouldn’t be sitting right in front of them, and yet you have been sitting right in front of them for some time, they never make as much fuss.”

  So Friday and Melanie sat down on the now familiar bench outside the Headmaster’s office. Friday noted that the Headmaster had changed the lock on his door. The new lock had a fingerprint recognition keypad. Friday shook her head at the foolishness. Fingerprint technology was even easier to overcome than a tumbler lock. The Headmaster obviously did not go to the movies very often. If he did he would be more reluctant to use a technology that was traditionally overcome by cutting a person’s thumb off.

  “Now what?” asked Melanie.

  “We eat,” said Friday as she took out her snack food. “I’ve got a sandwich bag full of guacamole in one pocket, corn chips in the other, and some superhot chili sauce hidden inside my fountain pen.”

  “That’ll be handy,” remarked Melanie. “If we don’t eat the sauce, you can use it as a weapon.”

  They had been there just thirty-four minutes when they heard the swoosh and the pneumatic hiss of the main door opening as Miss Priddock, the school secretary, entered. She was a tall blond woman wearing a bright red blouse. She noticed the girls and smiled at them, then went behind her desk and set to work. Friday and Melanie could not see what she was doing because receptionists’ desks are always slightly too high. This is so that the receptionist will not accidentally make eye contact and, therefore, socially awkward small talk with anyone waiting for an appointment. As such, the girls could only see the top of her perfectly arranged blond hair.

  “What’s she doing?” whispered Melanie.

  “If I was being charitable I would say she is browsing through an office supply catalog,” whispered Friday. “But I think more realistically she is probably flicking through a gossip magazine and eating a chocolate cookie.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Melanie.

  “You can hear her turning the pages,” said Friday. “From the sound, you can tell it is lightweight paper, therefore not a book, but glossy, therefore not a newspaper. Lightweight glossy paper is used in the type of large stationery catalog present in the desk drawers of all secretaries. It is also used in gossip magazines. And since this woman does not look like the type of person who enjoys browsing for office supplies—”

  “Oh, I do,” interrupted Melanie. “There is something very satisfying about choosing notepads and erasers.”

  “I agree,” said Friday. “But some people are more superficial.”

  “How can you tell she’s eating a chocolate cookie?” asked Melanie.

  “The sound and speed of her chomps,” explained Friday. “The chocolate coating muffles the chomping sound. And if she were eating a plain old graham cracker she would just eat it. But a chocolate cookie is something to be savored and enjoyed. On average, people eat chocolate cookies forty-three percent slower than non-chocolate cookies, and even slower than that if they just had a big meal and aren’t terribly hungry.”

  Their conversation was interrupted as the door sucked open again and two teachers entered, heading toward the pigeonholes where the Highcrest faculty members picked up their daily mail. One of the teachers was an older harried man in a tweed suit and blue bow tie.

  “That’s Mr. Braithwaite,” said Melanie. “He teaches ancient history.”

  The second teacher was Mr. Maclean.

  “There he is,” said Melanie.

  “Hmm,” said Friday. She was concentrating intently on his behavior.

  Mr. Braithwaite ignored Miss Priddock and the girls and walked directly to his pigeonhole while staring at the ground and muttering to himself. But Mr. Maclean looked around, saw Miss Priddock, and smiled.

  Friday’s eyes narrowed. “Did you see that?” she whispered to Melanie.

  “What?” asked Melanie. She had been staring at the potted plant in the corner and doubted that was what Friday was referring to.

  “His smile,” said Friday. “I have cataloged 1,028 different types of human smiles, and that smile falls into a very specific subcategory of smiles that can only be achieved by practicing while looking in the mirror.”

  “Practicing what?” asked Melanie.

  “Practicing handsomeness,” said Friday. “Mr. Maclean has spent hours and hours of his life looking in the mirror and smiling to see what he has to do to make his smile look as handsome as possible.”

  “How peculiar,” said Melanie. She found it hard to concentrate on anything for prolonged periods of time, certainly not her own face.

  “And look at the state of his shoes,” continued Friday. Mr. Maclean had a thick Plimsoll line of black mud around the soles of his tan boat shoes. Friday was several yards away, but she still leaned toward them and sniffed. “He’s been doing something in the swamp.”

  “Miss Priddock,” said Mr. Maclean, “looking fabulous today, I see.”

  Miss Priddock giggled and smiled her own less practiced yet equally nauseating smile back.

  Mr. Maclean sauntered over to the pigeonholes, unlocked his, swung the little door open, and reached up to get his papers, but as he put his hand in, he turned and spoke once more to Miss Priddock.

  “I was observing the topography of the moon’s surface last night, and I thought of you,” said Mr. Maclean.

  Miss Priddock giggled again.

  “Such beauty outshining all others,” said Mr. Maclean. He smiled again, but this time it was a different type of affected smile, more serious and suggestive.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” whispered Melanie.

  Miss Priddock just giggled.

  Mr. Maclean laughed as well. He scraped the papers out of his pigeonhole without looking and walked off to his office.

  “That is disappointing,” said Friday.

  “It is?” said Melanie.

  “I was hoping it would take longer to solve this case,” said Friday with a sigh as she got to her feet. “Now we have no excuse. We will have to go back and do the rest of PE.”

  “Oh dear,” said Melanie. “And at such short notice. There’s no time for us to come down with a life-threatening contagious disease. Are you absolutely sure you solved the problem?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Friday. “Come on, we’ll walk slowly. But I need to talk to Miss Priddock first.” Friday leaned over the receptionist’s counter and saw that she had been quite right. Miss Priddock was reading a gossip magazine. “Excuse me, I’d like to make an appointment to see the Headmaster.”

  “The earliest I can squeeze you in is ten o’clock tomorrow,” said Miss Priddock.

  “There’s no chance we could see him right now?” asked Friday.

  “He’s got another appointment,” said Miss Priddock.

  “Of course,” said Friday. “I had observed that on the third Tuesday of the month the Headmaster’s hair is always impeccably black. So the third Monday of the month is when he gets his roots dyed.”

  Miss Priddock gasped. “How did you know? I was sworn to secrecy.”

  “And I assume he has to drive sixty miles away for the appointment,” said Friday, “so there is no chance he’ll bump into anyone from school.”

  “No,” said Miss Priddock. “Actually he has a boat hidden in the swamp. He takes a forty-minute trip up the river.”

  “Intriguing,” said Friday. “There is a lot of coming and going from the school swamp.”