Don't Get Caught(38)

I give him a none taken wave of the hand. “So you’re now Nerdy Wheeler?”

“Instead of Screwup Wheeler, yeah. Why not try something new, right? But, man, let me tell you, it sucks. I have all these credits to make up, and I’m in guidance all of third period now doing courses online, and I have permission to be here working during lunch, but it’s so much, dude. The good news is my mom’s so thrilled that she says if I pass all my classes this semester, she’ll help me get a new car.”

“And get rid of the Wheelermobile?”

“All things must come to an end, dude. Besides, if I pull this off, I’m a shoo-in for Most Changed in the yearbook next year.”

If ever there was an I’ll believe it when I see it moment, this is it. But I don’t tell Wheeler that. Mostly I’m impressed. It’s sort of what I’m doing with Not Max. So, I say, good for us.

Well, good for us until Stranko walks into the media center. He comes through the doors and gives the room a quick once-over. When he sees us, his head jerks to a stop, then he comes our way. Not that I blame him. Wheeler, even Nerdy Wheeler, unsupervised anywhere is definitely cause for concern.

“What’s going on here?” Stranko asks.

“Just getting my homework done,” Wheeler says.

“Homework? Right.”

“No, seriously. Look.”

Wheeler pushes his book and a page of algebra problems toward Stranko, who smirks as he looks it over.

“Good luck with that. At this point, you’d have better luck putting out a house fire with a cup of water.”

“Thank you for your support, sir.”

Stranko scowls, which only grows in intensity when he notices Wheeler’s beaver shirt.

“And would you care to explain your shirt to me?”

“This?” Wheeler says, pointing to the woman. “Well, as far as I can tell, the family owns a petting zoo or maybe they live in the woods, I don’t know, but for some reason, her husband wants the beaver shaved. Maybe it has fleas or something.”

Stranko’s eyes go full-on coin slot.

“Is that right?”

“Well, sure,” Wheeler says. “Why? Do you have a different interpretation?”

Stranko’s lip twitches.

“You need to turn that shirt inside out,” he says. “Then I never want to see it in the school again. Do we understand each other?”

“Absolutely, sir. Thank you for your continued concern about my well-being and education.”

Wheeler sits there, staring up at Stranko, who’s not moving.

“I said turn the shirt inside out,” Stranko says.

“You mean right here? Now?”

“That’s what I said.”

Wheeler shrugs, then mouths perv at me as he stands up. He takes his shirt off, deliberately fumbling with it longer than he has to before turning it inside out. When he finally gets the shirt back on, he gives Stranko a Happy? look.

“Never again,” Stranko says, then leaves without responding.

“Jerk,” I say.

“Who cares? He’ll get his.”

“Wait, are you saying the New Studious Wheeler didn’t completely kill off Old Devious Wheeler?”

“Dude, this is just an upgrade, not a brand-new install. The old me isn’t going anywhere.”

Which is a scary thought indeed.

? ? ?

The final and weirdest thing to happen that week occurs on Thursday evening while I’m dangerously flirting with an aneurism by studying precalc. My phone pings announcing a text, and I have to read the message twice to understand what I’m being asked to do.

Ellie: Tremblay’s Pet Shop. Buy 200 goldfish. Meet at the window outside Room 103 in an hour.

Me: ?

Ellie: Hurry, Mongoose.

What choice do I have? It’s Heist Rule #16: Be ready when your team needs you.

I use the excuse that I forgot I needed a copy of Macbeth for English tomorrow to escape the house. Tremblay’s Pet Shop is in Freehold, one town over, and it takes me twenty minutes to get there. When I arrive, it’s 8:55 p.m., and a guy so old looking I worry he might turn to dust right in front of me is locking up.

“I need two hundred goldfish,” I say.

He lets out a sigh that, considering his age, he probably shouldn’t. When you’re close to 150 years old, you should conserve as many of your remaining breaths as possible.

“Piranhas?” he says.

“No, goldfish.”

“I mean, do you have a piranha? Is that what the fish are for?”

“Oh, duh, yeah. Exactly.”

It takes Tremblay a good ten minutes to scoop out two hundred goldfish from the massive tank in back. Honestly, it’s more like two hundred give or take twenty. I seriously doubt whatever Ellie needs the goldfish for is dependent on exact numbers. The total comes to just under forty dollars, and I leave the store hauling a box with ten clear plastic bags filled with seriously freaked-out goldfish.

On the way back to school, I use Stranko’s school map on my phone to find out exactly who Room 103 belongs to. It’s Mrs. Roberts’s art room, located in the back of the building. Twenty minutes later, I’m giving myself a hernia as I lug what’s essentially a box of water to the correct window. Already there, waiting in the darkness and holding their own boxes, are Wheeler and Adleta.