Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ivy passed her phone off to Leyla and Carl to work their magic, and we grabbed Spartacus to get into position. The gym was filling up fast with people from Grantleyville and Stoverton, elbowing each other to get the best seats. Shades of green and gold butted up against scarlet red as people wore their school pride on their sleeves. Spartacus snuffled from inside my coat. “Hang on, buddy,” I said. “We’re almost done.

We crept along the back wall and slid under the bleachers. The crowd had filled in enough to cover our position. I peeked through the feet. Players began warming up, filling the air with thuds and squeaks as they moved over the court.

“Oh, no,” Ivy said.

“What?”

“I just realized something.” She turned to me, despair plain across her face. “We’re going to have to actually watch the game.”

I knew this plan was terrible.

“No more sports cases after this,” I said.

“Agreed.”

Spartacus puffed out a breath, and we hunkered down to wait out the rest of Operation Sportsball.

Half an hour later, music was blaring, signaling the beginning of halftime. The score was tied and tensions were running high. Before anyone could leave, the side door to the gym banged open.

“That’s our cue,” I said.

Ivy and I walked to the end of the bleachers and took in the scene playing out on the court. Ellis Garcia was striding toward the center of the floor, megaphone in hand. The rest of the Arts Council was lined up behind her, and more kids continued to stream through the door.

Every single kid. From every single arts club.

One after the other they sat down on the floor. Ellis nodded to the stage at the end of the gymnasium. I saw the curtain rustle and then the music cut off.

Leyla and Carl must be in place. Time for phase two.

“We are the Grantleyville Student Arts Council,” Ellis shouted into her megaphone. “Today we are protesting the treatment we have received at the hands of Mr. Williams, the Parents’ Association, and the school administration.”

The crowd began to buzz and stir in their seats.

“Our programs have been cut and taken a backseat to the sports teams. We want our budget back. We want fair use of school space. We want—”

“Get out of here!” someone shouted.

“Yeah, simmer down!” Others started to join in. “Nobody cares.”

Ellis faltered, then squared her shoulders. She looked back at her cohorts, nodding and raising a fist in the air. They began to chant as one. “Do your part, save the arts. Do your part, save the arts.”

Boos came from all corners, drowning out their message. Mr. Williams stomped over to Ellis and took the megaphone out of her hand.

“Alright, okay,” he said, frowning when nothing came out of the speaker. Ellis pointed out the On button and Mr. Williams grumbled, starting again. “Let’s settle down.”

Leyla’s face popped out from behind the curtain on the stage, and I poked Ivy. She brandished a thumbs-up at Leyla, who disappeared again.

“I know we’ve got some emotions running high,” Mr. Williams said to the crowd. Feedback interrupted him as the speakers came back to life.

“I don’t care about Carl.” The coach’s voice blared through the room. “I care about getting Spartacus back.”

“Who’s back there?” Mr. Williams shouted toward the stage. I grinned at Ivy. Looked like Carl had successfully managed to break into the AV room.

“Needed money for better uniforms, I stole from other budgets. Bus broke down for our away game, I swiped one from another field trip. Grantleys want their kids to start, I give them first string.”

Ellis grabbed the megaphone back. “Our money and our bus. Stolen from the Arts Council field trip.”

“Most of them are awful, but if their parents donate enough, they’re starting.”

Grantley players shook their heads, muttering to each other. Miles stood up and looked at his teammates. “Just like I said, guys.” He walked over to stand beside Ellis. Scotty and Oscar followed quickly in his wake along with a good chunk of the rest of the team. They sat as one with the rest of the kids on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Williams hollered at them.

“You think anyone actually cares about little Art Club bake sales? No. This town cares about sports. And they never forget.”

“Turn this off,” Mr. Williams screamed at the stage. The noise was rising and blasted up another notch when Jake rose from the bench on his side of the gym. He said a few words to his teammates and was met with some nods and a couple of frowns. Bending low, his face was serious as he kept talking. All of a sudden he turned and walked over to Oscar in the middle of the court. The rest of the Stoverton team followed, and they joined the sit-in on the floor.

“I need a win to change history.”

Parents from both towns were shouting at their kids.

“This is going well.” We turned to see Leyla and Carl standing behind us. “Time for the finishing touch?” Leyla asked, handing Ivy back her phone.

“Definitely,” I said.

“You can do the honors.” Leyla held out her phone to Carl, and he pressed the screen.

“Get me Spartacus, or we’re all going down together. Do you understand?”

Phones started beeping all over the gymnasium. “Exclusive from the Grantleyville Middle School blog,” Leyla whispered. “Corruption on the court – exposing a coach’s ulterior motives.”

Ivy brought the post up on her phone, and we scrolled through it quickly. “Wow,” I said. “That was some fast work, Leyla.”

“That’s how we do it in the newspaper biz.”

Ivy looked out at the crowd poring over their phones. “How many people did this go out to?”

“Everyone with a school email, the Parents’ Association, the School Board, local news outlets,” she said. Carl poked her, and she trailed off.

I watched as they exchanged a look. “What?”

“Also national news outlets.”

“Leyla.”

“What? This could be my big break! I’ll be a household name.” She ran a hand through the air. “Leyla Bashir, investigative reporter.”

The volume from the gym was increasing as people read through Leyla’s article. She’d dragged everything out into the open. The cuts to the arts programs, the coach’s dirty dealings and past failures, the kidnapping of Spartacus, Carl’s innocence. It was all laid out with a few key names missing: Howard Wallace and Ivy Mason. After all, we weren’t supposed to be investigating on school grounds. Ivy and I thought it was best to let Leyla take the credit.

Leyla agreed.

“I want everyone to be quiet!” shouted Mrs. Rodriguez, standing in the middle of the gym, one hand on her hip, the other holding the megaphone. She spotted the group of us standing beside the bleachers and exhaled slowly. “Why am I not surprised?” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“I want—” Mr. Williams started.

“You want to stay right there and shush,” Mrs. Rodriguez said to him. She faced the crowd. “The Grudge Game is always an exciting day, but I think this has raised the bar.”

The room finally quieted down and she continued. “The information brought forth today is shocking and requires some serious discussion. Rest assured that action will be taken.” She put down the megaphone and spoke with Ellis for a few minutes. Ellis nodded solemnly and motioned to the kids on the floor.

“What is this?” Mr. Williams paced in front of the benches. “Are you letting them get away with this? With that article? It’s straight libel!”

A group of well-dressed adults walked over to him, and his face went gray.

“That’s the school board,” Leyla said.

We watched from our post as the board members walked Mr. Williams out of the gym. He spotted us and glared. I waved at him with Spartacus’s paw. Next came Mrs. Rodriguez and Ellis. “Leyla,” Mrs. Rodriguez said, “come for a chat.”

“Freedom of the press,” Leyla blurted out.

Mrs. Rodriguez sighed. “Ms. Bashir, it’s simply a chat.”

Leyla fell into step beside Ellis, giving her a friendly hip bump. We watched as they headed out the door. Carl held out his hands, and I passed him Spartacus. “Go, team,” I said.

He jogged over to the bench where the rest of the Gladiators were milling around. They shouted when they saw Carl with Spartacus in his arms. Soon the little dog was surrounded by pats and belly rubs.

“Are we here to gawk, or are we gonna play some ball?” Ms. Kowalski stood by the bench, clutching a clipboard and wearing a whistle around her neck.

“Um, Ms. Kowalski?” Oscar stepped over to her. “Should you be—”

“Played all though school,” she barked. “Coach three rec league teams. Think I can handle it.” She blew a fierce note out on the whistle. “Come on. We’ve got a game to win.”

Miles spotted us lingering, and he jogged over. “You going to stay and watch?”

Ivy and I looked at each other, weighing the options.

“Come on,” Miles said. “You’ve got to see Operation Sportsball to the end.”

My partner gasped. “I knew it would catch on.”

“I guess we can stay,” I said, “for a bit.”