Chapter 9

That afternoon, Ms. Chu had us all working on “All About Me” acrostic poems. An acrostic poem uses the first letter of a word to start each line of the poem.

Hajrah had no trouble creating her poem:

H appy

A wesome

J umpy

R unning

A lways

H ooray!

This was my poem:

M ysteries

Y

R

O

N

I’m not very good at writing poems.

I was also too busy thinking about the Meadows Fireballs.

Apparently, they are a big soccer team in town. I didn’t know anything about them. I’m not a big soccer fan. I’m not a big any-sports fan. I don’t see the point in kicking a ball across a field. It would be much easier to pick it up and carry it.

The person Lindsay saw leaving the kitchen on Monday morning was wearing a Meadows Fireballs jacket. That is a clue. I am a big fan of clues.

Unfortunately, a lot of kids at our school are big fans of the Meadows Fireballs. I stared at my notebook on my desk. I had made a mark for every person we saw wearing a Fireballs jacket at recess. I counted the marks three times. Each time, the answer made me want to give up this case.

“Twenty-seven,” I said to Hajrah. “That’s how many kids were wearing Fireballs jackets.”

“Everybody loves that team.” Hajrah colored the letters in her poem with crayons. “They won the provincial finals last season.”

“We don’t have time to interview twenty-seven suspects.”

“Having that many suspects doesn’t help us,” Hajrah said.

“It might,” I said. “Sometimes the best clues are not helpful at first. I think this might be that type of clue.”

Hajrah looked at the paper on my desk and smiled.

“File it away, then, detective, and get to work on your poem. Right now it stinks.”

I knew Hajrah was joking. I also knew she was right.

A shadow fell across my paper. Cameron and Carter crowded around my desk. They had seen us counting Fireballs jackets at recess, but they must have been on a bully break. Now break time was over. Cameron jabbed his finger at my poem.

“You spelled your name wrong,” he said.

Carter laughed through his nose.

“Yeah,” he said. “You spell it S-N-O-O-P.”

Words raced through my head. Not nice words. I took a deep breath and kept the words inside. For now.

Hajrah didn’t keep her words inside.

“Go jump in the compost bin!” she said. “Leave us alone.”

“We’ll leave you alone when you stop snooping around the kitchen,” Cameron said.

Carter held one of my purple crayons in both hands. He leaned in close. His breath smelled like tuna fish.

“Stay away from the kitchen,” he said. Then he snapped the crayon in two.

“Boys!” The two goons jumped at the sound of Ms. Chu’s voice. “Leave Myron and Hajrah alone and get back to work.”

“We were just borrowing a crayon,” Cameron said.

“No, they weren’t!” I said. Cameron was trying to trick Ms. Chu. I couldn’t keep the words in my head any longer. “They came over here and broke my crayon.”

I held up the broken purple crayon for Ms. Chu to see.

“It’s true, Ms. Chu!” Hajrah said.

“Boys,” she said. “Meet me at my desk. Now.”

When a teacher says “meet me at my desk,” it’s because you are in trouble.

“You’ll regret this, Snooper,” Cameron said.

“Yeah, this isn’t over,” hissed Carter.

Hajrah stuck her tongue out at both of them. She did it so fast that Ms. Chu didn’t notice.

Cameron and Carter met Ms. Chu at her desk. She spoke to them so quietly I couldn’t hear, but I knew they were getting in trouble.

“Smasher is totally the Snack Snatcher,” Hajrah whispered to me. “That’s why she wants us to stay away from the kitchen.”

“She’s probably planning to strike again,” I said. “I wish we could be there.”

“We could hide in the closet like I did!”

“My mom would not let me stay in a closet overnight.”

“We don’t have to,” Hajrah said. “We come in early, like I did on Monday, and hide in the closet before the thief strikes!”

“We’ll be too late,” I said. “The Snack Snatcher can get into the school any time. Even before Mr. V. gets here.”

Hajrah went back to coloring her poem, but I knew she was still thinking about our problem.

“We need a set of eyes there all night,” she said.

“Like a camera,” I said.

Hajrah looked up from her poem. She had a big smile on her face. I could tell it was a real smile because her eyes kind of sparkled.

“And we know someone with a camera.”

“Glitch!” I said. And I was smiling, too.