6 Thick as a Brick

I entered the administration building. It was a light day. Only a dozen kids sat in the hard chairs outside the principal's office.

And his spanking machine wasn't even turned on.

The secretary didn't look up as I gave her my note. "Take a number, take a seat." She sighed.

I ripped number 187 from the ticket roll and sat down. I sized up my fellow troublemakers. They were carving their names on the chairs, flicking spitballs at each other, and playing punching games.

Pretty quiet for a Friday.

Half of the kids looked like football-team material—wide as refrigerators, but without the little lights inside. I leaned toward one of them.

"Brick?" I said.

"Say what?"

"I'm looking for Brick."

"Ask a building." He laughed, showing teeth as yellow as candy corn.

"He's a football player," I said. "You know, football?"

The light went on behind his eyes.

"Yeah, football good," he said. "Brick over there."

The goon pointed toward the corner with a hand the size of a dinner plate. Mmm, dinner. That reminded me: It was almost time for lunch.

I took an empty chair beside a big redheaded hedgehog.

"You're Brick," I said.

"Yeah, so?"

"Chet Gecko, private eye. I want to ask you a few questions."

"What is this, a pop quiz?" he said.

I thought I'd be tricky and try the old switcheroo.

"You might say that. First question: What is the square root of 369?"

"Uh...," he said.

"Next, what is the capital of Mesopotamia?"

"Hmm," he said.

"And third, when did you last see Billy Chameleon?"

"Billy? Me and Herman was talking with him after school yesterday."

The old switcheroo. It worked every time.

"What were you talking about?" I asked.

"Herman made a joke about some cheerleader. I don't think Billy liked it."

"Why not?" I said.

"I think she was his sister."

Shirley, a cheerleader? That dame was as full of surprises as a toad is full of flies. I wondered what else she hadn't told me.

"Do you remember anything more?"

"That's about it," said Brick. He scratched his neck bristles. "I went to football practice after that."

Football. I remembered the strange drawing in my pocket. I fished it out and showed it to him.

"This mean anything to you?" I said. "Is it a football play?"

He squinted at the paper and turned it around in his hands.

"Number 184!" said the secretary.

"That's me," he said. "Gotta go."

"Wait. What about that drawing?"

"Hah! Whoever drew this was some lame football player."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"It looks like the crowd is playing and the football teams ain't."

He wadded up the paper and tossed it at me.

What did I look like, a trash can? I was going to have to start dressing better.