The Prodigal Detective Returns
When Friday and Uncle Bernie drove up the long swooping driveway toward Highcrest Academy, it was getting dark. Friday checked her watch. “Everyone will be having dinner.”
“Then you’d better hurry along—you haven’t eaten all day,” said Uncle Bernie.
“What are you talking about?” said Friday. “I grabbed a doughnut at the police station. That is one cliché I rather enjoyed discovering was true.”
Friday pushed open the heavy oak doors leading into the dining room. Even though intellectually she knew it was irrational to be anxious about walking into a room full of middle school students, she still was. The 70 percent increase in her pulse rate, the sheen of perspiration on her forehead, as well as the overwhelming urge to turn and run away screaming were all evidence of that. She braced herself for the inevitable stares and the mean jibes of her peers. They liked to make fun of her when she hadn’t done anything; now that she’d been arrested, she was sure things would be much worse.
As Friday stepped into the room and the doors swung shut loudly behind her, a lot of people turned to see who it was. They registered it was Friday, then went back to their meals. There was no staring or whispering.
This naturally made Friday suspicious that she was being set up for a cruel joke. She had watched enough high school horror movies to know that teenagers could come up with some very imaginative pranks involving vast quantities of toilet paper or green slime.
Friday carefully walked over to the food line and received her serving of shepherd’s pie and peach cobbler, then spotted Melanie on her own in the far corner staring absently into the distance. Friday walked over and slid onto the bench alongside her.
“Oh, you’re back,” said Melanie. “I’m so pleased. School is a lot harder when you’re not here. I was half an hour into third-period physics before I realized I don’t study physics and I’m not a sophomore. Then I couldn’t remember where I should be and I got in trouble for taking a nap in the rose garden.”
“I’m pleased to be back, too,” said Friday. “It was fun being taken in and questioned. But I would have been very upset if they’d kept me so long that I missed out on Mrs. Marigold’s peach cobbler.”
“It’s a particularly good one today,” said Melanie. “She went heavy on the cob and light on the peach.”
“I must say,” said Friday, “I’m surprised there isn’t more of a fuss over my return. I was arrested and taken away on terrorism charges this morning.”
“That was all the buzz for a bit,” said Melanie. “But your arrest is only the second-most-interesting thing to occur here today.”
“What was the other thing?” asked Friday.
“We’ve got a new boy,” explained Melanie.
“And that’s a bigger deal than my being arrested?” said Friday.
“Oh yes,” said Melanie. “You know how superficial people are. Plus, you do insist on wearing those ugly brown cardigans and that weird green hat, so being dragged off to face a counterterrorism task force seemed to make complete sense. The only surprise was that it hadn’t happened earlier.”
“I see,” said Friday.
“Whereas,” continued Melanie, “the new boy is cute.”
“Cute?” asked Friday.
“Totally,” qualified Melanie.
“Cuter than…” began Friday.
“Your boyfriend, Ian? Yes,” stated Melanie.
“Ian isn’t my boyfriend,” argued Friday.
“No, of course not,” agreed Melanie. “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“In fact, I am very angry with Ian,” said Friday.
“Oh good,” said Melanie. “A feisty argument is a fun way to spice up a relationship.”
“Where is he?” asked Friday.
Melanie did not get a chance to answer.
“Friday.” Ian was standing behind her.
Friday stood up, which was hard because she was sitting on a bench, so the table was in the way and she couldn’t really stand up straight.
Ian smiled, which only made him look even more handsome. This irritated Friday. It’s hard to be mad at someone who is distractingly good-looking. She stepped out from behind the bench so she could regain some dignity, and then glowered at Ian. Although it’s hard to glower effectively at someone who is ten inches taller than you.
But Ian just smiled again. This time it was his rueful smile, which was arguably in his top three handsomest smiles, even above his “Aren’t I charming?” smile and his “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” smile.
Friday realized she really must stop categorizing his smiles. It was almost as if Melanie’s constant talk of her being in a relationship with Ian was making her subconsciously think it was true.
“Why did you do it?” asked Friday.
“Do what?” asked Ian.
“Don’t beat about the bush with me,” said Friday.
“I thought you liked intrigue,” said Ian.
“Why did you set me up and rat me out to the police?” asked Friday.
“He framed you?” asked Melanie. “How do you know?”
“Who else would go to the trouble of hollowing out the handle of my hockey stick and filling it with beans that look like they make ricin but actually make a delicious burrito filling?” asked Friday.
“I would have thought there were quite a few possibilities,” said Melanie.
“Like who?” asked Friday.
“Lots of people dislike you,” said Melanie.
“They do?” asked Friday, trying not to feel hurt.
“The Headmaster might have done it,” suggested Ian, “to get rid of you because you’re a huge thorn in his side.”
“Or the Vice Principal might have done it,” added Melanie, “because he thinks you’re morally dangerous and a blight on the school.”
“Or Mrs. Marigold might have done it,” added Ian, “because you wrote a formal letter to the school council expressing your concern that the kidneys in her kidney pie were contaminated industrial waste.”
“But as far as pranks go,” continued Melanie, “this one sounds unusually labor-intensive and imaginative. Just the type of thing Ian would do, what with him being secretly in love with you.”
“Exactly,” said Friday.
Ian raised an eyebrow.
“I mean ‘exactly’ to everything except the secretlyin-love part,” said Friday.
“But if he wasn’t secretly in love with you, he wouldn’t bother,” said Melanie. “He’d just put itching powder in your gym shorts and be done with it.”
“Melanie,” said Ian with a smile, “I would never put itching powder in Friday’s gym shorts. I know she never attends gym class, so that would be pointless.”
“Of course,” agreed Melanie. “You really do know each other so well. You’re the perfect couple.”
“But to report me to the National Counterterrorism Center!” said Friday. “That’s just vindictive.”
“I thought you said you enjoyed being arrested,” said Melanie. “You found it very interesting.”
“That’s not the point!” said Friday. “Ian didn’t know that. And besides, I got lucky. They never took me farther than the local police station. If Jorge from the taco shop hadn’t been able to verify my identification of the beans, I would have been thrown in jail and locked up for weeks before it was sorted out.”
“Maybe that was the idea,” said Ian.
“You wanted to scare the daylights out of me, letting me think I was going to prison for life?” said Friday. “I thought…” She had to stop speaking, partly because she could feel herself on the verge of crying and partly because she didn’t know what she thought about her strange relationship with Ian. He had a disconcerting effect on her endocrine system.
“You thought what?” asked Ian.
Friday took a steadying breath. “I thought we were getting along better after everything we’ve been through. That getting attacked by a yeti and locked in a shed in the swamp had somehow brought us closer together. But to do this, it’s just … it’s just plain hateful.”
Ian shrugged, but there did appear to be a small touch of shame to his demeanor. “Perhaps it was nothing personal,” he said.
“Is that an apology?” asked Friday. “If so, it’s the lamest one I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s because he’s attracted to you but doesn’t want to be,” said Melanie.
“I am not!” said Ian.
“Also, he resents the fact that you’re smarter than him,” said Melanie.
“She is not,” protested Ian.
“You see how conflicted you make him?” said Melanie. “Ian lashes out with cruel practical jokes because his feelings for you make him hate himself.”
“What?!” exclaimed Friday and Ian in unison.
Melanie sighed happily. “It’s like you’re made for each other.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Friday. “I’ve been detained, cross-examined, solved a robbery and cleared an innocent man’s name today. My brain has already taken in an excess of data. I can’t deal with anything else.” She turned and marched toward the main doors.
“Can I have your cobbler?” Ian called after her.
Friday looked over her shoulder to glare at him, but as she did, her foot got caught in the strap of a backpack that was lying on the floor. A more coordinated youth would have hopped on the other foot and shaken it off. But Friday was not coordinated. With her head turned one way, her body moving the other, and her foot caught in the backpack, she was unable to remedy the situation. Friday soon found herself traveling at alarming speed, face-first toward the floorboards. She closed her eyes and braced for impact.
But there was none. At least not with the floor. She landed in the firm, strong grasp of a pair of arms. Friday opened her eyes and found herself looking into merry brown eyes only inches away from her own.
“It’s okay, you can breathe now,” said the smiling boy.
Friday sighed. She had not realized she was holding her breath.
The boy helped her to her feet. “I’m terribly sorry my bag tripped you up.”
“That’s all right,” said Friday. She was still staring at the boy. He was only a couple of inches taller than Friday, but he looked wiry and strong. He had brown curly hair. A strand of it hung just over his right eye, almost calling to her to reach out and brush it off his forehead.
“My name is Christopher Gianos,” said the boy. “I’m new here.”
“Friday,” said Friday.
“I think it’s Tuesday,” said the boy, confused.
“No, my name is Friday,” explained Friday.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Christopher. Then he smiled a disarmingly warm and genuine smile, and shook her hand.
Friday found herself holding his hand for a moment too long. She looked down at it wondering why she wasn’t letting it go, but instead found herself observing his strong fingers and the five evenly spaced dots, like a five on a dice, near the base of his thumb.
“Is that a tattoo?” asked Friday.
“No,” laughed Christopher. “It’s a birthmark.”
“Really?” said Friday. “It looks like one of those symbol tattoos that mean something.”
“I guess you could argue that a birthmark is a kind of naturally occurring tattoo,” said Christopher.
Behind her, Melanie coughed loudly. Friday turned around to see her looking meaningfully at Ian as he walked out the door, letting it slam behind him.
“I’ve wrapped your dessert up in a napkin,” said Melanie. “I know you want to walk away from it now to make a dramatic point about just how angry you are with Ian. But I’m pretty sure you’ll regret it at two o’clock in the morning when you wake up hungry and realize you have to wait another six days before Mrs. Marigold makes it again.”
“Thank you,” said Friday. She turned back to Christopher and found herself staring into his eyes again. “And thank you.”
“For tripping you up?” asked Christopher.
“No, for catching me,” said Friday.
“My pleasure,” said Christopher.
Friday walked away with Melanie. There was something about that boy. The way he looked at her. No other boy had ever looked at her that way. Friday glanced back at him. He was still watching her. He smiled and winked. Friday turned away and kept walking with Melanie.
“Does he hate himself for how he feels about you, too?” asked Melanie.
“What?” asked Friday.
“I was wondering if he had a reason for tripping you,” said Melanie.
“It was an accident. I stumbled,” said Friday.
“It’s going to cause trouble,” said Melanie, shaking her head sadly. “Now that Ian has seen you in the arms of another boy, who knows what he’ll do next?”
“The police still have my hollowed-out hockey stick, so he can’t tamper with that again,” said Friday.
“What luck,” said Melanie happily. “We’ve got gym for first period tomorrow and we’re supposed to be playing field hockey—now you won’t be able to participate! I wonder if I could get Ian to hide something illicit in my hockey stick, too.”