The Vanishing Violin (18 page)

“Aren’t you jumping to a little bit of a conclusion? I got the impression that Mr. C. thinks it’s funny that you might even consider them. It’s probably a ninety-year-old lady.”

“I bet there are ninety-year-old thieves. Right now everyone is a suspect. I just saw this guy on the news pulling a tugboat out in the harbor, holding the rope in his teeth. He’s eighty-five.”

“His teeth?” My jaw tightens up just thinking about it.

His orthodontist must be very disappointed.

Personally, I like my revenge served with a glass of ice-cold milk–and cookies

“You know, I’ve been stewing about this for two days,” Leigh Ann says between bites of dry, slightly burned cafeteria toast. “I know that you guys want to help out Ben and Mr. Chernofsky, and, Margaret, I know you’re busy trying to figure out all these clues to find this guy who wants to give you that violin … BUT I think we’re forgetting something important.”

The rest of us look at each other, confused. “We are?”

Leigh Ann has a diabolical look in her eyes—a look I’ve never seen before. “It’s a little thing I like to call revenge,” she says. “Guys, Livvy Klack totally burned us. Well, not you, Becca, but the rest of us.”

“No, count me in. I love revenge.”

“My, this is an interesting development,” Margaret notes. “Leigh Ann, I had no idea you were so devious. I like it.”

“I just think we have to get her back somehow.”

Margaret chews on her thumbnail. “You know what
they say about revenge, don’t you? It is a dish best served cold.”

“I’ve heard that but never understood it,” Becca admits.

“It means that it is most satisfying when some time has passed after the reason for the revenge. When it’s completely unexpected.”

“So, you agree we should do something really heinous to her, but not quite yet,” Leigh Ann says.

“Precisely,” says Margaret.

“Public humiliation,” I suggest.

“She’s a witch! Burn her!” Becca shouts a little too loudly, earning a shhh-and-scowl from Sister Eugenia, seated two tables away.

“Nah,” Margaret says firmly. “There are sprinkler systems and fire extinguishers all over the school. We need to get her back in a way that shows exactly how much smarter we are. Sophie, remember how you felt the moment when you knew you just had your old buddy Mr. Winterbutt? That perfect instant when you snapped his picture? That’s the kind of revenge I’m talking about.”

Leigh Ann nods enthusiastically. “I have an idea, but I need a day to think it through. We will make Livvy Klack regret even thinking about messing with us.”

She used to be such a nice girl.

Margaret is waiting for me to cram my coat into our locker before English class when she leans in close and whispers, “Guess who I heard from last night.”

By the smile on her face, I figure it out. “No way. Andrew?”

She nods. “We texted back and forth for about twenty minutes. He’s coming today.”

“Coming where? Here?”

“Remember? Basketball?”

One of Sister Bernadette’s latest brainstorms is to invite kids—boys included—from other schools for “some fun, coed, no-pressure basketball.” She is generally opposed to school dances, so this is her compromise with the student council. Today, seventh and eighth graders from three schools will invade St. Veronica’s smelly gym-natorium.

“What else did he say?”

“He wanted to know if we were going to play.”

“We are, aren’t we? And I’d better text Raf and remind him. He probably forgot.”

“Kind of like you did?”

“I didn’t forget. And stop trying to change the subject. I want to hear more about Andrew.”

“Come to think of it, he did mention that he’s quite curious about something you said the other night.”

“Me?” Gulp.

“Uh-huh. He said to ask you if you really think they’re fake.”

Because the four of us and Raf are standing there in our gym clothes at 3:01, Sister Bernadette picks us to play the first game against some girls from Faircastle
Academy. The FAs have recruited LaShawn Taylor, a kid from Raf’s school, St. Thomas Aquinas. He is a year older and a full head taller than Raf, and he looks as if he’s a minute away from playing for the Knicks.

Raf is our best player, followed by Becca, who can at least dribble without constantly losing the ball to the other team. Margaret, Leigh Ann, and I occasionally rise to so-so-ness.

The game starts, and Becca spends most of it yelling at us to move or to pass the ball or to shoot. Raf is stuck with the impossible task of guarding LaShawn. And though the four girls on his team honestly stink, LaShawn single-handedly destroys us, 21–9.

Andrew, who’s with a few friends from Davidson, is waiting for us as we walk off the court.

“Already?” he asks. “What happened?”

Raf, whose tongue is hanging out like a golden retriever’s, points at LaShawn. “He happened.”

“So, it did not go well.”

Leigh Ann elbows me and jerks her head toward the door. “Uh-oh. Incoming.”

It’s Livvy, and she is aiming right for us. Well, right for Andrew, anyway.

“Anybody got a match?” I say.

“I’m so glad you came! God, can you believe how many losers are here? It’s like some kind of convention for geeks from Queens.” Livvy says “Queens” like it’s a leper colony.

While Margaret is stuck standing there next to
Andrew, Leigh Ann pulls Rebecca, Raf, and me together. “Did she just call us losers?”

“And she called you a Queens geek,” Rebecca says. “Jeez, what would she say if she knew I live in Chinatown?”

Leigh Ann fumes. She starts making a move toward Livvy. “I’m going to slug her.”

Rebecca and I grab her by the arms and pull her away. “No, no, no, you’re not,” I say. “You’ll just get in trouble, and Livvy will come out on top. Remember what we talked about this morning? Wait till it’s colder.”

“Just one punch,” Leigh Ann says. “I promise I’ll make it count. I’ve never punched anybody, but man, she really needs one.” She finally calms down enough to be safe to herself and others, and then tells us with a straight face, “You know, I’ll bet your first punch is way more memorable than your first kiss.”

Becca and I both burst out laughing at the absolute sincerity she says it with and at the thought of our graceful, stunning friend punching anybody.

“Maybe,” Becca says. “But we’re not gonna find out about either today.”

Me? I’m not so sure Leigh Ann is right. In order to beat out my first kiss, it would have to be one heck of a punch.

Margaret escapes Livvy’s laser beam and leaves Andrew with her to be led around the gym like a prize bull.

“Do I appear solid?” she asks. “Because just now I
was invisible. Livvy stood there talking to Andrew for five minutes and never once so much as flicked a fake eyelash at me.”

“What did Andrew do?” I ask.

“He kept looking at me, and I think he rolled his eyes at her once when she wasn’t looking. Do you think he knows what she’s really like? I gave him the text-me sign when I left. I’m dying to know what he thinks about her.”

I don’t say anything, but for me, that’s two strikes against this guy. I mean, how could he just leave Margaret standing there like that?

“There’s no way he likes her,” Leigh Ann says. “He looks too smart to fall for her.”

“Maybe. But what was going on over here with you guys?” Margaret asks. “What did I miss?”

“Remember that sweet, innocent girl named Leigh Ann?” I say. “Well, she’s gone. This girl, who took her place, was ready to clobber Livvy right here in the gym, in front of Sister Bernadette and everybody.”

After we tell her about Leigh Ann’s first-punch theory, Margaret puts her arm around our friend’s shoulders. “I had a feeling that crack about Queens would get to you.”

“Well, it’s no wonder Livvy hates you,” I say. “I mean, look at you. Even in sweaty gym clothes you look like a model. Come to think of it, I hate you,” I say, looking down at my gawky own self.

Sister Bernadette, who is making the rounds of the
gym, stops in front of us. “Well, girls? I think it’s a big success, don’t you?”

Margaret at least tries to be enthusiastic. “It was fun, Sister.”

Sister Bernadette looks at Raf, then at me. “Aren’t you going to introduce your friend, Miss St. Pierre?”

“Oh. Um, sorry, Sister. This is Raf, er, Rafael Arocho. He goes to Aquinas.”

“Ah, I remember this young man. You were a St. Andrew’s student, am I correct?” St. Andrew’s is the boys’ school right next to St. Veronica’s. Raf attended through sixth grade.

Raf nods. “Uh-huh. I moved over to the West Side last summer.”

“Well, I’m happy that you could make it today, Mr. Arocho.” She starts to turn away but stops midturn. “Before I go—any news to report, girls? Regarding our little investigation?”

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve solved the case, Sister,” Margaret says.

“Well, that is good news. You can tell me all about it later. Looks like I need to get the next game organized.”

Across the gym floor but directly in our line of sight, Livvy continues to flirt shamelessly with Andrew. First she laughs a little too much at something he says, and then she touches him on the arm, and finally, with a look over her shoulder to make sure we’re watching, she flips
her hair for the forty-seventh time and drags the poor guy off to meet more of her friends.

“I’m telling you,” says Leigh Ann after witnessing this sorry spectacle. “One good punch.”

“Who feels like getting something to eat?” Raf asks. “I’m starving.”

I stick him with my elbow. “When aren’t you hungry?” It’s true. The kid has the metabolism of a hummingbird and the digestive system of a goat. He’s a humminggoat.

Margaret pulls me away from Raf and through the doorway. “We don’t have time. We need to stop by Mr. C.’s to see if there’s anything new from my violin guy. I left the message about the last clue in the park this morning.”

“Weren’t we going to try to meet the people upstairs today?” I remind her. “You know, the ‘interview’ for the school paper.”

“Right. We’re going to have to put that off until tomorrow, right after school. Can everybody come?”

Rebecca tugs on my blazer. “Um, Sophie, weren’t we supposed to be rehearsing after school tomorrow? We missed yesterday, and I think Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only days we can use the back room at Perkatory. If we’re going to play anytime in the next century, we need to practice.”

“I need my days to be a few hours longer,” I say. “Twenty-seven or -eight would be just right.”

“Well, if you’re not going to eat, I’m heading home,” Raf announces.

I stick out my lower lip in a fake pout. “Call me later?”

He gives me his own version of the shnod.

Rebecca, Margaret, and Leigh Ann begin to chant, “Byyeee, Raaaaffffff!” as he turns and ambles away for the distant lands of the Upper West Side. What they don’t know, but I do, is that he’s not headed for the bus stop on Seventy-second Street—he is much too cool for the bus now that he has experienced the wind in his face and the taste of bugs in his teeth. He is Scooter Man, and his trusty mechanical steed is parked a block away.

“Be careful!” I shout after him, which earns me a what-the-hell? look from Becca.

“At least we didn’t have to witness any PDA this time,” she teases.

“What? We barely touch in front of you guys.”

“She’s teasing you, Soph,” Leigh Ann says. “You guys are so cute together.”

We are?

Her words are still hanging in midair when Malcolm and Elizabeth, both carrying those “green” reusable bags packed with groceries, turn the corner and practically run into us.

“Ahem. I assume you are referring to us as being cute,” Malcolm says, puffing up his chest and straightening his bow tie.

“I, um … yeah, definitely,” Leigh Ann says, unable to hold back a smile.

Malcolm chuckles. “You can’t even say it with a straight face, Miss Jaimes. Elizabeth, I think we should be insulted.”

“Nonsense,” she replies. “What a nice surprise running into you all. Everyone heading home?”

“Eventually,” Margaret says. “How are things working out with Ben?”

Please, please, please don’t say he has disappeared with his new friends Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse.

Elizabeth leans close to Margaret. “Can I keep him? He’s so adorable! And he’s a wonderful cook, too. Last night, he made a seafood risotto that was absolutely to die for. It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Malcolm clears his throat again, and she gives him a good-boy pat on the back. “Malcolm, dear, I’m sorry. Your grilled cheese sandwiches are still the best. Girls, you see how men are? You need an extra room just to hold their ego!”

“That’s a relief,” I say. “I mean, that it’s working out with Ben.”

“And I didn’t even tell you about the furniture,” Elizabeth gushes, causing Malcolm to raise his eyebrows dramatically. “He completely rearranged my living room! I’ve been trying for years to make that room cozier, and he walks in and does it in a day. Like magic!”

“As long as we’re on the topic of cozy rooms,” Rebecca
begins, “I have a question. Your house has a basement, right?”

Elizabeth nods. “Oh yes. I don’t go down there much. There’s a Ping-Pong table and an old couch. Not much else. Why do you ask?”