Everybody Bugs Out (12 page)

Super-competitive Phil, who'd supposedly devoted all of his time to his hamster-maze project only to have his hamster explode, the very same Phil who had nothing to work on just three days ago.

Unless … could Phil have been lying to Emma? Like, maybe he'd been working on the birds of prey thing all along and he just told her he was doing a hamster maze in order to throw her off. But if that was the case, how come he begged Emma to let him go in on her and Rachel's experiment?

All this uncertainty left me with an icky feeling in the pit of my stomach.

So as soon as I got home I ran up to my room and Googled “birds of prey.” Nothing familiar came up right away, but I continued my search.

Ten minutes later I found the website that Oliver, Tobias, and I had stumbled across when we first started working on our science fair project—the one that actually sold science fair projects. And listed on the third page was a project called
Night Vision in Birds of Prey
.

Gulping, I clicked on the link. And a second later it appeared. The birds carved out of soapstone, the charts and graphs, and the “see what an eagle sees” glasses. Even the calligraphy sign was for sale. The entire project cost $85 plus shipping.

It was right there on the screen in front of me: proof that Phil cheated.

chapter twenty

something's fishy in bird land

P
art of me wanted to turn off my computer and act as if I'd never found this site. But I couldn't do that. I knew it would be wrong. Problem was, I didn't know what was right.

After a few moments I picked up my phone and dialed Emma's number, but before it even rang I hung up.

Phil was her boyfriend—I didn't want her to think I had it out for him. And I couldn't help but remember what Rachel told me few weeks ago, about how no one likes a snitch.

Or did that just apply to brothers and sisters?

I didn't know. Nor did I want to take that kind of risk.

Yet it wouldn't be fair to let Phil get away with buying his way to victory. I got up from my computer and flopped facedown on my bed. Pepper jumped up, too, and began licking my ear. But for once this didn't make me laugh.

When my mom called me down to dinner a while later, I still hadn't figured anything out.

“Where's Ted?” I asked.

“He has a late meeting, so it's just the two of us,” she said. “I ordered a vegetarian pizza.”

“What happened to cooking more often?” I asked.

“I made a salad,” Mom said, serving me some.

“Looks great.” I grabbed my plate, added a slice of pizza, and sat down at the kitchen table.

My mom sat down across from me. “I'm impressed with your project, Annabelle. And I'm glad I finally got to meet Oliver and Tobias. They seem like nice boys.”

“Mom!” I said, embarrassed.

“What?” she asked.

I couldn't really explain to her that calling my friends “nice boys” sounded totally nerdy, so I just shook my head and said, “Nothing. Never mind.”

“When does the judging take place?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning. We're supposed to report to the gym right after first period.”

“Exciting!”

I shrugged. “It's not like we have a chance of winning.”

“It sounds like there were some impressive projects, but you never know.”

I took a small bite of pizza even though I didn't have much of an appetite.

“You seem extra quiet tonight. Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Hey, what would you do if you caught someone cheating?”

My mom teaches high school English, so I thought she might have some sort of idea.

“Cheating at what?” she asked.

“Um. Well, say one of your students turned in a paper that was really good. Like, too good. I mean, sure this kid was smart or whatever, but you still felt suspicious. Like maybe they copied it or something. Or maybe, hypothetically, they bought it off the Internet. And you had proof, but you felt weird about turning them in because they were your friend. Or your friend's boyfriend. Or something like that.”

Mom raised her eyebrows at me. “Hypothetically?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It means not real.”

She laughed. “Thank you, but I know what it means. I guess I'm just surprised by the question. And it's funny you should bring up plagiarism because I had a case of it in my classroom earlier this year.”

“Really?” I asked. “What happened to the guy?”

“It was a girl and she got an automatic fail. That means she has to retake the class next year with kids who are younger than her.”

“Yikes! That's bad.”

“Well, that's high school,” said my mom. “And it wasn't her first time cheating. I would think that in middle school, for instance, a principal might be more lenient, especially for a first-time offense. Hypothetically, I mean.”

I took a sip of water and finished my pizza in silence. But as I cleared my plate, my mom put her arm around me and said, “I'm so proud of you, Annabelle, for a lot of reasons. But mostly because I know that you have excellent judgment and you'll always do the right thing.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Nothing in particular,” said my mom. “Just, in general. I know you'll figure out what to do.”

Because I didn't know how to respond to her, I faked a yawn and said good night and headed back upstairs.

But I couldn't sleep.

Phil cheated and the whole thing made me sick. I didn't want to be a snitch and I didn't want to ruin his whole life. But Tobias, Oliver, and I had worked really hard. And we followed the rules. And what about Emma and Rachel? Not to mention everyone else in the sixth grade …

The computer screen glowed from one corner of my room, like it was telling me I had to do something. I went back to it and studied the page. I had no doubt in my mind that Phil had bought the experiment—but every doubt regarding what I was supposed to do with that information.

So I pressed Print, not to purchase the project, but just so I could get the description—proof that it existed, that Phil didn't do the work himself.

I took the pages off the printer and slipped them into my notebook, and then tried to get some sleep.

I figured things would make more sense tomorrow. But actually, life got a gazillion times crazier.

chapter twenty-one

yours truly

H
appy Valentine's Day,” Rachel said as soon as I swung open my front door on Friday morning. “Yumi's already on the corner, so let's go.”

I grabbed my bag, yelled my good-byes to Mom, Ted, and Pepper, and followed Rachel outside and down the street, almost having to run to keep up.

“Aren't we dangerously close to duckwalking?” I asked.

“Sorry.” Rachel slowed down but only for a few steps. “I can't help it. There's too much going on!”

Rachel was right, and she only knew the half of it.

“Hey, remember when you told me you didn't want to be a snitch and tell your parents that Jackson eats Slurpees for breakfast?” I asked.

“Um, I guess so,” said Rachel. “How come?”

“Well, do you not want to be a snitch because he's your brother, or just because you don't want to be a snitch?”

“Both,” Rachel answered. “Oh, hey, Yumi,” she added, waving without even slowing down.

Yumi looked at me with raised eyebrows and I just shrugged.

“I'm so glad I never sent Caleb that gram,” Rachel said. “Can you imagine how humiliating that would be? It's good we're not going to the dance together anymore. It would've been a total waste of time and not because of Erik. I'm totally over him, too. I mean, choosing to go snowboarding instead of celebrating Valentine's Day with the rest of the school? His priorities are way messed up! There's this cute guy in my social studies class—Thad. He has a girlfriend, but I don't think they're serious. She chews with her mouth open and I'm sure once he notices he'll lose interest.”

Rachel kept talking but I couldn't really pay attention. Not when I had the Birds of Prey project description in my backpack. It sounded like snitching would be a bad idea, but did that mean I had to let him get away with it?

I should've called Emma last night, when I'd had the chance. I wanted to catch her before school started, but when we got to our lockers she wasn't there.

Claire was, and she gave us an update on the belts she was making. “They're super-sparkly and wide enough to wear with a dress but they'd still look cute with a tunic top or even jeans.”

“Sounds great!” said Yumi.

“Not to sound stuck up,” said Claire. “But they're awesome. My sister told me I'd really outdone myself. And she wasn't even being sarcastic about it. I don't think.”

Just then the bell rang and everyone scattered.

I headed to homeroom. Moments after Mr. Beller took attendance, an eighth grader walked into the room with a huge stack of cards. “The no-Candygrams have arrived,” she announced.

“Oh, we don't want any,” said Mr. Beller.

Some kids gasped and some shouted out their protests, to which Mr. Beller said, “I'm just kidding. Relax! I'll hand them out now.” He took the stack and read the top one. “Missy?”

Everyone clapped as Missy ran to the front of the room with a big grin on her face and her hand outstretched. “For me?” she asked.

“Please save your applause for some other occasion,” said Mr. Beller. “Preferably one that does not take place in my classroom. And you can all stay in your seats, as well. Now let's see. We have one for Jasper and one for Emily, two for Clara …”

It seemed like forever before he called my name, but once he did, I got three in a row. They were from Claire, Emma, and Rachel.

Even though I knew my friends had sent me grams, since we'd spent so much time talking about them, they still came as a nice surprise. Yes, they would've been better with candy or a balloon, but I wasn't going to complain. Not when it was so much fun reading cute messages from everyone. When my fourth one came I figured it was from Yumi—but actually I was wrong. It came from Oliver.

To Annabelle,

It's been tons of fun studying bugs with you. Stay cool and have a Happy Valentine's Day!

Yours truly, Oliver

I read the note three more times before it sunk in. Oliver sent me a gram. Oliver had stood in line and paid a dollar. He'd taken the time to write out a note. And apparently he thought I was cool, unless he was talking about the weather, although I don't think so because it hasn't been particularly warm out. Of course, even if he had meant the weather, it was still sweet that he cared.

My teacher called my name again and then handed me Yumi's gram.

Hey Annabelle: Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you have your first “snow cone parking lot moment” soon! TTFN!

Yumi

I laughed. Obviously her note was about kissing, which made me blush and think of Oliver. I turned back to his note, which I couldn't stop looking at until class ended.

In fact, I still had a grin on my face after class, when I headed to the gym with the rest of the sixth grade.

Time for the science fair! If I was going to do something about Phil, I had to (a) figure out what that was and (b) act fast.

But before I even made it into the gym, Rachel pulled me aside so we could compare our no-Candygrams with the rest of our friends.

“Did you get one from Oliver?” Emma asked Claire.

“Yup.” Claire handed over her note, and we passed it down the line.

To Claire, see you tomorrow.

Oliver

I stared at her note, which seemed totally impersonal. Polite enough, but not so special.

“I'm so depressed,” said Claire. “He didn't even mention Valentine's Day.”

“It's a good note,” said Rachel, although you could tell she was trying to convince everyone of this fact—including herself. “And at least you got one.”

“I was hoping for ‘love' or ‘xoxo,' or at least one single ‘o.' But to not even write ‘from'?” said Claire.

“Maybe he doesn't know how to sign notes,” said Emma. “Studies show that with the advent of new communication technology, the ancient art of letter writing is becoming just that—ancient.”

“Huh?” asked Yumi, looking up from her phone.

“My point exactly,” said Emma.

“But Oliver signed my gram,” I said.

“Wait, what?” asked Claire.

Uh-oh. I realized too late that I'd messed up. “Nothing.”

“No, you said something,” said Claire. “And I think … Did Oliver send you a no-Candygram?”

She sounded, um, what's the opposite of happy?

Reluctantly, I nodded.

“Let's see.” Claire held out her hand.

I gave her the note. My friends exchanged worried glances.

Claire read it and looked up. “You got a better note.”

“Well, we're good friends.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay—what's going on, Annabelle? Why do you keep saying stuff like that?”

“Like what?” I giggled out of nervousness.

She just glared at me.

“Um, can I have my note back?” I asked.

“You're always like, Oliver this and Oliver that. We had ginger cookies at Oliver's house. Oliver is such a great artist. He can play cricket, too. It's so popular in Jamaica.”

Claire made her voice sound extra high and squeaky, like she was imitating my voice, except I don't sound like that at all.

And she still hadn't given me back Oliver's note.

I stood up straighter. “I don't know what you're talking about,” I said. But even as the words left my mouth, I had to wonder, did I? Maybe I hadn't hidden my feelings as well as I'd thought. But no. This wasn't my fault and I didn't do anything wrong. “You're the one who asked me to talk to him. And he is a great artist. And we are partners. That's the only reason we sent each other no-Candygrams.”

“Wait, what?” asked Claire. “You sent Oliver a no-Candygram, too?”

“Yes, but its no biggie because—”

“It's no biggie? It's HUGE!” Claire yelled.

I looked at Yumi, who stared at her cell phone. Rachel kicked at something on the ground and Emma checked her watch, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. My friends looked like they wanted to be someplace else. Anyplace else. And I didn't blame them.

I'd seen Claire annoyed with her sister for staining her favorite white T-shirt, upset when she'd gotten a C+ on a test she thought she'd aced. But all that paled in comparison to this moment when Claire—red faced and eyes narrowed—glared at me with a look of pure rage. “I cannot believe you sent him a no-Candygram!”

“We're lab partners, so I just thought it would be nice.”

“Really?” asked Claire. “Tobias is your partner, too. Did you send one to him?”

I opened my mouth to explain but no words came out.

Everyone stayed quiet, waiting for me to say something.

“It's different,” I finally admitted.

Claire waved my note in the air. “That's my point exactly. It's different because you're not in love with him.”

“I'm not in love with anyone.” My voice cracked in a way that was obvious even to me—of course I was.

“Okay, look me in the eye and tell me you have no feelings for Oliver. That you're not trying to steal him.”

I raised my gaze to Claire's, shivering at their eerie, angry glow. “I'm not trying to steal him,” I said carefully. “How could I do that when you guys aren't even together?”

Someone gasped. I don't know who, but it didn't matter.

Claire blinked at me, stunned and hurt. “I can't believe you said that.” She spoke in a whisper, like a wounded puppy, and for some reason this annoyed me.

“Well, it's true,” I said.

“Exactly—no thanks to you!” Claire crumpled my note, threw it at my feet, and stormed off.