“By the way, nice prank, Ellie,” Malone says. “Suicidal Zippy should be the cover of the yearbook.”
Adleta says, “People in my homeroom were going crazy. Even Mrs. Bross was laughing.”
“Thanks, guys. Max deserves some of the credit too. He took the pictures.”
I scowl and wave off the recognition.
“What’s wrong with you?” Malone says.
“This isn’t going to end well.”
“Seriously? You’re such a Debbie Downer. You don’t know why they’re in there. For all you know, Wheeler called Fleiger an asshole.”
“No, Stranko’s onto us.”
I tell them about going to film Stranko in his office and his asking me what I know about his missing phone.
“And you denied it, right?” Malone says.
“Of course.”
“Then that’s all you need to do.”
“That’s not the point. He suspects us. We need to be careful.”
It’s another ten minutes before Stranko’s door opens and Wheeler and his mom come out. Wheeler struts like he doesn’t care about whatever just happened, but his mom looks just the opposite, even pointing an angry finger back toward Stranko’s office.
“Man, she’s pissed,” Adleta says.
“No Stranko though. That’s a good sign for us,” Ellie says.
I give Wheeler a low whistle that draws his attention.
“Any bets?” Adleta says.
“I’ll go with cheating,” Malone says.
She’s probably right. But considering all the work he’s been doing lately to turn things around, the thought makes me feel like the world’s worst friend.
“Hey, guys,” Wheeler says.
“Hey, guys? That’s it?” Malone says. “What happened?”
“Fleiger accused me of cheating, and I called him a dick.”
Malone looks at us with I-told-you-so eyes.
“So why does he think you cheated?” Ellie says.
“Because I got a B on his stupid exam.”
“He knows that already?”
“Yeah, it was a Scantron test.”
Ah, the Scantron, the lazy teacher’s test format. So easy a chimp can grade it.
“The thing is, I didn’t cheat,” Wheeler says. “I studied my ass off for that exam. It’s not my fault that for review, Fleiger read off every question straight from the test. I just wrote them all down.”
“Did you tell him that?” Ellis asks.
“Yeah, and all he could say is there was no way I could do that well after screwing around all semester. Finally, I just lost it.”
“And called him a dick,” Malone says.
“A shriveled dick, but yeah.”
“So what happened in the office?”
“Mom took my side, of course. She knows how much I’ve been studying. By the end of the meeting, she wanted to call both of them dicks too.”
“You mean shriveled dicks,” Adleta says.
“The thing is I don’t blame Fleiger for accusing me. It’s not like I have the cleanest record. But Stranko really pushed that I was cheating and even called Mrs. Nally to grade my first-period exam and let me know how I did. He’s really after me. Now I have to take a different exam from Fleiger tomorrow. You just know he’s going to make it impossibly hard so I fail.”
“How’s that fair?” Malone says.
“Stranko called it a ‘compromise.’ I think he was just trying to get my mom out of the office before she put him through the wall.”
“You’ll do great,” Ellie says. “I know you will. I can help you study if you want.”
“I’ll be fine, but thanks.”
“What about calling him a dick? Did Stranko hit you with verbal assault?”
“Another week of work crew,” Wheeler says, making a whoop-de-doo motion with his finger. “Okay, I’d better go. Mom’s waiting for me.”
He gets a few steps away before turning back.
“What sucks is I did study. It’s not like I’m dumb. I have good DNA. My brothers prove that. I guess it’s going to take people a while to catch up with this new version of me.”
Now I feel even guiltier for having doubted him. Am I really any better than Fleiger and Stranko?
“See?” Malone says. “There was nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not so sure,” I say.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I know Wheeler. Stranko had better watch his back.”
? ? ?
The rest of exam week goes quietly, and on his retake, Wheeler earns a C-, giving him his first no-F report card since seventh grade. The achievement is celebrated in the Wheeler household like he’s just cured cancer. In my house, the Bs and Cs filling my report card are met with a resigned “We know you can do better, Max” from my parents.
The first few weeks of the new semester are quiet—so quiet, in fact, that I’m lulled into a sense of normalcy. Classes are tolerable, and we even get a snowstorm on a Friday, giving us a three-day weekend. Life overall is good, so of course, something has to come along and screw it up.
It’s a freezing Wednesday during third period, and I’m zoned out at my desk in Navarro’s class watching Dances with Wolves, the social studies department’s idea of a unit on Native Americans, when my phone vibrates in my pocket.