Skylar Robbins: The Mystery of the Hidden Jewels by Carrie Cross (well read books TXT) 📕

an embarrassed expression on his face. Did Dustin Coles actually just admit that he liked me? I know he said yes to the dance, but this made it sound like he liked me liked me! He sat down, opened his book, and completely ignored me for the rest of the period.

I whipped out my notepad and made a quick note on something yummy to think about later: Dustin thinks Emelyn has a reason to be jealous of me! My heart didn’t stop hammering for the rest of the day.

By sixth period, the news was all over campus. When the police searched Emelyn’s purse they found Sharon Greenburg’s Cross pen, plus a bonus: two stolen video games with the price tags and barcode stickers still on them, and enough bags of snacks to link her to the broken vending machine. Emelyn got suspended, but only for two days since it was her first offense at Pacific. She was following in her brother’s footsteps. If she got in trouble again or was caught stealing she could get expelled. Best of all, she would not be allowed to participate in any after-school activities. Emelyn was barred from the backwards dance!

And I had a big secret. Skylar Robbins was the squealer who spied on Emelyn, saw her steal the Cross pen, and told Sharon. I had started the whole snitching process. But I hadn’t officially told a teacher, just Dustin and Sharon. Did that count? Was I the official Pacific Middle School Snitch? Or just the snitcher’s accomplice? I didn’t want to be a tattletale, but I wasn’t about to turn my back on a crime either. My brain was beginning to hurt from thinking about it.

 

28

The Setup

By Tuesday Emelyn Peters was back in school. English class started out normally. Mrs. Mintin got to her feet and held up the teacher’s edition of the English book. “Please read the poem on page seventy. Then I would like you to write two paragraphs describing the symbolism the author used and how you interpret it.” Alexa looked at me with a worried expression on her face. Expecting Alexa to write a good paragraph was like handing a blind person a paintbrush and waiting for a masterpiece.

“Use your imagination,” I whispered. “Pretend the poem is a painting and just describe what you see.” Alexa smiled gratefully and nodded. A few minutes later we were all concentrating so hard on describing the imagery in the poem that I never noticed what was going on behind my back.

Right before the bell rang, Mrs. Mintin collected our papers and gave us a homework assignment. Just as she finished explaining it, Jamal shouted, “Hey!” His eyes darted around the classroom.

Mrs. Mintin flinched. “Yes, Jamal?”

“My iPod’s missing,” he said angrily.

“You definitely had it when you came to class?” The teacher looked at each of us like if she stared hard enough the juvenile delinquent who took it would just give it up and raise his hand.

“Always keep it right here in this pocket,” Jamal said, patting his backpack. We all knew this was true, since he plugged in his earbuds and listened to rap and hip-hop between each class and on every break. “Had it when I got here. Now it’s gone.” Jamal gave everyone sitting near him a dark look.

For a minute, no one spoke. Then Emelyn said quietly, “I know where it is.” She dropped her head into her hand, like ratting any of us out would absolutely destroy her.

Half the class whirled around to hear the thief’s name. “Who took it?” Jamal demanded.

“Where is the iPod?” Mrs. Mintin asked Emelyn.

Emelyn looked down into her lap and hesitated. “I’m not a snitch,” she mumbled.

Mrs. Mintin folded her arms across her bony chest. “No one is leaving this classroom until Jamal’s iPod is returned.”

The girls sitting near me fidgeted nervously. Emelyn looked around with a panicky expression on her face, like it was going to kill her to call out the thief. Grabbing her hair like an overacting starlet, she finally spat out the name. “OK, since you’re forcing me to tell—I saw Skylar Robbins steal Jamal’s iPod and put it in her backpack.”

I felt like the air had been vacuumed out of my lungs.

“No way,” Alexa said, her cheeks turning bright pink. The girl in front of her leaned away from me like I had something contagious.

“Oh right, Emelyn,” I said. “Jamal’s my friend.” As if I would even steal anything from someone who wasn’t my friend.

“Well, here’s an easy solution,” Mrs. Mintin said, hobbling down the aisle toward my seat. “May I see your backpack please?” She reached a crooked hand in my direction.

“Of course,” I said, handing it over.

Then I heard a snicker. Looked sideways. The smirk on Pat Whitehead’s face sent a chill down my spine. Her pale eyes disappeared into slits. A vision of what was about to happen shot into my brain like I was looking into a crystal ball. The bell rang, but nobody moved. Mrs. Mintin reached into my backpack. A strange look transformed her face. Her hand came out in slow motion and my mouth fell open in disbelief.

“But I didn’t—”

The teacher sighed and shook her head, holding up the iPod. “Jamal, is this yours?”

“That’s mine all right.” Jamal looked at me like I’d just farted on his birthday cake. “Thanks, Skylar. I guess I just figured out who my real friends are.”

 

29

Porta-Detective Kit

Mrs. Mintin handed Jamal his iPod and gave me a stern look. “The rest of you may go to your next class. Except Skylar.” She pointed a wrinkled finger at me. “You’re headed for the principal’s office.”

My frozen brain finally kicked into gear. “Wait,” I begged. “Jamal. Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t steal your iPod.” He rolled his eyes like my lie was too dumb for words. “I can prove it. But you have to give it back to me.”

“Oh right.” I watched in horror as he slid his iPod into his backpack pocket, possibly smearing the only evidence that could save me. His skinny legs propelled him out the door, leaving me alone with Mrs. Mintin while we waited for a T.A. to come walk me to the principal’s office.

Five minutes later I was sitting on a couch in the reception area outside Principal Martinez’s office, so mad I was shaking. Someone had stolen Jamal’s iPod and planted it in my backpack. It didn’t take a detective to read the smug look on Pat Whitehead’s face and to figure out that Emelyn was behind it. She wanted to get me in trouble for more than one reason. If I got caught stealing she wouldn’t be the only thief at Pacific. I could get suspended too, and I wouldn’t be able to go to the dance with Dustin. I had to prove my innocence. But the evidence I needed was far out of my reach, and worse yet, it may have already been destroyed.

Mr. Martinez finally opened the door and motioned me inside. I sat down in the chair in front of his desk, desperate to tell him my side of the story. The principal’s brown suit was a little bit wrinkled, and his thick black hair shot up from his head like it was trying to escape. He pressed stubby fingers together and stared at me with one eyebrow raised like he’d already decided I was guilty. Mr. Martinez sat quietly for so long that I started to squirm in my seat, trying to work up the courage to defend myself. His office was so stuffy it was hard to breathe. Finally I couldn’t stand the silence another second. “I didn’t—”

“I think I need to call the police.” Mr. Martinez slowly reached for the telephone, keeping his eyes on my face.

“Wait!” I pleaded. If I got arrested and ended up with a criminal record, I couldn’t become an undercover detective, could I? Was my career about to be ruined before it even began? To my dismay, tears flooded my eyes, making me look even guiltier. The principal continued to tap the telephone keypad and stare at me. A little smirk twitched the corners of his mouth. I gritted my teeth and looked him right in the eye. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, this is just so typical.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Every student who is sent to my office swears they are innocent. And you can’t all be innocent, can you?” He leaned forward and his black eyes bored into mine.

I stared right back at him. I didn’t care about all the other students who got sent to his office. “I am innocent.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“I didn’t steal that iPod. Just give me a chance to prove it.”

“I’d love to see that proof, Skylar.” He smiled like he thought he’d just beat me in some game we were playing.

“And I’ll show it to you. Please call Jamal Jackson to your office, Mr. Martinez. Right away. Please.”

Amazingly, the principal paged Jamal and got him out of class. While we waited for him to walk to the office I took my Porta-detective kit out of my backpack. If my hunch was right, it was about to save my skin. Unless Jamal had already smeared the real thief’s prints beyond recognition.

I opened my Porta-detective kit and took out my Uniprinter. This was a one-inch square stamp pad with black ink and a tiny tablet of paper attached to the back. Just big enough to take one fingerprint. I set the Uniprinter on the principal’s desk. “Mr. Martinez, I am now going to fingerprint myself with you as a witness.”

I pressed my right index finger onto the stamp pad, then turned the Uniprinter over and rolled my inky fingertip across one of the small squares of paper. I tore it off and handed it to the principal. “See that? My fingerprint type is called a radial loop.” Mr. Martinez squinted at the postage stamp-sized piece of paper I handed him.

“Want to look at it through my magnifying glass?”

He shook his head, but held onto my print. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Digging back into my Porta-detective kit, I pulled out a tiny packet of black fingerprinting powder and a little brush as Jamal walked through the door. “My fingerprints will not be on Jamal’s iPod, because I did not steal it,” I said confidently. “But I’m positive I know who did, and who set me up, and I’m about to prove it. Jamal, please set your iPod on the desk, and really try not to smear any prints that might be on it. Please.”

After giving me a quick nod, Jamal carefully took his iPod out of his backpack, grasping just the edges with his fingertips. He set it down on the principal’s desk and said, “Let’s do this.”

I sprinkled black dusting powder onto the iPod’s shiny surface, spread it around with the brush, and whisked away the excess. The remaining black dust stuck to a whole gang of fingerprints. I looked at them through my Mini-mag glass. Most were a common spiral pattern called a whorl. But not all of them. There was a rare peacock’s eye print right on the top of the iPad, clear and crisp.

“Jamal, let me see your fingertip.” Holding his finger in one hand, I looked at it through the mag glass and nodded to myself. “Mm-hm. Your prints are the basic whorl pattern. And I’ll bet Pat Whitehead’s have a peacock’s eye in the center. That’s very rare. I have radial loop fingerprints, and there are no radial loops on this iPod.” I lifted two well-defined peacock’s eyes onto white fingerprinting tape and pasted the tape onto a Case Solution card. Then I turned the iPod over and dusted the other side. After peering at it through the glass, I offered the iPod and Mini-mag to Jamal. “Want to take a look? There are no radial loops on this side either.” Jamal gave me a little smile and shook his head. I could tell he believed me.

One down, one to go.

I handed the Case Solution card to the principal. “If you will please call Pat Whitehead into your office and let me fingerprint her, I will prove she was the one who stole Jamal’s iPod and planted it in my backpack. I guarantee her prints are peacock’s eyes and will match the ones on that card.”

Mr. Martinez raised his eyebrows and his cheeks reddened like he was watching an exciting TV show.