CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

I slide Ivan’s card in my back pocket as I enter the kitchen to eat breakfast. I kiss Pop on the cheek and take a cereal bowl out of the cabinet. Pop gestures at the little TV. I look over. The woman reporter that was here bugging everybody is the one talking to the camera. My first instinct is to fake sickness. Nope. I’m going to face this head on––come what may. At least I  have Josh O'Dell to lean on this time. I sit down, dump cereal into the bowl and pour milk over it. I watch in silence and force down my bowl of Special K topped with fresh blueberries. Each bite goes down like sandpaper.

Pop sets down a glass of orange juice, and then scoots in across from me with his coffee and the morning newspaper. “The morning news is reporting the incident that took place on our front lawn. There are news vans set up outside as we speak.”

I bug my eyes at him. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, holds up the paper, and shows me the headlines and pictures of us, in full color.

MYSTEROUS BLAKELY CASE RE-OPENED BY FBI

“That’s wonderful. This is good news.”

“Yeah, well hang onto your britches.”

I know that he’s thinking that the media circus is going to start again yada-yada.

“Don’t worry, I know what to expect. Remember, I’m a tough Cookie.”

I park in my spot and walk toward the school. I immediately notice the interested stares. Then as I travel the crowed halls, the comments about moi and Josh swirl around me like a swarm of bees.

I just smile and keep moving.

I open my book locker and dig around looking for my favorite mechanical pencil, the one with the perfect eraser. It wasn’t in my backpack.

This big girl bumps into me and I drop my books. I don’t even know her and her entourage. I turn to confront them and stumble sideways as another one smacks into me on purpose. I wave my hand and mutter, “Geez! Watch where you’re going guys!”

“Excuse me, be-ouch!”

Another says snidely, “Yeah, effing excuse us!”

I quickly retrieve my stuff before it’s stomped on, and trashed by the herd of feet going by. They’re all dressed in Goth garb. Black everything. Every other word is the f-word, as if that makes them cool. I rise up and the one, who just knocked into me walks backwards, flips me off.

I ask, “What? Is that your IQ?”

“Yuck, yuck! Red made a joke.”

They all laugh like a cauldron of witches and roll my eyes. They huddled by the water fountain a few feet away while the big girl (I guess the leader of the pack) takes a drink. A few teachers steps are nearby so they clean up there verbiage. I give up looking for my pencil and glance over as she dabs at her black lips. She points at me with a black tipped fingernail, and blurts out to her little group of freaky friends, “Oh fuuudge! It’s the famous Cookie Blakely!”

The rest of them turn to stare at me.

“Yeah, I saw on the news that the police were at her house again last night. That nerd Josh O'Dell was arrested for trespassing, but they let him go.”

“I don’t anything about that, but what’s up with her boyfriend Sean Palmer and that new chic, Kelly Albright? This morning, they were slobbering all over each other in the parking lot.”

Big girl says, “I heard that Palmer dumped Blakely because she has too many issues.”

I slam my locker door, spin the lock and walk directly toward the Goth-girls, smiling at each of them with a wild look in my eyes. I’m not going to let anyone intimidate me ever again. I plant my feet in the center of their circle. Nobody leaves. Actually, several people stop to watch. They seem to be very interested in what I have to say.

I clear my throat, “Uh, FYI ladies… And I use the term loosely.” This draws laughter from my small audience. I’m not done. “And…for the record?” I touch my chest. “I broke up with Palmer and Josh O'Dell was NOT arrested. It was a mistake.” I look around making eye contact with the crowd. The anger level rises and so does my voice, “You people might want to get your FACTS straight before you spread baseless lies about people.”

Somebody mumbles, “Whatever.”

I push past the crowd and walk away leaving everyone to make comments about my outburst. I’m sure.

As I push through the set of glass doors to go into the next hallway. Brook Bailey and Zak catch up with me. I keep walking afraid I might burst into tears from embarrassment.

“We heard and saw you back there,” Brook says excitedly, “Way to stand up to the Goth wannabes!”

Zak and I knuckle bump. He says, “Yeah dudette, you’re the man!”

I laugh. Zak is so sweet. “I should’ve turned the other cheek and walked away. Instead, I let my Irish bloodline embarrass me.”

I grow quiet while Zak goes on about the way the crowd reacted to my little outburst. We stop outside my classroom and Brook frowns at me. She rubs my arm and asks, “You okay Cookie?”

I shake my head dolefully. “Why do I do that to myself? The majority of the people in this town think I’m off my rocker.”

Brook gasps.

Zak shouts, “Not even! They’re desirous of you. You shocked them! You stood up to them!”

“Yeah. I guess.” I stare off at nothing. Last year I ran away like a scared rabbit. Dear God, please let Ivan find this man and make this whole Mom come out in the open.

Brook squeezes my hand. “What are you thinking?”

I blink at her and shrug. “Just that the rest of this year can’t go fast enough.” I wish I could tell her about the complexity of Mom’s case.

I smile. I love these two. The last bell rings. “Well, better go to class,” I say, and they both give me a hug.

Zak yanks a lock of my hair. “Hang tough Cookmyster!”

We part and I enter my World Civilizations class. During Mr. Flatt’s mind-numbing lecture, I deliberate and self-reflect. I write down Who is Cookie Blakely. Is she a force to be reckoned with? Or a damsel in distress? Time to choose your path woman. I take Agent Ivan Brody’s card out of my pocket and stare at it. As a kid, Ivan faced major obstacles. He lost both parents. I’m not going to let negative babble get to me this year––I have bigger fish to fry! I mentally recite my paragraph on the duties of a special agent that I memorized last night before bed, and then mull over the stuff going on in my life. I jot down a few ideas as to what to do next. Buy a gun. Mace. A big dog.

Mr. Flatt comes over and stands next to my desk, still yammering on about whatever. I chew on my eraser and glance down at the open textbook on top of my desk. According to the first chapter, the topic of discussion is, “The constant threat of Homo sapiens extinction.” (Yawn!)  I scan the first page and Flatt says my name in his dry boring voice. I jump and take my pencil out of my mouth.

“Miss Blakely, can you tell us two of the biggest threats to the animal population in the Late Pleistocene period?”

“Uh, from predators and humans hunting them?”

“Yes. Read chapter’s three and four. Quiz on Friday!”

I smile and he moves on to the front of the class, and for the last ten minuets of class, I sit strait up in my desk trying to concentrate on what the he’s saying. Given that my life is a total in turmoil, I’m proud to say that—so far—I’m keeping up with all of my school work. Although most of the time, I feel like a total birdbrain.

The bell rings five minuets earlier and everyone makes a mad dash for the door. “Just first lunch people leave,” Mr. Flatt shouts above the clamor and checks passes. “No sneaking past me.” This is apparently something new not many of us were aware of, including moi. I wave my pass at Mr. Flat and exit the classroom. There are perks to being in the upper echelon.

To avoid confrontation and the possibility of running into Sean Palmer and his new gf, I change my route to the food court. I know. I should a least tell Sean face-to-face that I’m cool with our breakup, but I abhor confrontations. As I approach the library, I see Josh O'Dell go inside the doors. I enter and find him sitting in a back corner with back to any foot traffic. It’s nice to reconnect after being separated. I stroll right over and tap him on the shoulder.

Josh looks up from his book. “Oh hey.”

“You hiding out too?”

I set my backpack on his table and sit down in the chair next to him.

“No, I…just wanted to do a little research.”

I notice a fresh scratch on his jaw and a small rip in his shirt collar.

“That scratch on your jaw happened to you because of me. Right?” I whisper, looking him in the eyes (those big beautiful brown eyes) with dark circles under them. He evidently didn’t get much sleep either.

He closes his book and his hand goes to his face.

“Did it happen last night?”

Josh drops his eyes and nods his head. “No, in the parking lot this morning, I might’ve decked a couple of football players.”

I gasp. “What!?”

I blink at him. He took on football players. That’s like messing with the mafia.

“Geez, what did they say to make you that angry?”

Josh shakes his head. “Believe me. It’s not worth repeating.”

I feel my face heat up. I bet the subject had something to do with my virginity therefore; I don’t push Josh for more information. “Oh my gosh. Were you suspend?”

“No. Coach broke us up and gave us all a verbal warning.”

“Lucky.” Then it dawns on me. “Ah, because if he suspended you he’d have to suspend his precious football players too.” I place my arms on the table and weave my fingers together. “Oh, by the way, Ivan told me that he has lynch men staked out all over town.” I roll my eyes. “Pop and I have to keep to a strict schedule. No spontaneous road trips yada-yada.”

Josh whispers too, “Yeah, my dad warned me as well. Sucks. He wants to know my every move.”

I nod my head and we grow quiet while a librarian wheels a book cart by our table. I shoot her a smile, and I muse over what Josh is gone through since we started hanging out together. I never consider that Josh would be mixed up in our ordeal…he could’ve been killed last night. The librarian glances over her shoulder at us as she turns the corner and disappears. Yes,

I’m she.

I lean closer to Josh and say in a low concerned voice, “Josh, I’m so sorry. I’ve put you in danger.” I pause and swallow a lump in my throat. “Do you want out?”

Josh narrows his eyes at me. “What? Do you think I’m chicken? A scared little nerd?”

I laugh. “Of course not. Geez O’Dell, take a chill pill.”

Josh just shrugs and taps his fingers on the book’s hardcover. I drop my eyes and see that he’s reading Spies: The Rise and Fall of the KGB in America.

I reach out, take the book and flip it open. There are black and white pictures like Mr. J’s book. I ask, “So, what did you find out?”

For the next few minuets, we chat about the KGB and my so-called Shadow. What happened after he left last night?

Josh looks at his wristwatch and gets up suddenly grabbing his book bag. “Sorry. I have to go.”

I look up at him.

“Mind returning that to the shelf?” He touches my shoulder with his free hand and explains, “I’m teacher assistance in my next class and I never got around to preparing for it last night.”

“No problem.” I smile and wave. “See ya.”

I put my hand on my shoulder where Josh’s just was and watch him stroll to the other side of the library. He is really cute. I wonder if he is interested in anyone... My inner angel screams, “Forget about it! You’re going on a boy fast until this whole Mom thing blows over.”

I check my Sean watch. I still have ten minutes to kill before my next class. I don’t feel like working or wandering the halls. I take out a fresh sheet of notebook paper and write down my thoughts on a possible novel I might write someday.

It was way past two last night, when I finally finished my homework and fell into bed. I laid there, eyes-wide-open, obsessing about my conversation with Ivan, for what felt like forever. I haven’t even thought about the Sean issue—until now. Now, I have this sinking feeling that everyone knows about Sean and me—except me. It feels odd driving to school alone without him, but I like being able to just listen to my music without having someone tell me what to listen to or talking through a song. When was the last time I even cared that we weren’t together anymore? It’s as if I’ve been in a bubble since Friday night.

I hear a familiar (whiny) voices and look up from my writing. I strain my ears.

“Whoa, Liz, bitchen lipgloss!”

“Isn’t it, like, to die for?”

“Grrrowl!”

“So, um...Char,” Lizzie asks, “Do you, like, know who the dude was that was tonguing that new girl from California…whatshername?”

I feel a bolt and sit up straight. I clamp my hand over my mouth.

They grow quiet and I get up slowly and tiptoe over and peer around the bookshelf. Char MacDoogal is with two other total plastics, Julie Childress, and Lizzie Long. They’re standing together poking iPods earbuds in their ears, which is against school rules—I’m shocked that Char l is even inside the library. This has to be a first.

I roll my hand like get on with the story!  

“Oh-oh, I can’t remember. She has enormous boob.”

“Kelly Albright,” Juls finally fills in tapping her perfect chin. “Hum, I wonder if they’re having sex?”

“Oh, they are so doing it,” Char pipes in, nodding her head, her make-up is natural and her short brown hair is curled softly around her face. No more spikes and harsh black eyeliner. Much better. She looks thinner too.

Jules smiles slyly. “Oh yeah, for sure! Who wouldn’t do that hottie Sean Palmer?”

They say in unison, “Cookie Blakely!”

*Raucous laughter*

My first instinct is flight. I turn to go and almost knock over a stack of books. Instead of running, I press up against the end section, straining to hear more. I feel like my head is going to explode. But I remind my self that running a way is the old me. I focus on them.

They all start humming-singing a Britney Spears song I’ve heard on the radio about a million times:

“Boys

Sometimes a girl

Just needs one

(You know I need you)

Boys

To love her and to hold

(I just want you

To touch me)

Boys

And when a girl

Is with one

(Mmm, mmm)

Boys

Then she's in control

(Yeah)

Char blows a bubble with her gum and sucks it back between her glossy lips. She says loudly, “So, Kelly Albright and Sean Palmer were, like, playing tonsil-tennis at CB’s. like, in front of everybody that was there last night!”

Juls sways her scrawny hips to the song playing on the IPod. She pulls out the earbuds and says, “Oh. My. God, I’d be, like, get a room!”

I roll my eyes. What a bunch of airheads.

Char picks up a book, opens it and points at the page. “Ewe, that’s just gross!”

 “Reheeelllly?” Lizzie squeals and looks at whatever is in the book. She frowns. “So what’s up with that? I mean, I thought Sean Palmer, like, supposedly had a thang going with Cookie Blakely over the summer.”

Char takes a wad of purple gum out of her mouth. “Guess not,” she says, and then sticks the gum back in her mouth.

Lizzie pushes Char into the bookcase. “Get out! You’re screwing with us.”

“Ouch!” Char rubs her shoulder and then holds her hand up. “I swear on my mother’s life that what I say is twu.” Uh-oh Elmer Fud voice. This either means that it’s a lie or slightly embellished.

 “Char is Cookies best friend, why would she of all people make that up?” Juls says coming to Char’s defense. Dang. I give Char creds. She is really in tight with the IT crowd. Juls usually doesn’t speak to anybody that doesn’t live in one of Georgetown's multi-million-dollar row houses. Guess Billy Brennan has upped her status.

They start singing in to the next Britney song.

Okay, I’ve heard enough. I’m outta here! I return to the table, gather my stuff and for some unknown reason, take a step backward, and wait to hear if they say more about Sean and Kelly. They’re huddling in the back of the library so they can listen to music on their iPods and dick around.

I’m about to leave when I hear their foot steps and quickly cross to the opposite end of the bookshelf and hold my breath. They stop right next to me so I duck walk across the aisle and crouch behind a book cart. I watch them threw a little break in the volumes stacked on the bottom shelf.

Juls has a blank look as she tucks the iPod wires between two very firm looking breasts. Then re-buttons her sleeveless white blouse and pulls her long shiny auburn hair in front of her honey-colored (tanning booth) shoulders. She says, “I think that Sean Palmer is, like, the hottest guy at school. He can pretty much date anyone he wants to.”

“Yeah, guess he’s playing the field like every other dick in this f-ing school.” Lizzie shrugs. “Guys SUCK!”

I vaguely recall Brook telling me that Lizzie and her boyfriend were on the outs because she’s pretty good at hacking into computers and intercepted his email or maybe it was his cell phone. Anyway, he apparently likes sexting, Brook said. “Lizzie is smart, and beautiful, but she lacks in common sense.”

Typical.

“TOTALLY!” Juls says, and squints up at the big clock above the library doors. “O-M-G! We’d better haul, I still have to like, re-fresh before fourth period class!”

Lizzie inspects Juls appearance. “Juls your hair and make-up look tray-fab. Besides we have gym class next.” She smiles slyly. “Did you check out assistant football coach yet?”

Char says, “Heck yeah! He’s, like, way gorgeous. But my heart belongs to Billy.” She crosses her cleavage, swoons and I feel my eyes cross.

Juls runs her fingers though her long, shiny, straight (perfect) blonde hair. Then, frowning, she takes out her compact and hold it up to her face. “Are you freaking kidding? Look a me! I look like crap!”

“Okay.” Char pushes the two toward the restrooms across from me. “Let’s hit the ladies room then stop off at the food court. The football team has to be in there by now.”

I hear the restroom door snap shut and slump down on the floor. Ironically, the bottom shelf contains self-help books. One title in particular stands out. Women are from Venus… Mom bought a copy. It’s in the den.

I get up and go while I have a clean break. So that’s the big secret. Sean was making out in front of everybody with Kelly Albright at CB’s where everybody hangs out. No wonder the halls are abuzz. Wait. There’s got to be some perfectly innocent explanation...right?

I head for the Food Court. I have to talk to Char alone! Oh, she is so dead! Well, not literally. I push through the doors and wander around the food court. I can’t find Char anywhere, but, I see a girl on my swim team that I trust to tell me the truth. I sit down across from her. She looks up from her soup and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hi Taylor, I was just wondering if you know anything about a girl named Kelly Albright. Char is spreading a rumor about her and Sean Palmer making out at Crazy Burgers.”

Taylor puts her spoon down. She seems a bit surprised by my bluntness. “Um, gee Cookie. I don’t know anything about that. Maybe Heather knows.”

I turn and see Heather standing at the end of the table. Heather is also on the swim team. She shifts her eyes to the food on her tray, then sits down and says, “No offense Cookie, but I wouldn’t believe Char MacDougal even if she rode in here on a mule with Jesus H. Christ.”

She and Taylor burst out laughing.

I glance from one to the other. “Guys, I’m serious.”

“Sorry,” Heather says, and picks up a big red apple and rubs it with a paper napkin. “Coach T said that the other day and I’ve been dying to use it.” She laughs again and makes the apple shine.

I say, “No offense, but that sounded sort of sacrilegious.” I feel like I’m being too judgmental, but I hate when people use Jesus’ name in a slang sense. Know what I mean? It just feel wrong. I can’t stand it.

Heather says, “No it didn’t…its funny.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I saw that Kelly Albright made the swim team.” Her eyes go from me to Taylor. “Her name is on the list.”

My jaw drops open. “That can’t be right.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Heather says then winces as she takes a bite from her apple. “My tooth hurts.”

Taylor say, “Heather, you better go to the dentist.”

“I hate dentist.”

I look at them. “Kelly is a klutz. Guys, she dove in on top of me last Friday!”

Taylor takes a bite of her cheese pizza and says, “I don’t think she did it on purpose.”

Heather sticks her finger in her mouth. “Damn toothache!” She tosses the apple in the closest trashcan. “Albright is in a couple of my classes. She pretty cool, I mean, once you get to know her.”

Taylor leans across the table. “Girl, I thought you were going to go to the dentist.”

 “I have an appointment after school.” Heather bugs her eyes at Taylor. “Mom!”

“Well, here eat something soft.” Taylor pushes a plate toward Heather piled with soggy cheese fries. Then she motherly pats my arm. “Talk to Sean and Char. Like my mama says, it could just be a big misunderstanding.”

 “Uh, you’re right.” I help myself to a cheese covered fry. “I totally can’t stand liars.”

“Yeah,” Heather says, “you and me both.”

I fill them in on what happened this morning and set them straight about Josh and me. “We’re lab partners in Mr. Jackson’s Crime Science class.” I shove another cheesy fry in my mouth. They’re pretty tasty when you’re really stressing.

“I heard that Beal being a real butt in there,” Heather says, and picks up a clump of limp cheese fries and shoves them into her mouth, chewing carefully while cupping her face with her hand.

Heather is overly self-conscious about food in her new braces. I see her eyes go wide and turn to see what she looking at. Sean Palmer is at one of the drink machines, alone. He sees me and the cheesy fry sticks in my throat. I turn my back to Sean. Then breathing normally becomes an issue. I reach over and grab Taylor’s water bottle, remove the cap, and take a long drink washing down the potato-cheese glob.

Taylor looks at me and I shrug. She waves like keep it.

“Thanks.” I say finally, and try to pretend to be okay about Sean being so close by. I refuse to look at him. I go quiet, drop my eyes and pick at the label on the water bottle. God please don’t have Kelly Albright show up right now.

Heather and Taylor take the hint and continue to eat the communal cheesy fries.

“FYI Cookie,” Heather says from behind her hand. “Kelly Albright told me that her father works at the Capital.” She takes out her compact, quickly checks her front teeth, and then continues, “The Albrights live in that big mansion with the gargoyles on the iron gates.”

“You’re friends with her?” Jules asks, as if Heather has committed a sin.

“No. Her gym locker is right next to mine.”

“Wait. They bought the house on Maple Leaf Lane?” I’m still trying to processes all this new news.

“That would be the one.” Heather nods and plays with a fry as if debating if she wants to eat any more. It cost, like, three mil. She drops the fry on the plate and pushes it toward Taylor and me. “You guys can have the rest, I’m done.” She wipes her hands on a paper napkin. “Anyway, my folks were talking about having them over for dinner the other night. You know, to welcome them to Georgetown.” Georgetown is a fairly tight community and Heather’s mom is a total socialite.

I frown and whisper glumly, “Maple Leaf Lane…that’s only a block over from me.” I look at Heather. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

The two girls share a look that tells me they are not joking. Then I feel Sean watching me and I whisper, “Where is he now?”

Taylor turns around. “He’s still standing next to the vending machines just drinking his Coke. No. Wait. He just took off. He’s weeding his way to the front entrance. He just went out the doors.”

I feel a surge of courage. “I have to go confront him.” I stand up wiping my mouth and hands on a paper napkin. “Wish me luck.”

Taylor and Heather both high-five me, and mutter, “May the force be with you!” Something the whole swim team always says right after our group prayer and right before we begin all completive swim meets.

I walk with purpose out the same door Sean left by and search for him. The boys’ and girls’ restrooms are located outside and on opposite sides of the entrance to the Food Court. As I come around the corner, I see Brook coming out of the girls’ restroom and I flag her down. I walk over briskly glancing around looking for Sean. He must’ve gone into the men’s bathroom. “Hey,” I say slightly out of breath.

Brook waves. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Did you see Sean?”

Brook just nods her head “no”.

A mere second later, Zak comes out of the men’s bathroom and wanders toward Brook strumming an air guitar and nodding his head to some tune running through his brain.

I have to smile. I like how Brook and Zak embody the saying “opposites attract”. Last year’s annual dubbed Brook The Walking Encyclopedia. She wears only designer clothing and the last two years she was voted most likely to be a brain surgeon. Now picture a typical California surfer dude and you have Zak. I’ve heard Zak claim (in all seriousness) that he must be in or a body of water 24/7 or he will literally perish off the face of the earth. He believe that if he had a chest X-ray, the doc would see gills instead of lungs. And even though his family is wealthy and could buy him trendy duds, he chooses to live in baggies and surfer tees. Zak is cute in a copacetic surfer-dude sense and during the summer, travels around the world looking for the perfect wave. Sadly, I think too many wipeouts have rendered him pretty much brain-dead.

“Hey dudettes,” Zak says, joining us. He does a final Jimmy Hendrix on his pretend guitar. He bows to his pretend audience then holds his hands in the air and shooting peace signs toward the sky.

Brook and I stand by silently.

Did I mention that Brook and Zak are on the GHS swim team as well? A couple of times during the summer Sean and I hung out with them so they know the whole story about how Sean and I met yada-yada. Now they’re going to find out about the former “us” unless they already know because it seems like the topic of conversation all over school. Anyway, since Brook and Zak have been dating since ninth grade they’re officially my current go to people for advice on relationships. As of right now, Char is officially fired.

I smile at Zak and gesture with my head toward the men’s bathroom. “Um, did you see Sean in there?”

“Uh.” Zak tucks a stray dreadlock behind his ear and stares off into space for a few minuets. Okay. I see what’s going on. No matter what goes on between Sean and me, Sean and Zak stay pretty tight. Since it is a man’s world after all. Then Zak gets this faraway look and makes a face as if it hurts to think. “Uh, oh yeah. The last time I saw the Seanster was...” Zak blurts out, “Bro (his nickname for Brook) and me, like, saw him on Saturday night out with that bodacious new chick from LA.”

“Please tell me the truth. I know about…”

I connect what Zak just said and look at Brook. She shoots Zak a warning glance. Brook bugs her eyes at Zak then turns to me. “Oh Cookie, I don’t think they were on a date-date. They were probably just—ya know—hanging out together.”

“No. They were on a date. I know all about it,” I say this with amazing calmness.

Brook looks shocked. “You do?”

Then Zak blinks and looks directly at me. “…hey, where were you? And why was Sean with the bodacious blonde?”

I ask you. How can people get away with being so socially inept? I drank that whole bottle of water and I’m about to pee my pants.

“Never mind. Sorry, I need to go.”

I give Zak and Brook a quick nod and duck into the girls’ bathroom. I use the stall and wash my hands. I suddenly feel very dizzy as everything hits me at once I sag against the wall between the sinks and drop to the floor as my world comes crashing down around me. I thought I was alone until I hear a toilet flush. I stare at the tile floor littered with wet brown paper towels. I’m probably being attacked by a million germs sitting down here, but I don’t care. I think about all the time I spent in the girls’ bathroom last year. I hid out to avoid people asking probing questions about my mom. These memories make me want to start running and never stop.

A metal stall door bangs open and a heavy-set black girl with long purple braids and saucer size gold hoop earrings pushes out of a stall. She crosses the floor and rows of pink and white plastic beads at the end of each long braid, clickity-clack against her black leather jacket. We stare at one another for a moment and then her big brown eyes widen with alarm.

She asks, “You alright down there?”

I nod “yes”, drop my chin, and stare blindly at the dark leg hair poking through her fishnets. I didn’t know people actually wore those anymore. My eyes travel to up her round dark face and big brown eyes; watching me like a hawk as she strains to tucks at a pink knit top into the waist of her black leather mini skirt that is (IMHO) way too short for a girl her size. I’m shocked they haven’t sent her home to change.

“I’m fine. Really.” I pat my tummy and tell her, “I have cramps.” I close my eyes and hope she goes away soon. She starts humming some rap song and I hear her clip clop across the tiled floor. I open my eyes and peer up at her between two sinks.

She leans over a sink, grins wide at her reflection and rubs a plump finger over her front teeth. Her fingernails are long. The are professionally painted with white tips and dark sparkly lavender colored nail beds. I watch her squeeze a tube bright pink lip-gloss and daintily apply it to her full lips–smack-smack. “Um-mm, sugar. If you don’t mind me saying…you don’t look so good,” she says, re-capping the tube and drops into a tiny leopard-skin purse strapped around her round hips. She backs up and gazes down at me. Her perfect black eyebrows knit in concern.

I sit forward, place my backpack on my lap and hug it.

She asks sweetly, “You sure you don’t want me to get somebody…a teacher maybe?”

I shake my head “No” and feel a sharp pain in my temple. My hand goes to the scar. It’s throbbing and tender. I press the area and moan out loud. There’s something alien is in there. Like a pebble. Or a brain tumor. The thought sends fear shooting though me. I grimace.

The black girl bends over, shakes her head side-to-side, long braids plummet forward and clickity-clack. The front of her leather jacket opens exposing her ample breast that are straining against a neckline that I’ve only seen on Dancing with the Stars. No wonder she has the jacket on. According to the school dress code, her outfit would be considered “inappropriate” and sent home.

She frowns and says snippily, “Sorry, but I don’t feel right leaving you sprawled on the floor like that––you hopped up?”

“No! God no!” I insist, except I can understand why she’d think I was doing drugs. Seriously. Who sits on a public bathroom floor unless they’re tripping? Any other time, I’d burst out laughing. I’ve never even tried pot. I lay my head on my backpack. I’m such a prig.

I feel her staring at me with blinking big brown eyes, lids the same shade of pink as her top. Colorful. She straightens up, adjusting her outfit, and then lifts her arm and consults a wide pink band on her thick wrist—I assume it’s a watch and she’s checking the time. I curl my eyes up and her eyes grow even bigger. She stomps her foot. “Oh, damn! I forgot that I have to meet my girls!”

“Go!” I say with as much oomph as I can muster.

She saunters over to the door, never taking those watchful eyes off me. She places her hand on the door. “You sure?”

I force a little smile I don’t feel and wave her away.

Once she’s gone, and the door closes completely, I pull myself up by the sink and splash cold water on my face. I’m in a silent vacuum. It feels strange as if I’m a different person now that I’m 17. A high school senior. When you’re small, you never think this year will come.

I blot my face dry with a rough paper towel and stare at my reflection. I inspect the scar with my eyes, I can’t bring myself to touch it again––too frightening. It doesn’t look any different. I draw in a few cleansing breaths and throw the wadded brown paper towels in the trashcan, even the one on the floor. I feel it’s my duty to leave the place clean.

Oh yeah, I’m a prig.

WELL NOT ANY MORE!

I bolt out the door. I don’t stop until I reach the center of the parking lot, which is packed full of empty cars. My head is pounding and my mind is doing flip-flops, still, I keep running until I’m next to my Mustang. I pant and scan the area. There’s no one in sight––just a bunch of mocking birds hopping around on the hot asphalt looking for scraps. I reach inside my backpack and dig out my big metal key chain. I look up at the sky. There are a few puffy clouds on the horizon, but sky above is clear and bright blue. I unlock the driver side door and search the boulevard. I actually feel a lot better outside and next to my beautiful car. I think about what Char and her nemeses said about me and shake the key chain angrily.

Forget about them.

I hear car doors slam and jump. I shade my eyes. On the other side of the chain link fence two rather large men wearing sunglasses and dark suits climb out of a black car parked across the street. They have to be my bodyguards. I look directly at them and shoot a mind message “Please, just stay where you are––Mutt and Jeff” and feel their eyes watching my every move. They lean on the side facing me. That’s right. You’re jobs are to protect me from the bad people. Thank you so much.

Just for the heck of it, I raise my arm and wave as I crawl behind the wheel, tossing my backpack on the passenger seat. I look at them through the window. They remain put, stone faced and armed to the gills.

Creepy beyond creepy.

I leave the door wide open. It’s hotter than hell in here, but I don’t care I needed some time to think. I need to be alone. I push all scary thoughts to the back of my mind. I’m just stressing too much. I have to get it together. I can’t live like this…on a emotional roller coaster. I recall my Health Teacher tell us about Teenage angst and laugh. Ouch. That hurt my head. I lean across the seat and pop open the glove box. I find a small container of aspirin, take out a couple, and pick up the water bottle I left in the consol. It’s close to boiling. I shake it and then wash down the aspirin hoping my headache goes away and the alien living in my head is just my imagination.

I lay my head on the back of the seat. What’s going on between Sean and the new girl? And why is Char spreading rumors about them all over the freaking school? This must be what Char wanted to tell me but never got around to it. So, just because I never called him back, Sean instantly hooks up with the first girl he sees. How can he be so selfish?! I was deeply hurt by what he said last Friday. He’s the one that got so angry...over SEX!?

I punch the console. Geez, everyone in the entire school must think I’m a nun. I shut my eyes hoping the aspirin kicks in soon. In the remoteness, my ears pick up ringing. It’s the last lunch bell. This startles me into action. I grab my backpack and hurry to lock up my car. Man, am I brainwashed or what? Who cares, I do not want to be late for Crime Science class.

As I dash through the parking lot, my hair blowing in the brisk breeze, my headache goes away and I almost feel normal again. A uniformed security guard catches me running toward the front entrance and I slow down to a fast walk. He approaches me and holds open the front door. Before he can bust me, I gesture over my shoulder and explain, “I, um, thought I left my headlights on.”

He just smiles and touches the brim of his hat. I forge through the hallways that seem even more packed than usual and thank God for letting me not be in trouble. As I turn the corner, I see him following me at a distance. Agent Brody’s security squad no doubt. I pause and look around wondering who is really a student or a planted bodyguard. Through the throng, I see Sean Palmer down the way, standing next to his book locker, as if he’s waiting for me to stop and talk. Sorry, but I refuse to do this in public with everyone watching us. I don’t know if and when we will ever speak again. I look straight ahead and speed up my pace. In my peripheral vision, I see Sean watch me as I go by him. My heart does a flip.

God this is hard.

Through the Science Wing garden’s glass doors, I glimpse Josh ambling past the fountain. I ram down on the bar to enter calling out, “Josh!” He spins around looking me up and down as I run over. I stop in front of him and wipe at my sweaty face with my hand. My face has to be all red after my 100 yard-dash from parking lot to this point.

Josh looks concerned. “Hey, glad I found you. I was asking everyone where you were.” Before I can explain, he asks, “Are you okay?”

I blink. “Um, sure, why do you ask?” I deduce that he’s waiting for me to say something about the way everybody is reacting to the news about last night. “Oh…you mean because of what happened last night?” Or maybe he’s heard about Sean and Kelly. Great.

Josh laughs. “Yeah that and your face is all flush. You burst through the doors just now as if someone was chasing you.”

“No.” I shrug and explain, “I was all the way out at my car when the bell rang. I, um, I thought I left my lights on. Turns out I didn’t.”

Sorry to lie to you Josh, but the last thing I want is to discuss what else is wrong with me. I’m too scared to talk about the pain in my head. Even with Josh. And I’m too pissed about Sean and Kelly Albright to discuss the rumors Char’s spread about them at CB’s.

Josh says, “That’s good. It sucks having a dead battery.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s all I need right now.” I might have to make a grocery list of all the flaming arrows coming my way just to keep up.

“Were our bodyguards still out there?”

“Yes. I waved at them.” I remember the security guard and glance around. He’s stand next to the bust of Einstein.

Josh follows my gaze. He says, “I don’t know if having them around makes me feel safe or––”

“Sorry you hooked up with me.”

“Cookie, stop saying that!” Josh frowns and tugs on a lock of my hair. “Seriously. It pisses me off! I make my own choices.”

“Sorry. I really didn’t mean to finish your sentence it just slipped out.” I smile and blink my green eyes at Josh. “Haven’t you noticed? I can be a real smartass.”

“No. I always thought you were so––”

The second bell rings and we move with the flow of students to the next set of doors. Josh holds the door open and I cross the threshold. We mosey through the crowded hall shoulder to shoulder, slowly making our way to Mr. J’s classroom. We notice the curious sideway glances being shot our way.

MYOB people!

Josh. “So, how are you handling all the questions and rumors going around?”

“Pretty much ignoring them.” I smile brightly. I wonder why Josh didn’t finish his sentence. He always thought I was so what? Goody-two-shoes?

I beeline it for the open classroom door and Josh bumps into me forcing me to stumble to the right. I’m like what are you doing.

“Hold on a second,” he says in a low voice. “I want to show you something before we go inside.”

We step out of the flow of traffic and stand next to the lockers behind doors 507 and 508, almost hidden from view.

 “What is it?” I ask, and brush a strand of hair away from my damp face. The intrigue is unbearable.

Josh glances around. And then leans his head next to mine and lowers his voice even more, “I spent most of the night and my last class on the Internet.” He pauses while a teacher goes by and I make a screwy face wondering why he’s telling me this. “I was researching the Freedom of Information Act that was signed into law by President Johnson in 1966.”

 “Okay,” I say thinking that sounds boring. “Um, what class was that for?”

“Government Law, but that’s got nothing to do with what I found. Look. You know how it is when you’re skipping around the Internet and you find obscure stuff that catches your eye…”

Josh’s voice fades off and we nod at Jilly as she walks by us looking inquisitively our way. She goes inside the classroom and Josh continues. “Anyway––I came across an ambiguous law enforcement website that linked me to a news piece about our buddy Agent William Werthoust. I made a copy.” Josh reaches in his book bag and takes out a black folder. “On a separate note, I noticed that there was a different name under that early sepia picture of your mother. The one she looks like a teenager.”

I nod and mentally recall asking Mom about the photo a long time ago.

“The name under it is a man’s and it’s Russian. My guess it’s the photographer who took––”

I interrupt. “It’s not Mom. It’s some distant relative that she looked like.”

Josh frowns. “Really.”

“That’s what she claimed. Mom said she was like, seven when she came to America.” I tug at the folder in Josh’s hand. “So, what did you find on the Internet?”

The hall is completely empty and Josh hurries to open the folder. He speaks rapidly, “The story is pretty condemning. Seems Werthoust has a past that could be about to catch up with him.”

I look at him. “You lost me there.”

“Okay. Sorry. I’m working on zero sleep and we need to go inside before Uncle Dolph comes out.

Josh passes me a single piece of paper and I look at it trying to process what I’m hearing.

“The doctor in the story is claiming that William Werthoust forced him to forge his medical reports so he could work with the FBI.”

Cookie the senior high student with boyfriend issues and now Special Agent Cookie Blakely. It’s as if I live in two separate worlds and I keep passing through each dimension.

Josh points at the paper. “Did you read where the doc states that Werthoust suffers from narcolepsy?”

I locate narcolepsy. It sticks out on the paper like a word game. Still, reading this makes my stomach do flips.

Of course, Josh remembers me that Werthoust told me that the Housekeeping Manager has narcolepsy. I emailed him a copy of the report.

I look at him. “Freudian slip?”

Josh raises his eyebrows.

“How can we prove that what that doctor says is true?”

“I need to ask my dad how we can verify it. He was gone when I got up this morning. Mom said he had and early meeting with Agent Brody.”

I listen to Josh as bits of my conversation with Agent Werthoust plays in my head. “My hard copy is at home…wish I had it with me.

The final bell rings, Josh, and I enter the classroom and walk past Jimmy Beal. Beal passing out a mimeographed paper for Mr. J who is busy writing on the blackboard. Beal watches us with his mouth hanging open as we head to our table. Beal calls out to us, “Hey, I saw you in the news!”

Someone else says, “Glad you’re okay, Josh!”

Josh just waves.

I pay no attention to them, follow Josh to our assigned spots, and drop my backpack on the floor next to my stool. We perch up on our stools and take out pens and notebooks out of our backpacks.

Other students turn around and stare at us. Several ask me about the incident with pity in their voices. I just say, “Like the news said, it was a big mistake.”

The questions end and Josh whispers, “You okay talking about this?”

“Yeah,” I say, tapping my pen on my notebook as I look around fleeting while shaking my head. “It’s cool. I’m actually getting used to being a celeb.” I’m loving my new point of view. Best part, I have Josh at my side. This is so awesome. Thank you God for making it so I don’t have to sit in the front row next to Beal. I look at Josh. He’s twisting around on his stool at the packed classroom. He seems to be upset or thinking about something. I tap him with my elbow. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s weird. I feel like I’ve been gone for a month. This class isn’t supposed to be this big,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. “It’s for advanced studies. Where did all of these other people come from and why are they in an advanced class?”

I cup my hand to my mouth and whisper, “They’re Hurricane Katrina refugees.”

There’s a sudden commotion down front as two Secret service people follow Carmella Parks (who just happens to be the current Republican Speaker of the House’s granddaughter) into the room. After a brief whispered discussion with Mr. J, they plant themselves in the back of the classroom to keep an eye on her. Everybody watches as the men go by their table.

I suck in my next breath. The security guard that held the door open for me is back there too. Geez, now I know how feels. There are a few kids at GHS with a parent in high-level position. That requires bodyguards to keep them safe from nutty people who don’t like that their policies. Meanwhile, Carmella hops up on the stool next to Josh, and looks over at me smiling sweetly.

I smile back. She is so pretty and nice. “Hi,” I say shyly, “I’m um, Cookie Blakely.” I extend my hand and Josh leans back on his stool while she shakes it firmly.

While smiling at Josh Carmella tells me, “Nice to meet you Cookie. Welcome to the “Opie Taylor table” as Josh here calls it.”

“Opie Taylor table?” I blink at her. “I’m totally confused.”

“O.P., get it?” Josh explains, “O’Dell and Parks. Inside joke.”

“Okay, that’s just dumb,” I say categorically.

Josh looks at Carmella. “I didn’t know you were in this class?”

Carmella’s eyes grow wide. “I missed the whole first week as a senior. I was in the hospital with that nasty Swine Flu.”

Josh says, “I was out most of last week with a reaction of some sort. Anyway, sounds like you caught a really bad strain.”

Carmella waves he hand. “You’re not kidding. The dehydration gave me really bad migraines and worse. Let’s just say, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

My hand goes to the scar on my temple. I press it and feel a sharp stab of pain. Now, I’m starting to wonder if I caught the Swine Flu. I haven’t felt 100% for the past few days.

Mr. Jackson clears his throat loudly while rolling up his shirtsleeves as he heads to the blackboard. He picks up a piece of chalk and points at the list written in caps. “Okay today each of you will tell us about your case. Stand up, give individual your title, a brief job description, and then briefly explain your particular duties while working a crime team.”

Josh and I look at each other and almost laugh out loud.

A few people in the back of the class talk and cut up. Even though there are armed Secret Service dudes back there.

I open my notebook it to the page I worked on this weekend. I notice Josh made some notes and circled B.A. Artamonov. I pass my notebook to him and point at the name. He looks down at the page then holds his hand up to his mouth and whispers, “I haven’t found anything yet. Don’t worry. We’ll look it up at the Library of Congress. Want to go tonight?”

I look at him smile and nod “yes” enthusiastically. I unfold the Special Agent brochure, and then take out my little write up and show him. He reads it and gives me a thumbs-up sign. All right. I face forward and stare at Mr. J. He rubs the chalk dust off his hands with enthusiasm. Then he hops up on the big lab table down front and waves his hands in the air. If he’s nervous about teaching such a big class, he sure hides it well. “Class let’s quiet down and try to accomplish this in the time we have left today…shall we? Okay who wants to go first? Show of hands…”

I raise my hand. I’m ready––I just hope I don’t get stage fright and forget what I want to say.

Carmella gives her two Secret Service people a wary look and timidly raises her hand too.

“Carmella,” Mr. Jackson says motioning her to stand up. “You may go first.” He motions her to come down to the front.

Carmella stands up and the SS men shift their weight and frown at her from the back of the room. I’m like what…she’s not supposed to participate. I look around the room and see that all eyes are on her as she moves into the center isle and walks down to the front of the class.

Am I prepared to do this? Really? After all, I’m also a spectacle because of what’s going on with my mom.

Carmela faces the class and takes a deep breath. Them she says, “Well, I talked to my parents about the assignment and they suggested that I open an investigation on international crime.”

Mr. J says, “Pardon me Miss Parks, but that’s a very broad field. I know you were out sick, and I am happy you are out of the hospital, but were you able to narrow it down to one particular offense—such as cyber crime or terrorism—then decide on a case?”

Carmella looks at him patiently. “Um, of course. I’m basing my particular investigation on how international crimes affect us in the United States.”

“Ahhh,” Mr. Jackson says and taps his chin. “What division?”

She smiles and nods her head at him. “Environmental Crime.” She shows him the front of her professionally published folder. “My title is Interpol Agent Parks.” Carmella continues almost candidly and frequently pauses to smile at Mr. J. She tells the class, “I’m investigating a large corporation for allegedly smuggling environmentally harmful products. Particularly ozone-depleting chlorofluorocarbons––CFCs, whose legal trade is subject to stringent international restrictions. My duties are to trace the suspicious company’s shipping trail. Interview people who have done business with them. And in doing so, prove that they evaded restrictions by using bogus export corporations, false labeling, and phony paperwork.”

The class applauds as Carmella walks by. Just before taking her seat next to Josh, she pauses and does a little bow from the waist.

 “Okay. Good job,” Mr. Jackson says, with approval as the rest of us. “Who’s next?”

Josh looks over at me and raises his eyebrows.

I hold my notebook up in front of my face and hiss, “No, not yet! I don’t want to follow her.”

“Cookie and Josh,” Mr. Jackson calls out, “By all appearances, it seems that you two have literally put your heads together for this assignment. Would you like to share with the rest of the class?”

Everyone is looking at Josh and me. My face is burning as I slowly make my way down front. “Um, well...we...I mean Josh and I are...um...” I look to Josh for help.

Josh gets the hint and stands up. “It’s my fault. I was out sick and Cookie has been working hard to get me caught up. We have a rough outline on our investigation, however we have a lot more research to do,” Josh explains in a no-nonsense tone. “If it’s okay with you Mr. Jackson, we’d like to buy a little more time.”

“Okay, I’ll let you off the hook for today,” Mr. Jackson says, winking at Josh. “But I expected you two have at least a summary ready.”

Josh stands up. “We have a summary.” He leans closer to me and our shoulder touch.

I shake my head. “Uh-uh, you go first.”

Josh tells me in a low voice, “Since it’s your Mom, you should be the first one who tells Mr. Jackson what we plan on investigating.”

I open my notebook and stand up reluctantly. “Mr. Jackson I would like to state that Josh and I are opening our own investigation on the Eva Sheahan-Blakely case, as FBI Special Agents.” There are audible gasps and whispering in the classroom. “For those of you who are not familiar with her case, she was my mother. According to numerous news stories, she was a spy for the CIA. We’re not sure how much truth is behind what the media says.”

I pause while the class laughs and glance around the room. All eye are on me. It’s as if I’m having an out of body experience; my voice sounds alien to me. Once the laughter stops, I continue speaking.

“In any case, my father and I know that Mom worked as a linguist for the government and traveled a lot––when we were with her there were always other government types lurking around.” I wave and smile at the men currently staked out in the back. Each and every person turns to stare at them too. Carmella’s men shift their feet and drop their eyes to avoid the intent looks. To recapture everyone’s attention, I raise my voice and speak sternly, “We had no idea that what Mom did put her in jeopardy.” I pause and stroll across the floor, making eye contact with my fellow classmates, still shifting around on their stools. This is one of the many speaking kills I cultivated in creative writing and debate classes over the years. That and drama.

I stop and smack the table with my folder. This startles Jimmy Beal. He squeals and then snorts. “Well, the stuff hit the fan last year,” I say, and chuckle to myself as I hold up my folder and read some more. I know this by heart, but for some reason having, something to hold gives me courage. “Picture this. You’re on a family skiing vacation in Austria. You’re have a blast in a beautiful Bavarian chalet resort ski town.”

I didn’t want to tell them what it was like. I thought if I wrote this way maybe they’ll understand how horrible it was and cut me some slack.

“Then on Christmas Eve, you get up before sunrise to go skiing with your dad. While you’re gone, your Mom disappears. The full force of the Austrian police and shows up to search for her along with the town’s people.” I stop talking and picture this in my mind as I pace the floor a little bit. I take a deep breath and steady my trembling hands and continue, “Hours later, your Mom’s Handler––”

“What’s a handler?” Jimmy Beal shouts.

“That’s what they call someone who oversees CIA missions.”

“This man––you have never met––comes to your suite and says with zero feeling, “They found her body. End of discussion!”

I stop because there is a huge lump in my throat. Mr. Jackson walks over hands me a cup of water. I drink it down and he takes the paper cup. I tell him, “Thanks” I glance down at my notes.

“Are you done?”

“Just about,” I say softly, and make an apologetic face at him.

“No problem.” Mr. Jackson consults his watch. “This is just taking longer than I expected.”

I lift my shoulder. “Sorry.”

He motions for me to finish and tosses the cup in a trash receptacle built into the lab cabinet up front. Once he’s perched on the edge of his desk, he folds his arms over his chest. I find my place and go on picking up the pace.

“Minuets, hours, week, months pass and you’re never told anything else about how she died. Other than, it was due to natural causes. That is why I am picking up the ball.” I close the folder. I wave Josh down.

He looks at me as if to say you want me to come down there. I nod “yes” and he stands up and picks up his folder. He comes and stands at my side while I recite my little special agent paragraph verbatim.

I place my hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Since Josh O'Dell is my lab partner, he’s going to help me try to find out what really happened.” I smile innocently at the students and cup my hands to my mouth. “And guess what. His dad is currently a homicide detective at the precinct here in Georgetown. Not that this gives sort of gives us an advantage…” I turn and smile at Josh.

A boy on the front row says, “Still, there are many obstacles that may prevent you from ever knowing the whole truth.”

I shrug. “I refuse to let those obstacles block me from at least trying to learn the truth.”

A few classmates respond with encouraging remarks. Others make comments about us having legal connections isn’t fair and that Josh just wants to have his picture in the paper. A girl right in front of us, stands up and yells, “Yeah, a lot of us are just meeting people here. You two are all linked in and cozy.”

The girl next to her asks pleadingly, “Mr. Jackson, how are we supposed to compete with them?”

The first girl waves her hand and say angrily, “Exactly! Ya’ll are on the news, everybody at school is whispering your names….it’s like ya’ll have celebrity status here or something.”

I gasp. “As if we can help that! My mom is dead and I don’t know way!”

The two girls look at me with big eyes and I realize that the negative comments are coming from new students that know nothing about us and my life.

I take a step forward and look the girls in the eyes. “Listen, once you get to know Josh O'Dell and me, you’ll see that we’d rather be boiled in oil than have to deal with this!”

They don’t say anything.

I lower my tone. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your heads off, it’s just been a really bad day.” I suddenly feel like I’m going to lose it. I step back and look to Josh for help.

Josh holds up both hands palms out. “Look, think what you want,” he says resolutely to the class. “I can only speak for myself. But, yeah, Cookie Blakely is right. If you did know me, you’d know I would never get involved in this for the glory or because my father is with the Metropolitan Police Department. I’ve always want to work in Federal law enforcement because I believe in our Justice System.” A low rumble starts and I look down and see feet stomping the floor. Josh’s volume goes up. “I believe that the Blakely’s deserve to know the truth! Don’t you?”

This declaration gets a standing ovation from the entire class, nearly. The two girls remain seated. During the applause, Josh and I beam at each other. I think wow, my quest is out in the open for all to see. The class settles down and as Josh and I take our seats, a few hands stick out and we slap them. I feel a little self-conscious, but lighter, it’s like the weight of the world was just lifted off my shoulders.

“Well done Agents Blakely and O’Dell,” Mr. Jackson says and keeps clapping his hands together as he strolls through the center of the classroom. “You have your work cut out for you. Let me know if I can help. That goes for all of you. You are in this class to learn. If you don’t know something, ask.” He goes back to his desk and perches on the edge. “There are no stupid questions or favorites in my class.” He pauses to pick up a paper and marks it with a pencil. “Oh, and before I forget…” Mr. J waves his hand to get everybody’s undivided attention. “Let me remind everyone that I would like to see a case time-line and the beginnings of a fact information outline from each team––by the end of tomorrow’s class.” Low grumbling from a few students can be heard. “No excuses! This isn’t hard people!”

I pick up my pencil and doodle in the margin. “What do you say?”

Josh whispers under his breath and I lean sideways to hear him.

“About what?”

He look me in the eyes. “Getting together again tonight. We can get our case work done at the Library of Congress even if we have to work all night.”

I nod and turn down the corners of my mouth. “I’m cool with that,” I say. “Agent Brody and Pop might have kanipshins.”

Josh bumps my shoulder and laughs and at this. I like how playful he is, but I feel my face grow hot. I turn and face the front and try to focus on Mr. J. Is Josh interested in me? I’m getting mixed feelings about our situation. Should I encourage this or not? If you do, it could blow a great friendship.

When the class is quiet, Mr. J’s says, “Okay, who would like to go next?” He stands, extends his arm, pointing over our heads, eyes roam around the room. He settles on the Jilly Flynn and Monica Handel who are waving their manicured fingers in the air. They gather their folders and make their way to the front of the room. I watch in amazement. Both girls are dressed in navy business suits. They even have shiny badges pined on their hips. I frown down at my jeans and white shirt. I never thought about dressing for the job. I should’ve said that Josh and I work undercover.

Josh is busy taking writing so I don’t bother him.

I prop my arms on the top of the table and listen to their presentation which is okay, but their crime of choice is cyber bulling––boring. After a few minuets, I zone out and find myself replaying what Josh and I said through my mind. I turn to a fresh page in my folder and write down my feeling. I like that Josh forced me take the lead. It brought me out of my shell and gave me confidence. Each time, he motioned for me to be the one to answer the questions about the first leg of our investigation. Yeah. I feel pretty good about how we presented our case.

A few minutes later, Josh passes me his notebook wanting me to read something. It says, Cookie, what time tonight? I shrug and Josh holds up eight fingers. I give him the OK sign.

After the rest of the students go up and give their dissertations––which compared to ours are way shorter––Mr. J rubs his hands together. He picks up the piece of paper and checks his list. He looks to his left. “Okay Mr. James Beal and Mr. Robbie Mason please come up and explain your case and positions.”

Beal jumps up, pushes past the stools and lumbers over grinning like a idiot at Mr. Jackson. “What’s the problem Mr. Beal?”

“Robbie Mason came up with Marc Davison. Robbie Mason said he’d rather be dead than work with me. No problem. The feeling is mutual. Therefore I would like to offer my photographic services to shoot faux crime scenes.”

 “Okay, James, I’ll agree to that if you also provide props and equipment and film processing.”

I’m sure Mr. Jackson sees how strange Beal is that’s why he’s letting him slide.

“You bet!” Beal shakes his fists in the air, laughs and then snorts loudly. “For realistic effect there are several boxes filled with packets of fake blood stored in Principal Bishop’s office left over from last year’s Halloween Bash.” Beal takes what looks like a ketchup pouch out of his breast pocket protector and crews off the corner with his horse teeth. “Check this out,” he tell the class and squirts red liquid lines all over the floor.

Mr. J jumps back. “Hey! Whoa! Clean that up and I’ll discuss using the fake blood with Principal Bishop.”

Everyone cracks up.

Beal dashes over to the sink and rips off a bunch of paper towels then starts mopping up the mess. He stands up holding the wadded paper towels covered with what looks like real blood. He goes over to Mr. Jackson. “I already asked him and he said we could have as many as we want, he just wants them out of his office—pronto!” Beal points to Mr. Jackson’s shoe where some of the fake blood landed.

“Perfect Mr. Beal,” Mr. Jackson says, good-naturedly. He rips off a paper towel, wets it under the faucet, and wipes fake blood of the tip of his shoe. “How about I give you a corner of the classroom to set up your studio?” Mr. Jackson gets more paper towels, wets half of them this time and finishes cleaning up the smeared blood. At this point, Mr. Jackson loses his temper and raises his voice, “Which ever works for you James. Go ahead and have a seat and we’ll work it out later.”

 “Sure thing Mr. J. I can take photographs outside too…or anywhere for that matter.”

The classroom is loud with chatter and laughter. Beal sits down grinning like goon. Mr. Jackson has to clap his hands and shout over the noise. We all settle down and Mr. J repress a giggle and gestures with his hand at Beal. He says, “Okay. So, seriously people. James has come up with a great idea. So, anyone who would like faux crime pictures taken or downloaded and printed, contact Mr. Beal over here––he’s your man.”

Beal hops up and looks around, facing the class. “That’s right people. And for the record––my title is Lead Forensic Photographer.”

This causes another round of laughter.

Then dismiss bell rings.