Crisis Zero by Chris Rylander Page B

and old, thick pants with heavy textures from the 1970s.
    Mr. Lepsing was generally a nice guy and a good teacher, despite being one of the weirdest people at the school. Most of the students really liked him, since his oddities at least made his class slightly more interesting than other classes. Even if the entertainment was mostly unintentional.
    But his likability meant I needed to tread lightly. The rest of the class was already filing in, and if they thought I was making fun of Mr. Lepsing in some way, they’d turn on me. Being allowed to get away with somewhat obnoxious behavior was an advantage I didn’t want to lose. And the best way to lose such a thing was to annoy your classmates.
    â€œMr. Lepsing.” I raised my hand just after he’d handed out a reading assignment. “Can I come up and ask you a question?”
    â€œYou can’t ask me from there?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œOkay, come on up,” Mr. Lepsing said.
    I went to his desk, bringing my textbook with me so the class would think my question was related to social studies. Of course it wasn’t. Or, well, I guess technically it was , but you’ll see what I mean.
    â€œI was wondering . . . where were you this past weekend?” I plopped my book onto his desk.
    â€œI don’t really see how that’s pertinent to the downfall of the Roman Empire, Carson,” Mr. Lepsing said, motioning at my textbook.
    â€œWell, it’s not, it’s for another class,” I said, words just tumbling out of my mouth without any thought or planning. “I’m investigating a crime that occurred here sometime between Friday evening and Monday morning. You know anything about that?”
    His expression shifted from mild curiosity to something much closer to surprise, and perhaps even suspicion. He sat upright.
    â€œWhy would you ask me such a question?” he said. “What crime are you talking about? If this is more of your infamous trickery, I’m not finding it very amusing. Besides, what I do on my own time is no one’s business but my own.”
    I pressed on. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about framing, would you?”
    â€œYou are treading on some thin ice now, young man,” he said.
    His eyes flickered wildly, as if he were looking for a way out. Maybe I was making him uncomfortable? Perhaps I was getting closer to the truth than I suspected. Even still, it was probably best to back off a bit. After all, even if I did get him to admit something here and now, what could I do about it in the middle of class?
    â€œMr. Lepsing,” I said, smiling, “you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m talking about framing a portrait. You know, like of a person? I got a print of a portrait of my favorite aunt, and I was wondering if you knew where I could get a custom frame job. Since you got all these history posters hanging all over your room.” I motioned to all the maps and historical posters on the walls.
    Mr. Lepsing stared at me, trying to decide if I was joking or not. Or maybe he was wondering if I knew more than he thought I did. Or maybe he was trying to figure out if it’d be better to just kill me right then and there and be done with me, even if it meant breaking his cover.
    â€œWhat did you think I meant?” I asked with a laugh. “Framing a person for a crime? That’s funny.”
    â€œCarson, please take your seat before you end up with a detention,” Mr. Lepsing said calmly. “Something of which I’m quite sure you already have an ample supply.”
    I nodded, conceding that the charade was over and returned to my seat. But the efforts had not been entirely fruitless. Not by a long shot. He’d acted suspiciously enough that I knew I had to investigate further. After that conversation, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Mr. Lepsing was nothing more than an extremely odd, yet mostly harmless, weirdo. There was only