Mummy by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

other day taking notes.”
    Emlyn certainly preferred this version.
    “If the mummy bent at the waist and the knees,” said Donovan, “we could use one of the museum’s wheelchairs. While you were distracting the guards, I’d wrap the mummy in blankets and go down the elevator and we’d be home free. But it’s stiff.” He grinned. “That’s the point, I guess. A mummy is a stiff.”
    They all smiled, but Emlyn a little less. She was pretty sure Donovan had thought of that yesterday and been waiting for the moment to wedge it into the conversation.
    Donovan was equal parts ugly and handsome, put together in a sloppy, pleased-with-himself way. He was slouchy, as if he had extra bones he had to drag around and stick in corners. He was not a leader. He didn’t join, he just left school and went to his job. Was he poor? Impossible, with those clothes. Or perhaps that’s why he worked. To get clothes, a car, things.
    “We could bag it,” said Maris.
    “You’re kidding!” Jack was upset. “Maris, you want to give up?”
    “No, no, no.” She gave him a kiss. “Bags. A big black plastic trash bag to drop the mummy into and pretend to be taking something to the Dumpster.”
    Perhaps Emlyn was just envious, but the kiss did not seem to hold affection. It was more of a silencer. There was something casual between Jack and Maris that Emlyn didn’t think would exist if they were truly fond of each other.
    “No, because then we’d have to go disguised as janitors,” said Jack. “You’re making it harder, not easier.”
    “Somebody has to go into the museum in the afternoon as a regular visitor,” said Lovell, “stay hidden until the museum closes, open a door for the rest of us, and we’ll all go in and take the mummy except whoever will be driving the getaway car.”
    Lovell was an aggressive athlete. Powerful, quick and afraid of nothing. She had longer hair than Emlyn’s, beautiful hair, but seemed unaware of it, the way a horse was unaware of its mane. She just lived under it.
    “You’ve forgotten the grilles that will keep us separated from the Egyptian Room,” said Donovan, “not to mention the guard who will come running.”
    Emlyn did not trust any of them. They were taking this as casually as Jack and Maris took each other. This was not a minor thing. It was not dangerous the way rappelling an ice cliff would be, but it was fraught with danger. Caught, as a group, having planned a theft from a city institution, stealing an important, valuable thing—yes, admit it, stealing—not a caper, not a prank—well, there was the possibility of police, fingerprints, a night in jail, court. A record, because they were over sixteen. Nothing they did now could be minor, because they themselves were not minors.
    Only Emlyn had a shiver of apprehension. The others could have been talking about removing a subscription card from a magazine.
    “Who would have thought this would be so difficult?” said Lovell. “Here we have this great idea and no way to get started on it.”
    It was time for Emlyn to say that she had a key. But she did not.
    Anyway, she told herself, I’m not sure what I have a key to. Maybe it isn’t a master key. If it unlocks only the Trustees’ Room and Dr. Brisband’s office, I can’t even get to those two rooms from the Great Hall, because it won’t open the MUSEUM OFFICIALS ONLY door. After the Friends’ meeting, the door was just unlocked. I’ve never tested my key, I never even thought of it. What’s the matter with me? I should have tried it out.
    “Let’s come back to that,” said Emlyn. I’m not trustworthy, either, she thought, or I’d tell them about the key. I would never do this on a team. On a team you don’t whine about your own little problems or your own little angles. You work together. So either I don’t think we’re a team, or I refuse to be a team. Either way, in a team sport, you can’t win unless you all have the same game plan. So we’re going to