were you going to look for him?” Ms. Walker asked.
“Well,” Zeke stammered. “Probably underneath the stage.”
“You were going to take the trapdoor down?” Ms. Walker asked.
I nodded. “Maybe. If we had to.”
“But I clearly instructed everyone to stay away from the trapdoor,” she said.
“I know,” I told her. “And I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. But we are really desperate to find the Phantom, to prove to you that he is real, that we’re not making him up.”
Her expression remained hard. She continued to glare at us. “I haven’t heard anything to convince me,” she said.
“When we got here, we heard some noises,” Zeke told her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Footsteps. Floorboards creaking. So we knew someone else was here.”
“And then the backdrop started to come down,” Brian broke in, his voice shaky and small. “We just stood here and watched it, Ms. Walker. That’s the truth. And then when we saw how it was messed up, we … we couldn’t believe it!”
Ms. Walker’s expression softened a little. Brian sounded so upset, I think she was starting to believe him.
“I worked so hard on that backdrop,” Brian continued. “It was the first thing I ever worked on at this school, and I wanted it to be good. I wouldn’t wreck my own backdrop for a dumb joke. I really wouldn’t.”
Ms. Walker uncrossed her arms. She glanced at each of us, then returned her eyes to the backdrop. Her lips silently formed the words of the scrawled message:
STAY AWAY FROM MY
HOME SWEET HOME
She shut her eyes and kept them shut for a long moment. Then she turned back to us. “I want to believe you,” she confessed with a sigh. “But I just don’t know.”
She began to pace back and forth in front of us. “I drove back to school because I’d forgotten your math test papers. I heard voices in the auditorium. I come in here, and I find you on the stage. The scenery totally smeared and destroyed. The paint still wet. And you ask me to believe that a mysterious phantom from over seventy years ago is responsible.”
I didn’t say a word. Neither did Zeke or Brian. I don’t think we had anything more to say.
“The weird thing is, I’m starting to believe you,” Ms. Walker said, frowning.
The three of us let out relieved sighs.
“At least, I’m starting to believe that you didn’t paint on the backdrop.” She shook her hair hard. Her skinny body shuddered. “It’s getting late,” she said softly. “Let’s all go home. I need to think about this. Maybe we need to ask Mr. Levy for an investigation. Maybe he can help us find the culprit who is trying to ruin our play.”
Oh, no,
I thought.
Not the principal. What if he decides to cancel our play?
But I didn’t say anything. None of us did. We didn’t even look at one another. We followed Ms. Walker out into the hall.
I was just so relieved that she had started to believe us. And that she was letting us go.
She clicked on a hall light so we could see our way.
We took a few steps, walking behind her.
Then we all stopped at once.
We all saw the red paint spots on the hall floor. A trail of red paint spots.
“Well, look at this!” Ms. Walker declared. “Our painter was a little careless. He or she left a trail to follow.”
She clicked on more lights.
We followed the red paint splotches down the long hall. We could clearly see a shoe print in one of the bigger paint puddles.
“I don’t believe this!” Zeke whispered to me. “Someone left a trail.”
“I’m glad,” I whispered back. “Maybe the paint drips will lead us to the one who splotched up the backdrop.”
“You mean the Phantom?” Zeke whispered.
We turned a corner. We passed a small paint smear.
“At least this will prove to Ms. Walker that we’re telling the truth,” Brian said softly.
We turned another corner.
The paint trail stopped suddenly. One last tiny red puddle stood in front of a locker.
“Hmmmm,” Ms. Walker said
“Well,” Zeke stammered. “Probably underneath the stage.”
“You were going to take the trapdoor down?” Ms. Walker asked.
I nodded. “Maybe. If we had to.”
“But I clearly instructed everyone to stay away from the trapdoor,” she said.
“I know,” I told her. “And I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. But we are really desperate to find the Phantom, to prove to you that he is real, that we’re not making him up.”
Her expression remained hard. She continued to glare at us. “I haven’t heard anything to convince me,” she said.
“When we got here, we heard some noises,” Zeke told her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Footsteps. Floorboards creaking. So we knew someone else was here.”
“And then the backdrop started to come down,” Brian broke in, his voice shaky and small. “We just stood here and watched it, Ms. Walker. That’s the truth. And then when we saw how it was messed up, we … we couldn’t believe it!”
Ms. Walker’s expression softened a little. Brian sounded so upset, I think she was starting to believe him.
“I worked so hard on that backdrop,” Brian continued. “It was the first thing I ever worked on at this school, and I wanted it to be good. I wouldn’t wreck my own backdrop for a dumb joke. I really wouldn’t.”
Ms. Walker uncrossed her arms. She glanced at each of us, then returned her eyes to the backdrop. Her lips silently formed the words of the scrawled message:
STAY AWAY FROM MY
HOME SWEET HOME
She shut her eyes and kept them shut for a long moment. Then she turned back to us. “I want to believe you,” she confessed with a sigh. “But I just don’t know.”
She began to pace back and forth in front of us. “I drove back to school because I’d forgotten your math test papers. I heard voices in the auditorium. I come in here, and I find you on the stage. The scenery totally smeared and destroyed. The paint still wet. And you ask me to believe that a mysterious phantom from over seventy years ago is responsible.”
I didn’t say a word. Neither did Zeke or Brian. I don’t think we had anything more to say.
“The weird thing is, I’m starting to believe you,” Ms. Walker said, frowning.
The three of us let out relieved sighs.
“At least, I’m starting to believe that you didn’t paint on the backdrop.” She shook her hair hard. Her skinny body shuddered. “It’s getting late,” she said softly. “Let’s all go home. I need to think about this. Maybe we need to ask Mr. Levy for an investigation. Maybe he can help us find the culprit who is trying to ruin our play.”
Oh, no,
I thought.
Not the principal. What if he decides to cancel our play?
But I didn’t say anything. None of us did. We didn’t even look at one another. We followed Ms. Walker out into the hall.
I was just so relieved that she had started to believe us. And that she was letting us go.
She clicked on a hall light so we could see our way.
We took a few steps, walking behind her.
Then we all stopped at once.
We all saw the red paint spots on the hall floor. A trail of red paint spots.
“Well, look at this!” Ms. Walker declared. “Our painter was a little careless. He or she left a trail to follow.”
She clicked on more lights.
We followed the red paint splotches down the long hall. We could clearly see a shoe print in one of the bigger paint puddles.
“I don’t believe this!” Zeke whispered to me. “Someone left a trail.”
“I’m glad,” I whispered back. “Maybe the paint drips will lead us to the one who splotched up the backdrop.”
“You mean the Phantom?” Zeke whispered.
We turned a corner. We passed a small paint smear.
“At least this will prove to Ms. Walker that we’re telling the truth,” Brian said softly.
We turned another corner.
The paint trail stopped suddenly. One last tiny red puddle stood in front of a locker.
“Hmmmm,” Ms. Walker said
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