she bent over and picked up my backpack and then stood there looking at it, not giving it back right away like a normal person would. After a minute, she looked up at me, and I didn’t like the look on her face. It was that super sympathetic look that teachers give you right before they ask you if there’s something you want to tell them.
“Wow, Jeremy, this looks like it’s taken quite a beating.” She stuck her fingers through the slash marks in the top. “What happened here?”
“Oh, that? Nothing,” I said. I figured denial was the best way to go. What did she care anyway, right? It’s not like it was her backpack.
“Did something cut this? It looks like it was cut with something sharp.” Mrs. Garcia cocked her head and looked at me intently. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”
Great. The teacher question. I shook my head.
“Did someone do this to your bag? One of your classmates?”
I shrugged. “It’s just messed up, that’s all. Bad quality.”
“And where are your books?” Man, Mrs. Garcia was not letting this go. It was just a stupid backpack. I don’t know why she was giving me the third degree.
“At school. Look, sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” I snatched the backpack out of her hand and hurriedtoward my apartment. She was still staring me like I was a homeless puppy or something when I got to the door.
I turned my back on her and concentrated on the lock. Mrs. Garcia didn’t matter. I had bigger problems right now.
Mr. Jones was waiting.
9.
Agatha Gets a Makeover
“Just tell the truth, Jeremy. We know you’re lying.”
Agatha’s idea to clear our names? Not one of the top ten ideas of all time. Probably would’ve been better if we’d done it when our parents were home. Just to protect our constitutional rights and keep us from getting grilled within an inch of our lives, you know, that kind of thing. Not to mention avoiding the preliminary patdown. That was a joy, believe me. All that was missing was the blinding light shining in my eyes and the rickety folding chair.
“We have evidence that you were involved with Professor Twitchett’s experiments, Jeremy. Orshould I say Igor? You’re an intelligent boy. Tell us where he is.”
I wished I had chosen one of the stiff chairs in the living room instead of the couch. There’s no way to look dignified under questioning when you’ve sunk a good six inches into the cushions. Mr. Jones was obviously pretty experienced—he’d chosen a hard chair that was just perfect for looming over me.
“Look, I don’t know, okay? I told you. I went by the lab, but he wasn’t there. If he’s not there and he’s not home, I don’t know.” I put my head in my hands.
Mr. Jones smiled. “But you know what he was working on. Don’t you? You have it. Or you know where it is.”
“Who are you guys, anyway? CIA? FBI? Homeland Security, something like that?”
Mr. Jones just smiled his creepy smile. So it looked like three strikes for me.
“It’s time to come clean. You’re not fooling anyone.”
I stood up. “Look. Search me again. Search my room again. Call your goons back and search whereveryou want, okay? I don’t have anything, I don’t know anything. I didn’t do any experiment. I got a C- in science last term. Just leave me alone.”
Mr. Jones folded his arms. “All you need to do is answer two questions. What was Professor Twitchett working on, and where did he go? Two little answers and we’ll go away. Then it won’t even matter who we are.”
Taking a deep breath, I looked Mr. Jones straight in the eye. Grown-ups seem to be big on that. “Look, I’m just his gofer. I got him some Preparation H once, okay? For some baboon butt salve he won some big prize for. That’s it—that’s all I know. I didn’t know I was doing anything illegal. But Twitchett, he couldn’t invent his way out of a paper bag.”
“The truth, Jeremy.”
I swallowed hard and looked at my sneakers. We’d gone
“Wow, Jeremy, this looks like it’s taken quite a beating.” She stuck her fingers through the slash marks in the top. “What happened here?”
“Oh, that? Nothing,” I said. I figured denial was the best way to go. What did she care anyway, right? It’s not like it was her backpack.
“Did something cut this? It looks like it was cut with something sharp.” Mrs. Garcia cocked her head and looked at me intently. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”
Great. The teacher question. I shook my head.
“Did someone do this to your bag? One of your classmates?”
I shrugged. “It’s just messed up, that’s all. Bad quality.”
“And where are your books?” Man, Mrs. Garcia was not letting this go. It was just a stupid backpack. I don’t know why she was giving me the third degree.
“At school. Look, sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” I snatched the backpack out of her hand and hurriedtoward my apartment. She was still staring me like I was a homeless puppy or something when I got to the door.
I turned my back on her and concentrated on the lock. Mrs. Garcia didn’t matter. I had bigger problems right now.
Mr. Jones was waiting.
9.
Agatha Gets a Makeover
“Just tell the truth, Jeremy. We know you’re lying.”
Agatha’s idea to clear our names? Not one of the top ten ideas of all time. Probably would’ve been better if we’d done it when our parents were home. Just to protect our constitutional rights and keep us from getting grilled within an inch of our lives, you know, that kind of thing. Not to mention avoiding the preliminary patdown. That was a joy, believe me. All that was missing was the blinding light shining in my eyes and the rickety folding chair.
“We have evidence that you were involved with Professor Twitchett’s experiments, Jeremy. Orshould I say Igor? You’re an intelligent boy. Tell us where he is.”
I wished I had chosen one of the stiff chairs in the living room instead of the couch. There’s no way to look dignified under questioning when you’ve sunk a good six inches into the cushions. Mr. Jones was obviously pretty experienced—he’d chosen a hard chair that was just perfect for looming over me.
“Look, I don’t know, okay? I told you. I went by the lab, but he wasn’t there. If he’s not there and he’s not home, I don’t know.” I put my head in my hands.
Mr. Jones smiled. “But you know what he was working on. Don’t you? You have it. Or you know where it is.”
“Who are you guys, anyway? CIA? FBI? Homeland Security, something like that?”
Mr. Jones just smiled his creepy smile. So it looked like three strikes for me.
“It’s time to come clean. You’re not fooling anyone.”
I stood up. “Look. Search me again. Search my room again. Call your goons back and search whereveryou want, okay? I don’t have anything, I don’t know anything. I didn’t do any experiment. I got a C- in science last term. Just leave me alone.”
Mr. Jones folded his arms. “All you need to do is answer two questions. What was Professor Twitchett working on, and where did he go? Two little answers and we’ll go away. Then it won’t even matter who we are.”
Taking a deep breath, I looked Mr. Jones straight in the eye. Grown-ups seem to be big on that. “Look, I’m just his gofer. I got him some Preparation H once, okay? For some baboon butt salve he won some big prize for. That’s it—that’s all I know. I didn’t know I was doing anything illegal. But Twitchett, he couldn’t invent his way out of a paper bag.”
“The truth, Jeremy.”
I swallowed hard and looked at my sneakers. We’d gone
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