The Adventures of Jack Lime by James Leck

take-home test that was in the envelope or I’d never see Carver again. They told me to put the test in a black garbage bag and drop it in the trash can on the far side of the football field first thing Monday morning.”
    â€œThe drop’s always on Monday mornings?”
    Tyrone nodded.
    â€œHow many projects have you done?”
    â€œAbout one a week. I just don’t know why they wouldn’t pick the stuff up. The extra work is starting to kill me, and then they don’t pick the stuff up! It’s crazy!”
    â€œThey might have,” I said, trying to calm him down. “They might have come in the middle of the night, for all we know. We’ll check the can as soon as I finish eating, but there’s got to be a better way of catching this guy than sitting outside and melting in this heat. I’ll need a description of every project you’ve had to do,” I said. “Maybe I can narrow down which classes this fakeloo artist takes based on the assignments you’ve had to do.”
    â€œI can tell you one thing,” Tyrone said. “Whoever it is, they’re not in any of my classes.”
    â€œHow’s that?” I asked.
    â€œBesides the English essays and the French test, they’ve given me some economics assignments and an ancient history project.”
    â€œWhat do you take?”
    â€œPhysics, pre-cal, advanced chemistry and advanced biology. There’s a small group of people who take those classes, and we pretty much follow each other around all day. Plus, the first thing I did was ask around the class. Nobody takes any of those courses this semester.”
    â€œThat could be important,” I said. “Write up that list for me, and I’ll start pounding the pavement, knocking on doors and asking the kind of tough questions people don’t like to answer.”
    â€œNo problem,” Tyrone said. “Now, let’s go check that can.”
    I didn’t argue with him.
    Tuesday, June 3, 8:33 a.m.
Iona High, Mr. Kurtz’s class
    The essay was still in the garbage, right where he’d left it. I told him I couldn’t afford missing school two days in a row, so I took his list of projects and headed to my morning class. I had English first, and the essay in the can was on
The Old Man and the Sea
, so I decided to hit up Kurtz with a few razor-sharp questions.
    â€œIt’s not one of mine,” Kurtz said, as students filed into the room. “And I can tell you this, Mr. Lime, it doesn’t belong to any other teacher at Iona High.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œThat essay hasn’t been assigned in two years. So if your friend is planning on selling it or something, he may as well forget it. It’s worthless. Did he find it in the trash?”
    â€œI can’t tell you that,” I said. “It’s confidential.”
    â€œFirst of all,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and opening a big binder, “nothing is confidential when it comes to academic fraud. I’ll be making a note regarding this conversation and bringing it to the attention of administration. Second, your friend may as well throw that essay out. We don’t even have
The Old Man and the Sea
in the book room anymore.”
    â€œI don’t follow,” I said.
    â€œThat essay was one of Brian Murdock’s assignments. Brian retired two years ago, and we cleared out all the copies of
The Old Man and the Sea
when he left. We needed to make room for some new books. Be thankful for that, Mr. Lime.”
    â€œSo there’s not a single, solitary teacher in this building who would assign this essay?”
    â€œThat’s right,” Kurtz said.
    â€œWhy would someone want an essay that’s not worth anything?” I mumbled.
    â€œBad practical joke?” Kurtz said.
    Or a mean one, I thought. That’s when I had an idea. “Got to go,” I said, and bolted out of the