The Fourth Stall Part II by Chris Rylander

his hand for me to shake. “Thanks for the job.”
    I hesitated. On one hand it was unprofessional not to shake hands after a business transaction, but on the other that hand had just seconds ago been holding a pile of poop the size of a softball. But in the end my business sense won out. I couldn’t help it: I like to run a sound operation.
    I shook the Hutt’s hand, which was warm and kind of sticky, and I almost gagged. Then the Hutt grinned at me and said, “Let me know when it needs to be cleaned again.” He turned and walked down the hall, slapping kids on the back as he went. Then at the end of the hallway I could have sworn I saw him stick his hand into his mouth for some inexplicable reason.
    â€œMac, what did you just do?” Vince said through laughter. “Remind me to never ever share food with you again. Also, I don’t think you can be my catcher anymore. I mean, sure, spitballs have some extra action to them, but I’m not so sure that poop-balls give us any competitive advantage besides maybe kids whiffing on purpose so they don’t get fecal matter on their bats.”
    â€œTowel,” I said. Then I said it again perhaps more loudly than necessary, “Towel. Towel!”
    I motioned desperately for Tony to get me one of his little wipes while holding my hand out in front me as if I had the Cheese Touch from this hilarious Wimpy Kid book that I read once. I grabbed my forearm with my other hand like a tourniquet to keep the poop from spreading to the rest of my body. Tony handed a towelette to me and then took several steps back. I wiped my hand with the wet towel, scrubbing every finger and my palm as if I was trying to rub all of my skin right off, which was almost the case. Then I asked for another towel and repeated the process until I was sure my hand was as clean as it would ever get.
    Meanwhile Tony was on the floor near his locker scrubbing the bottom with a bottle of cleaner that he’d had inside. He worked furiously but in a controlled and efficient manner, as if this was something he did everyday anyway, with or without poop.
    When he was done, he said, “Thanks, Mac. I hope you figure out soon how this is happening.”
    â€œWe will,” I said.
    Vince and I examined the locker thoroughly with a flashlight that Vince had brought with him. We didn’t see any possible entrance or exit for small animals. It was baffling. How was the poop getting in there?
    â€œWhat do you think?” I asked him.
    â€œWell,” Vince said, “let’s lay down some humane, kill-free traps. Probably best to find out what kind of animal it is first.”
    I nodded. As usual Vince had a great idea. “All right, we’ll have Joe come by tomorrow right before the first bell to lay some down. Can you meet him here?”
    Tony nodded. “Sounds good,” he said, wiping his hands with another towel.

Chapter 6
Wednesday—Mr. Skari’s Classroom
    L ater that day in class Mr. Skari announced that for the next few days we’d be reviewing materials specifically for SMART preparation. He said it was very important that we do well. And if he was willing to change his class schedule around to help us prepare, then it really must be an important test—because Mr. Skari hated to deviate from his class schedule. One time he even came to school with a shattered arm. Apparently he’d slipped on the ice in his driveway that morning and broken it. Mr. Skari is like six and a half feet tall, so when a guy like that falls, it usually ends in broken limbs. But he was so obsessed with staying on schedule that he didn’t even go to the hospital until after school that day. Some kids claim they could even see bone sticking out of his arm through the makeshift sling he’d made, but there was no way that was true. Right?
    Anyways, the point is if Mr. Skari was willing to deviate from his regular class schedule for this test, then