The Shadow Club (11 page)

"You thought of me like Randall?"

"Yuk! No way!"

"Well, then I guess you didn't think of me like a brother."

I tempted fate and kissed her again. Now I didn't care what anybody thought. I didn't care if people thought we were always going out. I didn't care if people said things. I didn't care if some golden rule was written across the sky saying that you can't go out with your best friend. I didn't care. Those were tree-house rules for tree-house friends, and the tree house had grown much too small these past few years.

Someone’s Idea of a Joke

EVERYTHING CHANGED just a little bit after that Friday afternoon. I found myself thinking a lot more about Cheryl, and spending all my free time with her. Randall made a big deal about it, and tried to spread whatever nasty rumors a kid brother can get away with spreading, but it didn't bother us; we were having too good a time together to worry about it. After a few days it was hard to imagine what it was like before we started going out.

We knew this was just the start of a wonderful time in both of our lives, and the next few months were going to be great. I had a feeling that everything would start going my way. In just a few weeks Coach Shuler would be choosing the one runner to represent the school in the District Olympics, and now I really believed that I would, just once, beat out Austin. Between Cheryl, the Shadow Club, and the progress I was making on the track team, I figured I had it made.

Things never turn out the way you plan, though. Badthings have a way of coming back at you, kind of like
A
boomerang.
I don't think anyone ever gets away with anything, you know? Sure, maybe they think they might get away with things, but in the end—could be years later even—boom! That boomerang comes flying right back in their face.

The Shadow Club had a boomerang, and it seemed topick up speed on its way back. It was a strange boomerang that nobody quite expected and nobody quite understood, but it hit every single one of us so quickly, so furiously, that we never knew what hit us.

There are lots of good jokes you could pull on somebody's locker. You could hide in it, and scare the daylights out of them when they opened it. You could put a rotten egg in it, that's always good for a laugh. You could set up a bucket of water that would pour on their head when they opened it; that was always good for a laugh, too.

But what Eric Kilfoil, the star basketball player, found when he opened his locker was not funny at all. It was no joke; it was downright nasty. Everything was there, just where he had left it before basketball practice, but things were definitely not the same. Someone had gone into his locker and drenched everything, his clothes, his new sweats, even his books, with black paint. And not the kind that comes out, either. This was thick stuff that could never wash out. He was so mad, he began to kick all the lockers. I could hear it all the way out on the track.

His clothes were ruined, his books were ruined, even his science project was ruined, and you know what?

The Shadow Club
didn't do it!

There are tricks and there are tricks. This was just plain mean, and Darren, who saw the locker, had no idea who would do such a thing, or why.

Eric Kilfoil became the first mysterious victim in a wave of unexplained crimes.

There was a locker search next Monday. Everyone knows that locker searches are illegal, but that doesn't matter much when someone steals the principal's eight-hundred-dollarcamera.

Mr. Diller, the principal, was the kind of guy who thought that the kids in our school were to blame for all of Earth's problems, and he was sure one of us must have stolen his camera. He had us all line up by our lockers, one class at a time, and one by one he searched each locker, leaving no stone unturned. You see, that camera was his life, and any kid caught with it was going to see trouble like no one had ever seen before. I'd never seen Diller this mad. Ralphy Sherman said that he had seen a bum walking away with it, which just made Diller more certain it was still in school.

My row of lockers was the last one to be checked.

One by one Mr. Diller had us open our lockers, to prove to him we didn't have his camera, and one by one we cleared ourselves of blame.

Then he came to Tommy Nickols, O.P.'s archenemy, Tommy opened his locker, just like the rest of us. It was a mess: papers everywhere, old library books that were way overdue, and a black strap sticking out from beneath them, Tommy looked up at Diller, then back down at his locker, and Diller reached in, pulling on the strap. Out came his eight-hundred-dollar camera.

"I didn't do it!" was all Tommy could say. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me!" But the evidence was staring us all in the face.

Tommy began to cry, even harder than he did when Octavia got stomped on. "I didn't do it!" he wailed, over and over again.

I looked across at O.P., Cheryl, and Darren. I could tell by the looks on their faces that they had nothing to do with this. This was not a Shadow Club prank, and I believed Tommy Nickols. Tommy was a good kid, and this stank of sabotage. Someone had planted that camera, I knew it, but I couldn't figure out who would do such a thing.

Mr. Diller, on the other hand, believed what he saw. Tommy Nickols, the ninth grade's best student, was suspended for three days.

David Berger, in spite of the sliming event, was still chosen to play a solo with the high school band, and as usual, he made everyone in the junior high band feel lousy about it.

One afternoon, as the buses were loading up to go home, David came running out of his bus like a maniac. It was just before track practice, and I was talking with Cheryl—which I was doing quite a lot of lately—when he came bursting between us and asked, "Hey, has anybody seen my trumpet?"

"Why would we have seen your trumpet?" answered Cheryl.

He ran to another group of kids, desperately asking, "Hasanyhody seen my trumpet? I think it's been stolen!"

He asked every kid who came out of school, ran into the school, then came out a few minutes later. He was near tears. "I checked all the classrooms. I know I had it with me. Somebody stole it!"

None of us thought much of it until about thirty seconds later, when the buses began to pull out, and a horrible crunching noise sounded from the back tires of bus number five.

When David saw it, he nearly dove beneath the wheels to save his trumpet, but it was too late. By the time the bus driver realized what was going on and stopped the bus, David Berger's silver trumpet had been crushed flat, never to play, or slime anyone ever again. He held it up and tried to push down on one of the valves, but it didn't move. He tried a bit harder, and the valve fell off; the thing might as well have been flattened by a steamroller. David sort of wandered off in shock, holding his trumpet as if it were a baby.

A minute later, Jason Perez ran up to Cheryl and me.

"I didn't do it," he said. "I didn't, honestly, I didn't!" andI knew he was telling the truth. It seemed that someone else had picked up the pranks where we had left off. It was as if all the hatred built up by the Shadow Club became an invisible monster that went around pulling its own horrible pranks. I knew there had to be a more logical explanation, though.

"Well, maybe all these kids have other enemies, too," said Cheryl. "Maybe it's all just coincidence."

"Maybe," I said, "or maybe someone's trying to frame us."

Greene’s Eye

"TELL ME ABOUT the Shadow Club, Jared." Mr. Greene sat in his tiny office, with the venetian blinds open. I could barely see his face, because the sky behind him was so bright. All I could see was his silhouette. My heart seemed to stop for at least five seconds when he asked me the question.

"The Shadow Club? What's that?" I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but he had caught me off guard.

"Something you know about," said Mr. Greene. I had gotten a note during third period that said he wanted to see me during lunch. It didn't take me long to figure out that Tyson had told him about the club.

"Oh, oh that," I said. This wasn't going to be easy. "It's just a group of kids. We get together, go to the movies, play board games, you know."

"Why do you call it the Shadow Club?" he asked, twiddling his thumbs and sitting in his big chair, behind his big desk, in that small room.

"Because we meet late in the afternoon," I said. "When there's lots of shadows. Can I go now?"

"Not yet. I'd like to know a little more about the club first."

"Like what?"

"Like who's in it."

"Is it all right if I eat my lunch in here?" I asked. He nodded. I began to chow down my sandwich, and shut up real quick. I ate my sandwich, my chips, and Greene waited until I was down to the core of my apple before he spoke again.

"You never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"Who's in the Shadow Club?"

"Me!" I said, smiling.

"Who else?" asked Greene.

"Hard to remember. Like I said, there's lots of shadows. I don't see their faces. Can I go now?"

"No, not yet."

I sighed and looked at my wrist, pretending I had a watch. Be calm, I thought to myself. Don't sweat. If I sweat, he'll know I'm scared. I couldn't let him know that. I looked up at him, but all I could see was the dark blob of his big head.

"Could you close the blinds?" I asked. "The sun's in my eyes."

"Certainly." He turned around, and shut the blinds. Now I could see his face; his eyes watched me from behind those thick glasses. I decided that I liked it better when I couldn't see him.

"Why won't you tell me who's in the club, Jared?" he asked.

I sighed. "Because it's a secret club," I said. "I'm sworn to secrecy."

Greene didn't seem to react at all. He just sat there, staring out at me from behind his bug-eyed glasses. "Secret club?"

"Yeah, weren't you ever in a secret club when you were a kid? Is there something wrong with that?"

"I don't know," he said. "That's what I want to find out."

I stood up. It was very intimidating, the way Greene sat there staring at me, and it was so hard not to tell him everything he wanted to know. But if I did, I knew he would put two and two together. He would figure out about all the tricks we did—and worse, we would end up getting the blame for David's trumpet, and the other nasty tricks that we had nothing to do with. I couldn't tell him a thing. I began to pace around the room, looking at things: the books on his shelf, a diploma on the wall, a filing cabinet with a lock on it. This office made me nervous. I felt like I was in jail, getting the third degree.

"Who told you about the club, anyway?" I asked, knowing full well who did.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"It was Tyson McGaw, wasn't it?"

Then Greene leaned forward and took off his glasses Without his glasses, his eyes seemed a lot smaller. "Leave Tyson out of this."

"I'll bet it was him!"

"Give Tyson a break," said Greene. "He's got enough problems without you making things worse, believe me."

"What kind of problems?" I asked, sitting down again.

Greene waited for a while, as if he was going to tell me something, but instead he said, "It doesn't matter." He thought for a moment, then said, "You know, Tyson thinks an awful lot of you."

I looked away from Greene's small eyes. He looked funny without glasses. He looked more like a person, and less like a
vice principal.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know. I guess because you're a good kid." Hesmiled. That made me feel a little uncomfortable. I don't know why. That cold feeling in my hands came back, along with that sick feeling I had at our last meeting at Stonehenge.

"I barely even know him," I said.

"Why don't you get to know him?"

I shrugged. "I have my own friends. I have the track team. I don't have time for that."

"I see." Mr. Greene nodded, and looked at me for a long time, as vice principals like to do, and then he asked, "Is the Shadow Club a gang, Jared?"

I couldn't believe he actually thought that! I just sat there, dumbfounded.

"You know, we've never had trouble with gangs here."

"The Shadow Club isn't a gang!" I said.

"How can I believe that?"

"You have to believe it! It's just a bunch of good kids having a good time, that's all."

"All by yourselves, without any adult supervision?"

"Exactly."

"I don't like the sound of that."

By now that little room he called his office felt like a cage. I sunk deeper into the hard wood chair, figuring Greene would just keep picking on the club. He didn't. Instead he started talking about something else I didn't want to think about.

"Aren't the District Olympics coming up, Jared?" he asked.

"Yeah, in about a month." I squirmed in my seat, trying to get comfortable. There was no way to get comfortable in that chair.

"I hear you could be running for our school," he said.

"Me or Austin Pace. It depends on who has a faster time," I said through clenched teeth, because I knew Austin's time was still better than mine.

Mr. Greene nodded. "You know, Jared, I'd hate to see you disqualified because you've done something stupid."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean that if this 'club' of yours gets you into trouble, you could be suspended from the team."

"Mr. Greene," I said, "our club has nothing to do with school—we don't even meet at school. Can't you just leave us alone?"

"It's my job to make sure our kids don't get into trouble!"

"C'mon, Mr. Greene, what kind of trouble could kids like us get into?"

"Kids like who?"

"Like me, and Cheryl, and Jason Perez, and O.P. Han, and . . ." I stopped as soon as I realized what I was doing. He'd tricked me! He'd tricked me into leaking out information about the club! If I said one word too many, I could have been signing the Shadow Club's death warrant.