West Meadows Detectives

  For misfit detectives everywhere—Liam

  To my dad, my family, and with special thanks to Laurent—Aurélie

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 1

  Everything was new. New shirt. New shoes. New school.

  I don’t like new.

  “Hurry up, Myron!” Mom shouted from the edge of the schoolyard. She was not new. The screaming baby in her arms? Totally new. Sofia, my baby sister. She’s eight months old. When a baby is eight months old, it is still new. So I guess I should say she’s eight months new. When it’s a baby, it cries a lot. And that gets old really fast.

  I stood at the school gates. I crossed my arms.

  “Stop digging your heels into the sidewalk,” Mom said. “Let’s go!”

  I wasn’t really digging my heels into the sidewalk. That would be impossible. The sidewalk is made of concrete. My heels are made of skin, bone, muscles, and blood. And I only had running shoes on. It was an expression. I don’t like expressions, either.

  Expressions are when someone says one thing and means another thing. For example, when people say, “I’m feeling blue today,” they don’t mean their skin has turned blue. They mean they’re sad. Why don’t they just say, “I’m sad”? Expressions are confusing. They are not the truth. The truth is very important to detectives like me.

  “Mom, can I go, please? I see Tianna from camp.”

  That was my sister Alicia. She’s in eighth grade and is always happy to have something new. New shoes, new backpack, new hairdo. She waved to a group of girls near the bike racks. They waved back. The first day of school and she already had a new group of friends.

  “Go ahead,” Mom said. “But remember to check in on Myron at lunch.”

  Alicia scrunched up her face at me. That was a scowl. It meant she wasn’t happy.

  “He’s in third grade! He’s not a baby anymore, Mom,” she said.

  Mom dropped her own scowl on Alicia. I’m not too good at picking up on people’s expressions, but I had seen that scowl from Mom since I was Sofia’s age. So had Alicia. It meant: Don’t mess with me.

  “Fine,” Alicia said. She stomped into the schoolyard.

  Which just left me.

  Mom stuck a pink plastic soother into Sofia’s mouth. My sister stopped screaming and started sucking on the thing.

  “Myron, I’m sorry we had to move away from your old school and your friends,” Mom said. “But we’re still in Whispering Meadows. You can visit them on the weekends. Your new school is going to be fun.”

  West Meadows Elementary did not look like fun. It had a big field with soccer nets, a basketball court, and a red-and-yellow climbing frame. Sure, all that stuff sounds fun, but the playground was crawling with kids I didn’t know. That made my brain itch.

  “Mr. Harpel said we could go straight in and see him,” Mom said. She held out her pinkie finger. “You met him last week, remember?”

  Mr. Harpel was my new teacher, and he seemed nice. And room 15 was unlike any classroom I’d had before. The itch in my brain faded.

  I took a deep breath, wrapped my pinkie around Mom’s, and took my first steps into my new school.

  Chapter 2

  Mr. Harpel greeted us at the door.

  “Welcome, welcome, welcome to room 15, Myron!” His voice was loud. He was tall and round. He had a bushy beard and shiny shoes. His shoes had no laces. My shoes don’t have laces, either. Laces come loose and then my shoes slip off my feet. I wondered if Mr. Harpel had the same problem.

  Mom squeezed my pinkie. “I’ll pick you up at the end of the day.”

  I squeezed back. Mom left.

  Mr. Harpel smiled at me.

  “Welcome, Myron! Come in.”

  “Four,” I said.

  “Sorry?” Mr. Harpel said.

  “You said ‘welcome’ four times,” I said. When someone says something over and over again, it’s called repeating. People repeat themselves when they are really serious or really nervous. Good detectives always notice when people repeat themselves.

  “You’re right.” He laughed. “I guess I want you to feel very welcome. You’re the first one to arrive. You’ve got the place to yourself.”

  Everyone called my new classroom room 15. That’s because there was a sign on the door that said “Room 15.”

  I had visited room 15 with Mom and Dad last week, before school started. It wasn’t like a regular classroom. There were no desks in rows and no chalkboard at the front. It was like a living room. There was a couch in one corner with cushions. The carpet had red and yellow circles. Against one wall, there was a bookcase packed with books and board games. A round table stood in the center of the room. There were also four desks—one for each student in the class.

  Room 15 was not my only classroom. In the afternoon I would go to a different one. It was called my “regular classroom.” I visited that room last week, too. It had desks and a chalkboard. It also had more kids. And it had another teacher—Ms. Chu. She was old. She was probably a grandmother.

  I wanted to stay in room 15 all day, but Mom said I needed to be in Ms. Chu’s classroom sometimes. Ms. Chu’s classroom did not have couches. It would have other children. Children I did not know. Thinking about Ms. Chu’s class got my brain itching again.

  Mr. Harpel put an orange folder on each of the desks in room 15.

  “Today, Myron, we’re just going to get to know each other,” he said. “We’ll play some games and—”

  “Aaaaaahh!” A shrill scream outside the classroom made us both jump.

  “What was that?” Mr. Harpel said.

  I followed him into the hallway.

  “The scream sounded like it came from that room down the hall,” I said.

  “That’s the kitchen. Good hearing, Myron.”

  “My dad says I have better hearing than an owl,” I said. “That’s impossible, but he means I hear very well. Did you know that an owl can use its ears to pinpoint the exact location of a mouse in under a second?”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  I was going to tell Mr. Harpel more about owls, because I like them and know a lot about them. For instance, they swallow their prey whole and then throw up the bones and fur. These are called owl pellets, and you can find them if you walk in the forest where owls live.

  I didn’t tell Mr. Harpel this because he had gone into the kitchen and would not have heard me. I followed him.

  The room looked like a kitchen made for twins. There were two of everything. There were two stoves, two fridges, two microwave ovens, and two sinks. Two metal tables stood in the middle of the room. They were covered in food. Uncooked pasta spilled out from ripped-open bags. Shredded cheddar cheese coated the floor. White flour lay in piles on the table and was spread across the floor.

  In all that mess stood the school chef. Her apron was stained with red splotches and white flour smears. She wore an earring shaped like a little yellow school bus in each ear. The school bus on her left ear was upside down, so the wheels were pointing to the sky instead of the ground.

  “Everything all right, Mrs. Peterson?” Mr. Harpel asked the woman with the school-bus earrings.

  I thought that was a strange question. Mrs. Peterson would not have screamed
if everything were all right. Clearly something was not right. But sometimes people—even teachers—ask silly questions.

  “Everything is most definitely not all right,” Mrs. Peterson replied. “I had the morning snack laid out on the table, ready for the kids. I stepped out of the room for a minute, and when I got back, this is what I found!”

  She waved her hand at the food splattered all over the kitchen.

  “Whoever did this made a real mess,” Mr. Harpel said.

  “That mess was going to be lunch. But I can clean that up,” said Mrs. Peterson. “I’m upset about the morning snacks. They’re gone. We’ve been robbed!”

  Chapter 3

  The school kitchen was a mess. It was also a crime scene.

  The floor was covered in crushed pasta, shredded cheese, and spilled flour.

  There were footprints in the flour. They matched the size of Mrs. Peterson’s shoes. She must have walked through the mess before we got here.

  “You ruined it, Mrs. Peterson,” I said.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Peterson crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “You ruined the evidence with your footprints when you walked through the flour,” I said. “Crime scenes need to be left untouched for a mystery to be solved.”

  “Well, I’m very sorry for that.”

  “Were you baking with licorice?” I asked.

  “Licorice? The candy?” Mrs. Peterson said. “Why would I be using licorice to make macaroni and cheese? And why so many questions?”

  “Myron is a detective,” Mr. Harpel said.

  “Is he a magician, too? Because I need someone to make my morning snacks reappear.”

  “I am not a magician,” I said. “But I can tell you the thief was eating licorice.”

  Mrs. Peterson stared at the mess on the table and floor.

  “I don’t see any candy, Mr. Detective,” she said.

  “I don’t either,” I said. “But I can smell it. Can’t you?” Mr. Harpel and Mrs. Peterson shook their heads. Not surprising. No one can ever smell the things I do. Just like they never hear the things I hear. Mom says I have superpowered senses. I can hear which radio station the neighbor three yards over is listening to on a summer day. I can tell when Sofia needs her diaper changed, even if she’s in the other room. As far as superpowers go, I would rather have X-ray vision.

  A large shadow fell across the doorway to the kitchen.

  “What’s going on? I heard a scream. Is everyone okay?”

  It was Principal Rainer. She was thin and wrinkled and wore thick shoes with laces.

  “We’re okay,” Mrs. Peterson said. “But we’ve been robbed.”

  “Start from the beginning,” I said.

  Principal Rainer looked at me. “Hello, Myron. Are you enjoying your first day at West Meadows Elementary?”

  “I am,” I said. “And I’m going to solve this mystery.”

  “Myron is a detective, Principal Rainer,” Mr. Harpel said.

  “Is he now?” Principal Rainer chuckled. “Perhaps you should go back to your class, Myron.” She turned to Mr. Harpel and raised her eyebrows. “I have an idea who is behind this mess.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll stay and help.”

  “Myron, we should listen to Principal Rainer and go back to our classroom,” Mr. Harpel said.

  “I won’t be able to solve the mystery from the classroom.” I walked farther into the kitchen. I stopped by a wooden door in the far wall. The smell of licorice was suddenly very strong.

  “What’s in here?”

  Mrs. Patterson shrugged. “It’s a closet. Just my coat.”

  The door burst open. A small girl jumped out of the closet.

  “And me!” the girl said. She tumbled through the mess on the floor and jumped to her feet. She held her arms out wide like a gymnast.

  “Hajrah!” Mrs. Patterson said.

  “Chef Hajrah here!” she announced. “Ready to take your order.” Hajrah wore an apron that was too big for her and a chef’s hat that slipped down her forehead. She ran up to Principal Rainer with one hand held out flat like a notepad. In her other hand, she held a black stick and used it like a pencil.

  “Licorice!” I said. That’s why I’d smelled the candy.

  “Hajrah, what are you doing here?” Principal Rainer said.

  “Taking your order for lunch!” Hajrah said. “What will it be?”

  “This isn’t the time for your games.” Principal Rainer scowled.

  Hajrah nodded. “Just water for the principal. No problem.”

  She ran over to Mr. Harpel.

  “Howdy, Mr. Harpel. What can I get you?”

  “You make an excellent chef, Hajrah, but we’re trying to solve a mystery.”

  “A mystery!” Hajrah said. “I love mysteries! Who’s playing the role of the sleuth?”

  “I am,” I said. “My name is Myron. I’m a detective.”

  “Awesome!” Hajrah pulled the chef’s hat from her head and spun around to face me. Her long, dark braid spun with her. She caught it in one hand, pushed it back over her right shoulder, and grinned. “I’ll be your detective partner.”

  “I don’t want a partner,” I said. My brain began to itch. “I work alone.”

  “No problem. We’ll work alone together. Like a team!”

  “I don’t like teams,” I said. I scratched my head but couldn’t get to the itch under my scalp. Hajrah was going to ruin everything. This mystery was the only good thing to happen at my new school. Now I was stuck on a team I didn’t sign up for. I was not good at teams. Hajrah was not good at taking no for an answer. She turned to Principal Rainer.

  “We accept the case! West Meadows Detective Agency at your service.”

  Hajrah took a deep bow, as if she were onstage at the school holiday concert. No one clapped.

  She stuffed the rest of her licorice into her mouth, put her arm around me, and pulled me in close for a hug.

  “This mystery-solving stuff is going to be so much fun!” she said between licorice chews.

  Chapter 4

  There was a lot of grumbling that morning. Most of it from stomachs. Turns out Mrs. Peterson is a super chef and many kids were looking forward to her morning snacks. She had nothing to offer but a few treats left over from summer vacation.

  We sat in a circle on the carpet in room 15, quietly munching stale granola bars. Mr. Harpel took attendance. It didn’t take long. There were only four kids in the whole class. And one person was missing.

  “Hajrah?” Mr. Harpel looked up from the red attendance folder.

  Hajrah jumped to her feet and saluted. “Sir, yes, sir!” She bounced back on her butt.

  “Thank you, Hajrah,” Mr. Harpel said. “Jordan?”

  Jordan didn’t answer. He picked at a hole in the leg of his jeans and mumbled something I couldn’t understand. He was in fourth grade. I’d known him less than fifteen minutes, and already I’d seen him pick something off his shirt and eat it. I wasn’t sure if he did that all the time or was just doing it because Mrs. Peterson’s morning snacks had been stolen. Either way, I didn’t sit beside him.

  “Myron? Are you here?” Mr. Harpel said.

  I didn’t answer. Mr. Harpel knew I was there. I had just investigated a crime scene in the kitchen with him. I was sitting right in front of him. Why did he want to know if I was here? He could see me, couldn’t he? Maybe he’d suddenly lost his vision?

  Mr. Harpel smiled. “Sorry, Myron. Of course you’re here. It’s just that some people get upset if they don’t get a chance to say ‘Here!’ when I call their names.”

  “I am not one of those people,” I said.

  “Thank you for letting me know.” Mr. Harpel closed the attendance folder.

  “Wait!” Hajrah jumped to her feet. “You forgot Glitch!”


  “Do you mean Danielle?” Mr. Harpel said.

  “Yeah, but she calls herself Glitch,” Jordan mumbled.

  “Ah, yes! Glitch.” Mr. Harpel wrote something in the attendance folder. “It’s all right. I saw Danielle—er, Glitch—already. She’ll be here soon.” He waved the attendance folder. “Okay, who wants to take the attendance to the office?”

  “Myron and me!” Hajrah shouted. She snatched the attendance folder out of Mr. Harpel’s hands and dashed to the door. “Let’s go, Myron!”

  I stayed in my spot in the circle.

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Mr. Harpel said.

  Hajrah bounced at the door. “I think you should come with me. You never know what clues we’ll turn up.”

  I’m not good at getting hints, but it was hard to miss this one. Besides, she had a point. I was on a case. I had a snack thief to catch. I wouldn’t do it sitting in the classroom.

  I grabbed my notebook from my desk and followed her out the door. Detectives carry notebooks to keep track of clues and suspects.

  The hallways outside the class were quiet. All the kids were in their rooms getting to know each other and finding out what they’d be learning this year. I was more interested in learning about our Snack Snatcher.

  Hajrah didn’t walk down the corridor—she zipped. She had one speed: fast. She did not zip in a straight line. She carved high-speed curves down the hallway, like a downhill skier. And she talked the whole way.

  “You know why I’m in room 15, Myron?” she said as she carved another curve in front of me. “I bounce around too much. That’s what my mom says. And my second-grade teacher last year. Bounce, bounce, bounce.”

  I plotted a straight line down the middle of the hallway. Kids like to hang out and chat on the edges of hallways, so walking in the middle gives you the best chance of not crashing into them. Hajrah and I had the hall to ourselves. But you can never tell. If there was a fire drill, this place would be full of kids in seconds.