locked door, I responded.
hurry. cold out here.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and found Chase leaning over to scrutinize the lock.
“You know, maybe we don’t have to pick it,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow his way. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the locks aren’t state of the art. In theory, all we have to do is slip something between the latch in the handle and doorframe plate, and it should slide open.”
I blinked at him.
“I watched a couple YouTube videos, too,” he confessed. “Got a credit card?”
I shook my head. “My allowance is twenty bucks a month. I’m not exactly on Visa’s list of high rollers.”
Chase shrugged, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slipped his driver’s license from its slot and turned to the lock.
“Here goes nothing,” he said under his breath as he slipped just the edge of the card into the doorjamb. It went in easily enough, so he slipped the rest of its length in, holding on to a small edge. Then he slowly slid the card lower, angling it in toward the door. He turned the handle and pushed.
Only nothing happened.
“Admit it,” I said, blowing out a breath of frustration. “We have lock pick fail.”
“Patience, grasshopper.” He tried again, sliding the card up and down, trying to finesse the latch from its housing.
Grasshopper was just about to give up and go back to her cold friends outside when I heard a click and Chase’s license slid lower than before. He froze, then slowly pushed on the door.
And it opened.
He turned to me, and in the dark I could see his teeth gleaming brilliant white as a grin spread across his face.
I should never have doubted him.
“Ladies first,” he said, holding the door open for me.
I pulled at the cabinet door. Locked.
I was getting really tired of all the locks.
Chase pulled out our trusty hairpin again and went to work, jiggling it into the hole.
I wandered over to Mr. Tipkins’s desk, feeling like I was in forbidden territory. The top was littered with papers, some marked with grades at the top in red pen, others still waiting to be given sentencing. I couldn’t help peeking a little. I shifted the papers, looking at the graded ones. It looked like Chris Fret was failing this class, too (poor guy!), but amazingly, Connor had gotten an A on the last test. Which immediately put him higher on my list of suspects. He hadn’t struck me as the brainiac type.
I moved on to Mr. Tipkins’s desk drawers, trying the top one first. It opened easily (no way, something in this school was actually unlocked?), revealing a stash of pens (mostly red), paper clips, some gum, and a couple pieces of hard candy that looked like they might have been there since the school was built. I moved on to the next drawer down, finding a stapler, hole punch, and a couple more boxes of pens. The third drawer held a paper bag that, if the stench was any indication, contained a long-forgotten lunch. I quickly shut it, trying not to breathe too deeply, and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside were more student papers, crinkled and unorganized. I shuffled a couple (wondering who else in the class might be getting grades that were
A key.
“Chase?”
“Just a minute. I’ve almost got it open.”
“Think this would help?”
“What?” Chase spun around.
I held the key out to him on one finger, unable to help the grin I could feel spreading across my face.
“Where did you find that?”
“Desk drawer.”
He grunted like he wished he’d thought of looking there himself, then grabbed the key. Which, I was happy to see, slipped easily into the lock.
Chase turned it, and the file drawer slid open, revealing every test that Mr. Tipkins had ever given.
“Bingo,” I said. “Anyone could have broken in here.”
Chase nodded, handing the key back to me. “Anyone with YouTube and a credit card.”
“Or a driver’s license,” I pointed out, putting the key back in Tipkins’s drawer.
My phone buzzed in my pocket again.
“Geez, hold your horses, Sam,” I muttered as I pulled it out.
Only this text wasn’t complaining about the cold weather.
someone coming!
Uh-oh.
“Uh, Chase? Sam says someone is-”
But I didn’t get to finish as Chase grabbed me by the arm, pulling me to the floor. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.
Sure enough, the light in the hallway outside flipped on, and I heard the click of footsteps echoing through the corridor.
And stopping just outside Mr. Tipkins’s classroom.
Chapter Sixteen
MY EYES WHIPPED AROUND THE ROOM FOR SOMEWHERE TO hide. Under a desk? At the back of a cabinet? Behind the poster of the seven different types of triangles?
Chase must have done the same thing as he grabbed me by the arm. “Quick. In here,” he said, pointing to a supply closet at the back of the room. Thank God it was left unlocked at night, and the door opened easily as Chase shoved me in front of him then stepped inside, quickly closing it behind him.
Just as we heard the door to Mr. Tipkins’s room open.
I sucked in a breath in the stuffy dark space. It was small, just big enough for the two of us to fit, though not big enough to afford either of us any personal space. Meaning Chase’s body was right up against mine, creating a warm, unsettling feeling in my belly that felt very… personal.
As I tried to decide if I liked the feeling or not, the classroom light turned on.
I shifted to look through the crack in the closet door, feeling Chase do the same beside me. (Very close beside me, causing his leg to rub against my leg in a way that had me leaning slightly closer to a “liking it” decision.)
A figure moved across my field of vision, and for a quick moment, I thought maybe we had been lucky enough to catch the cheat stealer in the act. But as he shifted to the right, I saw a familiar plaid, short-sleeved, button- down shirt and pair of baby-poo brown corduroy slacks cross the room.
Mr. Tipkins.
I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that he didn’t need any supplies tonight as he moved to his desk and sat down. He grabbed the stack of uncorrected papers I’d seen earlier and shoved them into a brown leather briefcase with scuff marks along the edges. He opened his top drawer and grabbed a couple red pens. Then he pulled a couple papers from the desk, uncapped a pen, and started marking.
Oh no. Please tell me he’s not settling in for a night of correcting papers here!
I shifted, my right leg rubbing against Chase again.
The air in the closet was getting warm. It was dusty and smelled like old wood.
