Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis Page 7

  She pushed the mattress away from the wall to reveal a bit of paper sticking out from underneath. Was that the mattress tag? Oh well, even if it was, she’d better check. If she pulled too hard though, the paper would tear, so she gently lifted up the mattress and carefully removed it. It was all wadded up, but she could tell it was no mattress tag. It looked like a piece of printer paper.

  Afraid that the contents might be embarrassing, she slowly unfolded the sheet, pulling a little this way and a little that way to a refrain of crumple, crumple, crumple, pop. When she had smoothed the paper out, she was looking at the wrong side. Then she stopped. Maybe she should let Thrillkill do this. No, if it really was embarrassing, she didn’t want him to see it before she did. She took a deep breath, flipped the paper over and saw . . . herself! It was a picture of her that Nick had taken one day in the common room. She was smiling and looked as happy as she’d ever been. The composition, lighting, and color balance were all excellent. It was a work of art. But what was it doing under Nick’s mattress?!

  The discovery threw her for a loop. Why would Nick hide a picture of her? Come to think of it, considering how he claimed to feel about her, why would he possess a picture of her at all? Was it because the Moriartys were targeting her and he wanted to show the gang what she looked like? Surely that was it. It did seem strange, though, that he’d keep the picture in such an obscure place. Everyone had known the two of them were friends. Why the mystery?

  Unless . . . It wasn’t possible. Could it be that he really had cared about her and it was a memento? He’d always acted as though he did, up until the end, that is, but that didn’t mean anything. During their last encounter he’d been false and treacherous. No, this was about a plot that hadn’t been implemented, probably related to whatever data was on the memory card, which meant that if Blixus and Mavis hadn’t been caught Amanda might be in real danger. Thank goodness they were safely behind bars.

  “Sir, I found something,” she said.

  “Oh?” said Thrillkill. “What have you got?”

  She showed him the picture and explained where she’d found it. He didn’t react. Amanda wasn’t sure she knew what he was thinking and didn’t want to, so she said, “I’ll bag it. I’ve found nothing else other than the memory card. No wallet, no phone, no computer, nothing stolen. There’s not much to go on.”

  “We shall see,” said Thrillkill. “Perhaps our analysis will turn up something. Let’s check a few more things and that will be it for today.”

  For today? Did he mean he wanted her to come back? She certainly hoped not.

  “Thank you, Miss Lester,” he said kindly when they had finished. “I know how painful this must have been for you and I appreciate your sacrifice. Now off you go. You and Mr. Holmes have work to do.” Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he’d completely forgotten that she was supposed to act as the new kid’s big sister.

  5

  Just the Treasure

  Amanda was most definitely not going to tell anyone what she’d found in Nick’s room, not even Ivy. She couldn’t face the questions, speculations, and sympathy. Fortunately, Thrillkill would inflict none of these on her. Sometimes his gruffness was actually a plus.

  She knew she had to get in touch with Scapulus Holmes, but she didn’t want to in the worst way. Maybe Thrillkill would change his mind and cancel the film project. Then she could teach her storytelling class after all. As if. She was engaging in wishful thinking and she knew it.

  But before she could text Holmes her phone beeped. He had beat her to it. “Hi! Want to get together?” his message read. Boy, he was friendly. What did he have to be so happy about? Oh right. He was going to be a big shot, making a film at the behest of the big cheese. Ruining her class so he could aggrandize himself. Grump and double grump.

  She guessed she’d have to answer him, but decided that it would be in her own sweet time. She made her way back to her room, which like Nick’s, was on the top floor, but in the girls’ dorm in the northeast part of the school.

  When she got there, Amphora and Ivy were nowhere to be seen, so she could enjoy a little privacy. She didn’t know what was compelling her, but she decided to look at the video she’d made with Nick last term, the one where they’d explored the secret room. They’d discovered the place in a disused part of the school near the back of the chapel/auditorium when they’d followed the cook, who’d been skulking around.

  She opened the video and started to watch. The first thing she saw was the awful yellow slime mold that had feasted on the pink sugar the cook had so carelessly strewn about. Gelatinous and pulsating, it was just as gross on the video as in person. She watched as the camera moved down the stone stairs to the weird little room where the cook had stashed the sugar—and where, together with Mavis Moriarty and the school’s doctor, the awful woman had held Amanda’s father before moving him to the sugar factory. And then, as they mounted the stairs again, she beheld Nick’s face. He had turned around and smiled. Watching him like this was another kick in the stomach. She stopped the film and threw her phone on the bed, then flopped down next to it and sobbed.

  After about fifteen minutes she was all cried out and decided to check her email. There, among about a billion notes from her mother and a few inane promotional messages, was a bright, shiny letter from her idol, film director Darius Plover, with whom she’d been corresponding.

  You couldn’t say that Amanda was in love with Darius Plover, the greatest director in the world, but if you did you wouldn’t be far off. She wasn’t so much in love with him as with his work. Films like “Scaffold,” “Night of the Turkey,” and “Plunge” were already classics, and she cited them among her top influences. So when she discovered that he had written her yet another email, she was ecstatic. The message read:

  Dear Miss Lester,

  I hope this note finds you well and that you are still interested in providing a teen’s perspective on my work. (Happy birthday, BTW!) If you are, I have some clips for you to view. These are from my latest film, “Sand,” which we are shooting in Morocco. At this link you will find dailies as well as the script. Would it be possible to get your input in the next couple of weeks?

  https://www.ploverfilms.com/sand/amanda

  If you are too busy with school, don’t be afraid to say no. I don’t want to distract you from your studies. There will be other films.

  As always, thanks for your time and interest.

  With sincere appreciation and best regards to my American friend in England,

  Darius Plover

  Amanda couldn’t believe that the great man had actually taken her up on her offer. She didn’t know what she could possibly contribute, but he obviously valued her opinion. He was so busy that he wouldn’t have bothered if he weren’t serious. But this was a huge responsibility! She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him.

  Excited beyond belief, she clicked on the link and was taken to a secure cloud. Sure enough, she found the script and several clips. She clicked on the first video.

  Against a background of what looked like Egyptian pyramids appeared a large tent with its door parted to reveal a bit of the interior. The camera entered and focused on the two occupants, a grizzled archaeologist and a bearded man who was holding him at gunpoint. Presumably the bearded guy was some kind of terrorist. He was threatening the archaeologist with various torments if he didn’t succeed in digging up an ancient scroll. The archaeologist kept telling the armed man that it wasn’t that simple, and each time he protested the terrorist would prod him with his rifle.

  It was awful! Amanda couldn’t believe how poorly the scene had been put together. Sure, it was a rough cut, but it didn’t work at all. The cinematography was uninspired, the dialog was terrible, the acting was pathetic, and the story was trite. What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t tell the great Darius Plover how she really felt. That would be the end of their budding relationship and she’d be back to minus square one with her filmmaking career, which was
on hold anyway. Maybe she should read the script and watch all the clips. She might feel different then.

  Unfortunately, after doing just that she felt exactly the same. The script was hackneyed, the scenes were poorly shot, and the acting was dreadful. Surely rough cuts weren’t that rough. Oh great. Now what?

  There was only one thing she could do: evade. She could lie about the clips, in which case she wouldn’t be doing Mr. Plover any favors, but at least she’d avoid conflict. She could tell him she didn’t have the time, in which case he’d probably never give her another chance. Or she could avoid answering altogether, which was about the worst possible course of action. Whatever she did, though, she was not going to tell him the truth. That would be suicide.

  She tabled that problem and thought she’d better get back to Holmes. She suggested they meet at lunch the following day and received an instant reply: “Cool. Can’t wait.” What was wrong with that guy? Why was he so cheerful? If he was going to act like this the whole time, she’d eat her way through a ton of gingersnaps.

  After dinner Amanda met Ivy and Nigel in the common room to discuss a strategy for finding the missing item. The hangout still looked like an airplane hangar, but then it would. The gremlins usually changed the décor at night when everyone was asleep. Tomorrow it would look completely different. Amanda wondered what it would be. Sometimes she tried guessing but she was always wrong.

  “I like Simon’s idea of listening,” said Ivy, “but I don’t think that’s enough. We’re going to have to be proactive.”

  “You mean put together our own theories about what the missing item could be and follow each lead, right?”

  “Yes. Exactly. There’s a good boy.” Ivy rubbed Nigel’s head. It was soothing for both of them.

  “I’ll make a list, shall I?” said Amanda, reaching into her bag.

  “Yes, and I’ll do the same. Do you have any idea what it might be?”

  “Not a clue. I haven’t had much time to think about it, and now I’ve got this film thing with Holmes.” She started thumbing a reminder to herself.

  “What film thing with Holmes?” said Ivy.

  Amanda explained what Thrillkill had asked her to do. Then she said, “I really blew it today. How can I ever face him?” As soon as the words had left her mouth she wished she could take them back. She didn’t want to talk about Holmes. Holmes and Nick, Nick and Holmes. If only there were a memory eraser. She was sure she was bringing her friends down with her constant carping about those two.

  “You mean Holmes,” said Ivy. “How can you ever face Holmes?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what came over me. I was just so surprised when I saw him.”

  “Apologize and move on. He seems nice. He’ll be cool.”

  “I don’t know how you can always be so optimistic,” said Amanda. She felt like she was whining, which she was.

  “It’s easy. I call it my hidden treasure philosophy. The world is full of beautiful things, but you have to look for them. Searching keeps you too busy to notice the stupid stuff. The harder they are to find, the more satisfying the reward. See what I mean?”

  “I guess . . .” said Amanda.

  “What’s storytelling about? Wondering what’s around the next corner, right? If you’re curious you won’t have time to get depressed or think about Nick Muffet.” Amanda started. Just the sound of his name made her jump. “I’m sorry, Amanda, but you need to move on. I know you miss him but he’s holding you back.”

  “I don’t miss him,” said Amanda.

  “I don’t mean to be harsh,” said Ivy, “but everyone knows you loved the guy. The fact that he hurt you doesn’t change that.”

  “I didn’t,” said Amanda. “He was just a friend.”

  Ivy was silent for a moment. Amanda hoped she wasn’t going to argue. “Please just try to remember the hidden treasures,” she said at last. “It works—especially when you’re down.”

  “Not today, though,” said Amanda. “You seem upset. Is it Editta?”

  “Actually, it’s more than that. Usually nothing gets to me, but sometimes I just know too much because of my hearing and it can be a bit of a burden.”

  “Really?” said Amanda. “I had no idea. I’ve been envying you. You’re such a great detective and you can do such amazing things, like figuring out the code to get into the sugar factory.” Ivy had astonished Amanda with her solution to that problem. After traveling all the way to London to look for her father at the Moriartys’ factory, Amanda had been stopped cold by a security keypad and hadn’t been able to get past it—until she’d called Ivy, who’d figured out what to press by the sound of the keys.

  “Thanks. Sometimes, though, there are things you’d rather not know.”

  This was a revelation. Amanda had had no idea that being gifted could be such a burden. “Wow. So what do you do?”

  “What can I do? I live with them.” Ivy no longer seemed upset. Amanda found that odd. Here was a problem her friend had acknowledged, but within two seconds it had ceased to bother her. That hidden treasure stuff must be pretty powerful.

  “Ivy, do you think there’s something wrong with me?” she blurted out.

  “What? You mean because of Scapulus? Of course not. How could you think such a thing?”

  “I, uh, no reason.”

  “You’ve got to stop beating up on yourself, Amanda. It was an accident. Hidden treasures. Curiosity. Focus on those and you’ll be happier.”

  Amanda pictured a pirate’s treasure chest guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. No, that wasn’t right. Forget the dragon. It wouldn’t exist in Ivy’s world. From now, on just the treasure.

  6

  Amanda Lester, One-man Band

  The next day, Tuesday, Amanda and Holmes met at lunch. They caused quite a stir, the two of them sitting together like that after what she’d said in class. Whispers swirled around the dining room and everyone kept staring at them as if they’d never seen two people eating lunch together. The whole thing annoyed Amanda, but Holmes seemed cheerful and oblivious. He also seemed to be enjoying his food, which consisted of a vegetable curry and fried rice. Amanda had to admit that after last term’s fare it wasn’t half bad. She hoped she wouldn’t put on weight again.

  Thrillkill had given Holmes the list of topics he wanted the film to cover. Holmes! Why not her, or at least both of them? When she learned what Thrillkill had done she could barely eat. Maybe she didn’t have to worry about her weight after all. Her stomach was so roiled these days that she practically had to force herself—a far cry from her habits in L.A., where she’d been a bit of a glutton.

  “This list is exciting,” Holmes said, pointing. “I’m glad we’re going to do steganography. That’s quite interesting.”

  “Stega-who?” said Amanda. “Why are we covering dinosaurs?”

  “It isn’t dinosaurs,” said Holmes, chewing. “It’s the process of hiding data inside an image. When you look at a picture, what you see may not be what you get.” He chuckled. Amanda wanted to deck him.

  “And look at this. Stochastic forensics. Now that’s something we can really sink our teeth into.”

  She pictured Holmes’s teeth growing and growing until he looked like a saber-toothed tiger. “Who-da-what?”

  “Stochastic forensics.” Whatever that was. It sounded like someone throwing up. “It’s a method of investigating activities that lack digital artifacts. You use it to look into data theft.”

  “Right. And how about plunkitography, bozology, and goositude?”

  “No, those have nothing to do with—oh, I see. That was a joke.” He grinned.

  Of course it wasn’t. Amanda was feeling especially hostile at the moment, so much so that she had completely forgotten Ivy’s hidden treasures and was dreaming up exotic ways to commit the perfect crime with Holmes as the victim.

  “So anyway,” he said, “I was thinking we could do a short lecture on each topic and then have questions and answers.”

  “No,�
�� said Amanda.

  “No? You don’t like it?” He looked hurt. He probably wasn’t used to people saying no to him.

  “No, you don’t make films that way.” That was sharp. She hadn’t meant to be quite so nasty.

  “And you know this because . . .”

  “I’m a filmmaker.” Gosh she sounded haughty. Where was this coming from?

  “Ah. The accent. You’re from California, aren’t you?”

  The L.A. stereotypes again. Wasn’t there anyone in the world who didn’t buy into that? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t have to get so upset. You have a California accent and they make movies in California.” He brightened. “I think it’s smashing.”

  She sighed. “That’s not the point. The point is that I’ve been making films since I was three. I know what I’m doing.” Should she mention Darius Plover? No, that would be name-dropping. She hated people who did that. It probably wouldn’t impress him anyway.

  “Splendid! That will be a great help to us.” He raised his water glass and toasted her.

  Splendid, that will be a great help to us, she mocked in her mind. Well wasn’t that just ducky?

  “So I’ll write the script and you’ll direct,” he said. “Don’t you want to toast?”

  “No, and no.”

  “No? There’s water in your glass. Come on.” He motioned to her glass. She moved it away.

  “Have you written scripts before?” she said leaning toward him. It was an aggressive move rather than an intimate one.

  “Well, uh, no.” He maintained his straight-backed position.

  “Then you can’t write the script.” She tried to cross her legs and hit the table. “Ouch.”