Alibi High

It just seemed like a bit of a reach. There were plenty of rumors circulating around t he school, I reminded myself. I remembered what Emily had told me about the stolen computers and the theories running amok among the student body. Even Mr, Riggler himself had warned me about the dangers of the school rumor mill, when I'd innocently asked about staff coming in on weekends.

But the girls seemed pretty positive about what they'd seen and heard. And I'd seen him fumbling through his classes .

I wondered if he was still in his room.

I stood up.

It looked like I was going to be staying after school and decided to go see what I could learn. a little longer.

TWENTY FIVE

Miles Riggler was hunched over his computer, his eyes staring intently at the computer and . h H e jumped when I knocked on his door.

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “You're back.”

“ Um, yeah,” I said, wandering I wandered in to the room, trying not to be look too suspicious. “I had another question for y ou ou before I leave for the day .”

He glanced at his screen, then back at me. then He back at me and rotated in his chair toward me. “Oh. Okay.”

I made my way to the back of the room , just acting like I under the guise that I was simply trying to move closer to him to have a conversation. He was between me and his screen, though, so I couldn't see . what he had been looking at.

“I , uh, was wondering about the date,” I said. It was the best reason I could come up with for barging back in on him. “What if we changed the date?”

“For the talent show?”

I shifted, trying to bring his screen into vi ew. Without him noticing, of course. “Yeah.”

His brow furrowed. “Can you do that?”

“ Well, maybe Maybe .”

He thought for a moment , glanced a quickly at his screen, then shrugged. . “That might work, I guess. What date were you thinking of?”

“Oh, I did do n't have an actual date in mind,” I said, trying not to overtly stare at his the screen. “I was just thinking that maybe if we changed the date you might be able to participate and . And that might be a good thing . To have you participate – to have you there .”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “Would it be on a Saturday night again?”

“Probably.”

He chewed a little harder. “Hmm. Well, I'm not sure if I can , then.”

“You have a regular Saturday night...conflict?” I asked, sitting down in the gingerly sitting down on the desk across from him.

His eyes flitted to the screen and back. “Yes. Something like that.”

“And you can't change it?”

He glanced at the screen his computer again. “Um, not probably not. I'm sorry. I could do any other night — ”

“Your session has timed out,” a robotic voice chimed from the computer , startling both of us . “Please re - enter your login to continue with your Basic Computing class and exercises.”

He spun back around in his seat , a panicked expression on his face, and furiously tapped at the keyboard and wiggled the attached mouse , . h is jaw set, staring at the screen. He groaned , then pushed the mouse away in disgust.

“I'm sorry,” I said, not feeling too very sorry at all . “Did I interrupt something?”

He chewed on his bottom lip again, then stood from his chair and jogged over to the classroom door. His light gray polo was tucked into his jeans and the back of his shirt was damp with sweat, He stuck his head in the hallway, checked both directions, then pulled the door closed. He took a deep breath and walked slowly back to the desk . , his eyes avoiding mine.

“Yes,” he finally said , answering my question . “But it's alright. It's alright. I can log back in.”

It was like he was talking to himself more than me.

“Okay,” I asked. I folded my arms across my chest. “Did that say Basic — ”

“Yes!” he snapped, then leaned back in the chair, like he'd surprised himself at the ferocity of his words. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the hand latching onto his scalp, like it was trying to squeeze it. “ I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just under a lot of pressure right now.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I can tell.”

He pause d . “Yes, it said Basic Computing. It's ...it's a class I'm taking.”

The girls were had been right. I tried not let my eyes bulge out of my head. to keep my expres sion neutral.

His hand moved to his face and he rubbed his eyes. “Which is probably strange, given that I'm the computer teacher, right?” he said.

“ Well. Yes. A little. But it It 's none of my business .” ,” I offered.

Which It seemed like the most appropriate thing to say , even though I'd made it my business because I was so nosy.

“Please don't say anything,” he said, his facial features face tight with worry. “I would absolutely lose my job if anyone found out.”

“For taking a computer class?”

He shook his head. “No. For having to take a computer class.”

I cocked my head. “Why do you have to?”

H e is hand shifted to his ear and he tugged on his lobe. chewed on his lip again and he had both hands on top of his head, grabbing at his skull. “Because I know very little about computers . ,” he admitted.

“ How are you the computer teacher if you don't know much about computers?”

“ It's a long story.”

I glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. “I have time.”

“ Let's just say Prism needed a computer teacher and I needed a job.”

“ And you applied and they just...hired you? With no experience?” I frowned. “Don't you need like a license or something?”

“ I have one,” he said. “I'm licensed to teach art.”

“ Art?”

He nodded. “I did my student teaching a couple of years ago but then...” His voice trailed off.

“ Then...?” I prompted.

He cleared his throat. “I decided to open my own business instead.”

So Miles Riggler went from student teaching art to running his own business to teaching computers. “What kind of business?” I asked.

Before I got this job, I owned a company called Bozos and Balloons. His cheeks flushed. “An entertainment company.”