I looked up at the main building. This part of the school was two stories high, though the east and west wings, which had been added on later, were only one story. Behind us sat rows of portables. In all, there were over a hundred classrooms, most dark at this hour.
Most.
As I squinted across the quad, I noticed a light in one of the windows of the science wing.
“There,” I said pointing. “Someone’s inside.”
Chase spun around. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s probably just the custodian.”
I bit my lip, watching as a figure moved in the room. Right. The custodian. Who was in there mopping experiments gone wrong off the floors, wiping notes off the whiteboards, and taking out the trash. And who probably had a set of keys to get in…
“That’s it! I know how the cheat thief got in!”
Chase raised another eyebrow at me. “Don’t tell me you think the custodian is stealing the answers?”
I shook my head. “No. But he has to get in and out of the building, right? To take out the trash and stuff?”
Chase nodded. “I guess.”
“So when he goes in and out, you think he pauses to lock the door behind him each time?”
A tiny grin played at the corners of Chase’s mouth. “I doubt it. He probably just locks everything up when he’s done.”
“Which means some of the doors must be unlocked while he’s working.”
“Let’s go check it out.”
We quickly crossed the quad, staying out of the line of any outdoor lighting, then moved close to the building as we approached the science wing. I ducked under the window with the light on, peeking just my eyes and nose above.
As we’d guessed, a custodian was in the room. Big guy with buzz-cut hair and a pair of coveralls on. He had earbuds in, his mouth moving to the music as he dipped a gray mop into a bucket and swished it along the floor.
Chase tapped me on the shoulder, then pointed to the left. Two windows down there was a door. I nodded, following him as he crouch-walked toward it.
He stuck a finger to his lips in a silencing motion as he slowly tried turning the knob.
What do you know? It opened easily in his hand.
I did a silent yes and a fist pump as we slipped inside.
The hallways were eerily quiet, the only sound a rhythmic ticking of a clock encased in a protective metal cage on the wall. I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the dark as I got my bearings. The good news was that we were inside the school. The bad news was that Mr. Tipkins’s room was in the math wing, on the opposite side of the building.
Chase led the way as we slowly walked the length of the corridor and turned right at the end of the hall to enter the main building.
It was even darker here, the ancient architecture not affording much natural light as all the windows were high and tiny. I squinted through the darkness, doing my best to make out familiar shapes. A water fountain outside Spanish. A bank of lockers at the end of the hall. A poster about the upcoming homecoming dance on the wall next to the trophy case.
I put my hands out in front of me, feeling my way through the building as I followed Chase.
Ten dark, stumbling minutes later (I know because I pulled my cell out to light the way as we rounded the corner to the math wing), we finally hit the door to Mr. Tipkins’s classroom.
Where we encountered another lock.
“Still got that hairpin?” Chase asked.
I nodded, pulling it from my pocket and sticking it into the keyhole.
But fifteen minutes later, I was still wiggling the hairpin to no avail. And I was beginning to seriously rethink our theory about how the cheats had gotten out. Okay, it was possible that the thief was a lot better at picking locks than I was. It was possible he had better tools than a bent hairclip from his mom. But it was growing less likely by the second.
I almost jumped out of my skin when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a text from Sam.
whats taking so long?
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.
“Gracias.” I stepped into the room and pulled out my cell phone to provide some illumination. Maybe it was the dim lighting making my other senses stronger, but the room smelled different in the empty darkness. Like pungent dry-erase markers and mildewing books. I took in shallow breaths, quickly going to the file cabinet Mr. Tipkins had told me held all his test copies.
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 too good) and saw a flash of metal at the bottom of the drawer.
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.