Framed, Page 2

  The Coalition Against Repetitive Strain Injury

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Savannah informed him.

  “I have another one about how jumping jacks destroy ant habitats,” Griffin offered.

  “Okay, second stupidest. And if a kid can see that, Egan will spot it in a heartbeat.”

  “You’re missing the point,” Griffin insisted. “Yes, it’s all fake. But it’s just real enough that he’ll have to check it out. The lawn might be sloped; the repetitive strain people might be real. How’s he going to know unless he looks into it?”

  “And how long is that going to take?” Savannah asked.

  “Not long,” Griffin admitted. “But we’re going to give him hundreds of these things. Thousands, if we can think of them. And if he’s busy twenty-four seven following up on our complaints, he won’t have any time for his witch hunt against the kids Celia White says are ruining Cedarville.”

  “Yeah, but the message is going to be from my computer. He’ll be able to see it’s from me.”

  Griffin shook his head. “Melissa knows how to make an e-mail totally untraceable. She can bounce it twenty times around the world till it seems like it came from the president of Zambia. Let’s see Dr. Evil try to give him a detention.”

  Savannah’s eyes narrowed. “This is a plan, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not. This is more like a strategy. You know, a tactic —”

  “That’s the same thing!” she stormed. “I hope you’re delirious, Griffin Bing! Have you forgotten what happened with the last plan? And the one before that?”

  “Hey, I know it got a little hairy,” Griffin said defensively, “but we came through it okay.”

  “Don’t you remember what that cop said would happen if we broke the law again? He said, ‘arrested, cuffed, fingerprinted, and prosecuted.’ Those were his exact words. I know, because we’ve all been hearing them in our dreams for the past four months, three weeks, and six days, give or take a few hours.”

  “Egan’s got no right to treat us like criminals for what we haven’t even done,” Griffin said stubbornly.

  “I agree with you. We all do. But not a plan. It’s just too risky.”

  Outside, a motor roared to life. A familiar stout figure came into view across the street, walking behind a gas lawn mower.

  “It’s him!” exclaimed Griffin, his face darkening. “Dr. Evil really is your neighbor!” Griffin watched as the principal carefully maneuvered the mower, cutting perfectly straight lines into the front yard. “He treats his own grass like it’s sacred ground, but has no problem sending hundreds of kids out to do jumping jacks on public property.”

  Savannah looked distracted. “You’d better go now, Griffin. I’ve got a lot on my mind. We have a rat.”

  Griffin’s gaze traveled to the small rodent habitat where a collection of hamsters, gerbils, and white mice scurried about the maze of multicolored plastic tubes. Savannah’s room was a regular menagerie. She also had cats, rabbits, turtles, a parakeet, a capuchin monkey, and an albino chameleon named Lorenzo.

  “I mean a real rat.” She was tight lipped. “Loose in the house.”

  When the truth dawned on Griffin, he couldn’t hold back a peal of laughter. “You’re infested? You? The animal expert?”

  Luthor let out a bark that rattled the windowpanes.

  “No offense,” Griffin added quickly. “It’s just that if there’s anyone who could handle animal problems, I thought it would be you.”

  Savannah sighed. “Well, you’re wrong. It hits us twice as hard as anyone else. The animals sense there’s a stranger in the house. Tempers are short. The rabbits are bickering. The turtles haven’t come out of their shells in days.”

  Griffin shrugged. “Call an exterminator.”

  Savannah’s eyes shot sparks. “You mean a hired assassin who kills living creatures in exchange for money? I don’t think so. Besides, poisons and traps don’t discriminate. How would I keep the others safe?”

  Griffin could see her dilemma. Savannah had devoted her entire life to loving, collecting, and caring for living creatures. To treat any animal as an enemy would be as difficult for her as flying to the moon.

  He tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe you can send the rat across the street to Egan’s house. I’ve got to get over to Logan’s. Let me know if you change your mind about the e-mail.”

  Dear Dr. Egan,

  As you probably know, the stage curtain in the auditorium squeaks, which is very distracting during set changes in the middle of a show. We have taken the liberty of picking out a new one from the Broadway Supply catalog. The cost is only $6000. Should we place the order and have them bill the school?

  Thanks!

  Friends of the Drama Club

  Logan frowned. “There is no Friends of the Drama Club.”

  “Egan doesn’t know that,” Griffin told him. “And while he’s finding out, he isn’t making our lives miserable. The best part is Melissa will fix it so that no one will ever realize the e-mail came from you.”

  Logan was skeptical. “I don’t know, Griffin. I’ve got my career to think about. I’ll never make it in Hollywood with a criminal record. At least, not a boring one.”

  “That’s why we have to do this,” Griffin argued. “Dr. Evil’s so convinced we’re dirty that he’s going to pin some rap on us sooner or later, even if we’re totally innocent.”

  “Yeah, but if he finds out what we’re doing, everything Celia White put in that article will be true,” Logan reminded him. “The new curtain sounds great, though. Do you think we’ll have it in time for Hail Caesar?”

  Griffin held his head. “There is no new curtain!”

  “But you said —”

  “Just forget it. I’m going to see Pitch.”

  But Griffin found an even less receptive audience at the Benson house.

  “Buzz off,” Pitch told him. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. From now on, plan is a four-letter word.”

  “At least take a look at the e-mails,” Griffin pleaded. “I’ve written some really classy ones for you.”

  Pitch would not be moved. “I don’t care if they’re all by Shakespeare. If Egan hates us as much as you say, the last thing we want to do is make him mad.”

  Griffin would not back down. “So it’s totally fine for him to accuse us — not to mention turn the whole school into football workouts.”

  “Hey,” Pitch snapped, “I like football. I like all sports. As a matter of fact …” Her voice trailed off, and she stared at the wall behind him, looking miserable.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she mumbled evasively. “It’s no big deal.”

  “What’s up with you, anyway?” Griffin demanded. “You’ve been in a lousy mood for weeks! Since even before school opened, way back when Darren started bragging about …” His eyes widened. “Pitch — you tried out for football, didn’t you? And you’re upset because you didn’t make it?”

  “Worse.” She studied her sneakers. “I went to that scrimmage. I was as good as anybody there. Not as big as Vader and some of the eighth graders, but faster and more athletic. Then Egan saw me. He wouldn’t even let me on the field. He said girls can’t play football — that I was just going to get hurt.”

  Griffin grinned. “You could press Vader into salami. I’ll bet you told Egan that, too.”

  She did not share his smile. “He really is Dr. Evil, Griffin — and it has nothing to do with morning calisthenics or Celia White. The first game starts in a few hours, and it kills me that I won’t be in it. I always believed there was no cliff I couldn’t scale, no crag I couldn’t beat. But being a girl — that isn’t something you overcome with second effort.”

  “That’s why you should be on board with this,” Griffin argued.

  “What’s the point?” she replied listlessly. “Like there’s anything he could do to me that would be worse than brushing me off like a piece of lint without even givin
g me a chance.”

  Dr. Egan:

  We are writing in regard to one of your students, Benjamin Slovak. It has come to our attention that the calisthenics program at your school has been causing motion sickness in his pet ferret….

  Ben didn’t even finish reading the message on the screen. “You said the e-mails were supposed to be anonymous.”

  “It’s about you, not from you,” Griffin explained reasonably. “It’s signed the ASPCA, see?”

  Ben wasn’t convinced. “And everybody else said yes to this?”

  Griffin chose his words carefully. “They will once you’re on board.”

  “Why can’t you just admit that you’re the only person who wants to do it? Even Melissa said no, didn’t she?”

  Griffin knew a moment of doubt. Shy, withdrawn Melissa was usually so thrilled to have friends that she was an automatic yes. But this time he wasn’t so sure about her. He thought back to her exact words: I think I might be out, she’d told him. I want to be in, but I’d better be out.

  Aloud, he said, “You know Melissa — she’ll come around eventually.”

  “It’s different now,” Ben argued. “We’re done with second chances. You know, there are worse things in the world than jumping jacks in the rain.”

  Griffin looked totally defeated. “Then Dr. Evil wins.”

  “He was always going to win, Griffin. He’s the principal. It’s his game.” All at once, Ben peered critically at his best friend. “Hey, man, did you forget your retainer?”

  “No, I put it in this morning, same as —”

  And then Griffin registered that the familiar pinching discomfort was no longer there. “Oh, no!”

  The cry of alarm was so sharp that Ferret Face emerged from Ben’s collar to investigate the disturbance.

  Ben tried to be helpful. “Were you at anybody’s house before you came here?”

  “I was at everybody’s house!” Griffin lamented. “It could have popped out anywhere!”

  The hunt began. They scoured Ben’s room and then retraced Griffin’s steps from the front door and up the stairs. Next, the search followed the bike route to the Slovak home from Griffin’s previous stop — Melissa’s house. And from there they backtracked to the Bensons’, the Kellermans’, and the Drysdales’. There was no sign of the missing dental appliance.

  Griffin was devastated. “I’m dead! I was so worried about Dr. Evil that I forgot about Mom the Merciless! When she finds out the retainer’s gone, she’s going to Krazy Glue my mouth shut!”

  4

  It wasn’t an actual Krazy Gluing, but in a lot of ways it was even worse. Mom didn’t holler; she played the “disappointed” card.

  “We don’t ask much of you, Griffin. In fact, we’ve probably cut you more slack than any other parents in America. But we have the right to expect a little responsibility. Why is it so difficult to keep a retainer in your mouth?”

  “I might still find it,” he offered. “Savannah says Luthor’s a good tracking dog. They’re going to help me look.” He tried to sound more hopeful than he felt. Luthor was bred for combat, not search and rescue, no matter how much Savannah loved him.

  “How am I ever going to tell your father about this?”

  Griffin winced. When it came to the guilt trip, Mom was a travel agent. She went on and on about how expensive the retainer was, how vital it was to his health and the very shape of his face. The fact that he couldn’t hang on to this one thing proved that he was irresponsible and untrustworthy. Worse, it showed that he took everything for granted and had no respect for the advantages he had in this world.

  It probably would have gone on for hours, but he was saved by the doorbell — Savannah with the trusty Luthor at her side, looking more the size of a small pony than a dog.

  “Well, I guess I’d better start looking,” he said lamely.

  “An excellent idea,” Mrs. Bing informed him severely. “You can’t be without it for very long. If it doesn’t turn up in a couple of days, you’ll have to be fitted for a new one. And rest assured that the cost will come out of your allowance.”

  At my pay grade, Griffin thought gloomily, that’ll take about eighty years.

  Aloud, he said, “I’m on it.”

  “We’re looking for Griffin’s retainer, sweetie.” From her pocket, Savannah produced her old retainer and held it in front of the huge black eyes. “Like this.”

  She turned to Griffin. “Breathe on him.”

  “Why?”

  “He needs to know the scent of the inside of your mouth,” she explained reasonably. “That’ll guide him to the retainer when we’re close to it. Make sure you get right up to his nostrils.”

  “He’ll bite my head off!” Griffin protested.

  “Of course he won’t,” Savannah assured him. “He wants to help you.”

  Griffin regarded the gigantic head. A trickle of slobber traced a path along the expansive jawline. He leaned in and blew a quick puff of breath at Luthor’s big snout.

  “Closer,” Savannah ordered. “Open your mouth so he gets a really good whiff.”

  Savannah considered Luthor the mildest, sweetest creature on earth. Griffin did not agree. One retainer and eighty years of allowance seemed a small price to pay to avoid being torn limb from limb.

  But Mom’s “disappointed” card wielded great power over him. He got in the Doberman’s face, opened his mouth, and let out a long breath.

  Luthor’s loud bark traveled straight down Griffin’s windpipe and vibrated his heart.

  “Good boy, Luthor!” Savannah cheered. “Now let’s find it!”

  They retraced the route between the houses Griffin had visited, jogging to keep up with the Doberman’s huge strides. He’d always rolled his eyes at Savannah’s speeches about Luthor’s intelligence and sensitivity, but the dog truly seemed to understand what they were doing. Luthor kept his snout low to the ground, sniffing the pavement, while Savannah whispered encouragement.

  “Don’t let him put it in his mouth when he finds it,” Griffin said nervously. “Dog drool can contaminate a retainer forever.”

  Savannah shot him a disapproving look. “Don’t be a baby. An animal’s mouth is far more sanitary than a human’s.”

  “Yeah, but grosser!”

  As they passed the Kellerman house and headed toward the Bensons’, Luthor’s ears went up at the distant cheering noise.

  Savannah pointed down the street to Cedarville Middle School. “It’s the football team — their first game. Sounds like they got a big crowd.”

  “I wonder why,” Griffin said sarcastically. “Dr. Evil has only been announcing it ten times a day.”

  As they approached the field, a familiar figure came into view. Pitch was perched thirty feet up a tree, watching the game over the crowded bleachers. Even from their worm’s-eye view, Griffin and Savannah could see she was brooding.

  “Who’s winning?” Griffin called up to her.

  “Who cares?” came the reply. But the young climber scrambled down the trunk to join them on the sidewalk. “Let’s just hope Vader doesn’t get a touchdown. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Savannah was mystified. “Why can’t you just watch from a normal seat?”

  “I’m not giving Egan the satisfaction,” Pitch growled. “If this game gets a good turnout, it’s not going to be because of me.” She peered at Griffin’s mouth. “Any luck finding the retainer?”

  “We still have a few more places to look,” Savannah told her. “Come on, Luthor.”

  Pitch accompanied them. As they passed by the school, they got a view of the action on the field. The Cedarville Seahawks trailed 14–10, but the home team was driving. The huddle broke, and Darren noticed them as he took his place behind the quarterback.

  He called, “Hey, losers!” and popped in his mouth guard.

  That was all Luthor had to see. He took off, jarring the leash from Savannah’s grasp.

  Savannah read the dog’s mind. “Come back, sweetie!”
she called. “That’s not the retainer!”

  Luthor couldn’t hear her over the roar of the crowd. Darren had put something in his mouth, and that needed to be investigated. He galloped onto the field like a racehorse.

  “Darren — look out!” Savannah cried.

  But Darren was completely focused on the play that was unfolding. He took the handoff, stutter-stepped behind a block, and broke through the line at full speed. The cheers of the crowd were an infusion of rocket fuel, energizing his legs. He was in the clear, sprinting for a go-ahead touchdown, with no defender in his path.

  The tackle came from the place he least expected. A giant dog pounced on him from above, a monstrous black and brown body that momentarily blocked out the sun before flattening him to the turf. A huge paw reached under his visor and yanked his guard out by its tether. Powerful jaws snapped the plastic strap clean in two, and then the beast was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, taking the mouthpiece with it.

  Pitch was wide eyed. “Too bad there’s no highlight film for that!”

  Luthor trotted back to Savannah and deposited the mangled mouth guard into her hand.

  She patted his head ruefully. “It was a good try, sweetie.”

  Dr. Egan did not agree. He charged over, the entire Seahawks team at his heels. “Who let that dog on the —” He pulled up short when he recognized the three students with Luthor.

  “It’s all a big misunderstanding,” Savannah explained reasonably. “Luthor saw Darren’s mouth guard and thought it was —”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” the new principal yelled. “That was a deliberate attack!”

  Griffin spoke up. “You can’t blame Luthor, Dr. Egan —”

  “I’m not blaming the dog — I’m blaming you three!” The principal turned his flaming features on Pitch. “You have a grudge against this team!” And on Savannah. “You have to control your pet!”

  “He’s not a pet, he’s a family member —”

  “And you —” The principal’s rage was directed at Griffin now. “You’re the ringleader of these juvenile delinquents, and this is where it ends! To train an animal to attack someone is the same as using a weapon.”