The Lemonade Crime Read online

  "I got an Xbox 20/20," Scott said, looking around at all the other kids.

  Immediately, the class exploded with noise. Twenty-seven fourth-graders started talking at once. Mrs. Overton had to shake her shekere for nearly ten seconds to get the kids to quiet down.

  "Holy rubber chickens!" said Mrs. Overton. The kids in 4–0 laughed. "I can tell you're all interested in Scott's new game box. Let's have three questions for Scott about his share, and then we'll move on to the next person."

  Mrs. Overton called on Alyssa first.

  "What's so great about a 20/20?" she asked.

  "Are you kidding?" said Paul. "You put on these goggles, and the TV goes totally 3-D."

  "Paul, remember to raise your hand if you want to talk," said Mrs. Overton.

  Scott nodded his head. "Yeah, it's like you're really in the jungle," said Scott. "Or in a car chase. Or wherever the game goes. And the controls are the gloves you wear. It's how you move your fingers, like this." Scott held out his hands and showed how he moved them in different ways to make things happen in the game. Ryan shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe it.

  Mrs. Overton looked at all the hands that were still raised. "Question number two? Jack?"

  "What games do you have?" asked Jack. All the boys and even some of the girls had turned their bodies so that the whole circle was facing Scott.

  "So far I've got Defenders, Road Rage, and Crisis. And then I've got a whole bunch that are in Japanese, and I have no idea what they are."

  The class started to whisper and talk again until Mrs. Overton called for the last question before moving on. "Jessie?"

  Evan sat up a little, wondering what his little sister would ask. The first few days of school, Jessie had hardly said a word. Now everyone in the class turned to hear what she had to say.

  "How much did it cost?" she asked.

  Evan smiled. Leave it to Jessie to ask the one thing that everyone wanted to know but didn't dare ask.

  "Jessie, that's not an appropriate question," said Mrs. Overton.

  Jessie's forehead wrinkled up. "Why not?"

  "We don't talk about money in class," said Mrs. Overton.

  "We do in math," said Jessie. "All the time."

  "That's different," said Mrs. Overton. "What I mean is, we don't ask each other how much things cost. It isn't polite. Okay, let's move on. Evan, do you have something you'd like to share with the class?"

  Evan had raised his hand, and now he dropped it. "Since Jessie's question didn't count, can I ask the third question?"

  Mrs. Overton paused for a minute. Evan could tell that she wanted to move on to a different topic, but she also wanted to follow the rules of Morning Meeting. "Okay," she said. "That seems fair."

  Evan turned to Scott and looked him right in the face. That feeling came over him, the same one he'd had when he read Jessie's note. It was like a giant steamroller. Evan almost never got angry or jealous, but now he wanted to reach across the room and grab Scott and shake something out of him.

  "Who bought it?" he asked. "You or your parents?"

  Scott jutted his chin out, like he did when he was challenging Evan on the basketball court. "I did. All my own money."

  The class erupted again, and Mrs. Overton didn't bother with the shekere. She just held her hands up and said, "4–0!" When they quieted down, she said, "Scott, it's very impressive that you saved your money for something you wanted to buy. Now let's move on."

  But Evan couldn't move on. He couldn't listen to Salley tell the class about the trip she'd taken to her grandparents' house. Or even to Paul talk about the nest of snakes he'd found in his backyard. He couldn't hear anything or see anything. That feeling was all over him, through him, inside him. That feeling of wanting to shake something out of Scott. And now he knew what it was he wanted.

  Evan wanted revenge.

  Chapter 3

  Eyewitness

  eyewitness (), n. A person who actually sees something happen and so can give a first-person account of the event.

  Jessie stood in the doorway, one foot inside the classroom, one foot outside on the playground. All the other kids had run outside. Everyone except Evan and Megan. They were staying inside to finish their Daily Double.

  Jessie didn't want to go outside if Megan and Evan weren't there. She still didn't know most of the fourth-graders—not enough to know who was friendly and who wasn't—and she knew she'd probably say the wrong thing to the wrong person. And people would laugh. Or be mean. Or just give her one of those looks—those looks she never understood—and then turn their backs on her.

  Maybe Jessie could stay inside and read her Independent Reading book instead. It was worth asking.

  She walked back to her desk and pulled out The Prince and the Pauper. It was a book her grandmother had given to her. Twice, actually. First, Grandma sent it at the beginning of the summer with a note that said, Jessie, I loved this book when I was your age. Then a month later she'd sent another copy of the same book with a note that said, This book made me think of you, Jessie. Hope you enjoy it!

  Jessie had laughed and said, "I hope she forgets and sends me my birthday money twice!" But Mrs. Treski didn't laugh. She frowned and shook her head and went to the phone to give her mother a call, just to see how she was doing.

  "Mrs. Overton?" said Jessie. Evan had gone to the boys' room, and Megan was in the hall getting a drink of water, so the room was empty except for Jessie and her teacher.

  "Yes, Jessie?" Mrs. Overton looked up from her desk, where she was reading over what the students had written in their Writer's Notebooks that morning. Jessie had written about the fireworks that she and Evan and her mother had watched from their house on Labor Day. She'd used lots of long words, like kaleidoscope and panorama, and vigorous verbs, like exploded and cascading. She thought her paragraph was pretty good.

  Jessie heard Evan and Megan laughing in the hallway. That stopped her, the way they were laughing together. She didn't want them to see her, staying inside with the teacher during recess. She was pretty sure that Evan would say, "That's not what fourth-graders do." So she mumbled, "Uh, nothing," and carried her book back to her desk.

  "You should go outside, honey," said Mrs. Overton. "You don't want to miss all of morning recess. Right?"

  "Right," said Jessie faintly. She hurried to the back door, the one that opened right onto the playground. When she turned to close the door behindher, she saw Evan and Megan walking into the classroom from the hallway. They both looked pretty happy, considering that they were missing recess and had to do math.

  Outside, a handful of girls were sitting at the picnic table, folding origami flowers. Some of the fourth-graders were swinging and sliding on the Green Machine. About eight or nine were playing kickball. All of Evan's friends—Paul and Ryan and Adam and Jack—were shooting baskets, along with Scott Spencer. Where should Jessie go? She wondered if the boys were still talking about the 20/20 so she drifted over to the basketball hoop. She sat down on the grass and pretended to concentrate on her book, but really she was listening to the boys' conversation. Jessie overheard Paul ask Scott, "How'd you save up that much?" They weren't playing a real game, just shooting free throws from the line.

  "Lots of ways," said Scott. Paul bounce-passed the ball to Scott, and he took his shot. And missed. Jessie was glad to see that.

  "Like what?" asked Adam.

  "I did a lot of chores around the house."

  "There's no way you saved up that much money from doing chores," said Adam.

  "I did, too," said Scott. Now he held on to the ball and dribbled it in place. Ryan held up his hands for it—it was his turn to shoot—but Scott wouldn't give it up. "What're you saying?"

  "I'm saying what I said," said Adam. "There's no way you saved up that much money just from chores."

  What he's saying, thought Jessie, is that you stole all our lemonade money from Evan, and everybody knows it! If only someone had seen him take it. If only there'd been an eyewitne
ss—like the crime shows on TV! Then Scott wouldn't have gotten off ... scot-free.

  A shadow fell across the page of her book. Jessie looked up, and there was David Kirkorian standing next to her.

  Jessie still didn't know a lot of the fourth-graders, but David Kirkorian was legendary throughout the school. Everyone said he had all kinds of weird collections at his house. He kept a jar of peach pits on his dresser, and he added a new one every time he ate a peach. He had a box full of shoelaces from every shoe he'd ever worn. He even had a large brown envelope filled with his own toenail clippings. At least, that's what everybody said, though Jessie was pretty sure that no one had actually seen the envelope.

  "You're not allowed to read outside during recess," said David.

  "I never heard of that rule," said Jessie.

  "Just because you don't know a rule doesn't mean it isn't a rule." David started picking at one of his fingernails, and Jessie wondered if he collected those, too.

  "That's the dumbest rule I ever heard."

  "No, it's not," said David. "You could get run over sitting here. You're not even paying attention. A ball could conk you on the head. You could die."

  He started to walk off in the direction of the duty teacher. Jessie felt her face getting hot. What was David going to say to the duty teacher?

  Jessie stood up and hurried toward the school building. She would say that she had a stomachache. She would go to the nurse. Mrs. Graham always let you lie down for a couple of minutes before sending you back to your class. It was a good place to rest and be quiet. A good place to think. And Jessie had a lot of thinking to do. Not just about rules and recess. But about how unfair it was that Scott always escaped punishment—and what she could do to change that.

  "Toenail collector," Jessie muttered under her breath as she hurried inside.

  Chapter 4

  Hearsay

  hearsay (), n. Quoting someone else's words when that person is not present to say whether those words are true; rumor. Hearsay is not allowed as evidence in a court of law.

  "So, you get it?" asked Megan, leaning back in her chair. "They're the same. See?"

  The math problem was about symmetry. There were five different shapes drawn on the page, and for each one, Evan had to figure out if the shape was symmetrical or not. If it was, he had to draw the line of symmetry. Megan had already done the first one to show him how.

  But Evan was having a hard time thinking about symmetry when he was sitting right next to Megan Moriarty.

  "That one's easy," said Evan, trying to sound cool. "Everybody knows that hearts are symmetric."

  "Not all hearts," said Megan. "Look at this one."

  "Well, that's just freaky," said Evan.

  The next three shapes weren't too hard, and Evan was able to draw the line of symmetry for each one.

  But the last one had him stumped, and Megan finally had to let him in on the trick: the shape wasn't symmetrical at all.

  "It looks like it should work," said Megan, "but it never does, no matter where you draw the line. Jessie showed me that. She's a math genius, huh?"

  Evan didn't say anything. Having a sister who was smart enough to skip a whole grade was like having a best friend who was a basketball star. It made you look bad by comparison.

  "Hey, Evan?" said Megan, dropping her voice and leaning in even closer. They both looked over at Mrs. Overton, who was talking on the class phone. Evan could smell the coconut shampoo Megan used on her hair. It made him think of ice cream at the Big Dipper. "How do you think Scott Spencer got the money for that 20/20?"

  The nice, floaty feeling leaked out of Evan. "Scott Spencer? Huh!" said Evan.

  "I know what you mean," said Megan, sitting back and twirling her hair. "He always acts so nice when the teacher's around, but then he's really mean in the halls."

  "Yeah, that's Scott," mumbled Evan.

  "You know," said Megan, leaning in again. "Scott once told me his mother makes ten dollars a minute. Do you believe that?"

  Evan thought of the Spencers' house and the vacations they took every year—skiing and the Caribbean and even Europe—and he didn't doubt it for a second. "Sure," he said. "You should see where he lives."

  "I heard he has a new TV that's as big as the whiteboard." Megan pointed to the large whiteboard at the front of the room.

  "Probably," said Evan. "You wouldn't think a kid like that would steal things."

  Megan's eyes opened wide. "Does he really steal? Alyssa told me he does. She said he took her charm bracelet out of her locker and then pretended he'd found it on the playground. Just to impress her. But I don't know if that's true."

  Evan was dying to tell her that Scott had stolen $208 from him—but he couldn't. "He stole lunch money from Ryan once. And he took a candy bar from the Price Chopper. He steals lots of things."

  Megan looked at him closely. "Did you see him take the money or the candy bar?" she asked.

  Evan shook his head. "No, but Ryan said—"

  "That's just a rumor, then," said Megan. "You can't believe everything you hear. That's what my parents always say."

  "If you knew him like I do, you'd think it was true, too."

  "Maybe," said Megan. "But I don't listen to rumors. People probably say things about me that aren't true! And about you, too!"

  Evan wondered if that was so. What would people say about him? Did his friends talk about him behind his back? He didn't like to think about that.

  But what Megan said got him thinking about the missing money. Evan never actually saw Scott take the money, but he had told everyone—Paul and Ryan and Adam and Jack—that Scott had taken it. And they'd all believed him, because ... well, because it was true! Evan was sure of it.

  "You have to know Scott," Evan said, shaking his head again. But he could hear his mother's voice: Rumors are like pigeons. They fly everywhere and make a mess wherever they go.

  Chapter 5

  Accused

  accused (), n. A person who has been charged with a crime or who is on trial for a crime.

  Jessie and Megan were walking to school, and they were late. Jessie had called Megan at 7:00 that morning, and again at 7:30, and then at 7:55 and 8:10, but Megan had still been late leaving her house. ("I was late because you kept calling me," she grumbled on the way out the door.) Ten whole minutes late. So now they were half running, half walking, trying to get to school before the bell rang.

  Normally, Jessie wouldn't have minded missing the before-school time on the playground, but to day she had things to do. On the playground. Before school. With no grownups around.

  "C'mon, c'mon," she said to Megan. Megan's legs were longer than Jessie's, but Megan was slow because her mailbag kept banging into her knees.

  "Why do we need to get there so early?" asked Megan. She was loping along, about ten feet behind Jessie.

  "You'll see when we get there. Keep running, keep running."

  "Better hurry, girls," said Darlene when they got to the crosswalk. "I heard the first bell." Jessie and Megan speed-walked across the street. Running wasn't allowed.

  "Oh, no!" said Jessie when they rounded the corner and caught sight of the playground. "They're already lining up. Come on!"

  By the time Jessie and Megan ran onto the blacktop, the entire fourth grade was lined up, waiting for the signal to file into school. The girls should have gone to the end of the line, but Jessie marched right up to the middle, where Scott Spencer was trying to knock Paul's baseball cap off his head. Evan was standing farther up, bouncing the class basketball. He was Equipment Manager this week, which meant he was responsible for bringing in all the playground stuff—balls, jump ropes, Frisbees.

  "Hey," said Scott, noticing Jessie. "The end of the line is back there!"

  "So?" said Jessie, rummaging in her backpack.

  "So no cutting," said Scott. "Isn't that the rule?" Even Jessie could tell he was making fun of her.

  "I'm not cutting," said Jessie, pulling a piece of paper from her ba
ckpack and holding it out in front of her. "I'm serving you with a warrant for your arrest."

  A few of the boys in front of Scott turned around, and some of the girls at the end of the line moved up so they could see, too.

  "You're what?" asked Scott.

  "Here, take it," said Jessie, shoving the piece of paper closer to him. Scott reached out and grabbed it like he was going to rip it to shreds.

  "That's it!" shouted Jessie. "You touched it. That means you've been served. Now you have to appear in court." Jessie was pretty sure she knew what she was doing. She had been reading a booklet called "Trial by Jury: The American Legal System in a Nutshell." It was one of the public service booklets that her mom wrote as part of her business as a public relations consultant.

  Scott immediately dropped the paper on the ground like it was on fire. "You can't do that!"

  "Oh, yes I can," said Jessie. "If you touch it, that means you've been served. You can't get out of it now."

  "Get out of what? What are you even talking about?" By now, everyone in the line had turned to watch. Evan had stopped dribbling the basketball, but he didn't leave his spot in line.

  Jessie picked up the arrest warrant from the ground and read it out loud. She had written it using the calligraphy pen her grandmother had given her for her last birthday.

  * * *

  Warrant for the Arrest of Scott Spencer

  Scott Spencer, you are hereby charged with the Crime of Stealing $208 from the pocket of Evan Treski's Shorts on September 5th of this year.

  On Friday you are to appear in Court to plead your case. There, a Jury of your peers will decide if you are guilty or not. If you are found guilty

  * * *

  She got as far as that when Scott interrupted.

  "You gotta be kidding me," he said, crossing his arms and laughing. "You're joking, right?"