Finding the Worm Read Online Free PDF

staring me down, waiting for me to say something. I had no idea what she wanted me to say.
    After maybe ten seconds, she said, “Julian, do you have anything you want to talk about?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Are you certain?”
    “Is there something you
want
me to talk about?”
    “Don’t fence with me, Julian.”
    “Miss Medina, I don’t know—”
    “I understand there’s a work of art you’re fond of.”
    “Do you mean
Judith Beheading Holofernes
?”
    “What?”
    “It’s a painting by Caravaggio. I wrote about it last year for Mr. Selkirk.…”
    She crossed her arms over her chest. “How would I know that, Julian?”
    “Then I don’t understand what you mean,” I said.
    “I gather there’s a work of art here,
at McMasters
, that you admire.”
    “You mean the Bowne House painting?”
    Miss Medina didn’t answer. Instead, she reached down behind her desk and came up with the painting. She set it on the edge of her desk and held it upright so that I couldn’t see her face behind it. All I could see of her were her hands on either side.
    “Yeah,” I said. “I like that one a lot.”
    She stood up but continued to hold the painting in front of me. “Now, Julian, is there anything you want to tell me?”
    “About what?”
    “This is
not
a joke,” she said. “No one is laughing.”
    “I’m not laughing either. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Look in the lower right-hand corner.”
    I glanced down at the corner of the painting, where the signature was—the one I could never quite make out. The letters
JT
were scratched into the surface of the paint. It looked like whoever did it had used a house key or a pocketknife or something.
    “Wow, who would do that?” I said.
    “I don’t know … 
J
ulian
T
werski.” She said it with an extra-hard stress on the
J
and
T
.
    I guess I kind of laughed, which, looking back, wasn’t a smart thing to do. “You don’t think
I
did that, do you?”
    “Do you think it’s funny?”
    “No, but why would I mess up a painting I like?”
    “Would you mess up a painting you didn’t like?”
    “No, I wouldn’t mess up a painting either way.”
    “Julian, this is
serious
,” she said. “Principal Salvatore is talking about suspending you.”
    “But I didn’t do anything.”
    “You’ve never touched the painting?”
    I was about to say no, but then I caught myself. “No, I’ve touched it. I touched it a few times because I wanted to feel the paint. But I didn’t mess it up. I guess I shouldn’t have touched it. I
could’ve
messed it up if I accidentally knocked it off the wall—”
    “Then you admit you
could have
messed it up?”
    “But I
didn’t
,” I said. “It
didn’t
fall off the wall.”
    “Julian, your initials are carved into the surface.”
    “Why would I do that if I were going to mess up the painting? It would be like waving a flag and yelling, ‘Hey, look, Julian Twerski is the guy who messed up this painting!’ It would be stupid.”
    “You’re a very clever young man,” she said. “Maybe you’re clever enough to think you could use that argument.”
    “But—”
    “Look,” she said, stashing the painting back behind her desk. “I realize you’ve been under stress because your friend Quentin is sick.”
    “I started keeping a journal, like you said.”
    “That was only a suggestion, Julian. It’s irrelevant to this conversation.”
    “But you said it, and I’m doing it, and I’m glad I’m doing it.”
    “I’ll mention that to Principal Salvatore. But you’ve got to meet me halfway.”
    “Halfway to where?”
    “You’ve at least got to apologize,” she said.
    “But I didn’t—”
    “Julian, I have an eyewitness who says you did it, who
saw
you doing it.”
    “Did my friend Lonnie tell you that? Because he’s a real practical joker.…”
    “No, it wasn’t your friend Lonnie,” she said, “and no, again, this is
not
a joke.”
    “Then I don’t know what to