The Boy Detective Fails Read Online Free PDF Page A

unhappy. But there is no mistake: The weak, gray numbers beside the glass security doors exactly match the sloppy handwritten numbers on the slip of white paper in Billy’s trembling palm, reminding him of a conversation with Dr. Kolberg that went exactly like this:
    —Are you ready to return to the outside world, Billy?
    —No, definitely not, sir.
    —Well, you can’t stay here forever now, can you?
    —Why not? I’m not bothering anybody, sir.
    —Because it’s not healthy. You’re a very special young man, Billy. It’s time you found that out on your own, out there. The world may not be as terrible as you think.
    —I would like to stay here one more month, if I may, sir.
    —One more month? Why?
    —Summer will be over, sir. I can’t go out there if it’s going to be summertime.
    —And why not?
    —I wouldn’t want to see any young girls playing. I would not want to see any flowers outside.
    —Why?
    —Because everything happy right now is going to die.
    —But Billy …
    —I would not like to be reminded of anything pretty.
    —But Billy, of course, anything might …
    —I would not like to be reminded.
    —OK, OK. We will see what we can do, Billy.
    Doctor Kolberg did all he could so that Billy was finally released after the school year had begun and the flowers had already started wilting.
    The boy detective looks up suddenly. A pale blond girl is shouting at him from her front lawn across the street. Beside her, a small young boy is silently frowning.
    “Do you see my bunny’s head over there?” the girl shouts.
    It is none other than Effie Mumford, age eleven, an adolescent, female, and very awkward-looking. What you must know about Effie is that she has won the local, state, and national science fair for the past three years. Also, she is hopelessly in love with amateur rocketry. Additionally, she is an interminable social pariah, a long-suffering possessor of many, many unstoppable runny noses, a silent victim of reoccurring eye infections, and a future prize-winning neurobiologist. One last important fact about Effie Mumford: She does not like to be touched. Not by anyone, not ever.
    As per her usual routine, Effie is dressed wildly inappropriately, in her white and purple winter jacket, which she wears year round, well into the hottest months of summer, white scarf around her neck, furlined hood pulled up, entirely covering her small head.
    Beside her is her younger brother, Gus Mumford, age nine, a square-headed dark boy who is smarter than all of his teachers in the third grade, and yet who is known for being a bully. Only that morning, Gus raised his hand to answer a puzzling question about the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and noticed that his teacher, Miss Gale, rolled her eyes at him and called upon Missy Blackworth instead. Is it the boy’s fault that his hands are so large and square-shaped? Is it his fault that he was born loving the sound of muted flesh against muted flesh? He does not want to be the third grade bully, and yet he is. He does not want to hit Lucy Willis in the ankle with a stone at recess, but for some reason, he does. The boy, Gus, stands silently gazing downward, as he does not ever speak to anyone, horrified by the bloody shambles so near his feet.
    Billy looks at them both, squinting, pointing at himself questioningly.
    “Are you shouting at me?” Billy asks.
    “Yes.”
    The boy detective pushes his black bifocals up his face.
    The girl may be blond. There are a few strands of her hair waving over her forehead and she is wearing thick purple-framed glasses. Billy can see one of her eyes has a white patch over it.
    “Do you see my bunny’s head over there?” the girl asks again.
    The boy detective turns and looks around, then shakes his head.
    No is what his head is saying, but it takes a few moments for his mouth to say it.
    “No.”
    “Oh, OK. It’s definitely missing then.”
    The boy detective thinks this: ?
    Like a quiet explosion—with the