The Yearbook Read Online Free PDF

sometimes.”
    “And he didn’t?” I asked.
    Smut shook his head. “They’d have known by now. They think either he hitched with some wacko kidnapper, or he’s hiding out around here.”
    “Did they mention anything about him, like what he was wearing?” I asked.
    Ariana looked me in the eye. “Black shirt and black pants. Why?”
    That confirmed it. I pictured the face in the Ramble and mentally filled it in with a skull and some cheekbones.
    Gumby was Rick Arnold.
    And I was the only one who knew where he was.
    The door to the principal’s office swung open, and a stocky, youngish policeman stepped out.
    “Uh, please disperse,” he shouted. “Come on, let’s decongest the egress.” (I never have understood why cops talk like that. This guy sounded like a taxidermist who took a wrong turn.)
    I looked beyond him and caught a glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Arnold inside the office, their faces streaked with tears.
    I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I stepped forward, staring at the policeman. He looked at me as if I were approaching the President of the United States with explosives strapped to my body.
    “Move along, pal,” he said with a steely glare. “Ain’t you got homeroom?” His fingers instinctively perched near his billy club.
    That I understood. I froze in my tracks as he disappeared back into the office.

Chapter 8
    W HACK!
    The door to the yearbook office, heavy and wooden and stained with decades of student fingerprints, slammed shut.
    I’d thought I was alone. I was sitting at Mr. DeWaart’s long desk, trying to calm my jitters. Even though the yearbook was finished, the desk was still piled so high with papers, a sneeze would bury anyone within five feet of it. At that point I found it the most comforting, private place in the school.
    Until I looked up and saw Ariana.
    She was staring at me with a mixture of annoyance, suspicion, and rage.
    In a moment, my mind flashed with a ridiculous idea. She and Smut had killed Rick.
    “So …” My voice was like sandpaper. I had to swallow before going on. “Three more days till the shipment, huh? Do you think Mr. Brophy will come through — ”
    “You know something,” Ariana interrupted.
    I stared at her, slack-jawed.
    “Come on, David, you can’t lie to me. You really had no idea Rick was missing until this morning?”
    “No! I found out from you, remember?” I lied beautifully. If we were in a movie, I’d have won an Academy Award.
    “Then why was your first question ‘How long was he missing?’? And why did you turn the color of plaster when I mentioned the clothes he was wearing?”
    “Did I? Clothes? I don’t remember that. …”
    Whoops, forget it. My Oscar was flying out the window.
    “Talk, David. And talk fast. First period begins in five minutes, and you never know who’s going to pop in here for a morning chat.”
    I took a deep breath. I had to tell someone.
    “Okay,” I said. “But I think you should sit down.”
    Ariana’s eyes didn’t waver from me as I slowly told her everything. (Well, everything except the part about the Chevy with the steamy windows.)
    By the time I finished, she was grimacing as if she’d just bit into a hunk of moldy bread. “This isn’t like some late April Fool’s thing, is it?”
    “I wish, Ariana.”
    She let out a breath and buried her face in her hands. “If you’re telling the truth, David, you’re a coward. If you’re not, you’re a nut case. I’m not sure which one I believe.”
    “I’m not a nut case.”
    “And I’m not a coward,” she replied, looking up. “If you don’t go straight to the police, I will.”
    Her eyes were firm and frosty. “Don’t,” I said softly. “I’ll go.”
    Ariana stood up and headed for the door. “Good luck, David.”
    After a moment I went into the hallway. The police had left Mr. Dutton’s office, but they were gathered by their cars outside. I recognized Chief Hayes, a tall, gray-haired black man solemnly barking orders to a