Free Middle School: Get Me Out of Here! by James Patterson Page A

We just walked around for a while and sketched some of the paintings, and then we walked around some more. It was a side of Matty I’d never seen before. He seemed so
normal
.
    Which, for Matty, was so
weird
.
    Finally, when Mrs. Ling came around and told us we had fifteen minutes left, Matty closed his sketchbook and started putting his stuff away.
    “Come on,” he said. “We don’t want to miss the best part.”
    I followed him out to the front of the museum and then into the gift shop near the entrance.
    “This is the best part?” I said.
    “Trust me,” he said. “Just check it out.”
    So I did, and let me tell you what I learned that day. Art museum gift shops are for rich people. Everything in that place cost about ten times more than you’d think. Even the postcards were five bucks each.
    After a while, Matty came over to where I was.
    “Hold this,” he said, and gave me his backpack. “I have to go to the bathroom. But wait for me here, okay?”
    I didn’t really think about it. I just took his pack and kept looking at this hundred-dollar book about some guy named Mondrian, who got famous for painting a bunch of red, yellow, and blue squares, over and over. It made me think maybe I should get my own art book someday.

    Just after that, though, I saw Mrs. Ling waving at me to come get on the bus. It was time to go.
    I could see Matty too. He was still on his way to the bathroom, so I figured I’d give him his stuff outside.
    But then, as soon as I started leaving—

    The gift-shop alarm was going off, like someone had just walked out with something that wasn’t paid for. And because I’m not always the swiftest boat on the water, I started looking around to see if I could figure out who the thief was.
    And that’s when I realized—the only person standing there was
me
.



S ET DOWN THE BAG AND STEP AWAY! ” the chief criminal negotiator screams into a bullhorn. It’s almost impossible to hear, with the choppers so low and all those police sirens.
    Something’s gone very wrong here, and all I know is, I didn’t do it.
    “This is a mistake!” I yell.
    “STEP AWAY FROM THE BAG! THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!”
    I hear footsteps—people are running everywhere. And shouting. Police radios are blaring. Is this really all for me?
    I’m not taking any chances. I keep my hands where everyone can see them. Then I bend down slowly and set the pack on the ground.
    As soon as I do, a dozen lines drop out of the sky. A football team’s worth of SWAT officers rappel down to the ground all at once. Before I can even move, they’ve got me surrounded with enough hardware to… well, to open a really, really big hardware store.
    “DON’T MOVE A FREAKIN’ MUSCLE!” one of them shouts.
    “PARDON ME, YOUNG MAN, BUT COULD YOU PLEASE STEP BACK INTO THE GIFT SHOP?” a third one says.

NOT IT

    Y ou can put your arms down, kid,” the guard told me. “Just step back into the gift shop, please?”
    Mrs. Ling was headed over by then. I could see Matty too. He was standing with the rest of the class now and looking right at me. But he wasn’t coming any closer.
    “Rafe?” Mrs. Ling said. “What’s going on?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “But I didn’t do it.”
    The guard asked her if he could check the backpack, and Mrs. Ling looked at me, like the choice was mine.
    I just handed it over. He unzipped it right there on the gift-shop counter, and a second later he was pulling out one of those stainless-steel pens, still in the package. It was the exact same kind Matty had given me for Christmas, except mine was safe and sound at home.
    “Rafe, can you explain this?” Mrs. Ling said.
    I kept looking over at Matty, and he was just shaking his head—
no, no, no, no, no. Don’t tell.
That’s what he was saying. I felt like I was trapped, with my own head on the chopping block.
    Except then, I started thinking—

    You know how sometimes you can have a whole truckload of thoughts all at once?