Free A Hole in Juan by Gillian Roberts Page A

alarm systems, taking hostages . . .
    “Sorry,” I said. “It isn’t exciting, I know, but it’s upsetting.”
    He looked embarrassed to be caught out so easily. Then he got himself back on topic. “The thief—what did you do to him?”
    “That is not good detecting,” C.K. said. “You’ve leaped to the conclusion it’s a ‘him.’ Don’t make assumptions. Keep an open mind.”
    GILLIAN ROBERTS
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    Pip nodded solemnly, as if he’d just heard word from on high.
    “In any case, I didn’t do a thing,” I said, “because I don’t know who took it. I heard in time and I made up a new exam.”
    I told them about the anonymous note, and I told them about the new test version and the reaction it produced.
    “Grade them,” Pip said. I thought he was trying to reinstate himself as a sleuth. “The one who does poorly is the thief.”
    “If past history’s any indication, there’s likely to be more than one doin’ poorly,” Mackenzie said with a wink.
    “But a good theory all the same,” I added. “Nonetheless, I’ve already marked them, while you were watching TV, and . . .” I shook my head. “The grades fell out the way they always do. Or I think so. As I said, my grade book’s missing.”
    Pip showed increased interest. “You know who did it, don’t you?” His words sounded more a hope than a question.
    I shook my head. “I don’t know anything for sure.”
    “Not for sure? That’s what people say when they have a strong suspicion,” Mackenzie said, and again Pip nodded. If he’d had a notebook with him, he’d have written the words down.
    “You have a theory, then?” Mackenzie asked.
    I didn’t want to give credence to the looks of outraged betrayal his classmates had shot at Seth when they saw what was written on the exam. That wasn’t proof of anything.
    “Why would somebody show a stolen exam to the entire class? I mean, if he wanted to do better, why give everybody the same advantage?” Pip asked.
    “I don’t understand that, either. The whole thing is confusing, and apparently I’m not the only one confusing things are happening to.” I told them Juan Reyes’s story.
    Pip folded in his bottom lip and concentrated. “Anybody maybe angry with somebody else? A feud going on?”
    Mackenzie raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
    “Because . . . since it doesn’t make sense, maybe it—like it doesn’t have to do with itself. Like there’s another whole reason, like revenge.”
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    A HOLE IN JUAN
    “Against teachers?”
    “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe against each other.”
    “Interestin’.” I could see Mackenzie seriously consider his nephew’s smarts for the first time.
    “Why are you shaking your head?” Pip asked me.
    I hadn’t realized I was. “I was thinking about feuds,” I said,
    “but a lot of the people in that class, boys and girls, are buddies, on the same team, cheerleaders, girlfriends, boyfriends. The chemistry teacher talks about them as a group: the tennis boys and their girls.”
    “People jealous of them, maybe?” Pip asked.
    I could only shrug. “I haven’t heard . . . the thing I’m afraid of is that . . . well, since the test and the grade book . . . that they’re angry with me.” It pained me to say that, suggested failure on some enormous scale.
    “And the chemistry teacher,” Mackenzie reminded me.
    I shrugged, thinking of that laced-up man and the grumbles I’d heard, the evidence I’d seen of his rigidity. They well might be angry with him. But wonderful, terrific me?
    “No disrespect meant,” Pip said, “but you’re a teacher, and teachers don’t know half of what’s actually going on.”
    Not half of it? I didn’t know any of it. I didn’t even know what it was.
    I didn’t even try to tackle whatever problem I had to which Reyes had so cryptically alluded. I couldn’t stand it that I was troubled by so many unknowns I couldn’t even discuss them coherently.
    We were pushing back from the table, the meal over. Pip