Free Hot Shot by Matt Christopher Page A

it.”
    “Didn’t you see the smudges?” Jackson asked.
    “It was dark in the car,” Paul pointed out.
    “How did the candy get in your bag in the first place?” Alex wanted to know.
    At that question, Paul shook his head. “Search me. My dad doesn’t allow me to eat candy. So someone else must have stuck it
     in there.”
    “Who would have done that?”
    “Search me,” Paul said again. “But it shouldn’t be hard to find out because there was a small white box in my duffel bag,
     too.” He screwed up his face as if trying to remember. “The box had a name on it—Culbert’s, or Cutter’s, something like that.
     If we can figure out—”
    Julian’s sharp gasp interrupted whatever Paul was going to say. The other boys stared at him.
    “What is it?” Jackson asked.
    “N-Nothing,” Julian stammered. “I just remembered I have to go somewhere.” He backed out of the room and quickly closed the
     door. Then he leaned against the wall. His mind was racing.
    The box didn’t say Culbert’s or Cutter’s. It said
Cutler’s
! Chocolate peanut butter drops like the ones he had at home had put Paul in the hospital! But how had the drops gotten into
     Paul’s bag in the first place? He hadn’t put them there, and he was the only one who knew about Cutler’s and their Triple
     Chocolate Peanut Butter Drops.
    Then his eyes widened.
No, I’m not,
he thought.
Alex knows about them too. What if he thinks I put the candy in Paul’s duffel so that Paul would get sick?

19
    J ulian ducked into a nearby bathroom and used his cell phone to call his mother. She promised to pick him up in ten minutes.
     He spent the time hiding in a bathroom. He didn’t want to risk running into Alex or Jackson. If Alex had remembered about
     the candy, he might have told Jackson. Then maybe the two of them would come looking for him—to accuse him of sabotaging their
     star center.
    When he got home, he dashed up to his room and pulled open the top drawer of his dresser. He looked inside and sighed with
     relief. The nearly empty Cutler’s box was still there.
    At least I know the box in Paul’s duffel bag wasn’t mine
, he thought. He lay down on his bed and laced his fingers behind his head.
But it doesn’t clear up the mystery of where that other one came from!
    He closed his eyes and envisioned the gym as it had looked the day before. He and the other subs had been sitting on the bench.
     Their duffel bags were on the seats behind them. Paul’s fan club was nearby. If someone had slipped something into Paul’s
     duffel, surely they or one of the Warriors would have noticed?
    Unless one of Paul’s fans had done it?
He dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his brain. Fans didn’t sabotage their favorite players. They wouldn’t have
     dared with all the Warriors right there, anyway. And since there had always been at least some Warriors there—
    Julian sat up abruptly.
That’s not true,
he realized.
There were a few minutes when none of the Warriors were on the bench—halftime! Someone could have easily put the candy in
     Paul’s bag when we were all at the far end of the gym!
    He stood up and paced his room. “Okay,” he muttered, “I’ve figured out the
when
. But what about the
who
? And most importantly, the
why
?”
    He picked up the photograph of the Tornadoes from the top of his dresser. He looked from Grady to Mick, and then stopped at
     Barry. “Too bad you didn’t see anything yesterday,” he said with a sigh.
    He put the picture back and stared around his room. Suddenly, his eyes alighted on his duffel bag. When he did, something
     clicked in his brain.
    He had mistaken Paul’s duffel bag for his own. What if someone else had too?
    The pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. Barry had been at yesterday’s game. He had left the stands during halftime
     to do something secretive. Barry knew that Julian loved Cutler’s Triple Chocolate Peanut Butter Drops. And Barry knew what