Free The Fight for Kidsboro by Marshal Younger Page A

asked.
    â€œNothing,” I said.
    â€œWell, hey,” he began, excited. “Guess what I just saw.” I looked at him as if to say, “I’m not guessing.”
    â€œI saw James going into Max’s house.” I failed to catch his point, and he noticed. “Come on! James and Max? They’re not friends. They’re not even close .”
    â€œScott, would you please get to whatever point you’re trying to make.”
    â€œI think Max is up to something.”
    â€œSo, what’s new?”
    â€œNo, I mean, with all these people suddenly making money, like James. I think Max is responsible.”
    â€œYou think he’s hiring them for something?”
    â€œI don’t know. But it seems possible, doesn’t it?” I hated to admit it, but this did sound like something both James and Max would do. “Let’s go investigate,” Scott said, leading the way.

    I think Scott sensed that if he was going to uncover something here, he was going to have to do it primarily on his own. I did not want to find anything. I wanted James to be telling the truth.
    We sneaked toward Max’s house and watched from behind a tree. James was nowhere in sight. We tiptoed a little closer, making more noise than we would have if we had just walked, but that wasn’t important. Scott was on the prowl. We were behind the tree closest to Max’s house, and we could hear voices from inside.
    â€œIs that James?” I whispered.
    â€œI can’t tell,” Scott said. The leaves crunched under Scott’s feet as he inched closer. Suddenly, the door swung open. He scurried back to the tree.
    James came out of the house. “It’s due Monday,” Max said to him from inside. James had a thick book in his left hand.
    â€œOkay,” James replied like a servant to his king. James closed the door behind him.
    â€œLet’s get him,” I whispered.
    â€œWait,” Scott said. “Let’s just follow him for a minute.”
    James went through the down town area and stopped at one of the two picnic tables that made up our park. He sat down and opened the book. He pulled a pencil out of his pocket and began to work.
    Scott was ready. “Okay, let’s go.” We pretended we were on our way to the other side of town and just happened to see our good friend James there.
    â€œJames!” Scott said with a smile pasted on his face.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Scott asked as he sat down across from him at the picnic table. I slid in next to Scott.
    â€œJust a little homework.”
    â€œOh.” Scott lifted up the corner of the thick book to read the title. “Algebra. Tough stuff. Especially for a sixth grader.”
    James pulled the book toward him and suddenly became very interested in his homework.
    â€œYou know, Ryan, I don’t know any sixth graders in algebra. That’s a seventh grade class, isn’t it?”
    â€œI think so,” I said, knowing exactly what Scott was up to and playing along.
    â€œI’m in an advanced-placement class,” James said, stuttering over every word. This was actually not that far from believable. James was definitely smart enough to be in an advanced-placement class. The problem with him was that he would be too lazy to do all the work required. I didn’t believe him, and neither did Scott.
    â€œOh, I didn’t know that. But I guess I could’ve just asked the algebra teachers. I have them for math. In fact, maybe I’ll ask them at school tomorrow.”
    â€œWell …” James was thinking fast. “I’m not actually in the class. They didn’t want me to be in a seventh grade class, you know, because I’m a sixth grader, but I’m doing the work at home. I have a tutor.” This was very good. James seemed flustered as he closed his book. “I gotta go,” he told us.
    â€œBut you just got here,” Scott