Free The Fourth Stall Part II by Chris Rylander Page A

cage inside. The whole time he looked around so often that his head practically spun on his neck like a top. I’d never seen a teacher act so nervous before.
    Then he got into his car and drove off.
    Vince and I looked at each other from behind the bushes.
    â€œWell, shall we head back to his classroom, then?” he asked.
    â€œUm, yeah.”
    I was dying now more than ever to see what we could find.
    The only person we saw in the halls on our way back was the janitor. He gave a brief nod of his head, and that was that. The janitor never asked questions. Which was perfect for me, because I didn’t really like questions all that much.
    Mr. Kjelson’s classroom looked like any other science teacher’s classroom. It had ten long, rectangular lab tables with shiny black tops and a small sink in the middle of each. The room was neat and orderly, and the teacher’s desk was cleared of everything except for a computer and a little cup with pens and pencils inside of it.
    â€œSo what are we looking for?” Vince asked.
    I shrugged. “Let’s check out his desk.”
    He nodded. We moved around behind Mr. K.’s desk. I pulled at the top drawer, but it didn’t budge. I tried a few of the others while Vince tried the drawers on the other side. None of them would open.
    â€œLocked,” I said.
    â€œWhere’s Joe Blanton when you need him?”
    I gave Vince a look.
    â€œWhat?” he said. “Everyone knows that he can open locks with a single touch.”
    â€œRight, Vince, whatever. Joe Blanton couldn’t open a lock if he had the key and the lock was already unlocked anyway.”
    â€œNumbers don’t lie, Mac,” Vince said, once again referring to Blanton’s career 4.23 ERA or whatever pedestrian number it really was.
    â€œWe don’t have time for this now,” I said, but I also laughed. “What about that?” I pointed at the door behind Kjelson’s desk. His office probably was behind it.
    â€œWill that key get you into his office?” Vince asked.
    â€œI don’t know. I think so.”
    â€œWell, let’s find out already.”
    I nodded, and we approached the door.
    The key slid into the doorknob easily. As if it belonged. Behind the door I thought I heard desperate squeaking from several animals. Vince tensed next to me.
    â€œHurry up, Mac!”
    I started turning the key, and then a voice behind us just about caused me to pee all over my favorite jeans.
    â€œWhat exactly is going on here?”
    I slid the key out and pocketed it as quickly as I could before turning around.
    Mr. Kjelson stood a few feet away, leaning against a lab table with his arms crossed over his chest. His voice was clear and crisp, kind of like the sound of biting into an apple. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward.
    â€œChristian and Vince, were you trying to pick the lock to my office?” he asked.
    â€œNo, sorry, Coach. We were . . . I heard sounds coming from back there. They sounded like rats or something; we were just trying to find out what they were,” I said desperately. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?”
    Vince nodded.
    â€œIt ended early today. But shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing?” he said. “You didn’t even show up at all today.”
    Vince and I looked at each other.
    â€œWe were actually meaning to talk to you about that,” I said. “See, we got detention; that’s why we missed. And we’ll be late tomorrow, too, also because of detention. But I swear we’ll be there on time every time after that, Coach. And we’ll play even harder. We’ll make up for it.”
    â€œFair enough.” Mr. Kjelson nodded and examined us carefully. “You asked about noises coming from in there. Well, I put all the animals in my office every night because somebody has been stealing them,” he said.