Free Harper Madigan: Junior High Private Eye by Chelsea M. Campbell Page B

Austin’s following—I just hightail it over to Connor Mills, who’s scribbling on the back of a scrap of paper with Eugene’s lucky stolen pencil. I shove through the crowd, then past Connor’s friends. There are muffled “oof” sounds in my wake, and someone says, “Hey! Watch it!” But I ignore all of it, set only on my goal of getting face to face with the monster himself.
    “Get out of here, Madigan,” Connor says, giving me the barest of glances as he continues to scribble on the paper. It looks like there’s some kind of advertisement printed on the other side, but his hand blocks whatever it says. “I don’t have time for your games.”
    There’s a dark edge to his voice, one he usually reserves for when no one else can hear him. He must be desperate to get rid of me, but it’s too late—I’ve already spotted the pencil. And if I was mad at Austin, now my blood boils with rage at Connor. Games. He thinks this is a game . Like putting Oliver in a wheelchair was just a roll of the die for him, just a whim he had one night that doesn’t amount to anything. Maybe it doesn’t when you’re one of the untouchables, someone who can get away with practically murder and no one bats an eye. No one but me, that is.
    “You’re a liar and a thief . And those are your better qualities.”
    “Who’s this jerk?” one of Connor’s posse asks, taking a menacing step towards me. As if Connor of all people needs his protection.
    “Ignore him,” Connor says. “He’s leaving . Aren’t you, Madigan?”
    “You stole Eugene’s pencil.” My hands are clenched into fists at my sides and my toes dig into the soles of my shoes.
    Austin clears his throat. “We’re going to have to confiscate that.”
    Connor looks up from his writing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t steal nothing—”
    “It’s in your hand right now!”
    He frowns at the pencil in his hand, like he hadn’t realized it was there. “This? I picked it up somewhere. Maybe I borrowed it and forgot to give it back.”
    I’m shaking my head. There’s no way Eugene would have lent it to anyone—especially not Connor Mills. “You ’picked it up somewhere’ all right. It’s called stealing.”
    “It’s not stealing if you don’t mean it,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at his friends while he ignores me and concentrates on his work. “So if you didn’t mean to hurt someone so bad they end up in a wheelchair, then it doesn’t count as ruining their life?!”
    “ Again ,” Connor says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But this time I can tell he does know. He knows exactly what I’m talking about, and his voice burns and he glares at me like he wishes a look could make me disappear. And when he shrugs, rolling his eyes at his friends like I’m crazy and none of this matters, that’s when I snap.
    My hand darts out and yanks the pencil away from him, like I’m possessed. I’m breathing hard and my mind is racing and I’m so mad that my vision blurs a little. It’s not fair that people like Connor exist and that they think they can get away with hurting everyone else. And it’s especially not fair that they do get away with it. Most of the time.
    “Hey!” Connor reaches out and takes a swipe at the pencil, but I step back out of his reach. “I’m using that!”
    “Not anymore.” All I can think about is how Connor can’t win this time. Just once, even if it’s a small victory, I have to get the upper hand on him. And that’s why, believing even for the briefest of moments that this end justifies any means, I take one end of Eugene’s lucky pencil in each hand and snap it in half.
    Austin gasps. The sound of the wood cracking and breaking echoes through my head as it dawns on me what I’ve just done.
    Connor’s nostrils flare in rage. And then a smile twists across his mouth as he realizes. “I should be mad, but I guess it wasn’t mine anyway, right? This how you treat people