Free Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook by Mary Amato Page B

Ms. Herschel said. “Have a seat.”
    As Taz walked to his seat, he looked first at Edgar and then at Destiny.
    He got the note and knows we wrote it! I can tell! And he’s excited there was another crime, too! Isn’t it amazing how much eyeballs can say?
    â€œWhere have you been?” Patrick whispered to Taz.
    â€œNone of your business,” Taz said.
    Edgar was dying to ask Taz the same thing and to find out if Bandit was feeling better. He also thought that maybe Taz and Destiny would be interested in his theory about Ms. Herschel being a coffee hog and the thief being another teacher who was taking revenge, but Ms. Herschel interrupted his thoughts by beginning the day’s lesson.
    I could get a lot more done in school if there wasn’t so much school work to do.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

    â€œSo where were you between 8:20 and 9:00, Taz?” Patrick glued himself to Taz’s side as the class walked from math to language arts.
    â€œAt the dentist,” Taz said.
    Edgar chimed in. “So that means Taz couldn’t have committed the crime, Patrick. Your theory is blown.”
    Patrick threw him a look. “He
says
he was at the dentist.”
    â€œSmell my strawberry-flavored fluoride!” Taz breathed on Patrick.
    Edgar laughed.
    Mr. Crew was waiting at his door. “Any more clues or evidence?”
    â€œI’m working on it,” Patrick said.
    â€œI guess you need a new theory,” Edgar said, enjoying Patrick’s look of annoyance.
    As they took their seats, Destiny said, “Mr. Crew, I was thinking about the poem that the thief left this time. I think maybe the thief wants to get caught.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œIt’s like the poet wants to tell us in the poem that he or she is the thief.”
    â€œI agree,” the teacher said. “It almost sounds like a confession. Sometimes it’s easier to write down things that you can’t say out loud. How many of you agree?”
    Many hands went up.
    Mr. Crew smiled. “A poem is a way to express yourself. Some poetry is called ‘confessional poetry’ because the poet is really confessing a deep emotion in the poem. You can use poetry to get something off your chest.”
    Like when a teacher writes a love poem for a custodian, Edgar thought.
    â€œToday we’re going to work completely independently,” Mr. Crew continued. “What I want you to do first is spend a little time reading some poems by other poets, . . .” he pointed to his bookshelves filled with poetry books in the back of the room, “and see if you can find any poems that seem to express some kind of deep emotion or say something that the poet may have had a hard time saying out loud. Then I want you to experiment. Write something of your own. And here’s what’s different: You don’t have to turn this one in. You may share it if you want, but you don’t have to.”
    â€œCan it be deep and funny at the same time?” Taz asked.
    â€œThere’s always a place for humor.”
    â€œIf we don’t have to turn it in, we could just sit here all period and scribble,” Sammy said with a grin.
    Mr. Crew shrugged. “I’ll take that risk. I want you to experience the idea that poetry can be helpful to you, a way to express yourself even if nobody reads it but you. Go back and pick out a book to give you some inspiration.”
    The students picked out books and brought them backto their desks and began reading quietly. Edgar looked around the room. He was dying to know what was on each person’s mind.
    The room was hushed. The idea of taking time in school to write something that didn’t even have to be turned in had a different feel to it. It somehow seemed less like work and more like . . . real life.
    When Edgar was in the middle of his second draft, Taz walked by to sharpen his pencil. He dropped off a note.
    To Edgar