Un(e)

            Samantha Bergen looked at her alarm clock and groaned. It was almost noon. Her mother probably left her a list of chores to do.

            Sam rolled out of bed and put on her white robe and brown slippers. “Katie? Did Mom leave me any chores?” she called out to her twelve-year-old sister.

            “What?” Katie yelled, opening her door. One Direction music spilled out of her room.

            “I said, did Mom leave me any chores?” Sam repeated, annoyed.

            “Oh. Yeah, you have to fold the laundry and … do the dishwasher.”  Katie shut her door quickly, leading Sam to believe that at least one of those chores was Katie’s. She didn’t really mind, though.

            After she was done, Sam booted up her laptop and started playing a Sherlock Holmes movie.

            “Keep it down, sis! I can’t hear!” Sam rolled her eyes and put her headphones in her computer.

            Sam’s room was covered in newspaper clippings of mysteries in all the cities she’d lived in. There were cutouts from The Olympian, Bangor Daily News, and The Idaho Statesman, to name a few. The mysteries were all mostly murders or robberies.

            On a shelf by her bed, there was an impressive collection of over forty Nancy Drew mysteries, along with a dozen Encyclopedia Brown books and the Flavia de Luce mysteries. A backpack overflowing with school supplies and locker decorations was thrown against the corner of the room, evidence that Sam was starting school the next day.

            Sam wasn’t overjoyed about starting her junior year in high school in a brand-new city, but she’d moved for her freshman year, and her sixth grade year, and her third grade year. And just before she’d started kindergarten. So, she was pretty used to the ‘new kid’ routine.

            Her family never moved anywhere exciting. Olympia, Washington, Bangor, Maine, Meridian, Idaho … and now Cheyenne, Wyoming. Sam would be attending Central High School, where she was sure nothing interesting would ever happen.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

                Sam checked her schedule and sighed. This school was so unorganized! She was sure she’d never find her French class. She contemplated asking one of the overweight ladies with way too much makeup – aka the counselors – where to go, but then they’d know she was new, and they’d go all, “Where are you from?” and Sam would be late for class.

                Once she finally found room 214, Sam checked the board to make sure there were no assigned seats. Sure enough, it said:

Welcome To French 4AB

with Madame Baxa

Take a seat anywhere!

                This was obviously a teacher who was kind, but probably could be a hardass if kids got out of line. Sam smiled and sat down as a middle-aged woman surveyed the class and split up three annoying jock-heads.

                Sam had always been good at reading people. She stroked her thumb over her book (Harriet the Spy) and glanced around the room. Madame Baxa had put one of the jocks next to her, but no one else was at her table.

                “Taisez-vous, les enfants,” Madame Baxa told her class, and everyone settled down.

                At least people listen here, Sam thought.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

                Sam’s stomach growled as she made her way into the lunchroom. She recited her PIN number to herself as she picked out a hamburger and tater tots with a couple ketchup packets. The girl in front of her seemed to have forgotten her PIN number, because the lunch lady was flipping through a large book.

                Sam studied the girl in front of her. She had a scuffed leather jacket and choppy black hair. She looked Native American. Sam guessed she was a tough chick – there were muscles bulging beneath her jacket. She glanced at her tray – three cheeseburgers and two sets of fries. Sam supposed she wasn’t the richest of folks – or maybe she was just hungry, Sam chided herself.

                That was the downside of being a detective-wannabe: you had to make assumptions. And, well, Sam knew the saying that when you assume, you make and ass out of you and me.       

                The girl in front of her finally moved, and Sam punched in the numbers 3391.

                “Thank you,” the lunch lady said. Sam nodded politely and moved on.

                Here was the biggest new-girl challenge: where to sit. The lunchroom at Central High was not like the Mean Girls movie, but there were cliques. Sam shifted her feet nervously and quickly took a seat at the nearest table, where only a skinny blonde boy was.

                The boy’s blue eyes bored into her, then turned away to his bagged lunch. Sam unwrapped her hamburger and glanced at the boy.

                He was obviously an outcast, a pariah: he kept looking at her nervously, as if she was going to punch him. Sam decided she was going to try to talk to him, even if no one else did.

                “Hi,” Sam said. The boy jumped and started hyperventilating. “I’m Sam, I’m new.” The boy jumped up and ran out, leaving his sack lunch. Sam looked after him nervously, but decided not to go after him. He looked freaked out enough.

                Sam was sure that there was a mystery behind the boy, and she couldn’t wait to try and solve it.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

                Sam dumped her backpack on her bed and started going through the yearbook from last year. She’d gone into the counselor’s office and asked if she could borrow a yearbook. She’d even used the ‘n word,’ new. They’d practically thrown it at her and she could tell they really wanted to hug her.

                Sam shuddered off the memory and opened the book. All the juniors had the same lunch, so Sam looked in the ‘Sophomore’ section.

                There he was: Mandel Harris. Sam grinned and began Stage Two of her research.

 

2: Deux

Deux      

        Sam was just booting up her PC when she heard the call.

                “Samantha, Katherine! Dinnertime!” Sam rolled her eyes and went to wash her hands. Her parents didn’t believe in ‘shortened names,’ so as a result she and Katie were never called by their nicknames inside the house.

                Sam participated in the discussion at dinner (if Katie could get a second ear piercing) but she kept jiggling her leg nervously, anxious to get back to her laptop.

                At last, her parents excused her and she practically threw her plate in the dishwasher like a Frisbee. Sam ran to her room and typed in ‘Mandel Harris’ in Google.

                Dozens of people came up, so she logged into Facebook and searched there.

                After finding several perverted Mandel Harris,’ Sam found someone who went to Central High. There was no profile picture, but Sam was sure this was her Mandel, because the yearbook included middle initials. Mandel C Harris.

                Meanwhile, Mandel Harris was at his house, looking at Samantha Kreamer’s Facebook page. When he’d seen Sam at lunch, he’d had a panic attack because she looked so much like Samantha Kreamer. When she’d said her name was ‘Sam’ – Mandel shivered at the memory.

                Mandel didn’t like to think about negative things, which was why he didn’t log onto his Facebook very often.

                Suddenly, he realized that he had a friend request. A friend request? Mandel was confused, until he told himself that it was probably one of those crazy people who try and friend everyone they can.

                He clicked on the icon, ready to hit ‘Ignore,’ when he saw who it was.

                Aleria Markova pulled her tattered leather jacket around her and hoisted her backpack further up her back. She glared at the Bees – the group of glittery cheerleaders who got whatever they wanted – and flipped them off as she walked past them.

                “Ex-cuse me!” one of them said, outraged. Aleria shrugged and kept walking, but then turned back. The Queen Bee was missing. That was strange. The Bees never went anywhere without the Queen Bee.

                “Where’s your Hitler, Nazis?” she called out. The Bees looked around, confused. “Your leader,” Aleria explained as though talking to a preschooler.

                “Oh – you mean Crystal? We totally kicked her out. Gina’s the leader now.” Why had they kicked Crystal out?

                Aleria shook her head. If she kept this up, she’d be a gossip-loving, makeup-wearing Bee. That thought alone almost made her dry heave, so she kept walking.

                Aleria kept walking, but noticed Crystal crying to her boyfriend, Slasher. Slasher wasn’t his real name – it was Josh, or Jack, or something – but his nickname alone told Aleria that this was not going to be pretty.

                “But – it’s – I didn’t mean to! I thought we were safe – Slasher! Please!” Crystal sobbed through mascara-smudged eyes.

                “No,” Slasher said, annoyed. “I don’t wanna hafta raise a frickin’ kid,” Slasher said, lighting a cigarette.

                Huh, Aleria thought. She wasn’t into gossip, but this was interesting. Crystal was a "fallen angel" – no wonder the Bees had kicked her out.

                “But – please!” Crystal gave a huge sob and pushed Slasher away, running off. Aleria found herself staring at Crystal’s stomach in interest.

                “This is not good,” Harold Teal, the principal of Central High, said, pacing.  “The money was stolen – online! It’s not like you can get fingerprints online!” Harold took several deep breaths.

                His secretary, Lillian Worms, was staring at him. She was a mildly attractive woman with brown hair. Under most circumstances, Harold found it pleasant to look at Lillian, seeing as they were both single.

                But now, Harold was more focused on the fact that three thousand dollars had been stolen from Help Kids With Cancer fundraising event at Central High.

                It had started out slowly; over the summer, he and Lillian had put up a hundred flyers about the online campaign. A plaque would go up in a hospital somewhere with their name on it if they donated money, the flyer told people.

                But when they had three cents in the fund on July 28, Harold knew it was time to take it up a notch. He had asked the Gym teacher Kreg Donnavend to help him.

                Kreg was semi-famous in Cheyenne for his numerous selfies, which he posted online. In most of them, he was only wearing a towel.

                However, his pictures circulated quickly, and most people would look at them. So that was why Harold Teal decided to give Kreg ten dollars and a piece of paper in place of his towel. The paper was the flyer that Harold and Lillian had spent countless hours putting up.                 

                Within the next couple weeks, a new trend appeared in the Yahoo! hashtag list: #oldguyselfiekidscancer. It was long, but it did the trick. Soon, Harold had three thousand dollars in the account.  

THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS STOLEN FROM HIGH SCHOOL FUNDRAISER

PROCEEDS WERE TO GO TO CHILDREN WITH CANCER

                Sam stepped back and admired her handiwork. The newspaper clipping was taped on her wall. Now she just needed one that said, “Local Teen Cracks Case,” and she’d be happy.

                It was time to solve a mystery. 

3: Trois

Trois

                Mandel looked down the hallway and saw a short, brown-haired girl walking towards him. He quickly started drinking from the water fountain, but she didn’t take the hint.

                She tapped him on the shoulder. “Mandel Harris, right?” He wiped the water from his mouth and shrugged. “Okay, well, I’m Samantha Berger, but you can call me Sam. You seem really nice, and – I sort of checked out your Facebook page.” She looked at him with sympathy. Mandel bit his lip.

                “Yeah, I’m Mandel.” He looked away.

                “Okay, well, I want your help.” The girl – Sam – wouldn’t give up, so Mandel gave in.

                “With what? Coming out? Because I obviously didn’t do that very well.” Sam didn’t smile at his joke. She gave him a card instead:

Samantha Berger

Detective

(208)654-7634

                Mandel looked up from the card and raised his eyebrows. “You’re a detective?” Sam nodded, grinning.

                “I want you to help me! It’ll be fun – we’ll be like Nancy Drew meets The Hardy Boys. I want to figure out who stole all the money from the cancer fund.” Mandel stared at the girl.

                Sam grinned to herself. She’d convinced Mandel to work with her. As she took a drink from the water fountain, she thought about his Facebook page:

hey lookie its da faggg

                Grace Helf 13/2/13

omg mandadllll u so fabbbb oh oops I mean faggg hahaha

                Jonathon Keaton 3/5/13

still in luvvvv with me manny???? huh??? ur such a fkin chicken just COME OUT and say it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                Alex Breet 21/6/13

                Obviously he wasn’t too crushed by it; he’d made a joke about it. Still, Sam knew there was more of a story behind Mandel and his coming out. She hoped to maybe solve two mysteries at once, which would be big, because she’d never solved a mystery before.

                        Crystal Hawkins looked around the lunchroom nervously. There was her old ‘clan,’ who everyone called the ‘Bees.’ She used to be ‘Queen Bee,’ and she loved it. Now Gina – who was totally bulimic – was ‘Queen Bee.’ She obviously loved it. Bitch.

                Crystal wished she’d never told her friends that she was pregnant. She could have just worn puffy jackets then gotten an abortion.

                Crystal sighed and looked at her stomach. She knew that she’d never be able to kill an innocent baby – even if it did have Slasher Jonson’s genes.

                Noticing an empty table, Crystal headed for it at the same time someone else did. She braced herself for the ridicule, but it didn’t come. Crystal stared at the person across the table from her.

                Her name was Alicia Makowitz, or something, and she was a tough girl. She wore a leather jacket and didn’t take shit from anybody. When Crystal was a Bee, she used to call Alicia a dyke behind her back. That’s what she supposed the Bees were doing right now.

                “Why are you sitting with me?” Alicia’s voice came. Crystal winced at the sharp tone.

                “Because no one else wants me, Alicia,” Crystal told her. Alicia rolled her eyes.

                “My name is ‘Aleria,’ which you would know if you took a break from calling me ‘waffletits.’” Aleria shoved her cheeseburger in her mouth and glared at Crystal.

                “I never called you that to your – I never called you that!” Aleria rolled her eyes again and gave Crystal the cold shoulder. “Look, I’m really sorry, okay? I’m sorry, Aleria. I really want to be friends. I have money!”

                Kreg Donnavend glared at Harold Teal. “Why am I even in here?” he slurred.

                Harold frowned at Kreg. “One, you’ve been drinking and two – I want the money back.”

                “Wha?” Kreg asked. “I didn’t take … money.” Harold tapped his foot and Lillian sat Kreg down in a chair.

                “Kreg, we’re not kidding around. You could have told us you wanted part of the money, and we could have worked something out.” This was a lie, of course, but Harold was desperate.

                “Didn’t take the money,” Kreg mumbled. Lillian sighed and held her hand to her head.

                “I’ll give you three days before I call the police on you,” Harold warned. Kreg looked up, shaken out of his drunken stupor.

                Sam pulled her head back from the door in the secretary Ms. Worms’ office that lead to the principal’s office. She’d been trying to give them her physical examination records because she was new and just happened to overhear Mr. Teal’s conversation.

                Okay, she listened in on purpose.

                Leaving her forms on Ms. Worms’ desk, she ran down the hall to where she was meeting Mandel.

                “Manny – you’ll never believe it!” she cried. Mandel frowned.

                “Did you just call me ‘Manny’?” he asked. Sam shrugged and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the empty band room.

                “Okay, so, the principal, Mr. Teal – he thinks that Mr. Donnavend stole the money, and he’s calling the cops in three days. That means we have three days to track Mr. D. Are you in his Gym class?”

                Manny looked taken aback by Sam’s seriousness, but replied, “Yeah. I’ll look at him there, and we can both follow him after school.” Sam grinned and hugged Manny.

                Aleria grinned and began to plot what she’d do with thirty dollars. Crystal Hawkins was a fool. Aleria would probably hang out with her though, because she was loaded.

                “Oh, shit!” came the sound of someone dropping something. Aleria peered around the corner of the building and saw her Algebra teacher, Mrs. Hartford, picking up her purse, which was stuffed full with money. Aleria was about to walk away when she was several hundred-dollar bills flutter from the bag.

                What the hell? she thought. How much money does an Algebra teacher make? Probably, like, twenty-thousand per lifetime. No way has Mrs. Hartford made that much moneym unless she's a 500-year-old vampire.

                Aleria took out her cracked iPhone that she had stolen from the nearby Apple store and snapped a picture of Mrs. Hartford.

                She grinned, thinking about blackmail.

                “ … and then we’ll confront him – but he might be a killer, so we should be careful.” Aleria turned around and saw a short brunette and a tall, skinny blonde boy walking her way. She knew the blonde boy was: Mandel Harris, who everyone called Mr. Fagbag, but she had no idea who the brunette was.

                “Hi, Aleria,” Mandel greeted her. He’d sort of defended her when some girls called her a dyke one time, but she’d just brushed him off. Now they were ‘hey’ and smiles-in-the-hall friends.

                “Hey, Mandel,” Aleria said, putting her phone away. “Who’s that?” she asked, nodding in the brunette’s direction.

                “This is –” Mandel began.

                “I’m Samantha Bergen,” the girl said, cutting Mandel off. “Manny and I are going to solve a mystery about stolen money.”

                Aleria snorted. ‘Manny’? Did Samantha know Mandel was gay or was she just hagged out?

                Then she remembered Mrs. Hartford and her money. That might be it!

                “Someone stole some money?” Aleria questioned.

                Samantha nodded. “Yes, three thousand dollars. Mr. Teal thinks that it’s Mr. D, but I’m open to suggestions.”

                Aleria smirked. “I’ve got more than a ‘suggestion’ – I’ve got evidence!”

4: Quatre

Quatre

         Sam couldn’t believe what the black-haired girl in front of her was showing her. It was a picture of the Algebra teacher, Mrs. Hartford, stuffing hundred-dollar bills back in her purse.

                “Wow,” Manny said. The black-haired girl tucked a piece of hair that came loose from her braid behind her ear and smirked.

                “Yeah, no shit ‘wow,’ Sherlocks. Now, let’s follow that woman!” The girl –Aleria? – clapped her hands and grinned.

                Sam and Manny shared a look, which Aleria noticed.

                “Let’s .. let ‘us’?” Manny asked. Aleria nodded.

                “Yeah, we’ll be a team. We can be SAM,” Aleria told Sam and Manny.

                “My name is Sam already,” Sam said, confused.

                “S-A-M – our team. My name’s Aleria, A. Mandel, M. Samantha, S. S-A-M.” Sam smiled at the thought.

                Manny followed the two girls into Sam’s Toyota. His knees were up next to his chest in the back, but he didn’t mind much.

                He watched Sam and Aleria talk. Aleria was often bullied and called names, but she took them indifferently, which Manny noted with admiration. When he’d first been called ‘fag,’ he had tried to punch the speaker.

                He’d come home with a black eye and swollen testicles. The speaker – Reed Thomas – went home with a grin.

                Manny sighed as the Toyota came to a stop.

                “There – she’s goin’ into that hotel,” Aleria said.

                “The Marriot,” Sam noted. “Let’s go.”

                Manny, Sam, and Aleria got out and walked into the hotel like they were professionals, not high school students. Aleria looked about twenty-two, so she acted like Sam and Manny were her adopted siblings. Manny looked younger than he was and Sam looked exactly her age.

                Aleria would be very useful to have around, to get information from people. Sam approached the desk to ask them something, but Aleria tapped her and pointed to Mrs. Hartford, who was entering room 113.

                “Distract them,” Sam whispered to Manny, who looked around for help, but Aleria and Sam were already gone.

                “Hey – hey! You! You all think I’m worthless!” Manny screamed, overcome with fear. Why had Sam left him here?

                He swallowed and continued, “No one loves me!” Jumping up on the desk, he started to climb the stairs. “I’ll show you! I’ll die!” he shrieked dramatically. Manny had never been a stereotypical gay – he never acted and he didn’t really like Broadway. However, he sort of liked this theatrical performance. Maybe he could be ‘The Distractor.’

                “What!? No! Get down here, boy!” The man at the desk tried to grab him, but Manny was thin and fast.

                Just then, he saw Sam and Aleria scampering across the lobby and out the door. Dropping to the ground, he brushed himself off and said, “Thank you. I’ll nail the part in the school play,” and ran out after the girls.

                “That was funny,” Aleria informed him. He shrugged and turned to Sam.

                “Tell me that wasn’t all for nothing,” he said. Sam winced.

                “Um, yeah, we got … it’s icky. Mrs. Hartford is not the one who stole the money.”

                Aleria smirked. “Yeah, she’s totally earning it with her job,” she told Manny. Sam gagged.

                As Manny realized what Mrs. Hartford did, he made a choking noise and buried his face in his hands while Aleria laughed.

                “She’s my teacher!” Manny yelled. “I’m in her class – how the hell am I supposed to go to Algebra now?” Sam shook her head sadly, and Aleria giggled.

                “Okay, um, now we have to decide if we tell her family,” Sam said. Aleria looked surprised.

                “Why not tell her family? I have pictures,” she said, holding up her cracked phone. Both Sam and Manny leaned away from it instinctively.

                Crystal saw Aleria and two other kids get out of a pickup truck. She wasn’t sure if she should go talk to them. On one hand, Aleria was her friend. On the other, she’d had to buy her friendship.

                “Hey – Aleria!” Crystal cried. Aleria whipped around.

                “Oh, hey, Crystal.” Aleria didn’t introduce her to the other kids, Crystal noticed.

                “So, um, who’re those guys?” Crystal asked nervously.

                “That’s Manny – Mandel, I mean, and Sam … antha. Mandel and Samantha.” Aleria turned to go, but Samantha stayed.

                “Hi, Crystal. I’m Samantha, but you can call me Sam. That’s Mandel, but you can call him Manny. And I guess you know Aleria.” Crystal smiled and nodded.

                “Yeah. So, what are you guys doing?” Crystal asked. She looked around nervously – the Bees usually came into the parking lot about now.

                “We’re going to have an orgy in the janitor’s closet,” Aleria said, bored. Sam scowled at her.

                “We’re solving a mystery. Want to help?” Crystal nodded. Anything was better than the Bees making up names for her that involved ‘slut’ or ‘whore,’ such as ‘Crysta-whore’ and ‘Cr-slut-tal.’

                Aleria made a face, but didn’t say anything.

                “SCAM,” the boy named Manny said suddenly.

                “What?” Crystal asked.

                “Sam, Aleria, Manny, Crystal – S-C-A-M, SCAM.” Aleria opened the door to the school and headed inside, followed by Manny.

                Aleria scowled at Crystal. That chick was so freaking annoying!

                “ … and then we realized she was a prostitute.” Sam was filling Crystal in on their progress so far.

                “Ew!” Crystal said. Manny shrugged, picking at his cuticles. Sam smiled sadly.

                “Anyway, we were going to tell her family later – Aleria has, um, pictures,” Sam continued.

                “I’ll tell them,” Crystal said quickly, standing up. Aleria frowned. Who was that anxious to tell someone their mom/wife was a freaking prostitute?

                Apparently, a pregnant teenager.

                Whatever. Aleria wasn’t about to figure out the mystery that was Crystal Hawkins – she had better things to do.