“Hey, Jamie.”

I looked up at Tonie, sitting across from me at our breakfast table. It was several hours after we’d eaten dinner (with Tonie as Aaron’s guest again) and were all working on our homework. At least, I was. The two of them kept whispering to each other and laughing. “What?” I asked wearily, tapping my pencil on the table.

“You never did tell us what happened in detention.”

“It was detention. What could happen in detention?”

“I don’t know. But Mike was there. I’m betting it was at least mildly entertaining.”

“We didn’t try to kill each other, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said dryly.

She shrugged. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

I stared at her, thoughtfully tapping my fingers on the table. I was curious about something Ashten had said, but Tonie acted as if Mike was a saint. I wondered how she would react to the gossip that was obviously going around.

Curiosity won.

“Well... We did overhear an interesting conversation...”

“About what?”

“Mike.”

Tonie raised an eyebrow. “I bet he got annoyed. He hates it when people talk about him behind his back.”

I hesitated. “Did he really get arrested?”

She and Aaron glanced at each other, startled.

“Did you overhear that, too?”

I nodded.

She hesitated before answering. “It’s true. His father hired practically an entire law firm. I’m surprised it’s news to you. But then again, you aren’t interested in them enough to listen to gossip.”

“What did he do?” I pressed.

“Nothing,” she answered shortly. “He did nothing.”

“But why would he get in trouble if he did nothing wrong?”

“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” she said firmly.

“If you really want to know, you should ask him,” Aaron agreed.

Was he crazy? “Are you crazy? He’d never answer that!”

“Then neither will we,” Tonie said stubbornly.

“Well, I think I’d like to know if a criminal was walking around my school!”

Aaron rolled his eyes.

I sighed. “Okay, I’m being over-dramatic again. But—”

“Mike could never hurt anybody,” Tonie interrupted me, sounding so certain that I blinked in surprise. “I’ve never seen or known him to hurt any living thing. You shouldn’t judge him before you know him, Jamie.”

That made me feel bad.

“He’s really not a bad guy,” Tonie murmured. “Of course, he’s annoying and arrogant, but he’s not a bad guy.”

I thought about this for a while. Tonie had a point. I’d been prejudiced against Harding before I’d even met him. He didn’t seem to be that bad, true. He flirted outrageously with anything that moved, but he was never rude about it. And he only yelled at me because I kept yelling at him.

I sighed again. Maybe I shouldn’t be so mean to him next time.

With that out of the way, I attacked my homework once more.

When Jonathan came by to pick up his sister an hour before midnight, I’d finished most of it so I joyfully hurried out to greet him.

“Hey,” I said, giving him my best smile and a kiss.

“Hey. Get all the homework done?”

“I did,” I muttered. “I don’t know about them.”

“What about you, dear brother?” Tonie asked mockingly, coming over with Aaron.

“Well, since you weren’t around to bug me, I got them all done. Even extra stuff.”

“You are such a boring nerd. You should join us some time. I mean, don’t you want to be with your girlfriend?”

“You know Mom needs me at the stables.”

Tonie smiled brightly at me. “How does it feel to come in second to horses, JJ?”

Jonathan groaned and put his hands on top of her head. “Just get in the car already!” he told her, literally stuffing her into the front passenger seat. He turned and gave me another kiss and nodded politely at Aaron. “See you guys in school tomorrow,” he said, going around to the driver’s side and getting in. He and Tonie seemed to have a muffled argument over the car keys for a while but he ultimately wrested them from her hands.

I went over to stand beside Aaron, and together we watched the gray Mazda disappear around the corner.

“Excuse me, excuse me. Excuse me, I’m student council president!” I said loudly, fighting my way through the crowd barring the gym doors. The mob had been the first thing I’d seen upon coming to school. Curiosity – as it always did – had gotten the best of me. I was a little self-conscious of throwing my title around like that, but it got them to look at me at least.

When I finally got to the front, I found myself right next to Mike Harding (the guy was everywhere). I glanced at him before turning my attention to the gym.

“Oh, wow,” I murmured in awe.

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered with a long, low whistle. “It is...impressive.”

I immediately understood what all the fuss was about. On the lower part of the gym wall had once been a beautiful mural. Now the mural was covered by still damp black paint. Over the black paint, in bright, vivid orange, was a large and very rude sign.

Several teachers began shooing students out. Mike was obediently turning to leave when the principal stopped him.

“Mr. Harding!” Mrs. Whitney called from inside the gym.

Mike froze, sighed, and turned around reluctantly. “Yes?”

“Please come here. Mr. Swanson and I were just talking about you.”

I frowned, remembering Tonie’s words. ”He couldn’t hurt anyone.” Well, no one had been hurt but this fit in neatly with his reputation... I gave him a sidelong glance and suddenly dismissed the idea. No, such a petty prank would not have been his style.

“Ms. Jenkins.” Mrs. Whitney was motioning for me to come in as well. “Please join us.”

Mike raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged as we stepped inside and the gym doors were closed behind us.

The teachers were all conferring with each other so Mike and I sat down on the bleachers for a while. I glanced at him as he leaned back casually, his elbows on the row behind us, and his long legs stretched in front of him. He appeared relaxed, but I could see an alert wariness in his eyes.

“What do you think this is all about?” I asked him.

“I don’t know why you’re here, but I know why I am,” he snorted.

“I don’t think you did that.”

He laughed suddenly. “The fact that you just said that means the thought crossed your mind. Your confidence in me is really overwhelming.”

I frowned at him. “Why do you have to be so sarcastic?”

“Why should you care? If you don’t like it, don’t talk to me.”

Mrs. Whitney and the art teacher, Mr. Swanson, finally came over and Mike hauled himself up with the help of his crutch. I followed his lead and stood up, too.

Mrs. Whitney smiled at him, noticing that his face was dark as a thundercloud. “There’s no need to worry Mr. Harding. You’re not on the list of suspects for this one.”

He didn’t seem satisfied but didn’t say anything.

“You’ve done murals before, haven’t you?” the thin and balding Mr. Swanson asked suddenly.

“Yeah...” Mike answered so reluctantly, he seemed to choke on the word.

“The café downtown? The Sandclock?”

I glanced at him sharply. The Sandclock mural was an amazing work. When the café had opened two years ago, it had been the mural that had intrigued and drawn people to the place. Because of it, staring at the far wall of the Sandclock was like staring out at an inviting sun-drenched garden through a crumbling, ruined wall. Had he done it?

To my stunned amazement, he nodded.

“Your work is very good,” Mr. Swanson complimented him. “It’s hard to believe a high school student made such a detailed trompe l’oeil.”

“The gym wall is huge,” Mike blurted out nervously. “Down at the Sandclock, I made the wall look broken because I was too lazy to paint the entire thing.”

Mr. Swanson laughed. “Nevertheless, I’m impressed. I think you can figure something out for the gym.”

Mike looked uncomfortable. In that instant, I realized one very important thing. Mike really wasn’t such a bad guy. Maybe he didn’t like being manipulated into helping people – like what Mr. Swanson was doing and whatever Katie had done – but he would help.

Mrs. Whitney glanced at me. “I’m sure we can count on the student council to support you, and Mr. Swanson can talk to his art class. You don’t have to work completely alone.”

Mike thought it over.

“Ms. Jenkins, can we count on the student council’s assistance?”

“You’re in the student council?” Mike asked, surprised.

“I’m the president,” I mumbled.

His blue eyes lit up and I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. I felt my stomach lurch as one corner of his mouth started to curve into a decidedly evil grin.

“When do you want me to start?” he asked cheerfully.

I wished I could kick him.

Weekend. At long last. I was just about to dive into my traditional Saturday breakfast of waffles, scrambled eggs, milk, and fruit (strawberries) when the phone rang.

My mother glanced at the clock. It was a bit past ten in the morning. “Please get it, Jamie.”

“But—”

“I have to finish getting ready for work.”

“I’ll get it,” Aaron volunteered, getting up so I could swipe a strawberry from his bowl. He made a face at me. “I wonder how Jonathan feels about dating a vacuum cleaner?”

“Shut up, Aaron.”

He spoke into the phone for a few moments and then set the receiver down on the counter. “JJ, it’s for you.”

I groaned, my forkful of waffle halfway to my mouth. “Who is it?”

“Just take it already,” he said impatiently.

I stomped over. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jamie,” a familiar voice greeted me.

“Who is this?”

“Mike Harding.”

I ground my teeth together. “How did you get this number?”

“Does it matter? I need to talk to you about the mural.”

“What about it?”

“Well, I was just checking my supplies today and, as it turns out, you never ordered the paint I asked for.”

“What paint?”

“The paint I’m going to use,” he explained with long-suffering patience.

“How should I know what paint you need?” I asked, annoyed.

“I gave you a list.”

“What list?”

A lengthy pause. “Can I come over to your house right now?”

“Why?”

“So I can get my hands on you and strangle your pretty little neck!”

“I’m sorry!” I yelled, holding the phone away from my ear. “I really don’t remember a list.”

“I gave it to you two days ago, though I shouldn’t be surprised you forgot about it. You and your boyfriend were too busy making out by your locker.”

A memory. “Ohhhhh...that list.”

“Yes. That list.”

“I’m sorry,” I said sheepishly.

“Forget it. The school has buckets of white paint and I can get the acrylics some other time.”

“Well, why are you bothering me then?” I asked in exasperation.

“You’re helping me out today.”

“What? But I’m not very artistic! In fact, I’m completely unartistic. My stick figures look like blobs.”

“I don’t care! I’m just prepping the wall today. That black paint is just too lumpy. It needs to be evened out and the entire wall painted over. Just get to school right now!”

“NOW?”

“Yes. And don’t give me any stupid excuses. I’ve heard it all from most of the art club.”

“But I just woke up! I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet!”

“That’s not my fault, is it?”

“You’re mean. I actually thought you might be nice, but I was wrong. You really are mean, after all!”

“Geez, you sound like a five-year-old.” He sighed heavily. “Just get off the phone and get to school right now! I don’t care if you haven’t eaten, bathed, or put your face on. Just get here.”

Click!

I blinked at the receiver. Well, Mrs. Whitney did say she wanted the cooperation of the entire student council...

I quickly dialed a number.

“Hello?” a high, chirpy voice greeted me.

“Hey, Amanda. How would you like to spend the entire day with Mike Harding?”

My vice president sighed. “You’re not asking because you’ve set me up with him, are you? Is this about the mural?”

“Look, we all have to work on it together—”

“The boy’s hotter than a firestorm but I don’t know, Jamie...”

“Don’t you dare say you’re too lazy to help me!”

“I feel sick. Sorry.” Click.

I stared at the phone in disgust for a moment and then hurriedly dialed another number.

I called every single person in the student council that morning. Every single person. Their excuses were mostly lame, but there was nothing I could say to make them change their minds. It was too beautiful a Saturday to spend working, so I couldn’t blame them. Temperamental Carl Hughes was so vehement about it and yelled so loudly that I nearly dropped the phone.

I had just hung up on him when the phone rang again. “Hel—”

“What are you still doing there?” Mike shouted.

Weekend. At long last, I though sourly.