“I’ll see you at lunch,” he said, leaving B alone in the classroom with Mr. Bishop. But Mr. Bishop called after George, “Young man! Just so you know, B may not be able to join you at lunch today. We have a lot of work to do.” B sat down in an empty desk and stared at its smudgy surface, her cheeks burning, waiting for whatever lecture or interrogation Mr. Bishop had in mind. Was he going to send her to detention for stealing the tickets? She still clutched her ticket in her sweaty palm, wondering if the teacher was going to take it away, since she was the supposed thief. Or maybe he would decide she would have to tell everyone what she’d done…. Mr. Bishop bent down and picked up the torn halves of the spelling list from where Jason had dropped them. He sat in the desk in front of B and twisted around to face her. “Beatrix,” he said. Uh-oh, Beatrix again. “Did you misspell ‘explosion’ on purpose?” B looked up, startled. How did he know? Helpless, she nodded. “Why?”
