I asked Robyn. “Stick it up your nose, Trev,” she answered. We were back in the library working on our research project. “The guy with the pink lunch box looked suspicious, so I investigated. Which is better than you—sitting on your butt doing nothing. It’s your lunch issue that I’m trying to solve, you know.” “I’m not doing nothing,” I retorted. “Yeah, you are,” Robyn said. “I’m doing all the work, and no one’s swiping my lunch.” “That’s because it’s disgusting,” Nick interrupted. “And the next move is for someone to explain to me why I can’t get this dumb Internet to work.” “Need some help?” A grade nine boy from Ms. Thorsen’s class stopped, his arms full of books. Their class was organizing the new books for Mrs. Pringle. “Sure.” Nick gestured to the screen. “I can’t get the search engine to work.” “No problem.” The boy set down the books. Some old detective novels were on top of the pile. I have a weakness for high-action mystery-thrillers, even fifty-year-old ultra-cheesy ones.
