“I don’t suppose you took a look at my blog yet?” Fang called out. I didn’t bother to answer . . . that I had. And it was good. The boy had some poetry in him.
63
“Cool,” said the Gasman. “Glad I ran into you.” They were surrounded by an interweaving stream of voices, as kids all around them changed classes. It was before lunch, and Iggy had been on his way to the library when Gazzy had touched his arm.
Iggy nodded. “We’ll have to remember we have the same recess on . . . what day is this?” The voices around them thinned and started to fade away as he and Gazzy turned a corner.
“Friday. C’mon, let’s check this out.”
Iggy heard Gazzy open a door. From the sound of the echo, he knew they were facing a big space that went down. “What is this, the basement?”
“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to explore a bit.”
“Cool.”
Gazzy touched the back of Iggy’s hand, and Iggy concentrated on what was echoing barely perceptibly around him. At the bottom of the stairs, air currents and the slightest sounds told him they were in a large, relatively empty space.
“What’s it like?” he said, lowering his voice.
“Big,” said Gazzy. “Basementy. There’re some doors. Let’s see what’s behind ’em.”
Iggy heard the Gasman turn a doorknob and felt the breeze as the door swung toward them.
“Um, school supplies,” the Gasman said, moving a few feet away. He paused, and Iggy heard another door open.
“Sports equipment.”
“Anything good?”
“It’s all too big to carry—couldn’t hide it. Unless we had our backpacks with us.”
“Note to self,” said Iggy.
“Right.”
Iggy’s hand shot out and touched Gazzy’s shoulder. He held one finger to his lips and listened hard. Yes: footsteps.
“Someone coming down,” he said in the barest whisper.
Gazzy took Iggy’s sleeve and they walked quickly and silently a few yards down the hall. Another door opened, and the Gasman pulled Iggy inside and shut it behind them with a slight snick.
“Where are we?” Iggy breathed.
“Looks like a file room,” whispered Gazzy. “Let’s get behind some cabinets, just in case.”
Iggy followed Gazzy to the back of the room, sensing tall things on either side of them. He felt Gazzy hunch down on the floor and crouched down too, just as they heard voices, getting louder.
“But what do you want me to do, Mr. Pruitt?” a woman asked, sounding flustered.
“I want you to make sure those files are lost,” said the headmaster in his horrible, sneering voice. “We can’t destroy them, but we can’t have them found either. Is that totally beyond your comprehension?”
“No, no, but—,” said the woman.
“But nothing!” the headmaster snapped. “Surely you can handle this one simple task, Ms. Cox. Put the files where you can find them but no one else can. Or is that too much for you?”
Iggy shook his head. The headmaster was such a total jerk. He hated him. Someone should teach him a lesson.
“No,” said the woman, sounding defeated. “I can do it.”