Mr. Walden looked vastly amused. "A sign, Kelly?"
"That's right. I believe what happened here last night – and even that piece of the breezeway nearly killing Bryce – are all connected. I don't believe Father Serra's statue was desecrated by vandals at all, but by angels. Angels who are angry about Monsignor Constantine not allowing Heather's parents to have her funeral here."
This caused a good deal of buzzing in the classroom. People looked nervously at Heather's empty chair. Normally, I don't talk much in school, but I couldn't let this one go by. I said, "So you're saying you think it was an angel who broke this window behind me, Kelly?"
Kelly had to twist around in her seat to see me. "Well," she said. "It could have been...."
"Right. And you think it was angels who broke down Mr. Walden's door, and cut off that statue's head, and wrecked the courtyard?"
Kelly stuck out her chin. "Yes," she said. "I do. Angels angered over Monsignor Constantine's decision not to allow us to memorialize Heather."
I shook my head. "Bull," I said.
Kelly raised her eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said bull, Kelly. I think your theory is full of bull."
Kelly turned a very interesting shade of red. I think she was probably regretting inviting me to her pool party. "You don't know it wasn't angels, Suze," she said acidly.
"Actually, I do. Because to the best of my knowledge, angels don't bleed, and there was blood all over the carpeting back here from where the vandal hurt himself breaking in. That's why the police cut up chunks of the rug and took them away."
Kelly wasn't the only one who gasped. Everybody kind of freaked out. I probably shouldn't have pointed out the blood – especially since it was mine – but hey, I couldn't let her go around saying it was all because of angels. Angels, my butt. What did she think this was anyway? Highway to Heaven?
"Okay," Mr. Walden said. "On that note, everybody, it's time for second period. Susannah, could I see you a minute?"
Cee Cee turned around to waggle her white eyebrows at me. "You're in for it now, sucker," she hissed.
But she had no idea how true her words were. All anybody would have to do was take a look at the Band-Aids all over my wrist, and they'd know I had firsthand knowledge of where that blood had come from.
On the other hand, they had no reason to suspect me, did they?
I approached Mr. Walden's desk, my heart in my throat. He's going to turn you in, I thought, frantically. You are so busted, Simon.
But all Mr. Walden wanted to do was compliment me on my use of footnotes in my essay on the battle of Bladensburg, which he had noticed as I handed it in.
"Uh," I said. "It was really no big deal, Mr. Walden."
"Yes, but footnotes – " He sighed. "I haven't seen footnotes used correctly since I taught an adult education class over at the community college. Really, you did a great job."
I muttered a modest thank you. I didn't want to admit that the reason I knew so much about the battle of Bladensburg was that I'd once helped a veteran of that battle direct a couple of his ancestors to a long buried bag of money he'd dropped during it. It's funny the things that hold people back from getting on with their life…or their death, I should say.
I was about to tell Mr. Walden that while I'd have loved, under ordinary circumstances, to stick around and chat about famous American battles, I really had to go – I was going to see if Sister Ernestine was still guarding the way to Father Dom's office – when Mr. Walden stopped me cold with these few words: "It's funny about Kelly bringing up Heather Chambers that way, actually, Susannah."
I eyed him warily. "Oh? How so?"
"Well, I don't know if you're aware of this, but Heather was the sophomore class vice president, and now that she's gone, we've been collecting nominations for a new VP. Well, believe it or not, you've been nominated. Twelve times so far."
My eyes must have bugged out of my head. I forgot all about how I had to go and see Father Dominic. "Twelve times?"
"Yes, I know, it's unusual, isn't it?"
I couldn't believe it. "But I've only been going here one day!"
"Well, you've made quite an impression. I myself would guess that you didn't exactly make any enemies yesterday when you offered to break Debbie Mancuso's fingers after school. She is not one of the better-liked girls in the class."
I stared at him. So Mr. Walden had overheard my little threat. The fact that he had and not sent me straight to detention made me appreciate him in a way I'd never appreciated a teacher before.
"Oh, and I guess your pushing Bryce Martinson out of the way of that flying chunk of wood – that probably didn't hurt much, either," he added.
"Wow," I said. I guess I probably don't need to point out that at my old school, I wouldn't exactly have won any popularity contests. I never even bothered going out for cheerleading or running for homecoming queen. Besides the fact that at my old school cheerleading was considered a stupid waste of time and in Brooklyn it isn't exactly a compliment to be called a queen, I never would have made either one. And no one – no one – had ever nominated me before for anything.
I was way too flattered to follow my initial instinct, which was to say, "Thanks, but no thanks," and run.
"Well," I said, instead, "what does the vice president of the sophomore class have to do?"
Mr. Walden shrugged. "Help the president determine how to spend the class budget, mostly. It's not much, just a little over three thousand dollars. Kelly and Heather were planning on using the money to hold a dance over at the Carmel Inn, but – "
"Three thousand dollars?" My mouth was probably hanging open, but I didn't care.
"Yes, I know it's not much – "
"And we can spend it anyway we want?" My mind was spinning. "Like, if we wanted to have a bunch of cookouts down at the beach, we could do that?"
Mr. Walden looked down at me curiously. "Sure. You have to have the approval of the rest of the class, though. I have a feeling there might be some noises from administration about using the class money to mend the statue of Father Serra, but– "
But whatever Mr. Walden had been about to say, he didn't get a chance to finish. Cee Cee came running back into the classroom, her purple eyes wide behind the tinted prescription lenses of her glasses.
"Come quick!" she yelled. "There's been an accident! Father Dominic and Bryce Martinson – "
I whirled around, fast. "What?" I demanded way more sharply than I needed to. "What about them?"
"I think they're dead!"