Burned Page 3

  “You’re scaring him, Frank. Here. Let me do it.”

  “Very brave of you. While you do that, I’ll go fetch our new ’toys’ from the mission box.”

  “Cool.”

  I went back to my room to retrieve the box. As I turned to leave, I hit the mouse attached to my computer, and noticed the “New Mail” message flashing on the screen. I leaned over the keyboard, grabbing the mouse and clicking on my e-mail.

  Her? I can’t believe it

  It was from Belinda Conrad. She’s a girl in Joe’s class who’s very smart and very pretty. She also makes me very nervous. Why? Because I think she likes me.

  Why would she send me an e-mail?

  This is what she wrote in the message: “Hi, Frank. Just thought I’d send you this song I downloaded from the Internet. It reminded me of you. See you at school. Belinda.”

  Downloaded from the Internet?

  The e-mail contained an attachment. I clicked twice on it, and a few seconds later music played through my speakers.

  It was a new dance mix of the song “Heart-breaker.”

  This reminded her of me? No way.

  “What’re you listening to, Frank?”

  Joe walked into the room, smiling.

  “Nothing,” I said, turning off the monitor. “Let’s check out our new stuff for the mission.”

  I opened the box while Joe stared at me suspiciously.

  “Was that an e-mail from Belinda I saw on your computer?” he asked.

  “Never mind. Look at this.” I handed him a portable digital sound recorder with a wireless microphone that was smaller than a dime.

  “Look. The microphone has a peel-and-stick tab.”

  “Yeah, so you can secretly attach it to someone and record their conversations,” I said, glancing at the instructions. “It says here that this little recorder can pick up the microphone’s signal almost a mile away.”

  “Wow. And what’s this for?” Joe asked, pulling a soda can from the mission box. “In case we get thirsty?”

  “No, it’s a spy cam,” I explained. “With night vision. It can record an image in almost total darkness. And transmit it instantly to any computer using this receiver.”

  I held up another small device with a mini satellite dish. Joe nodded, then studied the soda can more carefully.

  “Aha. Here’s the camera lens hidden in the center.”

  He set the can down, pulled an envelope from the box, and whistled.

  “Check out all the cash, Frank! Man, we could have a lot of fun with this!”

  I snatched the money away from him. “Chill, Joe. I think we’re supposed to use it to buy illegal CDs as evidence.”

  Joe frowned. “You take the fun out of everything… you heartbreaker.”

  I growled and tackled him to the floor.

  The next morning we prepared for Day One of our new mission—and for another day of school. I reluctantly unlocked the handcuffs from Joe’s wrist and slipped the digital sound recorder into my jacket. I planned to take notes on everybody—even our friend Chet Morton, who’d burned the Thrasher CD for Joe.

  “Don’t forget to return that lizard creature to the pet store!” Aunt Trudy shouted to us as we headed out the door.

  “We’ll try to do it after school,” I told her.

  “Try hard,” she insisted.

  As we revved up our motorcycles, Joe gave me a look. “You know we don’t have time to drive the iguana all the way back to Outback Mack’s. What are we going to do with him?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe Chet will take him in.”

  “Chet? He’s not crazy about responsibility for animals.”

  “How does he feel about going to jail for illegal CD burning?” I asked.

  “I think he’d rather have a pet iguana.”

  Minutes later we pulled our motorcycles into the school parking lot. As soon as we turned off the engines, a large SUV zoomed up next to us and screeched to halt. Loud throbbing music pounded through the windows.

  “Yo! Hardys! Check out my new speakers!”

  It was Brian Conrad, the biggest butthead of Bayport High. The guy was a bully, a jerk, a thug, and a creep—and those were his good qualities.

  “I’ve been burning a whole slew of CDs, too,” he bragged. “Punk, rap, hip-hop, metal, even some top forty garbage… for my sister here.”

  He rolled his eyes, nodding toward the passenger seat.

  Belinda waved and hopped out of the van.

  “Hi, Frank.” She smiled and ran a hand through her long blond hair. “Did you get my e-mail?”

  Gulp.

  I could feel my face turning red.

  “Yeah, he got it,” Joe blurted out. “What’s up with that song you sent him? You think my brother here is a heartbreaker?”

  Now Belinda’s face started to turn red.

  I smacked Joe in the stomach. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

  Pulling the digital recorder from my jacket, I lowered my voice and made a quick note: “Tuesday, 7:55 a.m. Bayport student Brian Conrad admits to burning CDs. Accompanied by his sister, Belinda, who sent me a downloaded song via e-mail yesterday. Both must be considered suspects.”

  Joe stared at me and shook his head. “You better take it easy, Sherlock. Take a look around. Everybody burns their own CDs.”

  I glanced down the row of lockers. Just a few feet away some students were shoving earphones into their ears—and homemade discs into their CD players.

  “Do you plan to put the entire school behind bars?” Joe asked me.

  Turns out he had a point.

  Through the course of three morning classes, I witnessed a shocking amount of suspicious behavior. Here’s just a small sampling of what I recorded:

  “Tuesday, 8:05 a.m. Three Bayport juniors exchange unlabeled CDs outside the science lab. Suspects include Melinda Metz, Clarissa Tartar, and Maggie McMahon.”

  “Tuesday, 9:16 a.m. Sophomore Steve Rubin hands an unidentified amount of cash to senior Ralph Balass in front of the Pep Squad booth in the school lobby. In return, Ralph gives Steve two unmarked CD jewel cases.”

  “Tuesday, 9:58 a.m. Freshman Jean Martinet sits in study hall with a CD player on her desk. It’s hooked up to a mini digital music player on her lap. Illegal downloading suspected.”

  Joe was right after all.

  In fact, I had managed to put together a list of forty suspects—and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

  Man! Forty suspects!

  “Hi there, Frank!”

  I looked up to see our friend Chet Morton walking toward me down the hall.

  Make that forty-one.

  “Hi, Chet.”

  My brother was right behind him. “Guess what, Frank? Chet said he’d care take of the iguana for us. Isn’t that great?”

  “Yeah, great,” I said. “Thanks, Chet.”

  Chet shrugged and grinned. “Iguanas are cool. I have an old aquarium in the basement. I can fix it up real nice for the little guy.”

  I nodded. “Look, Chet. I wanted to ask you about that Thrasher CD you made for Joe.”

  Chet stopped me. “Don’t worry, it’s legal. I paid for the download on the Internet.”

  “Yeah, but aren’t you supposed to use it on your digital player? I don’t know if you’re allowed to make a hard copy of it on CD.”

  Chet scratched his head. “Gee, I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Conner about it,” I said. “The guy knows everything about computers. Maybe he’s up on Internet copyright law, too.”

  “Well, get back to me on that,” said Chet. “If I’m doing something illegal, I’d like to know about it. Later, dudes.”

  Sticking a pair of earphones in his ears, he turned and walked off.

  Joe grabbed my arm and led me toward the drinking fountain. “Listen. I have gym class next period with Julian Sanders,” he whispered. “I’ll try to get him talking about what kind of music he likes, then ask him if he’ll make me some CDs of his favorite gr
oups.”

  I looked my brother in the eye. “Be careful, Joe.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. What’s he going to do? Kill me over a bunch of songs?”

  5.

  Dodging Questions

  Be careful? Me?

  I didn’t know what Frank was so worried about. But then again, we did almost get killed on our last mission.

  Remember the king cobra?

  I shook off the memory and headed for the boys’ locker room. Pushing open the door, I walked slowly past the first few rows of lockers.

  Okay, Julian Sanders. Where are you hiding?

  Finally I spotted him in the corner, away from the other boys. Hoisting my gym bag over my shoulders, I grabbed a locker near his and started to undress.

  “Hi, Julian.”

  He glared at me through a mop of black hair that covered half his face. He was wearing a concert T-shirt for Sinkhole, a band I’d never heard of, and a pair of faded jeans he’d doodled on with a ballpoint pen.

  “Aren’t you Joe Hardy?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you usually grab a locker next to all the jocks over there?”

  I glanced at my friends across the locker room, then looked back at Julian. “They’ve been working my nerves lately,” I said in a low voice. “We hung out together all weekend, and man, if I hear any more of that jock rock they listen to, I think I might barf.”

  Julian tilted his head, a lock of hair falling over his eyes. “Oh, yeah? What kind of music do you like?”

  Yes! It’s working!

  I pulled my gym shirt over my head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m into the new underground stuff You know, groups like Skunk-cabbage, the Blisters, Bad Breath, and, oh yeah, Pushing Up Daisies. I really dig them.”

  Julian nodded slowly, obviously impressed with my taste in music.

  “Have you heard of the Stale Cupcakes?” he asked me.

  “Dude! They’re awesome! Those girls totally kick butt! Their guitar solos slay me!”

  Julian smiled—in spite of the too-cool-for-school attitude he wore like a permanent Halloween mask.

  I’m in. He likes me.

  “You surprise me,” he said. “I mean, I never thought clean-cut Joe Hardy would know about the Cupcakes, let alone like them.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m always on the lookout for new bands.”

  “Yeah?”

  Here’s my chance.

  I sat next to Julian and pulled on my sneakers. “Do you think you could hook me up with some new stuff?” I asked. “You know. Stuff I won’t find at the megastore. Something radical.”

  Julian stared at me thoughtfully, but he didn’t answer my question.

  “I’m sick of all the Top Forty clones on the radio,” I added. “You got to help me out, man.”

  Julian pulled up his gym trunks and sighed. “I guess I could write down the names of some bands for you.”

  “That’d be cool,” I said. “But it’d be even cooler if you could make some CDs for me.”

  Oops. I think I spoke too soon.

  Julian turned away from me and slammed his locker.

  “Making copies is illegal, man,” he said under his breath.

  “What’s the big deal, dude?” I urged. “You must have hundreds of CDs at home.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I’d give anything to have a collection half as good as yours,” I went on. “But I just can’t afford to buy new CDs right now. I’ve already spent most of the money I made last summer. And my family’s not rich. My dad retired last year.”

  Julian shook the hair off his face and looked at me. “Wasn’t your dad a cop?”

  “So? Do you think I’d tell him about it?”

  “Probably not. But what if he finds them?”

  “I doubt if he’d send his own son to the slammer.”

  “Really?” said Julian. “I heard you Hardys are total Boy Scouts.”

  “Not when it comes to music.”

  Julian shook his head. “I don’t know, man. Your dad’s a cop.”

  “He’s retired.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Aw, come on.”

  Julian laced up his sneakers and started heading out to the gym.

  “Julian, wait,” I said, running after him. “I’m willing to pay you.”

  He stopped in his tracks.

  That got him.

  “Name your price,” I continued. “Whatever you want, so long as it’s cheaper than paying full price.”

  Slowly he turned around to face me.

  I got him on the hook now. All I have to do is reel him in.

  There was just one problem.

  The expression on Julian’s face had completely changed. In fact, he looked kind of angry.

  Like the king cobra.

  And I had to jump back when he suddenly lashed out at me.

  “Just drop it, Hardy!”

  Julian’s voice echoed across the gymnasium. All the other guys in our class stopped talking to see what was going on.

  “I don’t get you,” he snarled at me. “First you act like I don’t exist all semester, then wham. You turn on the Mister Nice Guy act so you can weasel something out of me.”

  “Julian, no, I just—”

  “You just what? Want to get me in trouble? Is that it?”

  “No, man, I—”

  “Don’t waste your breath, dude. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not playing. Got it?”

  He started walking away.

  “Julian…”

  “I’m warning you, Hardy!” he yelled over his shoulder. “DROP IT!”

  There was a moment of silence in the gym. Then all my friends started hooting.

  “Are you going take that, Joe?”

  “Yeah! Go kick his butt!”

  “You can take him, Joe!”

  I was about to tell them all to shut up when Mr. Mirabella, the gym teacher, did it for me.

  “Knock it off, boys!” he shouted. “Let’s see you channel that energy into a healthy game of dodge-ball! Come on, guys, move it!”

  A few of the boys ran to the storage room to get the balls.

  “Hardy! Sanders! You’re team leaders!” Mr. Mirabella bellowed. “Start choosing sides! Let’s go!”

  I glanced at Julian across the court. He glared back at me with a wicked sneer.

  “You’re going down, Hardy!” he growled.

  Then he picked the biggest, meanest guy in class for his team.

  Back and forth, we chose sides until two teams faced each other from opposite sides of the court. Someone had tossed Julian one of the balls, and he kept slamming it from one hand to the other and shooting me dirty looks.

  “Okay, line up the balls on the center line,” Mr. Mirabella ordered. “Then take your places on the back wall and wait for the whistle.”

  Everyone got into position.

  I have to admit, my heart was pounding. Julian looked like he wanted to kill me.

  What’s up with that?

  “Wait for the whistle,” said Mr. Mirabella.

  He clenched the silver whistle in his teeth, paused for a few seconds, then blew it.

  Both teams rushed toward the row of balls on the center line. Julian was charging straight for the same ball I was heading for.

  I reached down to grab the ball. But Julian beat me to it.

  Screeching to a halt, I started running backward as fast as I could—while Julian fixed his eyes on me and took aim.

  Easy, dude.

  I couldn’t believe the look on his face.

  Or how hard he threw the ball.

  Ouch! I staggered back, gasping. The dodge ball had slammed right into my gut.

  And knocked me to the ground.

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Julian Thomas Sanders

  Hometown: Bayport

  Physical description: Sixteen years old, 5’11”, 160 lbs., medium build, black hair, green eye
s, silver ring in eyebrow, “alternative” dresser.

  Occupation: Bayport High School student

  Background: Mother divorced. Repeated third grade.

  Suspicious behavior: Acted nervous when questioned about copying CDs, threw dodge ball as if it were a Weapon.

  Suspected of: Burning CDs for illegal distribution.

  Possible motives: Easy money.

  Believe it or not, I caught Julian’s ball.

  Which meant he had to sit on the sidelines until one of his players caught a ball and called him back into the game.

  “Good catch, Hardy!” shouted Mr. Mirabella.

  Maybe it was a good catch. But my stomach didn’t think so. The force of Julian’s throw really packed a wallop. I was afraid I was going to throw up.

  But then I had something else to worry about.

  Julian was coaching his whole team to go after me.

  “Get him, guys!” he yelled. “Get Hardy!”

  Before I could even regain my footing, a whole swarm of dodge balls came flying toward me. I tried to jump and turn, but…

  WHAM.

  Four or five balls hit me all at once, knocking me over like a human bowling pin.

  Ooof.

  I landed with a heavy thud on the gymnasium floor.

  “Hardy! You’re out!” the gym teacher shouted.

  As if I didn’t know that.

  I staggered to my feet and limped to the sideline. Taking a deep breath, I glanced up to see Julian laughing at me.

  “I’m not through with you yet, Hardy,” he said.

  And he wasn’t lying.

  Soon both of us were called back into the game by our teammates. I managed to knock him out again with a direct hit, but as soon as one of his players caught a ball, he was back in the game. And out to get me.

  WHAM.

  He hit me hard in the knee.

  POW.

  I returned the favor as soon as I got back in the game.

  SMACK

  He got me again.

  And so on and so forth, round after round, until Mr. Mirabella blew the final whistle.

  “Okay, boys! That’s enough! Hit the showers! And don’t forget to put the dodge balls away!”

  The gym teacher disappeared into his office while I grabbed a couple of balls and headed for the storage room. I could hear someone running after me.

  “Hardy! Wait!”

  I turned around to see Julian running straight toward me. He wiped sweat from his forehead with one hand—and hurled a dodge ball with the other.