“Mr. Clark's project isn't the problem. You're the one who's been accused of
receiving outside help. From him.”
Peter felt a burning creep up his neck. It was the same feeling he'd gotten when his dad had caught him in the back of the garage smoking a cigar he'd stolen out of his tackle box. He shot a look at Penny, who was busy studying her
shoes.
“That's not true!” Katie said, her hands balling into fists. “I'm an artist. He's
a science geek. Why would I need help from him?”
“I'm sorry, but we need to check it out,” said Mrs. Wells softly. “To be fair to
the other students. You understand.”
“We have a reliable source,” Mr. Riley said. “We just need to verify a few things to see if they're true or not.”
“Who? What reliable source?” Katie demanded, her jaw set.
Mr. Riley turned to Peter, rubbing his neck again, obviously uncomfortable
at being put in this position. “Mr. Clark, do you have something to say about this?”
Katie turned to him. He didn't dare look at her face, but he didn't need to. He
could feel the fire.
“I'm not sure,” Peter said finally. What was going on here? What had Penny
told them? And why?
“Let me ask you outright, then. Did you help Miss Brady with her project?”
Help her? Did Mr. Riley mean this summer? Was hanging out in her
basement breaking the rules. His brain was scrambling. What could he say? He
couldn't get Katie in trouble. But he couldn't flat-out lie, either.
“Not really,” he said. “We're friends. We just talked.”
“Not really? Are you sure? Miss Fitch says that you told her that you helped
Miss Brady with her project all summer.”
The fire from Katie had turned to a hard, cold freeze. Peter rubbed his own
neck. How had things gone from great to horrible so quickly?
“Mr. Clark? Did you or did you not help Miss Brady with her project? Yes,
or no?”
He looked around the room as if maybe someone could come whisk him
away. His eyes ended on Katie. She was staring at him, eyes round, pleading, desperate.
“Maybe.” Don't make me say it, he thought. Don't make me hurt her.
“Maybe?”
“Well, I answered a few of her questions.” The words spilled out of his mouth. “Technically, I suppose, yes, they were about her mobile, but it wasn't—”
Mr. Riley didn't let him finish, cutting him off with a raised hand. “Then I'm
afraid we have no choice but to disqualify Miss Brady from the competition. I'm
sorry, Miss Brady, but rules are rules.” He turned to Peter again. “Mr. Clark, you are now the first-place winner. Congratulations. And I'm sorry it had to be under
these circumstances.”
Peter's legs buzzed as if he'd been shocked. Congratulations? For what?
Ruining Katie's life?
He took a step back, confused. Mrs. Wells was shaking her head. She offered
a pale smile to Katie who still stood, unseeing, as frozen as a block of granite.
