I thought about what I'd witnessed in class. That Her statement didn't seem too far off the mark.

I looked at Em for confirmation and . S s he nodded.

Bailey put her hands on the edge of the desk and leaned down. She smelled like watermelon I could smell her peach-scented bo dy lotion and her watermelon-flavored gum . She was like a walking fruit salad. “ And  h H e stays late so he can take classes. Online computer classes. So he can teach us.” She laughed again. “Good thing his personal computer wasn't stolen.”

I frowned at them. “Come on. Seriously?”

Bailey looked glanced at Em , who reluctantly nodded . again.

“It's true,” Em ily said. “A bunch of people have gone to his room after school to get help or use the printers and stuff. He gets them set up – or tries to, anyway – and then goes back to his laptop. A couple kids hav e seen what's on his screen while he's sitting there. whatever and they can see his screen. He's taking like basic computer classes. Which might explain why he knows absolutely nothing about computers.”

“He's super nice,” Bailey added , almost as an afterthought . “But seriously . M , m y cat knows more about computers than Mr. Riggler.”

I leaned back in my chair , trying to process what the girls had just told me . How was that even possible? How could he have gotten a job teaching computers if he barely knew anything about them? He ha ' d definitely seemed out of his element when I'd been in his room, but I 'd thought it might be because of the stress of the missing computers. Maybe he'd been too rattled by the theft to focus properly. And his ignorance of social media could have been chalked up to...well, being old. He could have been a genius at programming and operating systems but woefully ignorant of the web sites and apps kids were using.

I took a deep breath. I just found it hard to fathom that he was taking online classes and doing it at the school.

“He's probably in there now,” Bailey said. “If you don't believe us.”

“ I don't know what I believe,” I told them. “But thanks for sharing.”

“Don't tell him it came from us,” Emily said quickly. , panic spreading in her eyes.

“No?” I asked. “I was gonna go say , 'Hey Emily and Bailey just told me something really interesting' and see what he says.”

“Mom!”

Bailey grabbed her by the arm. “She's kidding, Em. Jeez. It's like you don't even know your mom.” She waved at me. “Thanks for the money! See ya, Mrs. S.!”

I wondered how my uptight daughter could be such good friends with a kid who had a very near polar opposite personality, but I thought it was good for her to hang around with someone who seemed so care - free most of the time. Plus, Bailey was just a good kid.

I thought about what the girls had told me. But I had to wonder if the were both right about Mr. Riggler. I had seen a lot of goofy things at Prism, but that a guy who knew nothing about computers running the lab and teaching computer classes seemed too much of a stretch to buy. just seemed too much of a stretch to buy. I didn't see how a guy who didn't know a thing about computers would fi If Miles Riggler really was as computer illiterate as the girls claimed, how had he found himself in a position teaching them? And who on earth would have hired him to fill that role? nd himself in a position to teach about them. Why would he even want to do that?

It just seemed like a bit of a reach. There were plenty of rumors circulating around t he school, I reminded myself. I remembered what Emily had told me about the stolen computers and the theories running amok among the student body. Even Mr, Riggler himself had warned me about the dangers of the school rumor mill, when I'd innocently asked about staff coming in on weekends.

But the girls seemed pretty positive about what they'd seen and heard. And I'd seen him fumbling through his classes .

I wondered if he was still in his room.

I stood up.

It looked like I was going to be staying after school and decided to go see what I could learn. a little longer.

TWENTY FIVE

Miles Riggler was hunched over his computer, his eyes staring intently at the computer and . h H e jumped when I knocked on his door.

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “You're back.”

“ Um, yeah,” I said, wandering I wandered in to the room, trying not to be look too suspicious. “I had another question for y ou ou before I leave for the day .”

He glanced at his screen, then back at me. then He back at me and rotated in his chair toward me. “Oh. Okay.”

I made my way to the back of the room , just acting like I under the guise that I was simply trying to move closer to him to have a conversation. He was between me and his screen, though, so I couldn't see . what he had been looking at.

“I , uh, was wondering about the date,” I said. It was the best reason I could come up with for barging back in on him. “What if we changed the date?”

“For the talent show?”

I shifted, trying to bring his screen into vi ew. Without him noticing, of course. “Yeah.”

His brow furrowed. “Can you do that?”

“ Well, maybe Maybe .”

He thought for a moment , glanced a quickly at his screen, then shrugged. . “That might work, I guess. What date were you thinking of?”

“Oh, I did do n't have an actual date in mind,” I said, trying not to overtly stare at his the screen. “I was just thinking that maybe if we changed the date you might be able to participate and . And that might be a good thing . To have you participate – to have you there .”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “Would it be on a Saturday night again?”

“Probably.”

He chewed a little harder. “Hmm. Well, I'm not sure if I can , then.”

“You have a regular Saturday night...conflict?” I asked, sitting down in the gingerly sitting down on the desk across from him.

His eyes flitted to the screen and back. “Yes. Something like that.”

“And you can't change it?”

He glanced at the screen his computer again. “Um, not probably not. I'm sorry. I could do any other night — ”

“Your session has timed out,” a robotic voice chimed from the computer , startling both of us . “Please re - enter your login to continue with your Basic Computing class and exercises.”

He spun back around in his seat , a panicked expression on his face, and furiously tapped at the keyboard and wiggled the attached mouse , . h is jaw set, staring at the screen. He groaned , then pushed the mouse away in disgust.

“I'm sorry,” I said, not feeling too very sorry at all . “Did I interrupt something?”

He chewed on his bottom lip again, then stood from his chair and jogged over to the classroom door. His light gray polo was tucked into his jeans and the back of his shirt was damp with sweat, He stuck his head in the hallway, checked both directions, then pulled the door closed. He took a deep breath and walked slowly back to the desk . , his eyes avoiding mine.

“Yes,” he finally said , answering my question . “But it's alright. It's alright. I can log back in.”

It was like he was talking to himself more than me.

“Okay,” I asked. I folded my arms across my chest. “Did that say Basic — ”

“Yes!” he snapped, then leaned back in the chair, like he'd surprised himself at the ferocity of his words. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the hand latching onto his scalp, like it was trying to squeeze it. “ I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just under a lot of pressure right now.”