Discovered

Chapter 3: Mrs. Triton's Project Strategy

"Cleo," a voice said. "Cleo." I snapped out of my daze then found the voice: it was my friend, Paige who was nibbling on her carrot sticks. I remembered that I was still at the school cafeteria, where it smelled like hot food and grease mixed together to make one muggy odor.

To my left, the cafeteria ladies were still serving fresh burgers and fries to a hungry line of students while to my right, there were empty lunch tables, waiting to be filled. I looked at my friend, who is wearing a grey shirt that says Smart Life with an emoji wearing glasses, jeans, and sneakers. Her blond hair was tied into a ponytail.

"Sorry, Paige." I said with a nervous laugh. I was thinking about Grandpa's death that I didn't hear her talking. "No problem," she shrugged. "So, why were you in Cuba?"  "To spend some time with Dad," I answered. Paige looked behind her back then leaned forward to me. "Did you actually solved a case?" she whispered.

I nodded very slowly. The news of my parents and me solving Cuba happened so fast even people wanted to know every single detail about how we found Malcolm. My parents pinned all the work and effort to me, only I didn't want the press to snap pictures of me: I wanted to solve cases with The Expedition.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "It was actually my first case." "Cool!" Paige beamed. "So, what are you calling your case?" I thought about it for a moment before sipping my water bottle. "Arrived," I said finally. Just then, Jared came over the table with a shocked look on his face.

"Hey Cleo," he beamed shyly. "Princess." Paige fished her backpack for her notebook then swatted at him. "Ouch!" Jared whined, rubbing his arm. "Stop calling me Princess, Baby." Paige growled. "Stop being physical!" Jared growled back. Not wanting for them to start another argument, I asked Jared what was going on.

"Did you hear about the murder in Harlem?" he asked. I bit my lip then nodded. Ever since the death of Grandpa, Mom was crying in the bedroom while Dad and Uncle Seth just sat on the bed and stroked her head. "What of it?" I asked sternly. "Well, a few days after the murder, the police found the killer." Jared explained. My eyes widened and stared at him hard.

It took them this long to finally catch him? "That's good news!" Paige beamed. "Now, that sucker can live behind bars." The siblings smiled in triumph while I just stared at my water bottle. Something isn't right, I thought. The cops didn't catch the real killer. First of all, the murder lasted about a few days, and second, what if he or she was framed into killing Lewis Porter? 

The day Lewis died was April 3rd, the day that my parents and I returned from Cuba. It happened around twelve thirty in the afternoon. I might be wrong, but this killer is out there. And I have to find out who he is before he could kill someone else. "Who was the killer?" I asked politely.

Jared brushed away his dark locks and smiled at me. I knew he had a crush on me, but this murder was important. "Wallace Gerald," he answered. As soon as the bell for History class rang, the siblings gathered their empty lunch boxes then dashed out of the cafeteria, along with the other kids.

After drinking water down to my last sip, I tossed my bottle into the trashcan, grabbed my backpack, and headed to my history class. While Mrs. Triton was too busy, lecturing about the history test, I was writing History notes down between the blue lines. That's when she started to change her mind.

"Eleventh graders," she began, looking at us sternly. "It seemed like no one had studied hard for the last test. Except of course, Cleo Hamilton." The kids turned away from their notebooks and pencils then stared at me. I smiled then glued my eyes on the page. Mrs. Triton then raised her chalk in the air, like an artist the wrote Project on the board. "Instead of a test," she began. "I want you all to do a project on what your favorite History chapter is, and why you love it."

The kids turned away from me then stared aimlessly on the board."Bet Cleo will make a great partner," someone snickered. I turned to see Jerry Brown in his football jock uniform. He had his wavy brown hair, his stellar brown eyes, and his muscles, but deep down inside he was the coward, whose arm I broke.

"Actually Mr. Brown," Mrs. Triton said. "There will be no partners, no plagiarizing, and if I see you even talking to Cleo or anyone about the project, I will lower your grade from a B minus to an F." A few kids snickered while Jerry's eyes begin to widen and clamped his mouth shut.

I always liked Mrs. Triton, not only did she roast Jerry, but she reminded me of my mother. She had olive brown skin, black eyes, and a withered face. She wore a yellow dress and black heels to make her look like Michelle Obama. "This project counts as a test grade," she continued. "Either start working or start failing. It will be due at the end of April."

When the bell rang for dismissal, the kids, including me, all started to get out of the stuffy classroom and get our things together. During the dismissal, Jared and Paige waved goodbye to me then left the building while I went over to my locker to get my textbooks. Just then, Jerry the Shark walked over to me and gave me a long cold stare.

I pulled out my heavy Math textbook and shoved it into my bag, until the moron's stares got to me. "What?" I asked. "How did you ace so well on that History test?" he asked. "And every test to be exact? Did you have someone else do your work for you?" I flashed him a pretend-to-be-shocked look.

"You are so right, Jerry," I gasped. "I just paid a someone to tell me the entire answers to the test on the day when I was on vacation. How did you guess?" Jerry gave me a bitter look. On the day I came back, I completed every work, test, and research paper then turned it into my teachers without complaining.

"What are you?" he smirked. "Some brainiac?" After I got all of my things in my bag, I locked my locker then faced him. "Tease all you want," I sneered. "But the next time you insult me, I will tell the entire school that Washington's best high school football player got his arm broken by a girl."

Jerry gave me a cocky look, but I saw his hands and legs shaking. "I'm not scared of you," he laughed. I leaned forward to his face, making him sweat even more. "I doubt that very much," I teased. I hoisted the bag over my shoulder then walked out of the door.