Ann Martin - Kristy Power!

Cary looked puzzled. "What are you doing in here?" he asked.

I stared back at him blankly. What could I say? I didn't really have any good reason for being in his room.

"What?" I asked, stalling for time.

Cary glared at me. "Kristy, why are you in my room?" "This is your room?" He rolled his eyes. "No, it's Spider-Man's. Of course it's my room." "Oh." "I know I may be in danger of repeating myself." Cary took a step closer to me. "But why are you in my room?" "This is a really cool poster," I said desperately, gesturing toward the picture of the hands.

"M. C. Escher." Cary spoke as if he knew the artist. "He was Dutch, born in eighteen ninety-eight. He had some wild ideas." "I noticed," I said.

"I have a book of his drawings," said Cary. "Want to see?" "Sure." Somehow, my diversionary tactic had worked. Cary seemed to have forgotten that he'd caught me snooping in his room.

I glanced at the desk and the open notebook. I shuddered, thinking of the words I'd read.

I'd always known Cary was different. He was too smart for his own good, he was arrogant, he was sly, and he was tricky. But I'd never imagined him to be a dangerous hacker. A criminal. (Well, once I did imagine that he might have stolen those jewels. But only briefly.) My head was spinning. Had Cary really been kicked out of his last school?

"Yo, Thomas!" I blinked. Cary was staring at me, that eyebrow lifted in a quizzical way. He was holding an oversized book in one hand and waving the other in front of my face.

"Are you in there?" he asked. "Or have aliens sucked out your brain again?" "Aliens," I answered with a weak smile.

"Do you want to see the book?" "Sure." We sat down on the floor and Cary opened the book.

"This is one of my favorites," he said, turning pages until he found a picture that showed, at first glance, ^a bunch of white birds. "See, when you look closer, you see that the tircls' shadows - the dark spaces between the birds - are actually other birds, black ones," Cary said. He was gazing at the picture, running his finger over some of the details.

I stared at his profile. He didn't look like a criminal. Other than the eyebrow and the smirk, he looked like your ordinary, everyday eighth-grade boy. And, more than anything, I wished I could still think of him that way. I glanced at his desk again and felt my stomach turn over. How could I have read his personal journal?

I hadn't meant to. I really hadn't. But it had been lying open, right under my nose. Who wouldn't have taken a peek? I wouldn't have started reading if I'd known it was his journal. I swear. But I didn't know what it was until it was too late.

"This one is really cool," Cary continued, flipping pages. "See how the stairs go all around the building? You think you're looking at a 'down' staircase, and then suddenly it turns into an 'up' staircase." He shook his head. "This guy amazes me," he said. "Can you imagine what kind of mind he must have had to think of these things?" What about Cary's mind? What kind of warped, twisted mind was lurking underneath that dirty-blond hair? Sure, lots of kids joke about causing chaos with their computers. But how many of them actually do it?

I gasped.

Suddenly I realized something.

My biography project had just become a lot more interesting.

I was probably the only student in any of Ted's classes who was going to turn in a biography like this. The story of someone kicked out of school because of a secret past! "Don't you think?" Cary was staring at me again.

"Urn?" I said alertly.

"I said, don't you think this is cool?" Cary asked, showing me a picture of a bunch of weird little lizards that moved by curling themselves up and rolling along.

"Way cool," I agreed. "Coolest thing I ever saw." Cary looked satisfied. "Not everybody appreciates Escher," he told me. "Maybe I've underestimated you." I managed to smile. "Maybe you have," I said. Maybe everybody had. But when they saw the biography I was going to turn in - Screeech! Put on the brakes, Kristy.

Turn in? Biography? It hit me like a ton of bricks. There was no way I could write about what I'd just discovered. How could I? I wasn't supposed to know the things I knew. They were private. Confidential. Cary wouldn't tell me about them, not in a million years. And - I remembered the way Ben had clammed up - nobody else in his family was going to either. Which meant I had to act as if I'd never read those words. Sometimes I still regret the things I did that got me kicked out of school. . . .

Aaughh! Here I was, sitting on the biggest secret in SMS history, and I had to keep it to myself.

"Something wrong, Kristy?" Cary was giving me a strange look.

I glanced down and noticed that my fists were clenched tight. Had I groaned out loud?

I shook out my hands, "Not a thing," I said. "Not a thing." "You're acting kind of weird," Cary remarked. "But maybe that's normal for you. I guess I'll find out more when I interview your family." He raised the eyebrow.

"Could be," I said. Suddenly I didn't have the energy for any more banter.

Cary gave me a closer look. "No, you really are acting weird. What's up?" "Nothing." I shook my head, resisting a powerful urge to Ibok at his desk. I had to get out of that room before I gave myself away. "Urn, I'm just a little distracted by all the other homework I have to do. I think I should head home." "If you say so." Cary shrugged. He closed the Escher book and stood up to replace it on his shelf.

"Sorry," I said. I didn't know exactly what I was apologizing for. Maybe it was for reading his private journal and learning his innermost secrets. Or maybe it was just for leaving early.

"No problem," said Cary. He looked a little bewildered. "So, then, we'll go to your house next time?" "Oh, right," I said. "Sure. How's Thursday?" "Works for me, I think." Cary walked to his desk as if he was going to check his schedule. I held my breath. Would he notice that his journal was lying out in plain sight? Would he guess that I had seen it, read those incredible few sentences?

If he did, he didn't show it. He just made a little note on his calendar and turned away from his desk.

I let out my breath. "Okay, then," I said.

"Okay," he echoed.

"So, I'll see you." "Not if I see you first," Cary replied, sounding more like himself.

"Right," I said, inching my way out the door. " 'Bye!" I ran down the stairs. Suddenly I couldn't wait to leave that house. I blasted past Ben and Stieg, who were coming out of the kitchen, grabbed my backpack, and fled out the front door.

I walked home quickly, thinking hard. What a ridiculous situation! How had this happened? I didn't even want to know the things I knew. On the other hand, as long as I knew them, I sure would like to be able to write about them. But I couldn't write about them, because I wasn't supposed to know about them. Cary didn't know I knew, and if he found out, he might go berserk. Maybe he'd try to hack into my own computer. He might be capable of anything.

It wasn't easy to act casual at dinner that evening, but I did my best. I think Watson noticed something was up when I passed him the ketchup. "I asked for the salt," he commented, giving me a puzzled look. "But thanks anyway." I don't know what we talked about over our hamburgers and salad, but I'm pretty sure I didn't contribute anything too meaningful. Afterward, I helped clear the table, then left Sam and Charlie to the dishes, since it was their turn. I took the portable phone into my room and dialed Mary Anne's number.

"Hello?" "It's me," I said. "I, um, had some ideas about my Christmas party. Do you think it would be too much to decorate the punch bowl with lights?" I didn't really have any interest in talking about my party - not at the moment, anyway. I had other things on my mind. But how could I bring up the real issue?