Chapter Text
It is harder than one might think to collect a jar of ants, especially without bait or a lot of preparation. Fortunately, Miles Murphy was very patient for a five year old. Over the course of three days, he located and harvested from every ant hill in the schoolyard and in the area surrounding his house. When it finally came time for the kindergarten pageant, he was more than ready.
They were supposed to be reenacting the history of Yawnee Valley, complete with cheap costumes and set pieces. Josh Barkin, of course, played Hamilcar Barkin, whose role in establishing Yawnee Valley was definitely exaggerated. Miles was no historian, but he doubted that the town of Yawnee Valley had been founded because of a prophetic dream about dairy farming.
Miles Murphy was playing a background character who didn’t have a single line of dialogue. Thrilling. At least he wasn’t one of the kids who had to dress up like a cow or a horse.
(Mrs. Lewis, the pageant’s organizer, was short on props and had a lot of kindergarteners to give roles to.)
The first thought Miles had when he tried on his wig was, Could these things be any itchier? The second thought he had was that they definitely could be itchier, and that this had the potential for an excellent prank.
On the night of the pageant, Miles’s mom dropped him off with his backpack. She went into the auditorium, which had been combined with the cafeteria to make room for all the parents, and found a seat while he took his place backstage.
Only a few people were here, none of whom looked thrilled. Not even Josh Barkin, who’s father, Principal Barkin, had arranged the whole ordeal. The only people who were excited about this were the parents.
Costumes aside, the worst thing about this pageant was that Miles had not gotten a stick horse. He had to walk around on stage next to some kid who was dressed like a horse. This kid was Niles Sparks, and having to hold Miles’s hand for the duration of the pageant was probably the only time in his life he’d interacted with another child.
Miles had gotten here early to ensure that there were few witnesses to his deed. He knelt by the costume box (which was shaped like a treasure chest) and dropped his backpack on the floor, fingers fumbling with the stuck zipper before he finally yanked it open. Inside was a jar, teeming with ants. He retrieved the jar with a grin.
Inside the costume box were their wigs and robes, along with the animal costumes. Miles Murphy loosened the lid of his jar and—
“Hi, Miles!” said Niles Sparks, who was suddenly standing next to him. “Whatcha doing?”
“None of your beeswax,” said Miles.
Niles disregarded this. He peered over Miles’s shoulder, then gasped. “You can’t put ants in there! We’re about to put those costumes on!”
“I know."
“Well, did you know that ants can bite?”
“I know that too.”
Niles crossed his arms. “I’m telling.”
There was only one way forward. In a flash of motion, Miles unscrewed the lid, threw it aside, and tipped the jar into the box.
He sort of expected the ants to come out in a flood, but it was more like a small trickle. Niles lunged to yank the jar out of his hands.
A small scuffle ensued, mostly on Miles’s part, who hit Niles on the head about three times with his backpack before he had to let go of the jar. Niles started looking for the lid, his victory ensured.
Then an ant crawled onto Niles’s hand. He screamed and dropped the open jar.
Right into the costume box.
“What’s going on here?” said Mrs. Lewis, drawn by Niles’s scream. She picked up the costume box, looked into it, and blanched. Ants crawled up sleeves, wriggled into powdered curls, burrowed into clothing folds. The costumes were ruined.
Mrs. Lewis’s face took on the shade of a ripe raspberry, which wasn’t very intimidating considering the shades of purple that Principal Barkin’s face took on when he was really mad.
“Who did this?” she said.
“It’s his fault!” Miles Murphy and Niles Sparks said in unison.
Parents were filing into the auditorium, finding seats and talking to friends. There was not enough time to sit Miles and Niles down and figure out the culprit, let alone find new costumes. So the children put the pageant on without costumes, much to the parents’ confusion (and Principal Barkin’s ire).
Miles and Niles did not hold hands on stage. They glared at each other all through their journey into Yawnee Valley, through Scotty’s mumbled dialogue and Stuart’s peppy delivery (“We GOTTA find a place to STAY before we DIE from EXPOSURE!”), through Josh Barkin’s big speech about harmony and hard work, which was longer than the first mayor’s speech though, again, Hamilcar Barkin didn’t really do much, and through the audience’s applause.
When things were sorted out the next day in Principal Barkin’s office and Miles wasn’t allowed to go to recess for three days, he was still glaring at Niles Sparks.
All things said and done, it had not been not the best way to kick off the relationship between them. And it only got worse from there.
—
The first-graders had fifteen minutes at the beginning of homeroom to do warm-up problems and finish assignments not completed the day before. Miles usually used this time to daydream about new pranks and write down the details in his notebook. Lately his imagination had been barren, which was unusual because he could usually make a pretty good prank out of nothing.
Miles doodled aimlessly for ten minutes or so, then asked to use the bathroom.
Now, for those unaware, asking to use the bathroom is a clever excuse that intelligent students like Miles utilized to wander the halls for a little while. The best part was that no teacher had ever caught onto it. After the teacher gave him permission to leave, he left the classroom and walked in the opposite direction of the bathroom.
The school was divided into different wings depending on what grade you were in, and the student work on the walls grew more advanced as the grades got higher. Around Miles’s classroom, there were “All About Me” worksheets, portraits of various Barkins, and coloring pages.
There was one “All About Me” worksheet written in cursive. It belonged to Niles Sparks. Miles stopped to scoff at it. Niles’s favorite color was brown, his favorite hobby was studying, and he’d left the sections “My Pets” and “Things I Do With My Family” blank. There was a lot of blank space on Miles’s own worksheet, sure, but that was because he had spent the whole time drawing his self-portrait. He was the best artist in his class.
Miles continued through the hallways, leaving the first three grades behind and entering the wing with the fourth, fifth, and sixth grade classrooms. The Barkin portraits still pervaded, but now the teachers hung up essay responses and research projects on the walls. Miles compared his own art to the art in the research projects and determined that he could outdraw anybody in this school.
The only wall decorations in the upstairs seventh and eighth grade wing were Barkin portraits. School pictures from each year’s Picture Day covered an entire wall. Miles stopped to check them out. Jimmy Barkin looked like fun— his pictures were the only ones in which every student was smiling. Why couldn’t Principal Barkin be like that?
Miles went downstairs, turned the corner, and came face-to-face with Niles Sparks.
“Gah!” said Miles.
“You’re not in the bathroom,” said Niles, displaying the staggering acumen that had gotten him into the gifted program.
“Yeah,” said Miles. With a sigh, he resigned himself to going back to class and headed down the hallway.
Niles followed him. “You lied. You’re skipping class. That’s not allowed. And you shouldn’t be skipping class anyway because you still have to finish your book report.”
“I know that. Why do you know that?”
“I was watching you yesterday.”
There wasn’t really a good response to that, so Miles just said, “Okay.”
“I’m telling on you for being out in the hallway.”
“Well, won’t you get in trouble too?”
“I asked if I could go look for you three minutes and forty-one seconds after you left. And I found you here, in the hallways, and not in the bathroom, so obviously you’re a liar."
“You’re a control freak.”
“You’re immature.”
“You’re a tattletale.”
“You’re—” Niles couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’m telling Miss S. you called me names.”
“Yeah, you go do that.”
Just as they rounded the corner and their classroom was in sight, the loudspeakers crackled to life.
“GOOD MORNING, EVERYBODY,” said Principal Barkin. “ANOTHER EXCELLENT MONDAY. TODAY’S LUNCH IS CELERY AND CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP. THE CAFETERIA IS OUT OF CHOCOLATE MILK AGAIN.” (They always were.) “PLEASE STAND FOR THE PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE.”
In America, there is a big deal made about saluting the national flag when reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Flags can be found at the forefront of every room in every school. But Miles and Niles were in the hallway. A teacher glared at them as they frantically scanned the hallway for something suitable to salute.
Just as children’s voices emerged from the open classroom doors, all reciting the beginning of the pledge, Niles fastened his eyes on a picture of Principal Barkin and put his hand over his heart.
Unbelievable. Miles was sure the teacher was going to yell at him. Instead, she shrugged and returned to her own classroom.
Incredulously, Miles did the same as Niles and saluted the picture of Principal Barkin.
In the picture, Principal Barkin was giving a speech in front of a large auditorium. One kid in the front row was obviously yawning; the one next to her was checking his watch. Miles grinned.
That afternoon, he and his mother went grocery shopping. Normally he tried to guide his mom away from the produce aisle with the sensible suggestion that dairy was also an important part of any growing child’s diet, perhaps even more important than fruits and vegetables, and thus they should pick up some ice cream.
But today Miles didn’t argue with her. In fact, he asked if they could get some tomatoes and eggplants. Red and purple— like the colors Principal Barkin turned whenever he got angry.
Over the next two school days, the pictures of Principal Barkin in the hallway were gradually replaced with pictures of tomatoes and eggplants, all with long noses and mustaches drawn on them. Miles would linger in the hallways just to watch students and teachers walk obliviously past the pictures. It was amazing how small irregularities escaped people’s notice as long as it didn’t interrupt their routine.
It took a week and a half for anyone to notice the change. After that, it only took another five minutes for Stuart to blurt it out in the middle of a crowded hallway, and another thirty seconds after that for Niles Sparks to track down Principal Barkin and tattle.
The pictures were replaced on Wednesday. But nobody could prove it was Miles Murphy.
“But nobody can prove it was me,” said Miles to Niles that day, just after recess.
“You’re the only prankster at this school,” said Niles. “Of course it was you!”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was."
“Wasn’t.”
“Was.”
“Wasn’t.”
“Was.”
“Boys, please,” said Miss S., who had just been distracted from a fantasy about early retirement by their bickering. (Again.)
“Stop distracting me,” Niles muttered to Miles.
“You’re the one who brought up my prank!” said Miles.
“You just admitted it was yours!” Niles slammed his hand on his desk, stood up, and waved his other hand in the air. “Miss S.! Miss S.!”
Miles sighed.
—
Niles couldn’t foil every prank Miles pulled. That would be impossible, because Miles Murphy was the best prankster in the school, which wasn’t at all related to the fact that he was also the only prankster in the school. Miles got away with lots of things.
At the beginning of second grade, he signed Principal Barkin up for seventeen different newsletters, including the National Ferret Association, the Bigfoot Hunters, the Bighoof Hunters (Bighoof was like Bigfoot but a giant cow), and the Big Sunroof Hunters (for people in desperate need of a sunroof).
In December, he covered the floor of the classroom in fake snow, which was actually shredded paper. This one technically backfired on him because some of the papers he shredded were important forms his mom was supposed to sign, and she grounded him for a week. He also put a mistletoe above the classroom door, but that one also backfired because he was arguing with Niles Sparks in the hallway about gymnastic rings (the specifics of this conversation are too stupid to be repeated) and they ended up walking through the doorway together.
Fortunately, the mistletoe was just a leaf Miles had found outside and put up in a hurry. His very first masterstroke.
When they came back from winter break, Miles had more pranks planned. He pulled another two before deciding that he needed to aim higher. Something bigger. Something everybody would see.
The marquee at the front of the school always read the same thing. At the beginning of each year, Principal Barkin wracked his brain to think of something unique to write on the sign. Something powerful. Something that would inspire leagues of students to work hard and embody school pride. And every year, he picked the same message.
“PRINCIPAL BARKIN SEZ: WELCOME BACK, BOVINES!” read the sign. “LET’S MAKE THIS OUR BEST YEAR!!!”
“Bovines” was the name of their football team. And their choir. And their cornhole team, which was better than their football team and choir combined, indicated by the fact that it was the only team that had trophies and medals in the display case.
Not that anyone ever looked at the display case. Miles only knew because Niles had volunteered to clean it once and later told him about their cornhole team’s achievements during their argument about gymnastic rings.
(Again, too stupid to repeat.)
Miles didn’t like the awards Principal Barkin gave out. For one, half of them were obviously fixed so that his own son would receive them. Principal Barkin had once given Josh a shiny certificate for drinking a glass of milk in a single gulp. How was that relevant to school?
But it didn’t even matter, because Niles won every single award that wasn’t obviously biased towards Josh. He won the Student of the Month award every month, he won an Academic Achievement award at the end of every trimester, and he won something called the Wordsmith Award for having the best writing skills.
Miles never brought anything home. He wasn’t a bad student, but he didn’t excel either.
Possibly because he spent most of his time planning pranks or pulling pranks.
In any case, the message on the marquee had not been modified since the seventies. Miles was going to revise that.
At home, he spent hours rearranging the letters on paper and finding different anagrams until he had something truly great. As he sat back and admired his work, the moon high in the sky and the clock next to his bed reading 11:16 , he pictured the looks on everyone’s faces as they saw the new sign.
“Ha, ha!” said Miles. (He actually said “Ha, ha”.) “Who’s the wordsmith now?”
“GO TO BED,” his mom said from the other room.
The next night, Miles crept downstairs, snuck out the door, and took off down the street. He wished he’d brought a jacket, as he was still in the T-shirt he’d worn to school earlier in the day (which read “I PAUSED MY GAME TO BE HERE”) and it was only early February.
Too late now, he supposed.
Miles followed his usual path to school. The best part about this prank was that all he needed was a bit of tape and some white index cards, which were necessary to modify a couple of letters that didn’t quite fit.
He crouched in front of the marquee, blew into his hands to warm them up, and started switching the letters. It took a bit more effort than he was expecting to pry the letters loose. They had to be lifted and twisted in a very specific way to be removed.
Nevertheless, he finished an hour later and stood back to evaluate his prank.
This is what the sign read before Miles Murphy got there: “PRINCIPAL BARKIN SEZ: WELCOME BACK, BOVINES! LET’S MAKE THIS OUR BEST YEAR!!!”
This is what the sign read after Miles Murphy got there: “PRINCIPAL BARKIN SEZ: EW! MY SHOES REALLY STINK! I NEVER SCRUB!”
After checking his watch, he went back home and collapsed into bed. He had one of those odd dreams you get when you only have a little bit of time to sleep, like your brain is dashing off a draft without time to revise. When Miles woke up a few hours later, he was disoriented and oddly frustrated by the pointlessness of his dream.
Niles Sparks noticed the sign’s new message right away, of course. He sat down next to Miles during silent reading time, way back in the beanbag corner, and pointed out the window.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Niles whispered.
“A window,” Miles whispered back.
“No, outside of the window.”
“A parking lot.”
“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“If anyone’s a shape, it’s you. ‘Cause you’re a square.”
“Not obtuse like a triangle, obtuse like…” Niles sighed. “Nevermind. I’m talking about the marquee. What’s that message supposed to be?”
“A prank. Duh.”
“Well, it’s very immature. Principal Barkin would never say something like that.”
“Since you’re such a Principal Barkin expert, tell me what he’d say about this.” Miles looked left and right, then put up one of his fingers at Niles.
Niles gasped. “That’s a swear! I’m telling! Mrs. Davis, Miles just—”
“Shhh,” said Mrs. Davis.
“He just flipped—”
“Be quiet, Niles.”
“But—”
“It’s silent reading time. Shhh.”
Miles watched Niles half-heartedly flip another page of his book. Then Miles scooted closer.
“The point of the prank,” he said, “is that Principal Barkin would never say that and he would hate seeing that on the sign. That’s why it’s funny.”
“I don’t think it’s funny,” said Niles.
Miles scoffed. “You don’t think anything is funny.”
He had never seen Niles laugh or tell a joke, and to Miles that indicated a severe abnormality. Not to mention that it was extremely frustrating.
Everyone knew Miles was the best prankster at school, the one who made all the other kids laugh. Even Josh laughed at his pranks as long as he or his dad wasn’t the target. (Sometimes even when his dad was the target, because Josh didn’t really like his dad.)
But not Niles Sparks. He was so smiley around other people— as long as they weren’t Miles Murphy— that it was easy to miss the fact that he had no sense of humor.
Why did he never laugh at Miles’s pranks? What did he know that Miles didn’t?
Niles was still staring at his book, nose scrunched up as he tried to focus on the words in front of him. Miles couldn’t decide if he wanted to move to the other side of the room, as far away from Niles as possible, or grab him by the shoulders, like he could somehow force Niles to notice the humor in what Miles had done.
The frustration from earlier that morning returned, creeping in like humidity through a crack in the window. Miles was suddenly glad he had not brought a jacket to school.
—
One of the most boring places for any child to be is a home decor and furniture store. Other stores at least have cool clothes, new releases, even hobby supplies, to look at. Home furniture stores do not. Miles could not understand why they fascinated his mother.
Was it the oddly colored china that nobody would want in a thousand years? Or the assortment of desaturated paintings with clunky frames? Maybe it was all the “Live Laugh Love” signs.
In any case, there were lots of generic furniture stores in Yawnee Valley. It was part of the so-called charm of living in a small town. Couldn’t they give up one furniture store to make room for a Chuck-E-Cheese’s or something?
Miles walked through the snack aisle while he waited for his mom to finish up looking at wicker chairs. This was another thing about home furniture stores: a lot of them sold food items, and none of them were appealing. “Gluten-Free Cheese Marine Animals” instead of Goldfish. “Guacamole and Cheddar Veggie Straws” instead of Cheetos. Four hundred brands of cardboard-flavored potato chips. Who in the name of Thadius Hamilcar Barkin was going to a furniture store to buy groceries?
In the center of the store, there was a table with a bowl of fruits on it. Because Miles was in third grade and did not yet understand that the world was a cruel and disappointing place, he assumed this was free food and picked up a red apple. He bit into it.
And immediately spat out a mouthful of foam.
“Ugh!” Miles glared at the fake fruits. Even though he knew they weren’t real, the fruits’ color and shine called to him, the curve of their surfaces suggesting crisp flesh. It was a good trick.
A great trick, even.
He put the apple back and turned it so that the bite mark was covered. Then he picked up the plumpest fake apple in the bowl and went looking for his mom. She had migrated into the section of the store with the fake plants.
“Check this out,” said Miles to his mom. “This looks like a cool decoration. I bet it would look great on the countertop, right?”
“You want it for a prank,” said Miles’s mom, because her son was not the type to be fascinated by centerpieces.
“Not true.”
Miles’s mom raised her eyebrows.
“Maybe just a little prank,” said Miles. “Not even a prank. An innocent little joke.”
(Having to clarify that something is innocent is an automatic tell that that thing is not innocent.)
Now, Judy Murphy was by no means an oblivious woman. Miles had pulled his first prank when he was three years old. (He’d tried to convince her on April Fool’s Day that she’d turned invisible.) Since the first month he entered school, his pranks had been the subject of many phone calls, parent-teacher meetings, and— on one memorable occasion— a chance encounter with one of his teachers at the grocery store. Judy knew her son was a prankster.
And she was proud of him.
She’d grown up on a dairy farm right here in Yawnee Valley, and the thing that had gotten her through the monotony of a farm’s daily routine was art. Art had been, and still was, her remedy for the stress brought on from overwork. Her imagination lent itself well to ceramics and woodworking, and her son’s lent itself to drawing and pranking.
Sure, she didn’t love when he got into trouble for it, but her parents and teachers had never liked her art-ventures either.
“Don’t get into too much trouble,” Judy said. She put the fake apple into the cart.
“I won’t,” promised Miles.
All he was going to do was put the apple on his teacher’s desk along with a little note thanking them for being so great. So, yes, it was true that Miles Murphy did not intend to get into trouble.
He intended Niles Sparks to get into trouble.
Early next morning, Miles put the fake apple and a small card on their teacher’s desk. The card was signed with Niles’s signature, which Miles had copied from a handwritten report Niles had turned in a week prior.
Miles had known this sample would come in handy for something. All great pranksters studied their environments closely for details that could be useful later.
(His mom had told him this. She also told him that all great pranksters finished their vegetables and washed the dishes when they were asked, but Miles saw through it.)
The rest of the students filed in, including Niles. He strode past the teacher’s desk and the apple.
“Good morning, Stuart!” he said, cheerful as always. “Good morning, Janice! Good morning, Josh!” He stopped at his desk and put his hand in his pocket. “Hello, Miles.”
Miles grinned at him.
Finally, their teacher came in. Mr. Brown told his class to quiet down, then wrote out the proverb of the day on the board: “All is fair in love and war —John Lyly”. When he took his seat and picked up the apple, a choir of angels sang in the back of Miles’s mind.
Mr. Brown bit into the apple.
Chewed slowly.
Kept chewing.
Actually swallowed.
“Hm,” he said, finally. “That wasn’t a real apple.”
This was less of a reaction than Miles was hoping for, but it was still a reaction. Mr. Brown had just gotten pranked! And he was going to see that card any second now!
Mr. Brown tossed the fake apple into the trash and took a drink from his cup of coffee.
Any second now.
He asked everyone to take out their homework from yesterday.
Where was the card?
Niles took a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it out. Miles had just a second to think it was odd Niles would keep his homework in his pocket before Niles turned around and showed him the paper.
“Were you wondering where this was?” he said, holding the card Miles had written.
“What!” said Miles. “How did you get that?”
“I took it off his desk.”
“But why? You couldn’t have known it was for a prank.”
“Only pranksters give their teachers apples. That trope has been subverted so many times that it’s not even based in reality anymore. I figured the culprit was you and that the card probably wasn’t you taking credit for your deed.”
“Oh.”
Somewhere in the distance, a cow mooed.
“Also,” said Niles, “I’m telling.”
“I figured.” Miles rolled his eyes. “Why do you always have to suck up to the teachers?”
“I’m just respecting authority,” said Niles. “Something you could stand to do more often.”
“Just respecting authority. Yeah, right. You called Principal Barkin ‘Dad’ last week.”
“That was one time.”
“No, that was the fourth time. Dude, how do you make that mistake four times?”
“Irrelevant. Why do you always have to break the rules? They’re there for a reason. Rules keep innocent people from getting hurt. Or framed.” Niles held up the card. “We’re in third grade. That’s too old to be doing this kind of thing, you know. If you’re going to keep breaking the rules, then I’ll just have to keep stopping you from breaking them.”
The look on his face said he meant it.
—
Someone was coming, but Miles wasn’t done yet. As he tore off another piece of tape with clammy hands, the footsteps grew louder. He didn’t dare to look down the hallway. With only two strips of tape, he attached his last flyer to the wall and booked it into the nearest classroom.
Everyone was at recess. Everyone except Miles Murphy, who— as you might have guessed— was pulling a prank.
He crouched behind the open door just as the stranger rounded the corner. Raising himself a little bit to look through the little window in the door, Miles slapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing.
It was Principal Barkin— just the man Miles wanted to see these flyers. He had hung them up all around the fourth, fifth, and sixth grade wing.
As Miles predicted, Principal Barkin stopped to check out the flyer. It was in black and white, which were their school spirit colors because they were the colors of dairy cattle and also because they were cheap colors in which to produce school merchandise.
“Hmm,” said Principal Barkin. “Hmmm. Oh! Well, well, well.” He chuckled to himself, muttered something about checking his calendar (which Miles had already done), and continued down the hallway with a pep in his step.
Normally Principal Barkin would have taken down this flyer and all the other flyers he was about to discover in the hallways. Unauthorized sign posting broke the disciplinary code, which was a set of rules that would have to be modified and clarified many times throughout Miles’s time at Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy. But Principal Barkin made an exception for these flyers. Clearly they were in good spirit and were not the creations of a prankster, such as Miles Murphy.
Miles snuck out of the classroom and admired his handiwork. The flyers read as follows: “A VERY SPECIAL BARRY BARKIN FAN CLUB MEETING NEXT WEDNESDAY! PRINCIPAL BARRY BARKIN WILL BE ANSWERING QUESTIONS AND GIVING SIGNATURES AT DANNY’S DINER, FIVE O’CLOCK. ONLY A FEW SPOTS OPEN FOR NEW MEMBERS! HURRY!”
To make the whole thing look more authentic, Miles had put tear-off tabs at the bottom with his phone number on them. Not that anyone would be calling, because there was no such thing as the Barry Barkin Fan Club. Miles Murphy had cooked up the whole thing a week ago.
Technically, he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that Principal Barkin would show up on Wednesday. But if Miles had gone to Principal Barkin before putting up the flyers, he would have been caught right away. Principal Barkin hated and distrusted Miles Murphy, and the feeling was mutual. Miles was relying on Principal Barkin’s ego to blind him to the absurdity of the situation.
He imagined the look on Principal Barkin’s face when he showed up at Danny’s Diner and waited for his fans to come swarming through the doors. The minutes would tick by, and the minutes would turn to hours, and it would slowly dawn on Principal Barkin that he had no fan club, that he had been pranked . And Miles Murphy would sit in a nearby booth and watch the whole thing! Yes, it was going to be quite the show.
Whistling to himself, he walked back outside and into the recess yard. He had barely taken a breath of fresh air. before Niles approached him with a prim look on his face.
“Hi, Miles,” said Niles. “You said you were going in to refill your water bottle, but you’re not holding—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Miles flopped down on a nearby bench. “Shouldn’t you be talking to your best friend, the recess monitor?”
“Oh, Mrs. Salt? She’s doing great since, you know, I stopped that prank you tried to pull on her two weeks ago.”
Miles had tried to take the keys to the school doors off her key ring, which would have forced her to search for them and eventually call the front office, meaning they got a few extra minutes of recess. Unfortunately, just as he was sneaking the key ring out of her pocket, Niles apparently saw him from across the recess yard— how in the name of Roger Thadius Barkin had he done that?— and yelled at him to stop.
“Wow,” said Miles, in his most caustic voice. “Congrats. You really got me there. You want a gold star? An award for snitching? A handshake?”
“You don’t wash your hands after you use the bathroom, so no, not really.”
“I do wash my hands.”
“What about that time I saw you last month?”
“I was flushing a cherry bomb down the toilet, not using it, you weirdo. And the fact that you remember that is creepy. What, do you keep a notebook detailing my every move?”
This is something called projection, in which one party accuses the other party of doing something that the first party is actually doing. Ever since last year’s fake apple incident, Miles had kept a notebook with information about Niles Sparks. His schedule, habits, School Helper duties, and more. Know thy enemy and all that.
Maybe it wasn’t entirely necessary to have three copies of Niles’s school picture, but Miles Murphy always went above and beyond.
(Unfortunately for him, so did Niles Sparks, who himself owned a notebook with information about Miles Murphy.)
Before Niles could reply, the recess bell rang.
All weekend and all throughout the first two days of next week, Miles daydreamed about his prank. The flyers were still up. One of their tabs had been torn off, probably as a joke. He had to keep himself from laughing every time he saw Principal Barkin in the hallway.
The moment school ended on Wednesday, Miles took off through the doors. His mom wouldn’t be home until much later. No need to leave a note notifying her of his absence.
He killed a half hour at home trying and failing to read another chapter of his new book, then grabbed some money off his dresser and went to the diner. 4:00 P.M. Miles was an hour early for the supposed club meeting, but he was feeling peckish anyway. He found a seat and stared down at the menu, too hyped up on adrenaline to read the words.
“Hi, Miles!” said Niles Sparks.
Miles jumped a foot in the air. Much to his displeasure, Niles slid into the seat across from Miles and smiled. “So glad you could make it!”
“What are you doing here?” Miles said, feeling a little light-headed.
Niles’s smile turned a little wicked. “Funny you should ask. You see, I’m here for the—”
“Hi!” said a waitress. She wore the distracted smile of someone who had paused a good conversation and was still thinking about it. “I’m Jenny. Can I get you guys started with anything or do you need more time?”
“Oh,” said Niles. “I’m not hungry, thanks.”
“Can I get some fries?” said Miles. “Without salt, if that’s possible.”
“Sure thing.”
Jenny left.
“As I was saying,” said Niles, quickly regaining his momentum. “I’m here for the Barry Barkin Fan Club. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Miles cocked his head to the side. “A fan club? For our wonderful principal? Why didn’t anybody tell me? I’m his number one fan.”
“I would have thought you were aware of it, considering it was your number on the flyer. The same number that I called on Saturday. Do you remember that?”
Unfortunately, Miles did. He had thought the random caller was a telemarketer and yelled something very rude at them before they could say anything.
“You really tried to join the club,” Miles realized.
“Yes. After you told me to do… that and hung up, I concluded that the club must be a prank. And that if I didn’t take action, our principal would be humiliated.” Niles steepled his fingers. “So I went to his office on Monday and said—”
“Haha, okay, here’s your food,” said Jenny, looking over her shoulder at someone unseen as she put a box of fries on the table. Her ponytail bounced as she trotted off.
“They put salt on your fries,” said Niles, sounding a little subdued.
“What?” said Miles. “Oh, yeah.”
He bit into a fry. Niles stared at Miles while he ate like he was waiting for something.
“I’m not going to say anything to her about it,” said Miles. “I don’t want to be a jerk.”
“I’ll do it,” offered Niles.
“No, don’t worry about it.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Really, it’s fine. I’m not allergic or anything.”
“Alright.” Niles shrugged. “So I went to his office on Monday and said that I was the club president. I told him that I’d misprinted the date and that we were actually supposed to meet on Tuesday. I also told him that our other club members were having flu symptoms and were staying home lest they get their beloved principal sick. We had lunch here yesterday.”
“Wow,” said Miles.
Niles grinned. “He’ll never know you tried to prank him, you know. Your club was a complete and utter failure.”
Who was this kid calling a failure? Miles bristled. He had pulled pranks and come up with ideas that Niles couldn’t imagine in his wildest dreams. Well, the wildest dream that Niles had probably ever had was getting an A on a test instead of a B, but still.
If it wasn’t enough that he had to laud his superiority over Miles, Niles then stole a fry off Miles’s tray like it was totally normal.
“I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Miles said.
“I am now,” said Niles.
“Get your own fries, then.”
“I didn’t bring any money.”
“That sounds like a you problem!”
Niles stole another fry before Miles could smack his hand away. Just as he was about to start arguing with him, Miles recalled why he was here. He grabbed Niles’s tie and pulled him a little closer.
“You think you’re so smart,” Miles said, in his most intimidating voice. “But you just got lucky. Next time I won’t make a mistake. When I pull my next prank, you won’t even see it coming. I’m gonna be bolder, smarter, faster— PUT THAT FRY DOWN.”
—
Their new teacher, Ms. Shandy, was unlike any teacher Miles had ever had. For one, she was younger and a lot funnier. Teachers were against pranks on principle, sure, but Ms. Shandy actually laughed at a couple of his pranks before having to punish him. Miles didn’t blame her for it.
The other thing was that she had a totally different teaching style. She liked to have the kids act situations out instead of forcing them to read a bunch of articles about the subject.
This year they were supposed to be learning about the law and the Constitution. In the first week of school, she’d had them act out a simplified version of the Constitutional Convention, each student a delegate from one of the states. The moment where they all came to an agreement to scrap the Articles of Confederation and rewrite the frame of government was actually pretty cool.
“This month we’ve been learning about the court system and the judicial branch,” said Ms. Shandy in November. “Can anyone tell me what the three main levels of our court system are?”
Niles’s hand went up, his elbow forming an almost perfect ninety-degree angle.
“Niles?”
“District Courts, Courts of Appeal, and the Supreme Court.” He didn’t even look at his notes. Why did he take them so assiduously if he never used them in class?
“Right,” said Ms. Shandy. “We also learned about the two kinds of cases in America that work two different ways. What are they?”
Niles’s hand went up again, but Scotty got to answer instead. “Civil and criminal.”
“Excellent,” said Ms. Shandy. “Now, it’s one thing to learn about all this stuff and another thing to actually get it, right? Law can be pretty tricky. So let’s take this a step further and actually play out a trial of our own. For this whole week, this classroom will be a courtroom. I will be the judge, because I don’t trust any of you.”
Her students laughed.
“We’re going to split the class into half. One half will be the jury. Usually juries have twelve people, but this week we’ll have ten jury members. The other half will be participants in the trial and will have to use details from six different documents to play their role.”
“WHAT does the JURY do?” said Stuart. “Are they just getting graded on PARTICIPATION?”
“Yes.”
For most kids, this meant an easy A. All the jury had to do was talk about what had happened and make a decision. It required no preparation and no real work. Like everyone else, Miles started scheming a way to get onto the jury. No way would he be participating in this stupid trial.
“We’ll have one plaintiff and one defendant,” said Ms. Shandy. “Any volunteers?”
Crickets.
“I’ll pick, then. How about you and you?” She pointed at Josh Barkin and Janice Neeser, the former of whom looked very displeased. “Josh will be the defendant. Janice will be the plaintiff. We now need two attorneys.”
“Ooh!” said Niles. He waved his hand in the air. “Can I be the defending attorney?”
“Yes. Do we have any other volunteers?”
All Miles had to do was lie low and hope he didn’t get picked. It would be stupid to raise his hand and say—
“I’ll be Janice’s attorney,” said Miles, staring at the back of Niles’s perfectly-combed head. Then he made himself look away at Janice, who gave him a thumbs up.
One new thing about fifth grade was that, for the first time in everyone’s lives, a distinction between boys and girls was being made. People started having crushes and teasing other people about their crushes while hoping nobody discovered their own. In the recess yard, people who had coupled up carved their names into a redwood tree. R x B. J.N x S.P. SMODY 4 LIFE. Suddenly, friendships between girls and boys got a funny look.
Miles volunteered to be an attorney just because Niles was involved in the case. But as far as most of the other kids were concerned, Miles was a boy and Janice was a girl and it couldn’t be any more obvious. Fortunately, Miles was too busy planning how to use this assignment to annoy Niles and did not notice the whispers.
After picking another six people to be court witnesses, Ms. Shandy handed out scripts to the people involved with the trial. Miles gave his packet a once-over. He and Janice were apparently bringing Josh to court over property damage. Though Miles could have winged it, Ms. Shandy insisted on acting out something called a pretrial, which would determine all the important details.
“My witnesses are Stuart, Ned, and Fiona,” said Niles. “And I’d like to submit this can of spray paint found in Janice’s driveway as evidence.”
“Objection,” said Miles. He had unlimited objections, right?
“On what grounds?”
“Trying to manipulate the jury into thinking Josh isn’t the culprit. We all know he did it.”
“Objection. That violates the presumption of innocence.”
“Objection. That violates the presumption that I care.”
“Objection, lack of decorum."
“Objection, lack of friends.”
“Objection, the prosecutor is a hypocrite.”
“Objection, the defense attorney is a geek.”
So the pretrial didn’t go so great. No matter. Miles was sure he had this in the bag. And not just because he was better than Niles. On the day of the mock trial, they would have to physically present their evidence in front of the jury and allow them to make up their mind.
It sure would be a shame if Niles lost that evidence.
Tragic.
The morning of the trial, Miles and Niles both had briefcases. Niles had one because he always carried his things around in a briefcase. Miles had one because Ms. Shandy had given it to him as a prop.
He knew what evidence Niles was going to produce, and he also knew what he was going to replace each prop with.
The can of spray paint would be replaced with a full can of Silly String.
The shopping receipt would be replaced with a list of the cutest boys in class with Niles’s name on it. (Not, you know, on the list. Like a signature at the top indicating that Niles had written it.)
The paint-stained gloves apparently found in Janice’s house would be replaced by ruffled clown gloves.
Ms. Shandy had them leave their briefcases in the classroom before they left for lunch. Too easy. After five minutes, Miles asked to get a drink of water and doubled back to the classroom. The door was never locked.
Because it was November, they’d be having indoor recess, a period of time which Ms. Shandy was using to start their trial.
Niles’s briefcase was sitting on his desk. Miles opened it, briefly making a mental list of all items inside that were unrelated to the case. A couple of books, a pack of mechanical pencils, a monstrous bottle of hair gel, and what looked to be a spare “School Helper” sash.
Miles picked up the sash. It was heavier and stiffer than it looked. He put it in his backpack— it could come in handy if he ever needed to frame Niles for something— and retrieved the replacement evidence.
Before long, Miles’s bag of gag items were in Niles’s briefcase and the swap was underway. Niles was going to look like a total idiot when he went to present his evidence to the jury and pulled out the things Miles had put in his briefcase.
“What are you doing here?” said Niles Sparks.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, thought Miles, who hadn’t yet put Niles’s real bag of evidence in his backpack.
He put Niles’s bag on a random desk and gave him an affronted look. “What are you doing here?”
Niles blushed. “Oh, I just wanted to practice giving my opening speech. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just leave and let you— wait.” He refocused. “My briefcase is open! What are you doing?”
“Why would you think this is your briefcase?”
“It’s on my desk!”
Miles shrugged. He needed to stall for time. “True. But these briefcases look exactly the same.”
As Niles advanced on him, Miles grabbed both briefcases and switched them around until he couldn’t even remember which hand was holding Niles’s briefcase. Then he held them both behind his back.
“Take your pick,” Miles said. “Left or right hand? We only have a little bit of time until everybody comes back, and then you won’t be allowed to touch them again. They’ll be on Ms. Shandy’s desk.”
You might be wondering why Miles was bothering with this little game. The truth was that there was a little ridge under the handle of Miles’s briefcase, and so he knew it was in his right hand. If he played his cards right, he could drag this out until Ms. Shandy and the rest of their class got back. Then, of course, it would be too late for Niles to do anything about the replacement evidence.
“Left hand,” Niles said with a sigh.
“Left hand?” said Miles.
“Yes.”
“That’s the one you want?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?"
“Yes, Miles.”
“But are you positive?”
“Just give it to me!”
Miles handed Niles his briefcase. Then Niles’s eyes fell on his real bag of evidence, which was only a few feet away. Darn. Miles had forgotten about that. Just as Niles reached for it, Miles smacked it away, sending it skittering down the aisle.
“What did you put in my briefcase?” Niles said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miles said.
He could hear their class coming. Niles could too.
They both reached for the bag.
Niles was faster.
Miles was stronger.
He yanked the bag out of Niles’s grasp and high into the air over his own shoulder, forcing Niles to lean up against Miles and stand on the tips of his wingtips. Still, Niles couldn’t quite reach it.
The footsteps were getting closer.
Niles quickly changed tactics. Without breaking eye contact, he stamped right on Miles’s foot. Hard. Miles swore. Automatically dropped what he was holding. Regretted it immediately.
Ms. Shandy’s voice was audible now.
Niles swiped the bag off the floor and opened the briefcase Miles had given him, letting out a breath of relief once he realized it was his own. Miles slumped into a nearby desk. Was he bleeding? It felt like it.
The door opened just as Niles put his bag of evidence into his briefcase, where it should have been the whole time.
“WHAT are YOU GUYS doing here?” said Stuart.
Miles and Niles looked at each other. Nobody was supposed to enter the classroom during lunch. If you needed to retrieve something, you had to ask permission.
They had not done that.
Somewhere in the distance, a cow mooed.
“Ms. Shandy,” Niles began.
“We were practicing for the trial,” Miles said. “You know, going over evidence and all that. Sorry. We know we’re not supposed to be here during lunch."
Ms. Shandy was a cool teacher. She just shrugged. “I don’t care. Just as long as you’re not pulling any pranks.”
Ignoring Niles’s stare, Miles widened his eyes innocently. “Of course not, Ms. Shandy.”
—
(Niles found that list later. He stared at it for thirty seconds, then concluded that Miles was much better at playing mind games than he’d thought.)
—
It was not especially difficult to predict when Miles Murphy— or any other prankster— would be pulling a prank. April Fool’s Day was a given. Other major holidays like Halloween and Saint Patrick’s Day, holidays that sold decorations and had special traditions, were generally likely to be chosen as well. If you were Niles Sparks, it was also useful to keep in mind significant dates associated with people around the prankster.
Miles Murphy had planned a Valentine’s Day prank and ended up aborting the mission halfway through its planning stage. But Niles didn’t know this. The two of them spent the whole day watching each other, Niles trying to figure out what Miles was up to and Miles just messing with him. Only a truly great prankster could prank someone using just their reputation.
The school’s only new student this year was a sixth grader named Holly Rash, with whom Niles had been paired up at the beginning of the year as part of the Buddy Program. Fortunately, Miles sat right behind Niles and had been able to give her the rundown on how things really worked around here, including who the school prankster was.
“I’ve been called the best prankster in the world,” Miles had said. “But, you know, not a big deal.”
“Nobody has called you that,” Niles said helpfully.
“They have. Lots of times. I don’t really do pranking requests, but I’m open to suggestions. Not that I need them.”
“Can I suggest something?”
“No.”
“I suggest you stop harassing the new kid.”
“Me? Harassing her? She has to be your school buddy. That’s a fate worse than death.”
“The only fate worse than death is having to listen to you blather on about your achievements in pranking.”
“You’re crazy. Right, Holly?”
Holly had stopped listening a long time ago. She was staring at Josh. “You said that’s the principal’s son? And he’s the only candidate for class president because everyone’s too afraid to run against him?”
“Yeah,” Miles said. “Man, I’ve pulled some really good pranks on him over the years. Let me tell you about this one I pulled in—”
“I’ll run against him.”
(Holly did run against him. Her political battle against Josh Barkin was a fascinating and thrilling underdog story, a truly meaningful lesson about the importance of standing up for what you believe in even if it goes against the status quo.)
(Unfortunately, that story is best saved for another time.)
The Valentine’s Day incident should have assured Miles that his reputation as the school prankster was solid. People loved him. People feared him. He wanted to believe that he was the most admired prankster almost more strongly than he wanted to be the most admired prankster. After all, it was all worth nothing if he couldn’t look in the mirror and know that he was staring at a person who inspired awe and praise.
Usually he could convince himself he believed all that. But in the moments he doubted himself, it was because of Niles Sparks. That saboteur . Niles scowled when everyone was smiling, shook his head when everyone was laughing, cut him down with some lofty remark when everyone else was patting Miles on the back. (Not literally. Miles had a very selective personal space, thank you very much.) It was maddening.
The only comforting aspect of the whole situation was that he drove Niles just as crazy as Niles drove him. Every time that stupid smile slipped off Niles’s face and he lost his composure, Miles’s skin thrilled.
Miles had war trophies. The sash was only one of them. And judging by the random disappearance of certain items of his, Niles had war trophies too.
Back to certain calendar dates and Miles’s taking advantage of them. Ms. Shandy’s birthday was today, which she had told her students about a month prior for the sole purpose of adding afterwards that she wouldn’t mind receiving peanut M&M’s as a gift.
Right at the beginning of class, Miles had plopped a big can of peanut M&M’s on her desk with a bow on top.
“Happy birthday, Ms. Shandy,” said Miles. “How old are you, now? Ninety-something?”
“I’m too old to remember,” Ms. Shandy said. (That was another cool thing about her— she could take a joke, unlike Miles’s other teachers.) “Thank you for the present. Now go sit down before I get out my cane.”
Miles grinned and took his seat.
The can of M&M’s was not exactly as it seemed. One crucial difference was that it was not filled with M&M’s. It was filled with glitter, which would explode in Ms. Shandy’s face once she pulled down the springlock on the side of the can. Whoever had manufactured the cylindrical glitter bomb had done all the hard work; all Miles had to do was order it online, print out an appropriate label, and glue it onto the can.
Niles turned around in his seat and beamed at Miles. “That was so kind of you, Miles! I bet Ms. Shandy will love that candy. Doesn’t it feel great to properly show your appreciation for a teacher?”
“That was the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Holly. She had joined the Yearbook Committee soon after arriving in Yawnee Valley and always carried a camera around with her.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” said Miles, “but making fun of Niles is kind of my thing.” Then he looked back at Niles. “That was the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
At the end of class, Ms. Shandy reminded them that they were going to start working on ancient civilizations next month. Then she picked up the glitter bomb.
“I’ve never seen a can of M&M’s like this,” she said. “And not with this little lever on the side to open it. Where did you get these, Miles?”
“What?” said Niles.
Miles recognized that tone.
“Oh, you know,” he said quickly. “The store. No biggie.”
Just open it, just open it, just open it…
Niles stood up. “Ms. Shandy, I don’t know if opening a gift from a known prankster is a good idea.”
“It’s just M&M’s,” said Miles.
“I think maybe you should let me open that. Just in case there’s something wrong with it.”
“I can’t give out candy to the kids,” said Ms. Shandy. “Some kids have peanut allergies.”
“Yeah, Niles, just sit down.” Miles pressed down on Niles’s shoulder.
Though he wobbled a little, Niles refused to budge. “I’m not asking for candy. I think Miles is trying to prank you. That’s not a regular can of M&M’s.”
“Who are you, the M&M’s expert?”
“And there’s no plastic wrap on it! When you get a tube of M&M’s or any candy from the store, it’s always wrapped with plastic. Doesn’t that seem suspicious?”
Ms. Shandy shrugged. She handed Niles the cylinder. Miles attempted to telekinetically explode Niles’s head, but it didn’t work. It never worked.
Everyone was watching.
Niles pressed the springlock on the side.
The top of the can flew off and glitter exploded all over him.
“WOAH!” said Stuart. “That was like a WEAPON OF MASS GLITTERFICATION!”
Some people laughed. Not at Stuart’s joke, of course, but at the sight of Niles covered in glitter. It had ruined his suit and lightly dusted his face.
Niles didn’t even flinch. He gave Miles a look so acrid it could have stripped the paint from the wall.
“Guess you were right,” Miles said. He stood up and made a mocking attempt to wipe some glitter off Niles’s cheek. Flecks of gold and silver glinted under the fluorescent lights, making his eyes sparkle. Not that Miles was staring. Holly snapped a picture just before Niles took a constrained step back.
Ms. Shandy just shook her head. “Both of you, down to Principal Barkin’s office.”
—
That year, Holly’s picture ended up in the “Looking Back” section of the yearbook. Miles hoped nobody had taken a close look at it. Somehow the camera had translated that moment into a completely different language, softening Niles’s stony expression and making Miles’s gesture look much more gentle. He hadn’t really been wearing that stupid little smile on his face, had he?
Unbelievable.
(Miles put it in the notebook he used to record all things related to Niles Sparks.)
Their yearbook was always a little pathetic. Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy only had three teams that competed with other schools, and all but one team (the cornhole team) were terrible. Whoever had been in charge of gathering the best football candids must have screwed up on purpose, because half of them were too blurry to make out and the other half were uncomfortably close to the players’ faces.
Actually, it could have only been Holly or Scotty. They were the only two members of the Yearbook Committee. Miles was willing to bet it was Scotty. The yearbook had improved since Holly joined, but not by much because they hadn’t been allowed to remove the Barkin Bulletin. This was a six-page feature written every year by Principal Barkin about the Barkins’ accomplishments. Nobody liked it.
Still, that wasn’t the fault of the Yearbook Committee. They were one of the few clubs that had existed at Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy prior to Niles Sparks becoming a student.
In the span of seven years or so, Niles had invented no less than twenty-three extracurricular activities. Miles had them all written down. Niles had founded— among other things— the safety patrol, the Student Anti-Smoking Society, the Student Anti-Plagiarism Society, the student behavior committee, the Intergenerational Reading Club (a volunteer program to read to senior citizens), the Junior Librarians League, the Applesauce Honor Society, the Coalition for School Pride, and some mysterious thing called LADs.
Not even Miles knew what LADs stood for. Niles got all bristly whenever he tried to ask.
“You should do a club,” he once said to Miles, while they were doing a group project. The class had split into teams based on whether they wanted to make samizdat or propaganda.
Miles had chosen to do samizdat. Niles had, of course, chosen propaganda. He fit a lot of pure evil into a small frame.
“Why would I want to do that?” said Miles.
“Because! Participating in a productive extracurricular is a much better outlet for all your creativity than pranking. If you just chose to be passionate about something else—”
“You can’t choose what you’re passionate about.”
“Of course you can. You know that quote by Lao Tzu? Watch your thoughts because thoughts become words, words become actions, actions become habits, and habits become character?”
“I guess.”
“All you have to do is think the right things. Cut out any other thoughts before they have time to grow. Like a weed.”
“That sounds like propaganda, dude.”
Ever since Holly Rash had managed to become class president by invoking some long-forgotten rules and seizing power, Niles had been a little bit off. Miles reasoned that this was because he was in cahoots with Principal Barkin, and Josh Barkin’s deposition was a blow to the Barkin name. Of course it made sense that Niles would try to compensate for it by working harder at schoolwork, at clubs, at everything.
That year was the Student-Parent Dinner-Dance, an event hosted by the student council every year for seventh and eighth graders. It was another one of those things that only parents liked.
Holly had a bake sale to fund the dance, which was unfortunately successful no thanks to Miles Murphy’s dry cupcakes. Fortunately, Miles was able to keep his mother from hearing about it. He showed up alone and claimed that he wanted to help serve the guests.
He did not.
It was the perfect night to play a prank on an auditorium full of people. Students, teachers, parents, the principal, all in one room. A smorgasbord of pranking victims. And Niles wasn’t there to stop him, because he and his parents hadn’t come. Judging by all the times he’d watched Niles forge their signatures for report cards and permission slips, Niles’s parents were busy a lot.
It was weird; if Miles got the kind of grades Niles Sparks got, his mom would be over the moon to put her name on his report cards. Sometimes he wondered if his mom wished he were a better student. Sometimes he felt like everyone thought he was lacking.
Anyway, the Student-Parent Dinner-Dance prank was a major success. Someone thankfully managed to get a picture before Gus cleared away the confetti cannon, the empty bag of walnuts, the umbrella, and the live goat. Miles made sure that every big prank he pulled in seventh grade was photographed for the sake of his finale.
All year, the idea of a big finale had been floating around his head, inspired by the yearbook’s mediocrity. People wanted change. People wanted memories they actually enjoyed looking back on, not classroom candids. They especially didn’t want that stupid Barkin Bulletin, which had always gotten on Miles’s nerves because every year Principal Barkin wrote about foiling pranks like it wasn’t Niles doing all his dirty work.
So Miles decided to change things up a bit. Instead of a Barkin Bulletin, this yearbook would have an exclusive interview with Miles Murphy. He’d upload his best photos, talk about his favorite pranks, and shoot the breeze with made-up student reporter Cody Burr-Tyler, who was the masterstroke of the whole prank.
The Yearbook Committee used the ancient computers in the library to format the yearbook. On their own, the computers were gold mines; they had been set up without passwords and people frequently forgot to log themselves out of their emails or social media. Miles had pretended to be a lot of different students (and one teacher) over the years.
According to Holly, the yearbooks were set to be printed tomorrow. Miles simply stole two keys off Niles’s key ring— the one to the front doors and the one to the library— and broke in during the night.
He navigated dark and silent hallways with the feeling that he was walking through a tomb. No rattling keychains. No footsteps in the corridor. No murmurs and laughter beyond classroom doors. A shiver shot up Miles’s spine. He whistled a cheerful tune, trying to offset the building’s lifelessness.
Relief flooded him when he reached the library doors, which were unlocked. Perhaps the theft of Niles’s key hadn’t been necessary after all. He pulled open the left door and had barely taken three steps when—
“Stop right there!”
Miles screamed made a manful sound of surprise at the sight of Niles Sparks sitting on the check-out desk. He must have been more disconcerted by the empty school than he first thought, because he wasn’t all that disappointed to see Niles here.
“I keep track of all of my keys,” said Niles. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a guy look for books in peace?” Miles said innocently, his heart rate dropping to a mere three hundred beats per minute as opposed to five hundred.
Niles raised an eyebrow as if to say, At two in the morning?
“The library is nice and quiet at this time of day. I’m sure you know that, since you’re such a book expert.” Miles batted his eyelashes.
“Flattery won’t work on me. I’m not Principal Barkin.”
“Wow. You’re in a bad mood.”
Niles seemed to realize that he’d said something that indicated he had an actual personality below all that kissing up, and immediately tried to compensate. “I didn’t mean that. Principal Barkin is our principal and a very respected member of our community.”
“Okay.”
“That just slipped out. I wasn’t thinking it or anything.”
“Okay."
“I’m serious.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“Well.” Niles faltered, then hopped off the librarian’s desk and crossed his arms. “You’re here to pull a prank. I caught you. Hand over the keys and go back home. I’m sure your mom wouldn’t want you out of the house this late.”
Miles rolled his eyes and gave Niles his keys back. “All I was gonna do was edit the yearbook a little bit. At this point I’d be doing it a service by adding some humor.”
He wasn’t going to give up on it entirely. This prank would be even sweeter next year, his final legacy recorded in the yearbook’s pages. Before he left, he took one last glance over his shoulder.
Niles was staring at the computers. The room’s shadows did unnatural things to his face.
Miles shut the door.
—
This was Miles Murphy’s last year at Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy. It was everybody’s, actually. Some people Miles knew would be going to the local high school; others would be going to a specialized school, like Scotty, and still yet a few people would be skipping high school almost entirely to work on their family’s farm. Yawnee Valley’s cogs were rusty, but they still turned without regard. Time waits for no one.
But it wasn’t time to get philosophical about all that yet. It was only November, and Miles’s existential dread would probably set in around May. (A perk of knowing your own neuroses and what affects you the most— like seasonal depression or listening to “Slipping Through My Fingers” by ABBA— is that you can plan accordingly.) Miles wanted to make the best of his remaining time here.
Meaning, of course, he went on a pranking spree.
He put a voice activation sticker on three of the main printers. Replaced the hand soap in the bathrooms with clear Elmer’s glue. Labeled three birds with the numbers “1”, “2”, and “4” respectively, then released them in Principal Barkin’s office. Put a dead fish in Niles’s locker. (He wondered if Niles knew his locker code too. Hopefully not.) And on Halloween, he hid fake spiders and cockroaches all around the school.
“This is AWESOME!” said Stuart, cradling the biggest spider of them all. It was the giant fake tarantula Miles had put on top of Ms. Shandy’s classroom door. (Masterstroke.) “Niles, you GOTTA see this!”
Stuart shoved the tarantula into Niles’s face, who screamed and stumbled into a random desk. Miles gave Stuart an approving nod.
Some prank ideas came from listening to Niles. Every Monday since fifth grade, he had a School Helper Check-In with Principal Barkin. Niles always had a long list of items to discuss with Principal Barkin. These included but were not limited to maintenance checks, student behavioral problems, Miles Murphy, fundraisers, Miles Murphy, cafeteria food, classroom supplies, Miles Murphy, and Miles Murphy.
There was nothing quite like a school principal referring to you as the bane of his existence to boost the ego.
Anyway, every Monday Miles would tell Ms. Shandy that he had to leave for a while to help the librarian, Mr. Moore, sort books. He’d slip out of the classroom, press his ear against Principal Barkin’s door and strain to make out what they were saying. It would be nice to have some sort of old-fashioned listening device, but Miles doubted such a thing existed.
Miles learned early in September that Bertrand Barkin had been made the Acting Superintendent after the death of someone named Harriet Nervig. There had been a grand wake for her that Miles’s mom dragged him along to. Mrs. Nervig must have had a fascinating life, because he vividly remembered there being a medieval stage reenactment— complete with a sword fight— and a platter of aged cheeses Mrs. Nervig had made before she passed away.
On the first Monday of November, Miles learned something else about Acting Superintendent Barkin.
He was coming to evaluate the school on Friday.
“Don’t tell anybody,” Principal Barkin urged Niles, his voice muffled through the door. “It is of utmost importance that my father receives the best impression possible. There are pranksters in this school who would very much appreciate an opportunity to embarrass our school.”
“I understand, sir,” said Niles.
“And by pranksters I am of course referring to one prankster, whose name is Miles Murphy.”
“I got that."
“I have asked Gus to ensure that the school is sparkling clean for my father’s arrival. I want these floors so clean you could eat off of them. Which, of course, would be a ridiculous thing to do in any scenario, because food is meant to be eaten with utensils and plates and such. Perhaps it could work if you removed one of the floor tiles to be used as a plate. But we will not be doing that. That would be preposterous. You understand, right, Niles?”
“I do, sir.”
Principal Barkin was ridiculous. Miles had no idea how Niles kept a straight face while speaking to him. Snickering to himself, he began thinking up ways to utterly ruin Principal Barkin’s evaluation.
On Wednesday, he went down to the library and told Mr. Moore that Ms. Shandy needed him to make some last-minute copies. The school’s copier was— like every other faculty-owned piece of equipment— dying of old age, but it got the job done. Miles made twenty-five copies of a document that he had written himself.
“PRINCIPAL BARKIN SEZ: HAPPY GARBAGE DAY!” it read. “CELEBRATE YOUR LOCAL GARBAGE COLLECTORS ON NOVEMBER 20th BY GATHERING ALL YOUR TRASH AND THROWING IT AROUND YAWNEE VALLEY SCIENCE AND LETTERS ACADEMY LIKE CONFETTI. LITTERING IS HEAVILY ENCOURAGED.”
These copies went into envelopes, which he kept in his locker until Thursday, the day on which they were to be distributed to different addresses. He skateboarded up and down the streets of Yawnee Valley for two hours, dropping them into his classmate’s mailboxes and speeding off before he was seen.
He got home and ate dinner, then immediately went up to his room and tried to go to bed early in anticipation for the next day. Unfortunately, his pre-prank insomnia kicked in and kept him awake until five in the morning, at which point he fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake up until his alarm had already gone off four times.
It was Friday.
November 20th.
Garbage Day.
His mom put the pedal to the metal getting him to school that morning. Miles’s hands shook as he shut the car door behind him. As he took the stairs at the front of the building two at a time, he looked at the windows in hopes of glimpsing the carnage. Nothing looked different, but his hopes remained high.
He pushed open the school doors.
Looked around.
Empty. Clean. Neat lines of lockers stretching down the hallway. It looked, as Principal Barkin had said, sparkling clean. Miles gawked.
He wondered where all the trash was. Then he got to his locker and discovered for himself where it was. Bags of trash, far too much for the tiny locker space each student was afforded, spilled out of the open door.
Niles Sparks exited Room 22 and walked up to him.
“Just get the monologue over with,” said Miles.
“I heard you laughing outside Principal Barkin’s door,” said Niles. “Which made me suspicious, so I followed you and watched you copy out those Garbage Day letters. On Thursday, I replaced the envelopes in your locker with envelopes of my own. Take a look at this.”
He handed Miles a piece of paper.
“PRINCIPAL BARKIN SEZ: HAPPY GARBAGE DAY!” it read. “TO PARTICIPATE IN THE FESTIVITIES, KINDLY DUMP ALL YOUR TRASH IN LOCKER #336. THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.”
“I got here early and opened your locker door,” said Niles. “Then all I had to do was wait.”
“This stinks,” said Miles.
Niles Sparks laughed.
For the first time in Miles’s life, Niles Sparks laughed. Miles couldn’t decide whether he was terrified or something close to smitten, and eventually settled on angry.
“You pranked me,” he said.
Niles’s smile dropped. “What?"
“You just pulled a prank!”
“No, I foiled your prank.”
“Foiling a prank ensures that it doesn’t happen. Or that there’s no victim. Or that the culprit gets caught.” Miles took a step towards him. “This is different.”
“That’s not true.” Niles’s face was delightfully pale. Clearly Miles had hit a nerve.
“You didn’t have to redirect the trash to my locker. But you did. That makes you a prankster.”
“I’m not a prankster!” Niles backed up and shook his head. “I’m not.” He shook his head again. Then he tried to shut Miles’s locker, which required a lot more strength than Niles was able to expend. (Last week, he’d needed help closing a pair of scissors.) Miles helpfully kicked the door in.
“How about this,” he said, watching Niles’s eyes dart around. “You keep quiet about my prank and I’ll keep quiet about yours. Old Man Barkin will never know.”
Niles sighed. He put his hand out and Miles shook it.
For someone Principal Barkin introduced to new kids as “their best student”, Niles could be pretty stupid. Miles was just yanking his chain. Of course Niles wasn’t a prankster— how ridiculous would that be? Niles Sparks had no secrets.