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that to Mr. Wiens. I just nodded and mumbled, “That’s very interesting.”
    He stuck the paper back in the folder and handed it to me. “I hope this helps you with your story, Laurel. I look forward to reading it.”
    Inside, I cringed. Why did he have to say that? Now I felt like I really had to write the article.
    I forced a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Wiens.
    I’m sure this information is going to be a big help.”
    It was the truth, in a roundabout way. It might help me get to the bottom of the scam. I felt a little guilty about misleading Mr. Wiens though. But being a reporter meant digging, and that could be dirty. If it meant uncovering the truth, it was worth it.
    As I left the office, I spotted Jack slouched against a wall of lockers. He was talking with Sean. I could only see Sean’s back, but I had no doubt who it was. I’d recognize his back anywhere.
    I started toward the two of them but had only taken a few steps when Jack banged his fist on the locker and growled, “Forget it!”
    I stopped walking.
    â€œNo.” He pushed himself away from the lockers and got right into Sean’s face. “Not again.”
    He was obviously angry, and from the way Sean kept clenching and unclenching his fists, I could tell he was too.
    What was going on? Jack and Sean never argued. I held my breath. Then suddenly Jack shrugged, and the tension seemed to leave his body. He said something I didn’t hear, and Sean looked over his shoulder in my direction.
    Sean faked a smile and waved. “Hey, Laurel,” he said. Then he turned and jogged off down the hall.
    I walked over to Jack. “What was all that about? You guys looked like you were getting ready to punch each other’s lights out.”
    Jack shrugged. “Don’t exaggerate. We were just having a difference of opinion about a play Sean wants to run. It’s no big deal. See you at home.”
    Then Jack took off too.

Chapter Six
    My original plan was to study the information Mr. Wiens had given me in the privacy of my bedroom. But once the file folder was in my hands, I couldn’t wait. I needed answers right away.
    The school had pretty much cleared out. I slipped into an empty classroom and spread the papers on top of a couple of desks. There were about two hundred grade-twelve students at our school. It would take forever to make a master list, so I settled for a mini-list of math students whose names started with A , B , and C . I hoped it would be enough to tell if there was a pattern to the marks.
    Mr. Draper taught the only grade-twelve biology classes, so I didn’t have to bother combining lists for that subject. If my informant was correct, kids in those classes were cheating. Not a single student was failing biology. That confirmed that at least some of them were cheating.
    I was still surprised by the marks. I had expected them to be higher. There were a few As and Bs, but there were also a bunch of Cs and even a couple of Ds. If kids were cheating, the marks should have been better.
    Unless the cheating scam hadn’t been going on very long.
    Of course! That had to be it. Students had probably only messed with one or two tests. It would take more than a couple of tests to bring course marks up a couple of letter grades.
    I decided to check out Mr. Draper’s classroom. I had no idea what it was going to tell me—maybe nothing. It didn’t really matter. I needed to get a feel for the scene of the crime.
    Mr. Draper taught math in room 132, which was connected to the biology lab by a small office. When I got there, the door was closed. I peered through the window. The classroom was empty. I knocked. Nothing. I grabbed the doorknob and turned, fully expecting it to resist. But the room wasn’t locked.
    â€œMr. Draper?” I called as I pushed open the door.
    My words hit the walls and slid to the floor. Mr. Draper wasn’t there. This was good, because if he’d