The Great Mistake Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Sylvia McNicoll

service.”

      I wince, starting to feel sorry for her now. “Your parents think you can’t be alone without him there?”

      “Um, no,” she lowers her voice. “My parents are fine with me being alone in the house. It’s me. I don’t like to be by myself.”

      “Bombs don’t scare you but you can’t be alone?”

      “I’m not afraid ’cause I’m with you,” she explains. “In the house, when I’m by myself, I hear noises, and instead of thinking, ‘Oh, that’s just the fridge,’ I imagine things. Like it’s a burglar or a serial killer moving around.”

      “I imagine things, too,” I admit. “Not so much in my own house, though. Dad’s almost always around.” I straighten up and puff my chest out. I like that she’s anxious about being alone; it makes me feel stronger. And I like that I give her courage.

      Out of breath we walk toward the school again. It’s still in one piece, so no bombs went off yet.

      I see a couple of people near the white trailer. One is wearing a helmet and strange bulky green suit and helmet. The other holds a black box of some kind in his hand. Mrs. Watier’s car is gone.

      “Oh my gosh, they must have found a real bomb,” Renée says.

      “Let’s head a different way,” I suggest.

      “Nooooo! I want to take pictures with my phone.”

      “Does your phone have a zoom lens?” The question becomes pointless as she and Ping tear off. Pong drags me after. Closer and closer to the school we go.

      Ping begins barking.

      Something is moving, jerking back and forth, actually. It looks like a remote-control transformer, only it’s the size of Renée, who is on the short side.

      We draw closer. It’s a robot with tractor treads. From its outstretched arms, a large, lime-coloured backpack dangles. Wires hang from the bottom.

      “What is that thing doing with Reuven’s school bag?” Renée asks as she trains her phone in the di­r-­­ection of the robot.

      “Shouldn’t we be diving down and covering our ears?” I don’t ask how she knows whose bag it is.

      We watch as the robot zigs and zags its way to the sandpit. Then, it drops Reuven’s bag into the sand and backs away. Once the robot returns to the white trailer, there’s a loud bang and a burst of sand.

      “I don’t believe it. They blew it up!” Renée says.

      “Did you get a good shot of the explosion?” I lean over her shoulder and she shows me. When I look up again, I see the guy in the strange outfit — he looks like an astronaut — heading for the sandpit.

      When he gets there, he stirs through the sand, putting the bits of Reuven’s bag into a bin. Ping barks like crazy at him but Renée drags him away.

      We walk toward the white trailer, where the robot now stands, motionless. The police officer pulls out a ramp from the back of the trailer. Then, he uses the black remote to manoeuvre the robot slowly up the ramp.

      Ping finds a new reason to bark himself hoarse, which attracts the officer’s attention.

      “Why are you guys hanging around? This site could be dangerous.” His eyes narrow. He looks suspicious.

      “We go home this way, sir,” I tell him. “Over there’s the park exit.” I point.

      “But we were wondering …” Renée smiles brightly.

      This time the mistake of the day isn’t mine. Mistake number five clearly belongs to the Halton Police Department. It’s way worse than allowing the dogs to throw the skateboarder down, way more embarrassing than shouting “Fire!” when there wasn’t one.

      “Why,” Renée asks, “did you blow up Reuven Jirad’s science project?”

      day one, mistake six

      Along with her high-pitched tone, Renée tilts her head and squints at the police officer, altogether making it seem like she can’t believe anyone could be so stupid as to blow up Reuven’s project. Over Ping’s barking, Renée continues, explaining to the police officer that Reuven built a mini boom box, how he worked on it for three weeks. I try to quiet the dog down.

      The officer shifts on his feet and winces as he defends himself. “Well, the suspect’s bag was left unattended on the floor near the computers, right next to the furnace room. A strategic area to affect maximum damage.”

      Renée often makes me feel dumb, too, like when we work on math or science together: But why would you do it that way when it’s so much simpler to do it this way? So I nod supportively as I agree with the police officer. “Blowing up the backpack was a sound safety measure.”

      “Well, Reuven is bit absent-minded,” Renée adds, scooping up Ping. Pong stands quietly, leaning against my leg. “But a lot of kids leave their bags in all kinds of places.”

      I nudge her to try to make her stop.

      “Our imaging equipment showed wires.” The police officer’s voice sounds strained. He’s talking through his teeth, which are forced into a grin, maybe to stop him from biting Renée. “And the school received a threat, so we couldn’t take the chance.”

      “We had a bomb threat?” I ask. My mind races. When that fire alarm sounded earlier and we all had to leave without our agendas and homework, Mrs. Watier and Mrs. Worsley must have thought there was a bomb in the school.

      “There now, don’t go spreading that around.”

      “No, of course not,” I say, wishing I could tell everyone in class tomorrow. It would make up for me panicking over the fire alarm. There was a real threat after all.

      “Too bad Mrs. Klein is new,” Renée says. “Mr. Sawyer, our old custodian, would have recognized Reuven’s bag. Still, Mrs. Watier should have known about the science project.”

      Leave it alone, Renée, I think. The officer looks more annoyed with every word from her mouth.

      “The principal had to leave, if that’s who you mean,” he says stiffly, one eyebrow raised and both hands on his hips. “The custodian said something about a wedding dress fitting.”

      “Mrs. Watier is getting married? But she’s already a Mrs.,” I say.

      “I can’t believe women need fittings for their wedding dresses,” Renée says. “Why can’t they make them the right size in the first place?”

      “That’s true. Guys only get measured for their tuxes once. Then they pick them up. My dad was a best man last year, so I know.” Now Renée has me doing it. “Must be a pain to have to take off for something like that.”

      “Speaking of taking off,” Renée interrupts, “I have to go. My brother is waiting.” She puts Ping on the ground again and starts walking with him, expecting me to follow, I guess. No goodbyes or anything to the police officer.

      “Me, too!” I tell him. There’s nowhere I really have to be. I just want to leave in case he feels the need to arrest one of us for being annoying know-it-alls and I’m the only one left.

      The policeman stares after us with both eyebrows up, now.

      “Bye.” I give him a wave.

      Renée and Ping are already way in the lead, so Pong yanks me forward. We leave the police officer frowning and scratching his head.

      Pong and I gain on Renée and Ping.

      “Want to walk me home?” she asks.

      “I’ve already given the dogs their hour.” Really, I’m not happy about the way she talked to the police officer. It reminded me too much of all the times she treated me that way.

      “You’ll