Invincible Chronicles of Nick - By Sherrilyn Kenyon Page 0,41
head? Biting back that sarcasm was much easier said than done. “Sorry, sir. Not a clue.”
Head set a handheld Nintendo down on his desk. “Look familiar?”
Duh. What was he supposed to answer? Of course it did. Most of his classmates had one. They were common and unless decorated by the owner, ubiquitous.
Head’s smug glower intensified. “Cat got your tongue, boy?”
No, confusion had his tongue. He still had absolutely no idea what was going on. But before he could speak, a knock sounded on the door.
The new coach pushed it open. “Am I interrupting?”
“Yes.” Head’s tone was even colder than his grimace.
The coach ignored it. “Gautier. Glad you’re here. I was just about to track you down.” He came in and handed Nick his jersey.
Nick would be excited, but under the circumstances, he was going to wait to celebrate.
“You might want to hold off on doing that,” Head said in a dire tone.
The coach scowled. “Why?”
“I’m about to send this little punk to jail, and the last thing we need is another person in lockup wearing one of our school jerseys.”
Nick choked. Jail? For what? Breathing?
“What did he do?” the coach asked.
Yeah, what did I do?
“Stealing. This—” He held up the Nintendo. “—was found in his locker. It belongs to—”
“Kyl Poitiers. He loaned it to Nick in gym class.”
“What?”
Nick was as stunned as the principal, who mirrored the word that was screaming in his mind. No one had loaned him that, and he’d definitely not stolen it. But he knew better than to speak up until he understood what was going on. Anything can and will be used against you.
The coach gestured to Nick. “I saw Kyl give it to him.”
Head still refused to believe it. “You’re mistaken. The serial number’s on my list of stolen objects, and it belongs to Bryce Parkington.”
“And again, I know what I saw in class. If it’s stolen, Poitiers is framing Nick. But that’s a stretch. Are you sure the number’s correct?”
“Of course I’m sure. The number is right here.” Head compared the two numbers, then cursed under his breath. “Well, that’s odd. I swear the numbers matched earlier.”
The coach shrugged. “It’s an honest mistake. Happens to the best of us. Besides, those numbers are so small on the devices, it’s easy to misread them.” He gestured to Nick. “C’mon, Gautier. I’ll walk you back to class.”
Head continued to sputter as he went back and forth with the serial numbers, trying to make them match.
“Wait,” he said as they reached the door. He held the system out toward Nick. “You might as well take it back with you, since it’s not one of the stolen items.” Then his tone went sharp again. “And don’t let me catch you playing it in class or the hallway, or I’ll confiscate it.”
“Yes, sir.” Nick grabbed the handheld and made a quick getaway. He still had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t about to open his mouth and get himself into trouble now that he was clear. Especially since he was innocent of any wrongdoing.
As soon as they were outside the office and in the hallway away from anyone who might overhear them, the coach stopped him. “Bet you’re wondering what’s going on, aren’t you?”
“Lot of confused. Definitely.”
The coach took the Nintendo from Nick’s hand and toyed with it. “I did some digging into your school file. It’s actually quite impressive.”
Nick had a bad feeling he wasn’t talking about his grades or test scores. “How so?”
“You scored the highest for the entrance exam of any kid ever tested. You’re the only one who’s ever made a hundred on it and got all three of the bonus questions correct, too. Did you know that?”
All right. For once he was wrong. A wave of pride filled him. That was saying something, since this was one of the best schools in the country, never mind the state of Louisiana, and harder than even Ben Franklin High to get into. “No.” They’d told him he’d done really well and given him a full scholarship, but no one had ever told him that he’d scored perfect on it. Wow. No wonder his mom got so bent whenever she thought he was slacking off.
“But that wasn’t what I found the most fascinating. It’s your other record I want to talk to you about.”
His stomach shrank. Here it comes.…
Loser. Dork. Your family history blows. You have no hope for a future, so we might as well throw you out now, right into the