Dooley got up from his desk and went out in the hallway with Reagan and Mr. Francis. When they came back in, Reagan was gone. Both men were staring at me.

“Arcade?” Mr. Dooley said. “Please put down your pencil and come out to the hallway.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And Wiley? We’d like to see you too.” Wiley got up.

“And bring your backpack, Mr. Overton,” Mr. Francis said.

Yes! Maybe I’m gonna get my flamingos back!

*  *  *

Mr. Francis stood with his arms crossed. His big mustache looked like it had just been oiled and styled at a beauty salon.

Mr. Dooley spoke at a normal pitch. “Wiley, it’s come to our attention that for the last few weeks, tests have been taken from my desk drawer, photocopied, and passed around, enabling many students on this campus to cheat on my tests. Are you in possession of any of those photocopies right now?”

Wiley put his backpack down on the floor and cracked his knuckles. He looked left, right, anywhere except at Mr. Dooley.

“Mr. Overton,” Principal Francis said, “let me assure you, there will be consequences for cheating, but if you withhold any information that we find out about later, the consequences will be greater.”

“Uh,” Wiley cleared his throat, “yes, sir.”

Mr. Francis uncrossed his arms. “I know you struggle with tests, so the temptation to cheat is great.”

Wiley nodded.

“Do you have the test with you now, Wiley?” Mr. Dooley put one hand on his hip and rubbed his chin with the other.

Wiley looked down at the floor. “Yes, sir.”

What am I doing here? I have nothing to do with this.

Mr. Francis put out his hand. “Let’s have it then.”

Wiley glanced over at me for a split-second, and then reached into his backpack and lifted out another backpack. It was black, with flamingos. No surprise there. He handed it to Mr. Francis. “Kids have been passing this around school every week. The tests and the answers are in it. I’ve been having trouble understanding math, so I’ve been using it to help me study. It’s easier when I know what the questions are going to be. But I never look at them when I’m taking the test.”

Mr. Francis unzipped the flamingo backpack and pulled out a folder filled with papers. He handed the stack to Mr. Dooley, who flipped through them. “My tests from the last few weeks,” Dooley said, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable,” sighed Mr. Francis, a concerned look on his face. Then he looked up at Wiley. “Where did this backpack come from? Who’s the ringleader?”

Wiley shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. After I’m done with it, I pass it to another kid. Then it makes the rounds. All I know is whose name is on the tag.”

My stomach churned. My mouth ran dry. My fingers turned cold.