“A video game,” Ahmad responded. It was getting harder to control his snarky tongue and fidgety feet. He was usually better at this. He was. But the fact that they had been here a half hour and he still couldn’t tell his side of the story was rattling him. “Honestly, I’ve told you this like twenty times now. I don’t know where it came from.”

Except, of course, he did. Sort of.

“That’s not what you told us before, Mirza.”

“I did tell you that! I don’t know why I have it. Really, I don’t.”

“You also told me,” Mr. Willis broke in, “that the game belonged to you.”

Ahmad stuck his chin out. “That’s because it does.”

“The question is, Mirza,” Mrs. Evans snapped, “how you knew for sure this was your video game, and—more importantly—how a video game that apparently belongs to you was delivered to the school office this morning to begin with!”

Ahmad had no idea himself, though he’d glanced over the package probably a thousand times since it was first shoved into his hands a few hours ago. His sister’s name and school were neatly printed on the return address—Farah Mirza, care of Princeton University.

His big sister was known for being . . . well, hard to predict. But this was mysterious, even for her. Sending a package straight to his school, without any warning?

“Ahmad, I’m about ready to get the principal in here himself and suspend you,” Mrs. Evans interrupted. “We know what’s in the package, and that it’s from your sister. And you have no idea why she sent it to school?”

“My sister does what she wants,” Ahmad said firmly, and not without a little pride. The next part was harder to ease out, but he managed it, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. “Well, I mean, we did talk a lot about, you know. School. And friends. And how I didn’t really have any. She might’ve wanted to . . . I don’t know.”

And he really didn’t know. Not having friends had never been a problem his sister faced. For him, though, it was his entire life.

“Okay, then,” Mrs. Evans sighed. “Let’s leave your sister alone for now. What I want to know is how much nerve you have, Mr. Mirza, to sneak out and steal a package from the school office when you were supposed to be in lunch detention.”

“Okay. Okay. Listen.” Ahmad closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice and his thick tongue. “I’m not sure why you keep saying the word ‘s-steal.’ How could I steal it if it was mine?”