Chapter 9

On Monday afternoon, at a minute past one, Miss West dismissed the fleet of boys who might have understood her lecture on centrifugal force, but by and large didn’t care anyway. At a minute and a half past one, two hands clamped down on Darren’s shoulders, each belonging to a different person.

“C’mon, Beethoven,” Ethan Summerskill said in his left ear. “Lunch in the back courtyard.”

“You have some explaining to do,” Paul Smith said in the other ear, and when Darren shrugged them off and turned, they were grinning identical grins.