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“Mrs. O!  Caleb fell down and hit his head!  Somebody spilled a can of pop all over the floor.  He was running down the hallway when he slipped on it.”

Concerned, Mrs. O glances down at the gasping girl with a pinched expression darkening her pale face.  “Is he all right?  Where is he?”

“He’s still sitting in the hallway.”

While Mrs. O follows the girl out the door, I turn towards the assembled group.  I grab the attendance chart.  I’m about to do a little investigating.

“I want everyone to have a seat out in the audience.  All the shepherds sit together.  Wise men, over here.  Angels, there.  Mary, Joseph, and Jesus up front here.” 

I spend a couple of minutes directing traffic.  Finally, everyone is seated.  I begin to call out and check off names on the chart.  Three children are missing.  Angela, the girl who left with Mrs. O.  Caleb, the victim of the pop spill.  And Heath. 

I remember Heath.  He’s an eighth grader.  A rather menacing one.  He’s always hiding under the hood of his massive, black sweatshirt, slumped over in a chair.  He’s one of the kids who is supposed to be helping move scenery and props around the stage.  Though, I must admit that as the backstage manager, I have rarely seen Heath helping.  In fact, I have rarely seen Heath at all.  What exactly has he been up to while the rest of us have been working on the pageant?

I encourage everyone to stay in their seats.  I’m waiting for trouble to strike again.  If it happens now, I will be fairly certain that Heath is behind all the drama. 

I stop to consider all the problems we’ve encountered today.  Somebody stole Mrs. O’s entire script.  And someone messed with the costumes again.  After I removed them from the storage room.  One of the sheep has a bowtie tacked onto its front.  And the crown is missing.  Most likely, the same culprit once again locked one of the students in the costume room.  Did the miscreant also pour a can of pop on the floor in the hallway?   But if so, then why?  Or was the soda spill just an accident?

I have more questions than answers at this point.  At least, I can cross Gavin off my list.  He was with me the entire afternoon.  He couldn’t possibly be responsible for the missing crown.  Or the locked door.  Or the pool of pop.

A couple of minutes later, Mrs. O returns with Caleb and Angela.  At least, the boy is conscious.  I’m looking on the bright side of things. 

After Mrs. O makes sure that Caleb is comfortable sitting on the front row, she approaches me.  “I’m beginning to wonder who is causing all this trouble.  And why.”

I lean towards her and whisper into her ear, “Heath is missing.  Do you know where he is?”

Mrs. O’s eyebrows practically leap off of her face.  “I haven’t seen him at all today.”

“I have.  He was here at the beginning of practice.  I saw him loitering out in the hallway when I first came in.”

Surprised, she furrows her brow.  “He was here that early?  Usually, the middle school students don’t arrive until three thirty.”

“He was definitely here.”

“Hmm.  Would you see if you can find him?”

“Most certainly.” 

I depart the stage to search every room of the school.  All the unlocked ones anyway. But I am smart enough not to enter any of the rooms.  I’m not about to get locked into one.

I spend a good fifteen minutes opening doors and calling Heath’s name.  But he never responds.  However, when I finally enter the auditorium at the end of my fruitless search, whom do I find sitting on the back row?

That’s right.  Heath.

“Heath?  Where have you been?  I just spent fifteen minutes looking for you,” I inform him.

He glances up at me.  “Why?”

“Because you weren’t here when I took attendance a few minutes ago.”

“I had to go to the bathroom.”

Ah.  A likely excuse. 

“I see.”

But I am very suspicious of this young man now.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me backstage?” I ask.

He shrugs.  “Doesn’t seem like you need my help.”

“Don’t I?  Don’t you know that someone stole Mrs. O’s script, locked a kid in the costume room again, and hid one of the wise men’s crowns?  Seems to me I could use your help to catch the culprit.”

“It’s probably just some kid goofing around.”

“Yeah, well, this time somebody got hurt.”

Suddenly, his ears perk up.  “Hurt?”  He sits up straight.  “What do you mean?  Who got hurt?”

“Caleb.  He slipped in the pop that was spilled on the floor out in the hallway.”

Heath frowns.  “What does that have to do with all the pranks?”

“Seems to me it’s another prank.”

“Or it could just be an accident,” he points out.

“If it was, then why didn’t the person who created the accident just clean it up?”

“Because it was probably a little kid.  They probably just walked away.”

Of course, he could be right.

“Maybe.  Or maybe someone is really trying to cause trouble.”  Sliding a calculating glance his way, I query, “Do you think anyone here really wants to get themselves expelled?”

Alarmed, he lifts his head.  “Expelled?  You think that the kid who did all this stuff will get expelled if he’s caught?”

“It could happen,” I opine.

A concerned expression flits across his face momentarily.  “What do you need my help with?” he asks suddenly as he stands up.

“Come with me.  We need to inventory the costumes.” 

Heath follows me backstage and remains on his best behavior for the rest of the day.  In fact, one could argue that he was actually quite helpful.