The Tale of The Locker Thief: A Meivy Diaz Mystery

By Susan LeRoy

MEET MEIVY . . .

She and her mother have just moved to the small town of Bayberry, Connecticut hoping for a fresh start. All that the sassy and wicked smart middle-schooler wants is to do well at her new school, make friends, and help her mom build a new life. Instead, Meivy draws the ire of her new school’s main “mean girl,” encounters racism, and discovers that there is a mystery brewing in Bayberry . . . all the while struggling to keep her own secret . . . the whereabouts of her dad . . . safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan LeRoy
• Release date: Sep 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370011827

Susan LeRoy

A self-professed pop culture princess, Susan LeRoy’s love affair with reading and writing began when she was a child. The books she read and the pages she created provided her with colorful, imaginative dreamscapes and fueled a desire to someday author books that would be embraced by young readers. Currently, she is working on the next book in the Meivy Diaz series. Prior to authoring her first book, Susan spent five years as a journalist and editor for a variety of consumer and trade magazines in the Greater NYC area. Then, she made the switch to advertising and spent more than nine years as copywriter for a variety of brands including Ethan Allen Interiors and MXEnergy. In 2010, she decided to transition into teaching and has taught Literature and Writing for a variety of colleges on the East Coast. A lifelong learner, Susan loves the classroom and is honored to be able to share learning space with her students. In her spare time, she adores crafting, hiking, baking and traveling with her husband and daughter.

Book preview

DEDICATION

For My Students—

What I have learned from you,

I carry with me always.

S and P—

Nothin’ but love . . . love . . . love

Special thanks to my faithful (and patient)

readers—Christine Shugrue, Joanne Kelly

and Joan Temple; and my talented editors

Shayna Sobol and Taylor A. Rose.

Your enthusiasm for this project

is much appreciated.

Chapter 1

I hate rain. I hate it the way my mom hates spiders and Peeta hates Gale. I don’t dislike it because it’s wet or cold or because it stings when it hits the back of my neck. I hate rain because it makes my hair frizz. And today is definitely not the day for frizz. Today, I need to be more Pretty Little Liars and less like someone out of The Carrie Diaries.

MEIVY!!!!

I’m coming! I hollered back. Taking one last look in the mirror, I took a mental snapshot of the sleek tresses I had flatironed less than an hour ago and shot out the bathroom door. Grabbing my backpack from the bench in the hallway, I ran down the stairs and skidded to a stop in front of my mother, who stood blocking the front door, shaking her head.

I’m going to miss the bus, Ma. I need you to move. Pleee . . . aa . . . se.

"Sí, sí. You not take so long to be done . . . no worry."

Okay, okay, I replied, gently nudging her aside.

Flinging the front door open, I flew down the front stoop and ran to the corner, just as the doors of the school bus swung open. Two other kids—both boys—got on first, and then me. Once on, I looked around and saw that three rows from the front there was an empty space open next to a black girl with tight cornrows and dark aviators, who was gnawing on a straw. As I stepped toward her, she looked up and slid toward the empty space in an effort to discourage me. Too . . . bad . . . for . . . her.

Excuse me, I said in my most polite voice, scooching in. I’d like to sit here.

Somebody sittin’ here ‘ready, she answered gruffly. Go sit back there.

Don’t want to. Wanna sit here, I replied, planting my butt in the seat. I felt a jab in my side and looked down to see a pencil clenched in her fist.

Is everything okay over there, ladies? the bus driver asked, eyeing us in the rearview mirror.

I said nothing and just looked at my riding companion. Quietly weighing her options for a moment, she muttered some curse words and then slid back over to the window.

We’re good, I smiled.

Now normally I’m not the in-your-face, combative type. I’m actually pretty easygoing. But today’s a different kind of day for me. Today is my first day at a new school in a new town and I want everyone to understand three things about me: I’m smart, I’m outgoing and most important, I won’t be pushed around.

My name is Meivy (that’s pronounced My- vee) Diaz and I am thirteen years old. I love books, makeup, Alex and Ani bracelets, seafood paella and One Direction. My mom moved us here from the Bronx two weeks ago hoping that Connecticut would offer us more opportunities and less trouble. I hope she’s right.

The town of Bayberry is located in northwestern Connecticut. My mother chose it not because of its schools or because it was part small town, part little city, but because her cousin, Sofia, had moved here five years ago and didn’t hate it. Sofia said it was better than the Bronx because even though you still had to lock your doors, sleeping with a gun was optional. Definitely not the Bronx.

A short drive from the New York border, Bayberry attracts a lot of Hispanics—some legal, most not—because it has just the right mix of rich and poor. See, the rich like to spend money and the poor need to make money. So there are a lot of jobs here for immigrants. Downtown, where my mom and I live, is full of Hispanics. Ecuador, Brazil, Columbia, Mexico, Guatemala, Dominica . . . they’ve come from all over.

It’s only a ten-minute ride from my bus stop to Nathan Hale Middle School, which sits smack in the middle of a large park, which has three softball fields, community tennis courts, and an indoor water complex. The school itself is a large building with virtually no windows on the upper level and tons of windows on the bottom level. Its dingy beige exterior is accented with bright-red trim and the name of the school displayed in white letters over the double front doors.

I got off of the bus, looked up, and sighed. I watched as other kids buzzed by me talking, texting or plugged in. Taking a deep breath, I moved forward and crashed right into a girl who was reading something on her tablet and not looking where she was headed. The device flew out of her hand and fell to the ground.

My bad, she said, bending down to retrieve the e-reader. She looked up at me and smiled. She was tall and blonde and wore glasses. When she smiled, I could see that her two front teeth were slightly crooked.

I’m Ella. Ella Hoffman, she smiled. Are you new?

I nodded and said, First day. Meivy. Meivy Diaz. I held out my hand and watched her shift the tablet, so that she could shake my hand with her right hand. It was only then that I noticed that the other sleeve of her coat was just kind of hanging there. No other arm.

Nice to meet you.

I smiled and watched her walk away. I tried not to stare but couldn’t help myself.

The central office at Nathan Hale was visible once you walked through the front doors. The front of it was just a wall of glass and you could see where the secretaries sat, where the teacher mailboxes were and that there were three office doors. I introduced myself to a slim, dark-haired woman standing behind the counter and was told to have a seat. Mr. Harris, she said, would be with me shortly.

I put the Vera Bradley backpack that my mom found for me at the church thrift store on the seat next to me and tried to relax. I could feel my hands start to get a little clammy, and so I decided to focus on the happenings in the hall. I watched as my fellow middle-schoolers swarmed around, some stopping to chat with friends, most texting feverishly. I took in the concrete walls and tried to count the speckles on the floor. I watched as the door to the SUPPLIES closet across the hall opened a bit and then closed . . . curious.

As everyone headed toward homeroom, the crowd in the main hallway thinned out. A couple of minutes later, the first warning buzzer sounded. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the door to the closet open slightly . . . and then close again. I looked up at the woman behind the counter, but she was busy helping another student with forms. She didn’t see it. I stood up, prepared to use the girls room and go check it out when Mr. Harris came out of his office and called my name.

Older than my mom, with jet-black hair that didn’t look quite real, Mr. Harris was my new guidance counselor. He greeted me with a large smile that framed the whitest teeth I had ever seen in my whole life. Self-consciously I ran my tongue over my own, desperately trying to recall if I had brushed them. Note to self: Pop an Altoid before going to class.

Welcome to Nathan Hale, Mae-vie, he said, extending his hand.

"Thank you. It’s My-vee