“Professor Brown!” Amara barged into his office early Monday morning.
She had called Cayden on Saturday to let him know someone had broken in, assuring him nothing was taken and she was fine. Amara then spent the weekend cleaning up her apartment and inspecting it for clues. To her befuddlement, nothing was missing. Oddly, the burglar appeared to have drunk all the juice in her fridge and left the carton strewn on the ground. But the police had found no fingerprints, so there were no leads. When Cayden had returned Sunday night, they had discussed possible theories, but hadn’t landed on anything promising. Amara was worried, so she had decided to get the Professor’s opinion.
“Professor Brown?” Amara froze, halfway to his desk. The professor sat there, head in his hands, pulling at his hair as he muttered angrily. He looked up, eyes full of rage.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you.” Amara started to back out of his office. “I can come back later.”
The professor blinked and shook his head. He broke out into a smile. “Amara, no, come back in. Excuse me I…just heard some bad news.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Amara took a small step back inside. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No, no.” He gestured for Amara to sit. “Nothing to worry about. Please, take a seat. How may I help you?”
Amara took a deep breath, and then it all came out. “IwenttoMexicooverthebreakandthensomeonebrokeinandIdon’tknowwhattodo—”
“Amara, slow down.” Professor Brown held up his hand. “I can barely understand a word you’re saying.”
Amara exhaled, nodding.
Professor Brown leaned back in his chair. “Now, what’s this about Mexico?”
Amara told the professor everything she had learned in Mexico, how she’d gone to the bookshop, how her grandfather had been a Maya scholar, how she’d found a drawing of an arrowhead and she thought it might be a key to something. She left out the fact that she actually had the arrowhead the drawing was based on; she wasn’t ready to let him know until she figured out what to do with it.
The professor listened intently, occasionally nodding or jotting a note down. Amara started to elaborate more on the burglary, but Professor Brown stopped her again.
“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time,” he said. “Now, tell me more about this arrowhead. What exactly did it look like?”
“I don’t know, kind of like any other arrowhead. But my apartment—”
Professor Brown slammed his hand on the desk. “Think! Anything specific?”
Amara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I can’t remember. As soon as I learned about it I got the phone call about my apartment.” She watched as the professor got up to open the mini refrigerator in the corner of his office and pull out a jug of juice. He took a swig and seemed to relax.
“I’m sorry, Amara. I have hypoglycemia, and sometimes I can’t think straight without my juice.”
Amara stood up. “Actually, I’d better go. I just remembered I told the cops I’d give them a report of anything I found missing.”
Professor Brown stood up too. “Well, did you?”
“Um, you know, I can’t remember. It’s all written down at home. Thanks Professor!” Amara took off, her heart racing. She had a new theory about the burglary.