The last time I had been up this early was when I was still working for the police. My best work is usually done at night, probably because that's when most homicides occur. But first off, this was not a homicide, this is a missing persons case, possibly kidnapping, and second, though I didn't work for them anymore, I was now working with them. So of course I was going to be awake at 8:30 in the morning. I had to be at P.S 118 in just a half hour. It wasn't far from my apartment building, which was the same as my office building. Technically, the office was a second apartment, but since I work as a private detective, the tenants offered a discount for me to have a separate place to focus on work. Though it always seemed as though I brought my work back home with me. Good thing I'm not married and have no children, or that would be a problem for me.

I woke up with some five o'clock shadow, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant a shave. Just a quick washing of my face. I already had my clothes on (I had slept in them last night out of sheer laziness from not wanting to change out of what I wore at the Lloyd residence last night), so I just sprayed on some cologne and buttoned up my shirt (and my pants). Because I was usually not a morning person, I had hardly any breakfast items in my refrigerator, so on my way to the school, I grabbed an elephant ear from the nearby cafe. I usually went there to meet with clients; the staff there was pretty cool, not to mention intrigued with my line of work. Today, though, I was in and out, driving towards P.S 118. Having parked my car in the lot across the school, I walked past the children loitering around before the school day officially began and made my way to the principal's office to state my purpose. Rather large man, with distinguishable warts on his nose (to my surprise, "Wartz" was actually his surname, not a cruel nickname he received), and a bit irritable. Asking me all sorts of questions of why I would be snooping around here, but he stopped once I told him that not only was I with the police, but I was also investigating the disappearance of one of his own students. Not that he hadn't heard about that already.

Now I found myself standing in front of a classroom, getting curious stares from Rhonda's classmates. Wartz had led me here directly, where the teacher, Mr. Robert Simmons, had just entered. He seemed particularly expressive and upbeat, despite the circumstances. He was supposedly a young adult, but had the same receding hairlines as Wartz. And he was the one introducing me to the class and informing them about what I was here for today.

"Okay, class, we have a very special guest today, and it's very important that you pay attention," said Mr. Simmons, "I'm sure you're all familiar with the unfortunate news of our friend Rhonda's disappearance?"

I took note of the class's reactions. They clearly had heard this over and over again in some way or another.

"Well, this special man here is Detective Tony Rawdun, and he's working with the police to help find her," Mr. Simmons continued, "He's got a lot of questions for everyone to help find her, so be honest with him!"

"So, uh, how did you plan on questioning them?" Wartz asked me.

"Actually, I was going to start with the adults," I replied, "i.e, the two of you. But in answer to your question, I'll just have one of you in here with the other watching the children in the hallway. Just come in one at a time."

Principal Wartz was useless. He knew nothing of what I wanted to know, so his questioning was very quick and easy. Mr. Simmons, however, was a little more informative.

"She wasn't exactly having a good day the last time she was in school," Mr. Simmons said, "Her special red apple sweater had been stained during lunch, and she was practically breaking down during class."

"Over a sweatshirt?" I asked, "Couldn't she just buy another one? Her family is rich."

"Apparently there's something special about that sweater that has a little more value to her than anything else money could buy."

So her red sweatshirt is of importance to her. Worth noting. Now on to the students. First was her best friend Nadine. The girl with the spider leg hair. Based on that and the jar she was carrying with the butterfly in it, it was easy to deduce she was a bug lover.

"A bit unusual that someone of your interests could be so close to someone like Rhonda," I said.

"Well we've been best friends since pre-school," said Nadine, "This was before we knew what we were going for in life."

"So you both have big plans for your futures?"

"Well, mostly," Nadine said, "I want to be an entomologist, but she doesn't really have a plan for fashion...other than wearing it and telling everyone what is and is not fashionable."

There was almost a hint of resentment during that last sentence. But nothing else in her testimony was of any relevance to the case. Mostly just her eccentric behavior. Next up was Lila, the young farm girl with the red braids. She seemed squeaky clean, but I've dealt with people like that before.

"I'm ever so certain she was fine when I last saw her," she said in that all-too-innocent voice of hers, "There didn't seem to be anything wrong."

"You're sure?" I asked, "No problems whatsoever?"

"None that I can think of," she replied.

She was either lying or clueless, because people don't just disappear for nothing.

"And I don't see why she would leave, either," Lila said, "She had just gotten a solo in the church choir."

"Church choir?" I asked.

"Our families go to the same church," Lila said, "Sometimes we see Stinky and Gerald with their families. Sometimes Arnold too, but always by himself, never with his grandparents or any of the other boarders he lives with."

Perhaps she wasn't clueless after all. That church choir business was actually helpful. Wonder why the Lloyds didn't mention their daughter being in the choir, or the fact that they attended religious services to begin with. Also worth noting that Arnold rode solo. Most kids only went because their parents went, and once they were older, they either continued to do so or found something else to believe in. But that was all I could really get from her. Next were Harold, Sid, and Stinky. Yes, that is his real name. They refused to go in by themselves, so for this once, I allowed them to be questioned as a trio.

"She really wasn't that selfish and self-absorbed," Harold said morosely, "She always gave me her chocolate pickle sundaes anytime they had them at the cafeteria."

"On account of she hates pickles," Stinky added.

"Who said she was selfish and self-absorbed?" I asked.

"A lot of kids do," replied Sid, "I mean, sure we hang out with her, but that doesn't mean everyone liked her."

Now we were getting somewhere. The possibility of potential enemies would give me a good list of who to look out for.

"Who didn't like Rhonda?" I asked.

"Some of the sixth grade girls don't like her," Sid replied, "They made fun of her behind her back for trying to act older than she is."

"Some of the younger girls here don't like for the same reason," Stinky added.

"And then there's Madam Fortress Mommy," Harold said bitterly.

"Who?" I asked.

"He means Helga G. Pataki," Stinky said, "And she didn't really hate Rhonda. It's just complicated between those two."

"You're only saying that because you used to have a crush on her!" Sid mocked.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Stop fighting or I'll pound you guys!"

"Boys!" I shouted.

The trio instantly became silent. Sitting back in their chairs, they explained to me a little more about the interactions between Helga and Rhonda. Though it was much more clear when Helga herself gave her side of the story.

"So me and Princess have had our differences," Helga scowled, "Why does that put me on a pedestal?"

"The fact that you refer to her as 'princess' in a more derogatory manner," I replied.

In the chair next was the famous Helga G. Pataki herself, the local terror of the neighborhood. The girl had blonde pigtails with a giant pink bow, and a unibrow that screamed death. Funny that a girl wearing pink all over could be anything other than a Barbie-loving child.

"I only say that because she acts like one," said Helga, "She even has princess pajamas!"

"Her...sleepwear is not exactly relevant to the case, young lady," I told her.

"Better not let the princess hear you say that," she replied, refusing to drop the nickname, "She gets possessive of all her clothes, especially that ridiculous red sweater she always wears."

So that sweater really is important to Rhonda. I wonder why.

"I thought you would know that much already, Detective," she said, "With all the money her mommy and daddy are paying you, you should have figured that out."

"Her mommy and daddy haven't paid me for anything," I replied, "I'm on this case by request of the police chief."

"Yeah, funny how quickly he gets on top of things when fat cats are willing to pay for an investigation where other saps can't," she added.

I wanted to argue back, despite the fact that I was a grown man and she was a ten-year-old girl, but you know what? She made a good point. I just left it at that as I moved on to Helga's best friend Phoebe, who was far nicer and more mature in comparison. She was of Asian heritage and wore big glasses. Presumably booksmart.

"She may not speak of it, but Helga does have a sensitive side," Phoebe said, "And I doubt she would go so far as to kidnap Rhonda. It seems counterintuitive to throw the entire school in a standstill over a petty rivalry."

"I never actually said she was kidnapped," I said, eyeing her suspiciously.

"No, you didn't," Phoebe replied, "But Helga has done some extreme things to win...a certain someone's affections.

A girl like Helga with a schoolgirl crush? Who'd have thought it. I didn't ask who it was though since it has little to do with Rhonda. My main concern was that I've gotten some very conflicting accounts of the relationship between Helga and Rhonda. Some are saying they loathe each other, while others either call them frenemies or dismiss it as "complicated". Though there was one who seemed to adore Rhonda. I got that answer from the Afro-American boy named Gerald. No, it wasn't Gerald himself who adored Rhonda.

"My kid sister Timberly loves her fashion sense," Gerald told me, "And they almost have exactly the same taste of boys, so yeah, sometimes Rhonda would come over to hang out with her."

I would have thought that the age difference might bother such a precocious girl. Then again, the way Gerald described his sister, she was equally as precocious. After all these talks, though, I did have a prime suspect. Someone that nearly all the students I questioned had mentioned.

"That weird kid Curly keeps stalking her."

"I'm ever so sure it's creepy the way he watches her."

"That boy ain't right."

"The little creep never leaves Rhondaloid alone. I almost feel bad for her."

"He's done some rather peculiar things in the past."

"Wouldn't surprise me if that boy snapped again."

So that was who I brought in next. The boy had red glasses and a bowl cut hairdo. And he kept staring straight into me, as if he was used to being interrogated.

"Thaddeus," he corrected me, "Thaddeus 'Curly' Gammelthorpe to you, Detective."

"I don't care what you think I want to refer to you as," I said, "Word on the street is you have a thing for the missing girl in question."

"Yeah, so I love Rhonda," he tells me straightforward, "Isn't that reason for me to NOT harm her?"

"Only if she didn't return the affection," I replied, "Which I have heard happens every single time you make a scene. Maybe one rejection too many made you snap, and decided to kidnap her?"

"Kidnapping's not my style," he replied, "Too messy."

He said nothing else throughout the whole time. Which led to the one student I had feigned most interest in; the football-headed hero of the neighborhood, Arnold Shortman.

"We get along pretty well," Arnold told me when I asked him about Rhonda, "She always goes to me for advice. Then again, most people already do."

There was no trace of bragging in his voice. Just simply matter-of-fact. Exactly what I need.

"Her parents told me you were one of the last people to see her before she disappeared," I said.

"I guess I am," Arnold replied, "We're geography buddies, so we were at the library looking through some of the atlases for our next assignment."

"Was she acting different in any way?" I asked, "Like she was agitated, or afraid?"

"Not agitated," replied Arnold, "Afraid, maybe a little."

"Any idea what she would be afraid of?" I asked.

"I don't think so," Arnold replied, "I mean, there's minor stuff like ruining her outfits or breaking a nail...which is odd since she plays sports just like the rest of us."

"But nothing serious?" I asked again, "Nothing that would make her want to run away or make someone else want to kidnap her?"

"I really don't think there was," replied Arnold.

"Well, baby steps, I suppose," I said, standing up, "C'mon, I'll get you excused from class."

"Why?"

"I want you to show me exactly where you two were and what you were doing when you saw her last," I said.

Mr. Simmons had no trouble letting me borrow Arnold for the investigation. We would be heading to the library soon to see if I could find anything there that may have frightened Rhonda enough...though I have not completely ruled out the prospect of "Curly" being involved.