Minerva Clark Gets a Clue by Karen Karbo Read Free Book Online Page B

the bare underside of your foot and it feels as if you’re going to be crippled for life.
    I know because I used to wear them around when Tiffani would babysit me two years ago, when everyone still thought I needed a babysitter. Reggie stopped having a babysitter when he was, like, in third grade.
    â€œâ€¦ and then, after they got me down to the police station and took my fingerprints, they realized it wasn’t even me!” said Jordan. “The person they originally arrested back on Valentine’s Day had given the cops my information, but our fingerprints didn’t match. So they let me go, and I called Tiffani to come and get me!” Jordan was talking faster than I’d ever heard her talk before, plucking up her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders again and again. I noticed that she was wearing a necklace I’d never seen before, a small gold J filled withtiny diamonds. Those couldn’t be real diamonds, could they? My aunt Susie was a single mom with about ten jobs, and Jordan had had to save up for her car.
    â€œSomeone got arrested for something else and gave them Jordan’s name,” added Tiffani. “Then, when she didn’t show up in court for her hearing, a warrant was put out for the real Jordan’s arrest. Or something. I think that’s how it works.” She giggled even though it wasn’t funny.
    â€œThat’s how it works,” said Mark Clark. “It’s called identity theft.”
    â€œIs that a new shirt, Mark? The color’s really good on you. It brings out the blue in your eyes,” said Tiffani.
    Was Tiffani hitting on my brother? Eeeeow.
    â€œBut didn’t they take a mug shot of the original person when they arrested him, er, her?” I asked. It just leaped out of my mouth.
    Both Jordan and Tiffani spun around, surprised. They looked me up and down. I was still wearing my pj’s, and my hair was snarling up pretty good on one side.
    â€œHow you doing?” Mark Clark asked, all concerned. I could tell he still felt pretty guilty about my getting electrocuted.
    â€œLike … like … gack …” I stuck my tongue out and put my hands around my throat, like I was choking myself.
    â€œHey, people die from electric shocks every day,” he said.
    â€œNot in an art gallery getting a fractal made from their brain waves in front of a bunch of strangers,” I said. I was surprised at my tone—normally I’m not allowed to give tone—but I felt entitled, somehow.
    Jordan wanted to know what happened and I filled her in, even though I really didn’t want to talk about it.
    â€œWell, cousin, just don’t let anyone ever say you don’t look beautiful in the morning,” said Jordan, punching my shoulder.
    â€œI won’t,” I said, punching her right back.
    I could tell she was only half teasing, but for some reason I didn’t really care. Weird, huh? Before I got electrocuted I might have
said
, “I won’t,” but it would be just to look like I didn’t care, but inside I
would
care. Inside, I would worry about what Jordan really meant and how Gigantor ugly she thought I really looked. But I knew that besides my messy hair I just looked like my normal Minerva self.
    Jordan and Tiffani traded one of those “what’s up with her?” glances.
    I was more interested in Jordan’s identity theft. I knew from TV they always took mug shots.
    â€œThat’s the totally sucky part,” said Tiffani, adjusting her rubber bracelets. “They had a mug shot of theoriginal person, but it was around the same time the police department switched to digital cameras—”
    â€œI read about that in the paper,” said Mark Clark. “They lost about ten days’ worth of photos because they forgot to upload pictures onto the hard drive.”
    â€œSo they lost the picture of the person who said she was me,” said Jordan.