Gram can’t seem to fit in with the other students at school Gram was an elephant, and he was trying to enjoy himself. He crouched down in the sandbox and grabbed a swath of sand with his trunk, slowly letting it fall back to the box, a trickle of calm. He liked to imagine each grain as a worry discarded, a regret forgotten. But elephants never forget. His mother told him he walked like an elephant. His peers made fun of his trumpeting laugh, and an elephant was always in the room when Gram was around. So he’d come to accept himself as such, come to expect that he would be louder than others, more clumsy than others, more awkward than others. He figured he might as well have a tail and wrinkly skin too. Gram hadn’t asked to be an elephant. He hadn’t woken up one morning and said, “I want to be different from everyone else my age. I want to have big, floppy ears and humongous feet.” But people seemed to think that he chose to be the way that he was, or they pitied him for his condition, never seeing that, even with four legs and gray skin, he had the same desires as they had. Gram spent rainy afternoons on his bed, his feet in the air, trying to figure everything out. He wanted to understand why his peers treated him so cruelly. Kids called him spastic, stupid, or slow when his tail was to them. He wanted to put their words out of his mind, and so he pictured the sand slipping from his trunk, his picture of calm. Sometimes, he tried to see things from their point of view. He supposed he was annoying to be around at times. He supposed kids wouldn’t sit with him because he couldn’t sit still, his footsteps were loud, and his squeals of happiness were disruptive. Still, he just wouldn’t be mean to the others the way they were to him. Gram let himself forgive them, but elephants never forget. It puzzled him how other students at school could so easily put away their things, take such a brief time to pack up, line up, and transition from quiet reading to math. Each of Gram’s transitions were journeys—venturing in and out of the classroom, searching for water, pausing to scratch behind his big ears, and becoming distracted by the slightest of sounds. Lilian As Gram grew older, teachers sometimes saw him staring out the window and assumed he was ignoring them—that he didn’t care about school. They thought of him as only an elephant, and not a student at all. They thought he was so big that he might hurt the other students, and so they’d send him to the front of the class, where they could keep a close eye on him. This frustrated Gram, for although he was mighty, he had never hurt a single living thing. He’d never even squished the red bugs that ran along the sidewalk corners. The teachers lost their cool with Gram, spitting angry words when he struggled to write neatly, or when he failed to pay attention in class, caught up in daydreams about traveling the world, going anywhere, anywhere but here. All the while, in the back of his mind, Gram heard his father’s worried voice speaking to the teacher on conference day, talking about Gram’s future. So he knew where he’d really end up. The zoo. Where animals belong. He tried to push these thoughts out of his head, tried to stay in the present, in the sandbox, in the sun, but elephants never forget.

A retired police officer stumbles onto a mystery at the Louvre “Welcome to France, Mr. Black,” said the customs officer in monotone. I hate flying but was glad to be in France. I was excited to see all the architecture and history. I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, and the Seine. But first, I wanted to visit the Mona Lisa. The Louvre was even better in person than in pictures. It was a work of art itself. It’s the world’s largest museum and held 35,000 works of art. It was easily 100 feet tall. After fighting through the big line, there was something odd about the Mona Lisa. It looked different, but I couldn’t tell what. I pulled out my phone and googled “Mona Lisa.” That’s when I realized that there was an extra tree in the background. It meant that I was not looking at the original. I ran to the guard and told him everything. We raced back to the Mona Lisa, and I showed him the extra tree in the background. He told me that last night was rough, and all the cameras and security alarms were broken, but they couldn’t tell why. I pointed out that we now knew that the forger broke the cameras and security alarms. We called Interpol, who were baffled. Interpol’s experts were also baffled. They reviewed the camera footage and saw there were five people acting suspiciously in the museum before it closed last night. A helicopter pilot named Emmet, A YouTuber named Preston, An art researcher named Avery, A museum exhibit builder named Tom, who loves Michelangelo over da Vinci, and A reporter named Big Ben. He was British and was very thin and tall. Interpol wanted someone on the ground to interview them. Because I was a retired cop, I smiled and told them I could do it. My reputation for solving hard cases was well known. The French police brought me all five suspects. But, out of the corner of my eye I could see something. Footprints leading to a helicopter outside on the grounds. I looked closely and read “Courtesy of French Helicopter Airways” on the helicopter. I asked Emmet what the name of his helicopter company was. It was the same. It could be all of them. It could be one of them. It could be none of them. I went back to the Mona Lisa exhibit and saw something weird in the frame. I looked closer and saw a strand of long, blonde hair wedged in the frame. Then I looked at Avery’s long blonde hair. Could it be her? Tom was late because he was writing a blog on how Michelangelo is a genius and da Vinci stinks. It could also be Tom. Again, Preston was also a good suspect because he had been making a new YouTube video about the Louvre’s security. It could be Preston. But ah ha! I thought to myself. Let me learn about the Louvre’s security. Big Ben was writing a story about the Mona Lisa heist. It could be all of them. It could be one of them. It could be none of them. The two cops and I strolled into the interrogation room. The interrogation room was musty and dark. The walls were rough like sandpaper, and I could smell something stinky, like old, forgotten food. When the six of us and the two cops strolled into the room, I knew this was a moment that could help me save history. I knew that I could make a major arrest. My hearing aid fell out and I put it back in my left ear quickly. “I got this,” I mumbled to myself to give myself courage. “Avery, what were you doing last night?” I asked curiously. Avery remembered that she was eating chocolate when everything turned black. She recalled that she had probably been dizzy from walking in the hot sun. I asked Avery where the wrapper was, and it was still in her purse. I pulled the wrapper out and it smelled funky. On closer inspection I realized that this is the type of chocolate thieves use to knock people out and kidnap them. I told Avery that it was knockout chocolate. She was shocked. The cops and I went outside to Emmet’s helicopter. I saw the footprint that was just when Big Ben stepped in mud. He left the exact same print leading to the helicopter. “Ah ha! It was Big Be—” I stopped myself. I needed more evidence, because the footprint could be the thief wearing the same brand and size as Big Ben. Tom told me that he wanted to get out of this mess and confessed something amazing. He secretly admired da Vinci and thought that the Mona Lisa was way better than Michelangelo’s fresco in the Sistine Chapel. Preston articulated that his video showed one hidden security camera that the thief didn’t tamper with. We reviewed the tapes and saw a man in black punch security guards, break the security cameras and alarms, and use a red laser to cut the glass to swap the paintings. Emmet’s eyes widened and he screamed, “That’s him! That’s him!” Everyone turned to look at him and I prompted, “That’s who?” Emmet replied that he had flown a wealthy, masked client to France to see the Louvre. I had noticed something else in the footage. Macaroons “Preston! Rewind! And turn on the sound this time!” I exclaimed. Preston shrugged and did as he was told. I saw that the thief grabbed scissors off a table, walked off camera, came back with something in his hand. I asked Preston to zoom in. A confused Preston said, “Uh, Okay?” I looked closely. He had a strand of blonde hair. On the left side of the screen, I could see something. Or someone. A sleeping woman. And that is when Avery screamed. I thought that I should go back to the forged