by R. L. Stine
The comic book store was a few blocks away. I checked my watch, thinking maybe I had time to stop there before my orthodontist appointment. But no. No time for comics today.
“Hey, do you go to Franklin?” A girl’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to see that a girl had taken the seat beside me. Her carrot-colored hair was tied back in a single braid. She had green eyes and light freckles on her nose.
She wore a heavy, blue-and-red-plaid ski sweater over faded jeans. She held her red canvas backpack in her lap.
“Yeah. I go there,” I replied.
“How is it?” she asked. She narrowed her green eyes at me as if checking me out.
“It’s okay,” I told her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Skipper,” I told her.
She snickered. “That’s not a real name, is it?”
“It’s what everyone calls me,” I said.
“Do you live on a boat or something?” she asked. Her eyes crinkled up. I could see she was laughing at me.
I guess Skipper is kind of a dumb name. But I’ve gotten used to it. I like it a lot better than my real name — Bradley.
“When I was a little kid, I was always in a hurry,” I told her. “So I used to skip a lot. That’s why they started calling me Skipper.”
“Cute,” she replied with a smirk.
I don’t think I like this girl, I told myself. “What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Skipper,” she replied, grinning. “Same as yours.”
“No. Really,” I insisted.
“It’s Libby,” she said finally. “Libby Zacks.” She stared past me out the window. The bus stopped for a red light. A baby started crying in the back.
“Where are you going?” Libby asked me. “Home?”
I didn’t want to tell her I had an orthodontist appointment. That was too geeky. “I’m going to a comic book store,” I said. “The one on Goodale.”
“You collect comics?” She sounded surprised. “So do I.”
It was my turn to be surprised. Most of the comic book collectors I know are boys. “What kind do you collect?” I asked.
“High School Harry & Beanhead,” she replied. “I collect all the digest-sized ones and some of the regular ones, too.”
“Yuck.” I made a face. “High School Harry and his pal Beanhead? Those comics stink.”
“They do not!” Libby insisted.
“Those are for babies,” I muttered. “They’re not real comics.”
“They’re very well written,” Libby replied. “And they’re funny.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “Maybe you just don’t get them.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” I said, rolling my eyes.
I gazed out the window. The sky had grown darker. I didn’t recognize any of the stores. I saw a restaurant called Pearl’s and a tiny barbershop. Had we passed the comic book store?
Libby folded her hands over her red backpack. “What do you collect? All that superhero junk?”
“Yeah,” I told her. “My collection is worth about a thousand dollars. Maybe two thousand.”
“In your dreams,” she shot back. She laughed.
“High School Harry comics never go up in value,” I informed her. “Even the Number Ones are worthless. You couldn’t get five dollars for your whole collection.”
“Why would I want to sell them?” she argued. “I don’t want to sell them. And I don’t care what they’re worth. I just like to read them.”
“Then you’re not a real collector,” I said.
“Are all the boys at Franklin like you?” Libby asked.
“No. I’m the coolest one,” I declared.
We both laughed.
I still couldn’t decide if I liked her or not. She was pretty cute-looking. And she was funny, in a nasty sort of way.
I stopped laughing when I glanced out the window and realized I had definitely passed my stop. I saw the bare trees of a small park I’d never seen before. The bus rumbled past it, and more unfamiliar stores came into view.
I felt a sudden stab of panic in my chest. I didn’t know this neighborhood at all.
I pushed the bell and jumped to my feet.
“What’s your problem?” Libby demanded.
“My stop. I m-missed it,” I stammered.
She moved her legs into the aisle so that I could squeeze past. The bus squealed to a stop. I called out good-bye and hurried out the back door.
Where am I? I asked myself, glancing around. Why did I let myself get into an argument with that girl? Why didn’t I pay attention instead?
“Are you lost?” a voice asked.
I turned and saw to my surprise that Libby had followed me off the bus. “What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
“It’s my stop,” she replied. “I live two blocks down that way.” She pointed.
“I have to go back,” I said, turning to leave.
And as I turned, something came into view that made my breath catch in my throat.
“Ohh.” I let out a startled cry and stared across the street. “But — that’s impossible!” I exclaimed.
I was staring at a tall building on the other corner. A tall pink stucco building with a bright green, domed roof.
I was staring at the secret headquarters of The Masked Mutant.
“Skipper — what’s wrong?” Libby cried.
I couldn’t answer her. I stared goggle-eyed at the building across the street. My mouth dropped open. My jaw nearly hit my knees!
I raised my eyes to the bright green roof. Then I slowly lowered them over the shiny pink walls. I had never seen colors like these in real life. They were comic book colors.
It was a comic book building.
But here it was, standing on the corner across the street.
“Skipper? Are you okay?” Libby’s voice sounded far away.
It’s real! I told myself. The secret headquarters building of The Masked Mutant is real!
Or is it?
Two hands shook me by the shoulders, snapping me out of my amazed thoughts. “Skipper! Are you in shock or something?”
“Th-that building!” I stammered.
“Isn’t that the ugliest thing you ever saw?” Libby asked, shaking her head. She pushed back her carrot-colored braid and hiked her backpack onto her shoulder.
“But it — it’s —” I still couldn’t speak.
“My dad says the architect had to be color blind,” Libby said. “It doesn’t even look like a building. It looks like a blimp standing on its end.”
“How long has it been there?” I asked, my eyes studying the glass doors that were the only entrance.
Libby shrugged. “I don’t know. My family just moved here last spring. It was already here.”
The clouds darkened overhead. A cold wind swirled around the corner.
“Who do you think works in there?” Libby asked. “There’s no sign or anything on the building.”
Of course there’s no sign, I thought. It’s the secret headquarters of the world’s most evil villain. There’s no way The Masked Mutant would put a sign out front!
He doesn’t want The League of Good Guys to find his secret headquarters, I told myself.
“This is crazy!” I cried.
I turned and saw Libby staring at me. “You sure you’re okay? It’s just a building, Skipper. No need to go ballistic.”
I could feel my face turning red. Libby must think I’m some kind of a nut, I realized. “I — I think I saw this building somewhere,” I tried to explain.
“I’ve got to get home,” she said, glancing up at the darkening sky. “Want to come over? I’ll show you my comic book collection.”
“No. I’m late for my orthodontist appointment,” I replied.
“Huh?” She narrowed her green eyes at me. “You said you were going to a comic book store.”
I could feel my face turning even redder. “Uh … I’m going to the comic book store after my appointment,�
�� I told her.
“How long have you had your braces?” she asked.
I groaned. “Forever.”
She started backing away. “Well, see you sometime.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
She turned and jogged down the street. She must think I’m a total geek, I thought unhappily.
But I couldn’t help it. I really was in shock, seeing that building. I turned back to it. The top of the building had become hidden by the lowering clouds. Now the building looked like a sleek pink rocket ship, reaching up to the clouds.
A moving truck rumbled past. I waited for it to go by, then hurried across the street.
There was no one on the sidewalk. I hadn’t seen anyone go into the building or come out of it.
It’s just a big office building, I told myself. Nothing to get excited about.
But my heart was pounding as I stopped a few feet from the glass doors at the entrance. I took a deep breath and peeked in.
I know it’s crazy, but I really expected to see people wearing superhero costumes walking around in there.
I narrowed my eyes and squinted through the glass doors.
I couldn’t see anyone. It appeared dark inside.
I took a step closer. Then another.
I brought my face right up to the glass and peered in. I could see a wide lobby. Pink-and-yellow walls. A row of elevators near the back.
But no people. No one. Empty.
I grabbed the glass-door handle. My throat made a loud gulping sound as I swallowed hard.
Should I go in? I asked myself. Do I dare?
My hand tightened on the glass-door handle. I started to tug the heavy door open.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blue-and-white bus moving toward me. I glanced at my watch. I was only five minutes late for my appointment. If I jumped on the bus, I could be at the orthodontist’s office in a few minutes.
Letting go of the handle, I turned and ran to the bus stop, my backpack bouncing on my shoulders. I felt disappointed. But I also felt relieved.
Walking into the headquarters of the meanest mutant in the universe was a little scary.
The bus eased to a stop. I waited for an elderly man to step off. Then I climbed onboard, dropped my money into the box, and hurried to the back of the bus.
I wanted to get one last look at the mysterious pink-and-green building.
Two women were sitting in the backseat. But I pushed between them and pressed my face against the back window.
As the bus pulled away, I stared at the building. Its colors stayed bright, even though the sky was so dark behind it. The sidewalk was empty. I still hadn’t seen anyone come out or go inside.
A few seconds later, the building disappeared into the distance. I turned away from the window and walked up the aisle to find a seat.
Weird, I thought. Totally weird.
* * *
“And it was the exact same building as in the comic book?” Wilson asked. His blue eyes stared across the lunchroom table at me.
I nodded. “As soon as I got home yesterday afternoon, I checked out the comic book. The building was exactly the same.”
Wilson pulled a sandwich from his lunch bag and started to unwrap the foil. “What kind of sandwich did your mom pack for you?” he asked.
I opened mine. “Tuna salad. What’s yours?”
He lifted a slice of bread and examined his sandwich. “Tuna salad,” he replied. “Want to trade?”
“We both have tuna salad,” I told him. “Why do you want to trade?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
We traded sandwiches. His mom’s tuna salad was better than mine. I pulled the juice box from my lunch bag. Then I tossed the apple in the trash. I keep telling Mom not to pack an apple. I told her I just throw it away every day. Why does she keep packing one?
“Can I have your pudding container?” I asked Wilson.
“No,” he replied.
I finished the first half of the sandwich. I was thinking hard about the mysterious building. I’d been thinking about it ever since I saw it.
“I’ve solved the mystery,” Wilson said. He scratched his white-blond curls. A smile formed on his face. “Yes! I’ve solved it!”
“What?” I demanded eagerly.
“It’s simple,” Wilson replied. “Who draws The Masked Mutant?”
“The artist?” I asked. “Jimmy Starenko, of course. Starenko created The Masked Mutant and The League of Good Guys.” How could Wilson not know that?
“Well, I’ll bet this guy Starenko was here one day,” Wilson continued, jabbing the straw into the top of his juice box.
“Starenko? Here? In Riverview Falls?” I said. I wasn’t following him.
Wilson nodded. “Let’s say Starenko is here. He’s driving down the street, and he sees the weird building. He stops his car. He gets out. He stares at the building. And he thinks: What a great building! This building would make a perfect secret headquarters building for The Masked Mutant.”
“Wow. I see,” I murmured. I was catching on to Wilson’s thinking. “You mean, he saw the building, liked it, and copied it when he drew the headquarters building.”
Wilson nodded. He had a piece of celery stuck to his front tooth. “Yeah. Maybe he got out of the car and sketched the building. Then he kept the sketches in a drawer or something till he needed them.”
It made sense.
Actually, it made too much sense. I felt really disappointed. I knew it was silly, but I really wanted that building to be The Masked Mutant’s secret headquarters.
Wilson had spoiled everything. Why did he have to be so sensible for once?
“I got some new rubber stamps,” he told me, finishing the last spoonful from his pudding container. “Want to see them? I could bring them over to your house after school.”
“No thanks,” I replied. “That would be too exciting.”
* * *
I planned to take the bus and go see the building again that afternoon. But Ms. Partridge gave us a ton of homework. I had to go straight home.
The next day, it snowed. Wilson and I and some other guys went sledding on Grover’s Hill.
A week later, I finally had a chance to go back and take another look at the building. This time, I’m going inside, I told myself. There must be a receptionist or a guard, I decided. I’ll ask whose building it is and who works there.
I was feeling really brave as I climbed onto the bus after school. It was an ordinary office building, after all. Nothing to get excited about.
Taking a seat at the front of the bus, I looked for Libby. The bus was filled with kids going home after school. Near the back, I saw a red-haired girl arguing with another girl. But it wasn’t Libby.
No sign of her.
I stared out the window as the bus rolled past the comic book store. Then, a few blocks later, we bounced past my orthodontist’s office. Just seeing his building made my teeth ache!
It was a sunny, clear afternoon. Bright sunlight kept filling the bus windows, forcing me to shield my eyes as I stared out.
I had to keep careful watch, because I wasn’t sure where the stop was. I really didn’t know this neighborhood at all.
Kids were jammed in the aisle. So I couldn’t see out the windows on the other side of the bus.
I hope we haven’t already passed the building, I thought. I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have a real fear of getting lost.
My mom says that when I was two, she lost me for a few minutes in the frozen foods section at the Pic ’n Pay. I think I’ve had a fear of getting lost ever since.
The bus pulled up to a bus stop. I recognized the small park across the street. This was the stop!
“Getting off!” I shouted, jumping into the aisle. I hit a boy with my backpack as I stumbled to the front door. “Sorry. Getting off! Getting off!”
I pushed through the crowd of kids and leaped down the steps, onto the curb. The bus rumbled away. Sunlight stre
amed around me.
I stepped to the corner. Yes. This was the right stop. I recognized it all now.
I turned and raised my eyes to the strange building.
And found myself staring at a large, empty lot.
The building was gone.
“Whoa!” I cried, frozen in shock.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I stared across the street. How could that enormous building vanish in one week?
I didn’t have long to think about it. Another bus pulled up to the bus stop. “Skipper! Hey — Skipper!” Libby hopped off the bus, waving and calling my name.
She was wearing the same red-and-blue ski sweater and faded jeans, torn at one knee. Her hair was pulled straight back, tied in a ponytail with a blue rubber band.
“Hey — what are you doing back in my neighborhood?” she asked, smiling as she ran over to me.
“Th-that building!” I stammered, pointing to the vacant lot. “It’s gone!”
Libby’s expression changed. “Well, don’t say hi or anything,” she muttered, frowning at me.
“Hi,” I said. “What happened to that building?”
She turned and followed my stare. Then she shrugged. “Guess they tore it down.”
“But — but —” I sputtered.
“It was so ugly,” Libby said. “Maybe the city made them tear it down.”
“But did you see them tear it down?” I demanded impatiently. “You live near here, right? Did you see them doing it?”
She thought about it, crinkling her green eyes as she thought. “Well … no,” she replied finally. “I’ve gone past here a few times, but —”
“You didn’t see any machinery?” I demanded anxiously. “Any big wrecking balls? Any bulldozers? Dozens of workers?”
Libby shook her head. “No. I didn’t actually see anyone tearing the building down. But I didn’t really look.”
She pulled her red backpack off her shoulder and held the strap in front of her with both hands. “I don’t know why you’re so interested in that ugly building, Skipper. I’m glad it’s gone.”
“But it was in a comic book!” I blurted out.
“Huh?” She stared hard at me. “What are you talking about?”
