“What are you looking at, ferret face?” one of the boys asked. He had blond, spiky hair and eyes that looked like slivers of gray ice.
“Heh-heh, heh-heh,” the other boy snickered. Everyone called him Bud, but his real name was Norman Rosebud. Fin and his friends thought that was hilarious. For a rosebud, the guy was a real stinker.
Suddenly a strange sound blared out above the voices and the scuffling. It sounded like this: Flaaah! It was so loud it made several kids jump. Everyone stared at Mr. Burns. He was holding a bugle.
“Awesome,” the teacher said. “You’ve already learned that when I blow this bugle, it means be quiet.”
There was a burst of giggling and murmuring.
Flaaah! Flaaah! Flaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Instantly, the room was as silent as if it were empty.
“Good. Now let’s try this again. Quickly and quietly, find a desk.” Mr. Burns chose to sit on top of his desk. He folded his legs in the lotus position, which Finch recognized from his mother’s yoga videotape. The teacher’s hands were resting on his knees, and his eyes were closed.
The students shot one another looks, but no one dared to laugh as they chose their places.
“That’s much better,” Mr. Burns said when he’d opened his eyes. “I’ll pass around a seating chart now. When it gets to you, print your name beneath the desk you’ve selected. You can take a look at the learning centers I’ve set up while you’re waiting.”
Finch peered around at the Science Lab, the Banking Center, the Art Studio, and the Just for Fun table. But his eyes stopped when he spotted the Critter Corner. He loved animals—any kind. He’d always wanted a dog, but his mom was allergic, so they’d gotten ferrets instead.
“Now that you’re in fourth grade, you’re probably ready for more freedom and responsibility,” Mr. Burns said when he had the seating chart back.
Oh boy, here it comes, Fin thought.
“During lesson time, we’ll all work together. But during free time, you may go to any center you choose. There will be extra-credit activity sheets in each area. I think you’ll find they’re fun to do—and they’re a great way to boost your grades.”
Finch sat up straighter. So far, things didn’t sound too bad.
“You’ll also have jobs,” Mr. Burns continued. “For example, some of you will be responsible for keeping each learning center neat, and even adding little improvements.”
Keeping things neat? Ugg. Finch slumped in his chair. That sounded like one of his mother’s ideas. Personally, he didn’t enjoy being neat or organized.
Mr. Burns slapped his palms against his knees. “All right, any questions?”
One arm waved. It belonged to the boy who had called Finch “ferret face.”
No, Mr. Burns, no! Fin tried signaling his teacher with brain waves. Don’t call on him! Pretend you don’t notice him!
Mr. Burns was not a mind reader. He consulted the seating plan. “Irwin, right?”
The students shifted in their seats. No one called Irwin Thornton by his real name. Not even his teachers.
“Everyone calls me Thorn,” he said.
“All right, Thorn.”
“I was wondering if this was your first time teaching?”
“It is.”
Thorn nodded smartly, as if he knew he’d been right. “Well, I was thinking you could use someone to be your personal assistant. A person who would collect the homework, make sure everyone was back on time from recess, and who could help you keep order around here. ’Cause I’d be good at that.” Thorn crossed his arms over his chest.
“You mean like a policeman?” Chloe exclaimed.
“I’d rather say ‘law enforcement officer,’ ” Thorn answered. “But don’t call out.”
Finch covered his eyes with his hand. Letting Thorn keep order would be like hiring a burglar to run the bank. The wannabe officer had just moved to Middleburgh last year. He’d been in Fin’s class then, too. For a while Fin had thought he was funny. Sometimes they’d traded jokes or shared snacks.
But at lunch recess, Finch always hung out with Raj, Kev, and Elliott. In the past they’d played superheroes, although once they thought up Super Ferrets, they mostly worked on the comic. But Thorn kept stealing their paper and making it into airplanes, or using their pencils for “dart practice.” When Finch complained to his teacher, she suggested that he and the guys invite Thorn to help them. “He’s new here, Fin. Perhaps he just needs some friends,” she’d explained.
So they’d tried it. But Thorn was bossy. The only ideas he liked were his own. He wanted the ferrets to get run over by garbage trucks and grilled on barbecues.
“The comic is supposed to be about super ferrets, not dead ferrets,” Finch told him.
“You said you wanted it to be funny. Barbecued ferrets are funny,” Thorn had retorted. He’d gotten up and walked away, making sure to step on their drawings. It was the last time the guys worked on Super Ferrets in school. Or asked Thorn to join them for anything.
“I don’t think this class is going to require an enforcer,” Mr. Burns said, waking Finch from the aggravating memory.
Thorn shrugged. “O-kaaay, but I think you’re making a mistake.”
With a thumb, Mr. Burns stroked his bugle. He closed his eyes as if he were reconsidering.
Finch held his breath.
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Burns said finally. “I think I’ve made the correct decision.”
“Yes!” Finch whispered louder than he’d meant to. Then he snuck a peek at Thorn. Unfortunately, Thorn was looking at him, too.
4
THE GIFT OR THE CURSE
“Now I’d like you all to write a composition about the best day you had this summer,” Mr. Burns said.
The class moaned and groaned—except for a few writer kids, who immediately began lining up their pencils like soldiers. Sadly, Finch wasn’t one of them.
“Come on. Everyone must have had at least one good day they can share. It will help me get to know you better.” Mr. Burns’s smile began to flatten out. It made Finch want to help him.
The scuffing sound of pencils on paper filled the room. Finch’s hand held a pencil, but it was frozen in midair. His summer included two best days, and he hated having to decide between them. One was when his mom took him and the guys to see the new Spider-Man movie. They’d had a sleepover afterward and stayed up really late talking about whether they’d want to have “the gift or the curse.” It would be cool to swing around the neighborhood on super-spider threads, but as Peter Parker (who was actually Spider-Man) had put it, “With great power comes great responsibility.” If you were a superhero, you’d be busy all the time saving people from bad guys, fires, earthquakes, and other stuff. There might not be much room for fun.
Finch’s other “best day” was when he and his dad built the lookout platform in the yard. He’d wanted an entire tree house, but his father had said it would take too much time. Since he’d had a new baby with his new wife, Finch’s dad was always in a rush. Still, Finch had to admit he’d liked working alongside his father. And the platform had turned out really awesome. You could see all over the neighborhood without anyone knowing you were up there.
All by itself, Finch’s hand with the pencil moved down to his paper. It began writing about building the lookout. Probably everyone had seen Spider-Man, anyway.
“Okay, who wants to read first?” Mr. Burns asked when it appeared that everyone was done working.
No one volunteered.
Mr. Burns squinted at the class. He looked down at his worn black high-tops. He sighed. He looked up again.
Elliott raised his hand.
“Elliott—you’re on!” Mr. Burns exclaimed.
Elliott bopped up to the front of the room. Ever since Finch had known him, he’d been telling jokes, imitating the voices of their favorite cartoon characters, and acting out TV shows.
“This summer I went to a performing-arts camp at the college where my mom teac
hes. We did our own American Idol show. A lot of us were contestants, and a few campers got to be judges. All the girls tried to sing like pop stars. The guys did rap or hip-hop. But I sang ‘Hakuna Matata’ from The Lion King, and I was picked to be one of the finalists. At the end of camp, our friends and family were invited to see the last show. Fin, Raj, and Kev came. I got first prize.” As if he’d just performed his song again, Elliott gave a little bow. His amber hair dropped over his eyes like the final curtain.
“Awesome,” Mr. Burns said. “Does anyone have a question or a comment for Elliott?”
The class’s three brainiac girls—Chloe, Zoe, and Kayla—waved in unison. Thorn’s arm sprang up at the same time.
“What did you wear?” Chloe asked. “A meerkat costume. I had ears, a tail, and a black nose.”
The class cracked up at the thought of Elliott as a meerkat.
“What did you win?” Zoe asked.
“A one hundred percent fake gold trophy.”
“Do you want to be a singer when you grow up?” Kayla asked.
“Yep—or an actor.” Elliott began heading back to his desk.
“You forgot to call on Thorn,” Bud pointed out.
“Raise your hand if you have something to say,” Mr. Burns told him.
Bud’s hand popped up. “He forgot—”
“Okay, okay,” Elliott said. “Thorn.”
Thorn leaned back in his chair. He grinned in a friendly way. “You know, you couldn’t be a real singer or actor.”
Finch felt his stomach tighten. If he were the teacher, he’d throw Thorn out before he said another word. But Mr. Burns was just sitting there.
Elliott’s gaze was calm and steady. “Why not?”
Thorn spoke each word slowly and clearly. “Because—you—talk—funny.”
Fin squirmed as if he were the one being picked on. It was true that Elliott rushed his words. And that he had trouble pronouncing his l’s, which he sort of gargled. But he’d been going to speech therapy since first grade. It was hardly noticeable anymore.
“Correction. I don’t just talk funny—I am funny,” Elliott said snappily.
Chloe’s arm shot up. “Mr. Burns, that wasn’t really a question or a comment. It was an insult.”
“You’re right, Chloe,” Mr. Burns agreed. He pinned Thorn with a hard look. “Irwin, you owe Elliott and the rest of the class an apology.”
“Sorrreee. Can I be next to read?”
Mr. Burns looked around as if he were hoping for a different volunteer. But no one else wanted to be grilled by the team of Thorn and Bud. “All right,” he said finally.
Thorn strolled up to the front of the room. He flapped a crease out of his paper and cleared his throat. “On the night of my birthday—JULY FOURTEENTH—I watched three Star Wars movies. It took six hours. I started at midnight and finished at six a.m. While I was watching, I ate six grape Popsicles. Afterward, my teeth were purple for two weeks. It was a great birthday.” Thorn grinned. His teeth were only a disappointing yellow. “Any questions?”
One hand shot up—Bud’s. “Who is your favorite Star Wars character and why?”
“Darth Vader—’cause he’s the only superhero who’s not wimpy.”
“Darth Vader is not a superhero,” Finch objected—but only inside his head.
Chloe raised her hand.
“Ask something rude,” Fin muttered. He wished he had the nerve to do it himself.
“Yeah, ask if he’s really an alien,” Kev agreed, without looking up from the paper he was doodling on.
“Was your mom mad that you ate a whole box of Popsicles?” Chloe asked.
“Nope. She always lets me eat whatever I want. Sometimes I have cake or pie for dinner.”
“Ew. I hope your dad is a dentist.”
“Nope, he owns the Drop ’n’ Shop.” Thorn bounced on his toes. “It’s open twenty-four hours a day. You can get Popsicles anytime you want there. You should stop in sometime. A Popsicle might take that sour look off your face.”
“Sit down, Irwin,” Mr. Burns ordered.
Kev slid the drawing he’d been making to Raj. Raj pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. He passed the paper to Finch next.
Finch looked down. Kev had drawn a character with spiky hair sprouting like grass from the top of his helmet. Two sharp fangs stuck out from the mask covering his face. Underneath Kev had printed THORN VADER.
Fin snorted. He shoved the paper toward Elliott. It flew off El’s desk and onto the floor—just as Thorn was passing by. Thorn scooped it up and glanced over it. His face turned the color of a grape Popsicle. Then he balled it up in his fist.
Strangely, Finch felt as though he were watching his head being crushed.
5
SODAMAN AND SPRAYBUDDY
Finch reached into his backpack to grab his lunch. But as he felt around for his sandwich bag, his fingers touched something else. He’d know that feeling anywhere—soft, nubby cloth and smooth, satin strings. It was his cape! He gritted his teeth so hard a muscle in his jaw throbbed. His stupid sister! She was probably hoping he’d pull it out in front of all his classmates. He bet she was still laughing about it right now. Well, she wouldn’t think it was funny tomorrow when she found her backpack stuffed with his dirty socks.
“Hurry up, Fin. What’s taking you so long?” Raj asked behind him. “You’re wasting precious time. El and Kev went to the cafeteria to save a table.”
“Coming,” Finch muttered. He pushed the cape to the bottom of his backpack and pulled out the brown paper bag that held his sandwich.
Perchance you should take your beverage, too, Master.
Fin’s stomach fluttered. There was that voice in his head again. But it was right—he’d forgotten his juice box. He reached in and grabbed it. Once more he began buckling the flap.
Have a pleasant repast.
Fin hadn’t realized he’d known the word repast, yet he was sure it meant something like “meal.” Fourth-grade brains really are more mature, he thought.
“C’mon, I’ll beat you to the repast room,” he told Raj. Then he started to run, even though it was against the rules.
“I think I just saw the Horrible Hypnotizer behind those trees along the fence,” Elliott whispered when they were out in the school yard after lunch.
Fin glanced around. “We can’t play superheroes at school. If someone notices, we’re dead.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to listen to your sister,” Elliott said. “Besides, no one’s watching. The Hypnotizer is putting a spell on all the kids—they’re starting to act as dumb as chickens. We’ve got to stop him!”
Raj shook his head. “Man, you’re crazy. If we start running around like we’re superheroes, we’re the ones who are going to look as dumb as chickens.”
But their feet were already leading them toward the trees along the fence. It was as if they were under the Hypnotizer’s trance.
“We’re just taking a walk around the yard,” Finch said firmly. “That’s all.”
“Right. Walking is good exercise,” Raj agreed, striding easily on his long legs. “My parents do it every morning before work.”
“Walking is boring,” Kev grumbled. He was the shortest of the four guys, so he had to work harder to keep up.
“Shh! I think the HH is behind the last tree in the corner,” Elliott whispered.
They broke into a trot. At first Finch squinted. Then he let his lids close. He loved moving with his eyes shut—it made him feel as if he’d stepped off the earth. He kept his arms out slightly so he wouldn’t run into anything.
“I got him, I got him!” Elliott cried out. “I’ve got the Hypnotizer! Quick, help me blindfold him!”
“I got him, I got him!” a flat voice echoed. “Goody-goody.”
“Take that, Hypnotizer!” someone else squealed in a high, silly tone.
Finch’s stomach rocked. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew whose voices those were.
“The Hypnot
izer? That’s a good one. Maybe you could catch the Tooth Fairy next,” Thorn jeered.
Bud snorted with laughter. He stood on his toes and whispered something in Thorn’s ear.
Thorn’s icy eyes fixed on Finch. “Did you say Finny isn’t really Finny?” he asked loudly. “He’s actually that famous superhero Towelman?”
Finch winced. He hadn’t forgotten that Bud’s brother, Ollie, had been one of the older boys who’d called him that in first grade. Unfortunately, Bud hadn’t forgotten either. “Come on, let’s go,” he said to his friends. He took a step backward.
“Hold on, Towelman. Don’t you and your buddies want to play superheroes with us?”
Suddenly Finch realized that Thorn had one hand behind his back. So did Bud. They each seemed to be jiggling something, but what? Sticks? Rocks? Lumps of dirt? His heart lurched around his chest as if it were looking for a way out.
Finch took another step backward. Then he heard the snickering. He looked behind him and saw kids gathering, waiting for something to happen.
“Uh-oh, the Hypnotizer got away,” Thorn announced. “Why don’t you super-guys save yourselves from Sodaman and Spraybuddy instead?”
He whipped out a can of soda from behind him. So did Bud. Before Finch could move, they popped the tabs and began spraying him and his friends.
The kids who had gathered to watch backed up a little. Some gasped. Some laughed.
“Hey, stop!” Finch threw an arm over his face. With the other he reached out blindly for Thorn. Elliott and Raj both tried to grab the can from Bud, but Bud aimed for their eyes.
“Have a drink, Towelman! You must be thirsty from chasing those bad guys.” Thorn pulled Finch’s arm from his face. “Come on—open your mouth!”
Kev was short, but he was solid as a bulldog—and just as feisty. He tried to charge Thorn, but Thorn turned the rest of his can on him. When they were out of soda, Bud and Thorn threw the cans on the ground. Snorting and stomping like wild horses, they ran away. The crowd of onlookers began to disband, too.
The Society of Super Secret Heroes Page 2
