The Society of Super Secret Heroes

by Phyllis Shalant

  “Those decorations make me feel like partying,” Ms. White called from the kitchen, where she and Ms. Baker were washing pans.

  “I may have to start dancing,” Ms. Baker agreed. “Look out, boys, or later I’m going to ask one of you to be my partner.”

  “It’s a good thing we’re not having music,” Elliott said.

  Since Monday, Fin had hardly thought of anything but the Thinking Cape. But now, in spite of his worries, he felt a little spark of excitement. He imagined Mr. Burns’s amazement when he walked into the party at 3:30. Just like a DON’T WALK sign, his face would start flashing red. Then he’d get this big grin on his face and his head would bobble like a balloon. The thought made Finch smile for the first time in days.

  Ten minutes before three o’clock dismissal, a whisper got passed around Mr. Burns’s classroom. No one was sure who started it.

  “When the bell rings, leave the building as if you’re going home. Wait ten minutes. Then come back in through the side entrance and go to the cafeteria.”

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

  In an orderly fashion, the students filed out of the room. No one pushed, shoved, shouted, or even talked. Mr. Burns didn’t seem to notice his students’ unusually quiet behavior.

  The members of the SSSh raced straight to the cafeteria. Kev and Raj arranged the snacks on one of the long tables. Elliott brought out the containers of lemonade they’d stored in the school’s giant refrigerator.

  “Is one of you named Finch Mundy?”

  Finch looked up from setting out paper cups and plates.

  A tall guy in a jacket, baseball cap, and black high-tops was standing in the doorway. He was holding a tower of pizza boxes—ten or twelve of them. “Delivery for you,” he said.

  Finch blinked at the tall stack. He’d never seen so many pizzas before. “I didn’t order those.”

  “No?”

  The man put the boxes down on the closest table and pulled out a receipt. “It says here, ‘One dozen pizzas for Finch Mundy.’ ”

  What kind of trick was this? Finch wondered. Could it be the surprise Thorn had threatened him with?

  “B-but I can’t p-pay for them,” he stammered.

  The man grinned. “They’re already paid for. See?” He held out the receipt as he approached. There was something familiar about his walk. Then he took off his baseball cap. Underneath was a head full of bright red hair.

  Finch’s heart began doing jumping jacks. Could it be? “Anthony?” he croaked. “I mean, are you Mr. Anthony Burns—Slope Burns’s brother?”

  “You’ve got that right, dude. Are you the Madbird?”

  Raj, Kev, and Elliott all stared, openmouthed.

  “B-but I thought you weren’t coming,” Finch blurted out.

  Anthony Burns ducked his head. “To tell the truth, I’ve kinda been missing my little bro’. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how cool it was that you kids were making him a party. I couldn’t stand to miss it. So I decided to surprise the surprisers. Is that okay?”

  “Sure,” Finch replied quickly. But underneath his happiness, he was having a worrisome thought. He’d lost the Thinking Cape and gained Mr. Burns’s brother. What if it was some kind of magical trade?

  26

  MAKE A WISH

  “Slope Burns, there’s a teachers’ meeting in the cafeteria. You’re late!” the loudspeaker squawked as Ms. Mitchell made her announcement.

  The crowd of teachers and kids in the cafeteria laughed. Then someone hissed, “Shhhh!” in a loud voice.

  “Should we hide?” Principal Kutler asked.

  “In the kitchen!” Ms. Baker suggested.

  “Don’t run,” Nurse Goldstein admonished.

  Everyone scurried to the back of the cafeteria and slipped into the long, narrow kitchen. Ms. White stayed behind to shut out the lights. In another moment, they heard footsteps racing down the hall.

  “I’m sorry, I must have missed the announcement. I didn’t know about today’s meeting. Hello? Isn’t anyone here?”

  “SURPRISE!!!!!!!!!”

  Ms. White snapped the lights back on. Students, teachers, and other school staff members flooded into the cafeteria, shouting “Congratulations!” and “Happy birthday!”

  Mr. Burns’s face grew flushed, just as Finch had imagined. “This is awesome. Thank you!”

  “There’s one more surprise,” Ms. Mitchell announced. Even without the loudspeaker her voice was piercing.

  “Shhhh! Shhhh!” Everyone shushed one another again. All heads turned to the back of the cafeteria as Anthony Burns walked in.

  “Happy birthday, little brother,” he said.

  “Anthony—you’re here!” Mr. Burns’s jaw dropped. His head bobbled. And his eyes were glistening. Finch hoped his teacher wasn’t going to start crying. He felt sort of choked up himself.

  The two brothers grabbed each other. Anthony actually lifted Slope off his feet. The party guests gathered around them, laughing and clapping.

  The members of the SSSh headed for the snack table. Finch and Kev poured lemonade. Elliott and Raj began putting pizza on paper plates as a line of hungry partygoers formed in front of them.

  Thorn cut to the front. “I don’t want your grubby fingers on my pizza, towelboys,” he said. He reached into the box with both hands and grabbed a slice in each fist.

  “Hey!” Elliott protested.

  Quickly, Thorn bit into both slices. “What? Want me to put one back?” Cheese was dripping from his vampire fangs.

  Bud cut in right behind him and reached into the box. But before he could get the other hand in, Raj closed the cover. “One to a customer,” he said.

  “Yeah, move it, Budster,” Chloe added. She was next in line.

  After everyone had been served, Ms. White ambled over to the snack table. “You boys are doing such a good job, I just may retire,” she joked. She leaned over and whispered, “Did one of you bring candles to put in your teacher’s cupcake?”

  “Oops—I left them in my desk. I’ll go and get them.” Finch didn’t think it was necessary to admit that his sister was the one who’d remembered candles.

  “I’ll come with you,” Elliott volunteered.

  They crept past Mr. Burns and exited the cafeteria. The moment they were out of sight, they raced to the classroom door—and stopped short. Someone was already in the room. Someones. Carefully, they peeked around the doorframe.

  “How’s it look, Buddy?”

  “Awesome.”

  Thorn and Bud were at the Art table. Thorn was holding a brush dripping with red paint. Spread out in front of him was the Thinking Cape. Straight across its middle, Thorn had painted TOWELMAN in big, crooked letters.

  Fin’s breath caught in his throat. “Cape, can you hear me?” he asked silently.

  Yes, Master Finch.

  “Where have you been? I’ve called you a million times!”

  I am sorry, Master, but the scorpion stole me from your backpack and took me to his house. There he kept me hidden in the bottom of his closet under a heap of dirty clothes. Now I smell worse than camel breath.

  “Don’t worry. We can wash you at home,” Finch said.

  Nay, Master. By then it will be too late. The dung beetle has a scissor. Soon I will only be fit for dust rags. Good-bye, Master Finch. You have been good to me. Good-bye, Elliott. I know now that when you played your false-vomit joke on me, you were treating me as a friend.

  “Don’t give up! Think of something, Cape!” Elliott urged.

  “El, do you have the vomit with you?” Finch whispered.

  “Sure—I always carry it in case of emergency. It’s in a brown paper bag in my backpack.”

  “Okay, then cross your fingers and let’s go,” Finch said. He ran into the classroom.

  “Do we have to?” Elliott asked. But he followed behind Fin anyway.

  “Hey, guys!” Finch shouted. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Hold on!” Thorn waved his brush. �
�I’m not done yet, Towelman.”

  “Yeah. We still have more work to do.” Bud snipped the air with the scissors.

  Fin waved a hand. “There’s no time! You’ve got to come back to the cafeteria. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

  Thorn squinted at him. “Why?”

  “The kids voted for you to do the presentation.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re supposed to give the class gift to Mr. Burns.”

  “Class gift?”

  “Yes—it’s in Elliott’s backpack.” Fin looked over his shoulder. “Hurry up, El, go get it,” he urged.

  The look in Elliott’s eyes said, “Are you crazy?” But he went over to the wall where his backpack was hanging and took out a crumpled brown bag. “Here you go,” he said as he brought it to Thorn.

  Carefully, Thorn took it from Elliott’s fingers. “The class really picked me?” For a moment, he looked as stunned as if he’d just been given the Good Citizenship Prize during the school awards assembly.

  “Yeah—everyone thinks you have a nice speaking voice,” Elliott said without meeting his eyes.

  “Right,” Fin agreed. “You’re supposed to make a little speech when you give the gift to Mr. Burns.”

  Thorn narrowed his pale eyes. “You didn’t say I have to make a speech.”

  “Just a little one,” El said quickly. “Just something about how we’re all glad Mr. Burns is our teacher because he makes learning fun.”

  “That’s kiss-up talk,” Bud sneered. He brought the scissors toward his puckered lips as if he were going to kiss the blades.

  “Wh-why don’t you put those away,” Fin stammered. “We’re not fighting anymore. R-right, Thorn?”

  Thorn ignored him. “What’s in here?” he asked as he weighed the bag on his palm.

  Finch and Elliott looked at each other.

  “It’s, er, science equipment.” Finch patted his stomach. “A rubber replica of the digestive system.”

  Thorn shot him a sideways glance. “What kind of present is that?”

  “Mr. Burns is a teacher. That’s the kind of stuff they like to get,” Elliott said as if it were obvious.

  Bud stuck his tongue out. “Yuck. I’m never going to become a teacher.”

  “Shut up, Buddy.” Thorn tucked in his shirt. “I never got elected for anything before. Everyone always picks guys like you.” He pointed a finger at Finch.

  “Well, congratulations.” Fin felt a flicker of regret. He wished the class really had picked Thorn for something. He wondered if that was what his dad had meant by empathizing.

  “Yeah, whoopee for you.” The dung beetle was still holding the scissors. The crazy look in his eyes made Finch feel queasy.

  “You got picked to do something, too, Bud,” he said quickly. “You get to carry the cupcake with the candles in it.” He ran over to his desk and took out the candles his sister had given him. “Here.”

  “Just a sec—I’m almost finished.” Bud lifted up one of the cape’s satin ties.

  “Come on. Put the scissors down,” Finch urged.

  “I said in a sec.” Bud slipped the tie between the blades of the scissors.

  “Stop!” Finch yelled as Bud closed the blades.

  “Why?” Bud asked as he snipped off the other tie. He looked up and grinned. “Okay, I’m done. Hand over the candles and let’s go.”

  Finch felt as if the blades had snipped something inside him. The pain was so sharp, he could hardly breathe. “First give me that,” he wheezed. “You’ve already ruined it anyway.” Gently, he lifted up the Thinking Cape and picked up its severed strings. For once the scorpion and the dung beetle were silent as he tucked the cape into his backpack.

  27

  THE PRESENTATION

  Ms. White snapped off the lights once more, and everyone began singing “Happy Birthday.” Walking as solemnly as if he were in a wedding procession, Bud carried a chocolate cupcake with a flaming candle toward Mr. Burns. Thorn followed behind him, cupping the paper bag in his palms the way he might carry something delicate and precious.

  “I can’t believe you told the scorpion there was a present in that bag,” Kev murmured while everyone was singing. “Wait till he finds out what’s really in there.”

  Finch shrugged. He wasn’t afraid. He felt numb.

  “Make a wish, Slope,” Ms. Mitchell squawked.

  Mr. Burns closed his eyes. So did Finch. He made a wish even though the candles weren’t his.

  The group clapped and whistled. When they were finished, Thorn stepped forward. “Everyone thinks you’re a really great teacher. You make learning fun—sort of . . .”

  Some of the kids began to snicker—until the scorpion shot them a glance that melted the smiles off their faces.

  “. . . so I thought to show our appreciation, we should throw a surprise party for your birthday, and get you this gift.” Thorn grinned at Mr. Burns. “It’s educational.”

  The rest of the students gazed at one another. Then they began whispering.

  “Shut—I mean, be quiet!” Thorn commanded. He didn’t need a bugle. No one spoke another syllable. He held out the paper bag. “I hope you like it.”

  “Thank you, Thorn. Thank you, everyone.” Mr. Burns unrolled the top of the bag and glanced inside. Then he looked up at the guests. Once more he peered into the bag. This time he brought it closer to his face.

  “Uh-oh—I think I feel sick,” he said as he swayed on his feet. “Too much pizza.” He grabbed his brother’s shoulder to steady himself. Then he bent in half and began heaving into the bag.

  Thorn’s grin froze. He stood there stiffly as if he didn’t know what to do.

  Suddenly Mr. Burns straightened up. With a quick flick of his wrist, he turned the bag over and shook it. A big splat of yellow vomit fell onto one of Thorn’s sneakers.

  “Yeee-uck!” Thorn jumped in the air. The vomit flew off his shoe and bounced twice on the floor. For a moment, he stared at it. “Rubber vomit,” he said slowly.

  Mr. Burns and his brother began whooping with laughter. The crowd around them joined in.

  “Anthony and I used to have one just like this,” the teacher said when he could finally talk. He scooped the rubber vomit off the floor and waved it around. “Kids, this is the best present you could have given me. You guys are great.” He reached over and clapped Thorn on the back.

  “Glad you like it,” Thorn said. The look on his face wobbled from smile to frown and back again.

  “Oh, man! Did you see the scorpion jump?” Raj gave his own jump of joy.

  Kev was still cackling. “Yeah, the only thing better would have been if Mr. Burns really did spew on his sneaker.”

  “Come on, let’s go get cupcakes before they’re all gone,” Elliott said.

  “Save one for me,” Finch said. “I’ve got to go back to our room and check on the cape.”

  28

  THE TRUTH ABOUT THE GIFT

  At exactly 10:30 on Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. It was Finch’s dad.

  “I’ve got the goods,” Pete Mundy said as he patted the pocket of his jacket. “Where’s the victim?”

  “In my room.” Fin led the way. Rosie and Cubby scampered along with them. Whenever Mr. Mundy came over, they got really excited.

  Even though his mother was out selling insurance and his sister was at her dance lesson, Finch closed the door to his room. If one of them came home early, he didn’t want to have to explain. He hadn’t mentioned the Thinking Cape’s injuries to either of them.

  The cape was spread out on Fin’s bed with the green satin strings beside it. The red painted slur, TOWELMAN, was gone. Fin had gotten Mimi to show him how to use the washing machine by saying that the ferrets’ favorite blanket needed freshening.

  “Hello there,” Pete Mundy said, gazing down at the cape. “Mind if I inspect your injury?” He lifted a corner of the cape and examined the place where a string had been attached.

  Finch tugged at the neck of his T-s
hirt. He hadn’t told his father that the cape had been able to talk before Bud cut off its ties. Was his dad teasing, or did he suspect something?

  But a moment later, Pete Mundy turned to Finch and wiggled his ears. “He’s kidding,” Finch told himself. He felt both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  “Now just hold still and this won’t hurt a bit.” Mr. Mundy reached into his pocket and pulled out a spool of green thread and a needle. Then he sat down on the bed and pulled the cape onto his lap.

  Finch hung over his father’s shoulder and watched him reattach the ties with neat, tiny stitches.

  “That should do it,” Mr. Mundy said as he made a final knot. He bit the end of the thread off with his teeth. “Here, try it on.”

  Finch tied the strings carefully. Slowly, he looked up at his dad.

  “It still looks terrific on you—better than ever.”

  Finch felt the muscles in his upper arms twitching. He hadn’t hugged his father since Jake was born. It was almost as though he couldn’t anymore. But now the entire upper half of his body—chest, shoulders, neck, chin—seemed to be lifting up. Next, his arms floated out. They wrapped themselves around his father’s middle.

  Instantly, his father’s arms grabbed him, too. Finch laid his head against his dad’s shirt. He felt like he was melting. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered.

  “Anytime, Fin.” His father continued to hold him tightly. “Would you like to come home with me? You could teach your little brother to belch or something.”

  Finch laughed. “I’d like to. But could it wait till next weekend? There’s something I have to do today.”

  “You’re really going to come next weekend?”

  “Yep. Promise.”

  “Cape, how do you feel now?” Finch asked the moment his dad was gone. He held his breath and waited. But he already knew it wasn’t going to answer. He could feel it inside—or, rather, he could feel its absence. It was as if his head were a room, and there was an empty place where the sofa used to be.