Samantha Spinner and the Spectacular Specs

by Russell Ginns

  Her uncle nodded approvingly.

  Samantha put on the purple specs and stared directly at him.

  “No clues on me,” he said.

  “Are you kidding?” she replied. “You’re one great big ball of super-secret clues.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll explain everything. There’s just so much to tell.”

  He turned to face her, and he looked serious.

  “You need to know about a lot of super secrets, Samantha,” he said. “This goes way beyond you and me and the umbrella.”

  Samantha noticed that a dark expression had crossed his face. This was the most serious her uncle had ever sounded.

  “Okay,” she said. “Start with this: Why did you hide in the June footwear room?”

  “I didn’t hide,” he answered. “I got locked in.”

  “Really?” Samantha asked slowly. “Was it the SUN?”

  “No,” said Uncle Paul. “When the RAIN showed up in Seattle, I put on big boots and a fake raccoon to make sure the ninjas would see me, and follow me out of town. I also made sure Morgan Bogan saw me, because I knew he’d tell people, and then nobody else would believe it.”

  Samantha nodded.

  “Of course, I knew that you would figure out he was telling the truth,” he continued, voice brightening.

  Samantha was relieved to see that Uncle Paul was smiling again. He was excited and he waved his hands. He was a great storyteller.

  “I took the slidewalk to Indonesia, and I took a hot rocket to New York,” he said. “I left stickers behind to help you follow the trail.”

  “Hot rocket?” asked Samantha.

  “Yes,” said Uncle Paul. “It’s by the Super-Secret Stalagmite. I put the raccoon there so you’d see it.”

  “Oh,” said Samantha, thinking back. “I guess I should have taken a closer look.”

  “Hmmm,” he continued. “I came to New York and made sure that Buffy loaded her show with things that would trip up the SUN. About that time, I realized just how comfortable those big rubber boots were. I only took them off because your sister screamed so much.”

  Samantha pictured Buffy wailing and whining at her uncle, calling him a fashion disaster.

  “So I told her I would fetch different shoes from her June footwear room,” he said. “But Nathaniel saw me go in and locked the door.”

  Uncle Paul glanced up at the ceiling, studying the scratches that Nathaniel had made with his sword. “I warned you about that guy,” he said. “I guess I should have kept a closer watch on him myself.”

  Samantha nodded. “And the A-L-I-M?” she asked.

  “You mean L-I-M-A?” he replied.

  “I knew you’d be in the hall sooner or later,” Uncle Paul went on, “but you wouldn’t be able to hear me through the heavy steel door. That’s why I used Word Whammy! cards to spell Lima. I wanted you to go to Machu Picchu and start learning about PSST.”

  Uncle Paul wiped a bit of plaster from behind his ear.

  “That obelisk sure wasn’t as nice as the shoe room,” he said. “That place has a hot tub and a massage chair, plus a big-screen TV. You wouldn’t believe how many shows there are about unicorns.”

  The elevator chimed again, and pink marble doors slid open. Buffy started wailing before she even stepped into the apartment.

  “You’re all here!” she howled. “Didn’t anyone stay to see the end of my show?”

  The room got quiet.

  “We had to make a decision, dear,” said Mrs. Spinner. “Watch a musical play, or save our children from clowns, pirates, and venomous lizards.”

  “To some, this might be a difficult, complex decision,” said Mr. Spinner.

  He walked over to Buffy and put an arm around her.

  “To us, the answer was obvious,” he went on, and gave her a hug.

  Buffy looked at her father and sighed. Then she turned to her mother and sighed again, even more loudly. She gritted her teeth and let out little blasts of air.

  “You look like a Komodo dragon,” said Samantha.

  Buffy walked to the piano in the center of the room.

  “Dearest Mother. Clever Father. Won’t you stay and see my show?” she pleaded. “I worked so hard to make it survive.”

  She draped one hand across her forehead and pounded on the piano keys with the other. The musical notes were muted because the piano was full of nutrient-rich waffles for very large lizards.

  “Is this still part of the show?” Nipper asked.

  “Oh, won’t someone watch my great big musical?” Buffy continued.

  “Of course we will,” said Mrs. Spinner. “We can stay an extra day.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” said Uncle Paul, and he smiled.

  Aunt Penny elbowed him.

  Samantha rolled her eyes.

  “Hold on a minute,” said Mr. Spinner. “You and Samantha can stay, but I’ve got to fly home with Nipper tomorrow.”

  He took an envelope out of his pocket, opened it, and removed several folded pages.

  “Calculus camp starts Monday morning,” he said.

  “What?” Nipper shouted.

  Mr. Spinner held out the papers.

  “You told me you’ve developed a love of math, so I signed you up for five weeks of computation and problem solving.”

  Nipper snatched the pages and read out loud.

  “ ‘From its long-division drills to its algebra obstacle course, Camp Pythagoras is an exciting math experience for boys and girls who love computation and problem solving as much as they love major league sports.’ ”

  Nipper handed the papers back to his father.

  “I think I’m dying,” he said dramatically. “Tell my Yankees I loved them.”

  “This is better than I thought,” said Mr. Spinner, reading. “ ‘Polynomial equations and square roots come to life through art projects, sing-alongs, and interpretive dance.’ ”

  Nipper looked like his head might explode.

  “Mom? Sam?” he pleaded. “Do I have to go?”

  Mrs. Spinner didn’t answer. Samantha didn’t say anything, either, so he turned back to Mr. Spinner.

  “I changed my mind, Dad,” said Nipper. “I’m kind of over math now.”

  “Sorry, son,” Mr. Spinner told him, examining the pages. “It’s an unbreakable contract. You’ve got to be in Seattle before Monday morning.”

  He squinted at the fine print.

  “Unless…you can pass the trigonometry time trials,” he added. “Then you can transfer to Pi camp. That starts three-point-one-four days later.”

  Nipper groaned. His arms fell listlessly to his sides. He knew when he was defeated.

  “Little things,” Samantha said. “Big consequences.”

  “Contract,” Buffy said suddenly. “I almost forgot.”

  She walked over to Nipper and held out a manila folder stuffed with papers. Nipper didn’t move. He was still stunned by the prospect of five weeks of calculus camp. She tucked the folder under his arm.

  Slowly, he opened it and examined the contents.

  His eyes grew wide.

  “My Yankees!” he gasped.

  “You were nice enough to come visit last month,” said Buffy. “It really cheered me up. I wanted to do something nice for you.”

  Nipper hugged the players’ contracts and the deed to Yankee Stadium to his chest. It looked like he might cry—tears of pure joy.

  “I asked Aunt Penny to buy something special for you without spending too much money,” Buffy continued. “She purchased the whole lot of them for three hundred dollars.”

  Samantha had never seen her brother so happy. Aunt Penny was smiling, too. Samantha had to admit it: her aunt truly was a four-star treasure hunter!

  “If you ask me,” Buffy added, “I�
��d rather pass trigonometry time trials then spend a day in a smelly stadium watching a bunch of— Mom? What’s wrong, Mom?”

  Everyone turned to look at Mrs. Spinner. She stood frozen and pale, with a look on her face like she’d seen a ghost.

  Samantha knew exactly what her mother was thinking. It had just dawned on her that she’d promised Buffy she would stay. And if Nipper and Mr. Spinner were going back to Seattle, and Mrs. Spinner wasn’t, there could be big trouble. The last five times Mr. Spinner and Nipper spent a weekend alone in the house, there had been destruction, chaos, and—on more than one occasion—explosions.

  “Let’s make sure no one’s careless or forgetful,” said Samantha. “Right, Mom?”

  Mrs. Spinner smiled at her.

  “We don’t want any little actions to have big consequences,” Samantha continued. “Isn’t that correct, Mom?”

  Mrs. Spinner nodded.

  “We need to make sure everyone takes a closer look at—”

  “We all get it, Samantha,” Mrs. Spinner said, cutting her off.

  She waved to Mr. Spinner.

  “Come here, George,” said Samantha’s mother. “It’s time for plan B.”

  “Ahh,” said Mr. Spinner. “B is for boys home alone.”

  All the Spinners, including Penny and Paul, huddled around Samantha’s dad and Nipper. They strategized and discussed everything from window repair, to the minimum age for a pilot’s license, to farm animal restrictions within Seattle’s city limits.

  “Don’t let anyone play ball in the house,” said Mrs. Spinner. “And no paint-filled balloons, either.”

  “Make the world a better place,” Aunt Penny said to Samantha’s dad, and she pointed at Uncle Paul’s green plaid pajamas. “The two of you could buy some real pants and shoes for someone.”

  For a full hour, they compared lists and grilled Mr. Spinner, prepping him for every possible emergency.

  “Do you think some clowns are still out there?” asked Nipper.

  Buffy pointed at Samantha’s purple octagon sunglasses.

  “Well, she looks rather clownlike,” said Buffy.

  “Watch out for the RAIN,” said Samantha, ignoring her sister.

  “Psst,” Uncle Paul whispered to Samantha.

  She looked over at him. He had that knowing and worried expression again. It seemed like he was about to say something important.

  “Hey!” Mr. Spinner interrupted. “What if there’s a lightbulb emergency?”

  “I’m sure you can handle that one, dear,” said Mrs. Spinner.

  George W. Spinner, Senior Lightbulb Tester at the American Institute of Lamps, walked with Nipper to the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby.

  The doors opened and the two of them stepped in.

  “Wait, Nipper,” Uncle Paul called. “Watch out for the WIND.”

  The elevator doors closed.

  Samantha couldn’t be sure if Nipper had heard him.

  Nathaniel sat in the back of the Wild Animal Rescue Team van.

  He eyed the Komodo dragon beside him. Nestled in a metal cage, it gnawed on a shredded piece of rubber that used to be his leg.

  “Just like old times, my fellow nautical dragoon,” said Nathaniel.

  The creature grunted.

  “Have it your way, dragon,” he sighed.

  Nathaniel reached out to touch the very large lizard’s snout. It hissed at him, and he yanked his hand back quickly. The Komodo dragon and the pirate stared at each other for a moment. Then the dragon went back to chewing.

  An alarm sounded and a radio crackled.

  “Car Nine! We have an urgent primate development in the theater district!” the radio blared. “A monkey has been spotted fleeing from the police. He is armed with a samurai sword and throwing stars.”

  Nathaniel felt the van change direction. A few minutes later, it screeched to a halt. The back doors opened.

  “Sorry, captain,” a man wearing a WART hat and sweatshirt said. “We don’t have time to take you to the police station.”

  He pointed across the highway to the Hudson River. An aircraft carrier loomed above them.

  “That’s the USS Intrepid,” he said. “It belongs to the government. At least it used to.”

  Nathaniel looked up at the giant ship.

  “Go find somebody in charge there,” said the WART agent. “Tell them what you’ve done and turn yourself in.”

  Nathaniel hopped onto the sidewalk. Behind him, he heard doors slam and the sound of the wagon peeling away. Still woozy from the tranquilizer darts, he looked up at the aircraft carrier. A banner read:

  INTREPID SEA, AIR & SPACE MUSEUM

  Nathaniel ambled over the bridge above the West Side Highway. It was late at night, and most of the ship was dark, but he saw lights inside the museum lobby. He pushed open the glass doors and entered.

  A man in a trench coat and a fedora sat behind the ticket counter. He was reading from a tattered newspaper. A tattered French-language newspaper. The man wore a tin badge shaped like the Eiffel Tower, with the words Détective Goulot engraved along the bottom.

  “Ahoy!” said Nathaniel. “What’s a landlubber like you doing on a vessel like this?”

  The man put down his paper and leaned over the counter. He raised his hands and wiggled all ten fingers as he began to speak.

  “I was a security guard at the Eiffel Tower,” he said slowly, as if telling a ghost story.

  “Two American children ran up the stairs without paying for a ticket,” he continued, becoming louder and even more dramatic. “I pursued them, but they disappeared. Completely! They left nothing behind…except for pieces of a very foul-smelling baguette.”

  Détective Goulot reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a handful of bread cubes, and waved them under Nathaniel’s nose. They smelled like old sneakers, whiteboard markers, sardines, rotting onions, wet paint, and a moldy banana peel left outside for six days.

  Nathaniel was a pirate who had lived in a castle on top of a skyscraper until a giant lizard attacked him—but this French guy’s story sounded ridiculous!

  The peculiar man turned his back to Nathaniel and gazed at a map of the United States taped to the wall. A dozen cities had big Xs drawn through them with a red marker. Circles and question marks surrounded St. Louis, Las Vegas, and Seattle.

  “I made a vow to the moon and stars,” Goulot continued in his thick accent. “I will bring those young criminals to justice if it takes the rest of my life.”

  As the Frenchman babbled on about kids, the Mona Lisa, and the sewers of Paris, Nathaniel walked through the turnstile and into the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum.

  The sound of Nathaniel’s wooden peg leg thumping on metal echoed as he walked across the aircraft carrier’s flight deck.

  Nathaniel reached into the top of his puffy shirt and pulled out his necklace. It was a simple gold chain with a silver charm. The charm was bone-shaped—like a little dog biscuit. The word Button was engraved in the center.

  Nathaniel pinched it between his thumb and index finger. It clicked. Somewhere nearby, something beeped. He walked on.

  He passed several U.S. Navy fighters. Between an F-4N Phantom II and an F-3B Demon, he spotted an old passenger aircraft. With one puffy sleeve, he wiped away dirt on the pilot’s side of the plane. The words Flying Dutchman appeared on the corrugated metal door.

  He opened the door and hopped into the pilot’s seat. He scanned the dashboard and flicked the fuel meter with his index finger. The plane had a full tank of gas.

  No one in New York City noticed as a 1925 Ford Trimotor took off from the flight deck of the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum.

  The trip from New York to Seattle was long and miserable. The seats in the ninety-year-old aircraft were stiff, and springs poked through the leather upholstery. Natha
niel had to make six refueling stops. Of course, there were no snacks along the way.

  If Nathaniel had been able to compare, he would have argued that his trip was even worse than flying double-triple super-economy class.

  Section 08, Detail SS0M3PL4C

  The USS Intrepid

  The USS Intrepid is an aircraft carrier. Commissioned in 1943, it saw action in many battles in the Pacific during World War II, and earned the nickname “The Fighting I.”

  The Intrepid was decommissioned in 1974 and anchored off the West Side of Manhattan near Forty-Sixth Street. It is now an air and space museum.

  The museum’s collection showcases all five branches of the American military and the history of flight. This includes fighter jets, helicopters, a supersonic spy plane, and the space shuttle Enterprise.

  * * *

  • • •

  Hidden between two fighter jets on the flight deck, you’ll find a Ford Trimotor. It’s a three-engine transport aircraft, one of those produced by the Ford Motor Company from 1925 to 1933.

  You’ll need a key to open the door.

  The plane is fully operational and has a full tank of gas. There is room for two pilots and eight passengers.

  With a flight range of about six hundred miles, you’ll have to land and refuel several times to fly from New York City to Seattle.

  “Follow me,” said Nipper, walking into his dad’s office. “I made an obstacle course. It starts in the kitchen, goes out the window, and—”

  Mr. Spinner was on the phone.

  “An obstructed potentiometer?” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Nipper watched him put the phone down and place a duffel bag on his desk.

  “Dad,” Nipper urged, “I already turned on a hose and primed the booby traps. You’ve got to come test.”

  “Sorry, son,” said Mr. Spinner. “There’s a lightbulb emergency. They need me at the Space Needle.”

  Mr. Spinner started packing spools of wire and electrical gadgets into his bag. He counted a row of flat, round batteries lined up on the desk table, then swept them into his coat pocket.