Mr. Shute lifted his baseball bat and let it fall with a thunderous crack that echoed throughout the giant auditorium.
“This will end now!” he announced. “I have been too lenient. Too forgiving. Too lax. And this is the result. Breaking ranks. Disobeying orders. Treason.” He hissed the last word as if it were a serpent that slithered at their very feet.
“I am going to ask one question, and I am going to receive an instant answer. Who is the Mouse? Step forward now! And if there is a conspiracy of students—a rats’ nest—trust me when I say that I will dig out each and every one of you.”
The sixth graders sat still. Maggie felt her breath catch in her throat, and she leaned slightly to the left so that her shoulder was touching Lena’s. Lena laid a hand on Maggie’s.
Mr. Shute stared at the sixth-grade class. His voice was quiet. “If the misbehaving student does not step forward within the next fifteen seconds, you will all remain after school today for one hour’s detention.”
No one moved. Maggie tried again to breathe, but it was as if someone had placed a heavy hand on her chest.
“Very well,” said Mr. Shute. “If someone does not step forward in the next fifteen seconds, you will all face detention and I will suspend all school social activities from now through the end of the year.”
There was a murmur of dismay from the students, but still no one stepped forward. Maggie wondered if the other students really didn’t know, or were they simply protecting their own?
Lyle shifted in his seat. Jenna bowed her head. Max and Tyler were still.
A slow and sticky grin spread across Mr. Shute’s face, and that was when Maggie realized. It was just as Mrs. Dornbusch had said: The pig likes it. Mr. Shute was enjoying himself.
“If the culprit who has disrupted our school and dishonored us all does not step forward in the next five seconds, I will use my disciplinary powers, which are far ranging, to forbid each and every one of you from attending tomorrow’s final football game of the season.”
The sixth graders gasped. To miss the game, to miss the chance to see the Wildcats—their no-name team from their no-name school in their no-name town—win the final game in an undefeated season, something that had never happened in the history of Odawahaka, was more than they could bear. It was as if Mr. Shute had announced that they would all face a firing squad at dawn.
Maggie knew: it wasn’t fair to them. She slid forward, planting her feet on the hard floor, and wondered if her legs would hold her up.
“Mus, sum!” announced a voice from the darkened aisle. All the sixth graders turned in their seats toward the back of the auditorium. Kayla marched forward, confident and determined. A born leader. Even in the dim light, Maggie could see that she’d been crying—and crying hard—but her face was composed now. “Mus, sum, Mr. Shute. I am the Mouse. Which means”—she glanced triumphantly at the other students—“I won the election!”
Mr. Shute was stunned into silence, but Maggie was fit to be tied. How dare she? How dare Kayla take credit for all of Maggie and Lena’s hard work? Kayla Gold engineering the Opera Mouse? Kayla Gold executing the Epic Balls-on-Shute Hack? Kayla Gold creating the chemical compound of nitrogen triiodide and transferring it safely to the gym without blowing her eyebrows off? It was absurd. It was beyond belief. It was more than Maggie could bear.
“Mus, SUM!” she said, standing up and hurling the words at Kayla.
But Lyle was already on his feet. “Actually, Mr. Shute. Mus, sum.” He waved sheepishly, as if he’d just admitted to farting.
“No,” said Jenna, shaking her head gravely. “Mus, sum.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Max. “Mus, sum. Right, Ty?” He nudged Tyler with his elbow. “Mus, sum for you, too.”
Colt stood up next, with Lena bringing up the rear, at which point every student from Table 10 had declared himself or herself to be the Mouse.
But then Allie and Emily stood up together and declared in unison, “Mus, sum!” They smiled at Maggie, and Emily gave her a wink.
And then the other sixth graders joined in, until nearly all of them were on their feet, insisting, “Mus, sum.”
“What are they doing?” asked Mr. Shute.
Mr. Esposito practically floated out of his seat. “They’re speaking Latin. Latin!” He put both hands to his heart as though he feared it might burst from his chest. “Oh, most beautiful tongue. The language of Virgil and Cicero and Caesar.” Then he raised both hands above his head and exclaimed, “Mus, sum! Ubi concordia, ibi victoria!” Mr. Esposito must have been confident that Mr. Shute wouldn’t know the meaning of that Latin phrase: “Where there is unity, there is victory.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw the stage curtain ripple and a smudge of gray dissolve back into the shadows.
Mrs. Dorn-Mouse.
I guess it’s never too late to earn a new nickname, thought Maggie.
The class had taken up the familiar chant, “The Mouse is in the house! The Mouse is in the house!” and Maggie joined in, arms linked with Lena.
The Mouse is in the house!
It was the first time Maggie had ever enjoyed taking part in a group cheer.
THIRTY
PRINCIPAL SHUTE RESIGNED THAT VERY DAY. The news spread through the town with the speed of electricity running down a copper wire. All along Main Street, the gossip was that he’d been applying for a new job since his first day at Oda M.
“Semper fidelis!” scoffed Mrs. Dornbusch in the lunchroom that day. “Some people have no concept of loyalty.”
The only thing left was a victory celebration. The Mouse had won the election, and Oda M was free of Principal Shute. “Hackito, ergo sum gaudium!” declared Maggie, which even she admitted was a really bad translation: “I hack, therefore I am joyous!” But Lena and Maggie decided to write it into the Hacker’s Bible as the Eleventh Commandment anyway. It was the first time Maggie had ever added something to her father’s notebooks, and it felt right to do it with Lena.
“What’s wrong with you?” shouted Grandpop on Friday morning as Maggie dozed at the kitchen table next to her toast.
She and Lena had been up all night preparing the celebration. There was only one place it could be, only one place where the entire town would be gathered, hopefully in victory. But to prepare the hack on such hallowed ground had required real “nightwork.” All-night work. Maggie didn’t know how she would make it through the day, much less a morning argument with Grandpop.
“Nothing.” She sat up and resumed eating her toast. Grandpop wheeled around the kitchen, fixing a bowl of oatmeal. Every time he passed her chair, he knocked into it, and Maggie had a hard time believing it was entirely accidental.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he grumbled. “What did you get for the Chevy gas pedal?”
“The 1959 Impala or the 1953 Bel Air?”
Grandpop looked surprised. “The Impala.”
“A hundred and ten, plus shipping. It was in good condition, and there aren’t many originals around.” Maggie was so tired, her toast kept going in and out of focus in front of her eyes. “I got more for the Bel Air, though. I think one eighty.”
Her grandfather stopped his wheelchair right in front of her. “How many pieces have you sold?”
Maggie shrugged. “A hundred, at least. But most of the parts aren’t even listed on the website yet. You know, Grandpop, you’ve got a couple thousand auto parts in that basement.”
“So how come you haven’t listed ’em?”
“It takes time! To research each one—figure out what year and what car and what part it is.”
“Well, for dang’s sake,” said Grandpop, turning his wheelchair to face the stove, then suddenly wheeling it back around to face her head on. “Just ask me. I can tell you every little thing about every part that’s down there. Why didn’t you come to me in the first place?”
Maggie looked at her grandfather. It was a fair question, but she was too tired to come up with the answer. She took
another bite of her toast and rested her head on her arm as she chewed.
“Well, who knew?” murmured Grandpop.
Then he perked up. “Actually, I did. I always said it. I told your mother over and over. It’s a gold mine down there.” He wheeled himself to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of skim milk. “And you figured out how to make it pay. I never would have thought of a website. For pity’s sake, I’d never even been on the internet.”
Maggie smiled. She felt like she was seeing her grandfather in a different way. Or maybe it was just exhaustion.
“So, we’ll be partners,” said Grandpop. “We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty, and you’ll pay me back for the parts you already sold. And after that, you can save the rest of what you make for that fancy East Coast college you’ve got your heart set on.” He wheeled himself back to the stovetop, where his oatmeal was bubbling and belching. “But I have a secret for you, Maggie Gallagher, and don’t you forget it. You think you get all your mechanical genius from your dad? Well, there’s a little piece of it that comes from me. I was taking apart and putting together Hemis before your father was even born.”
Maggie put the last bite of toast in her mouth and stood up. “Thanks, Grandpop,” she said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “I won’t forget.”
When Maggie came home that afternoon, she climbed straight into bed and slept for four hours. Then she hustled to get dressed so she and Lena could catch the six-thirty game bus in front of the Opera House. She noticed on her way down the hall that her mother’s bedroom was dark, the door open, and there was no noise of the TV coming from the living room.
Her mother, it turned out, was sitting on the living room couch with her feet in thick wool socks propped up on the coffee table. Next to her was an open can of Moxie. The keys on her laptop made a steady click-clack, click-clack that made Maggie think of the train that used to run through Odawahaka, back in the day.
“Where’s Grandpop?” asked Maggie.
“Out,” said her mother. “He seems to be getting out more than he used to. Have you noticed?” She turned around, smiling, and looked at Maggie. Then the smile faded from her face, and she said, “Huh. Look at you.”
“What do you mean?”
Her mother looked at her closely. “You look like you’re dressed for nightwork.” And there was a wistful sound in her voice. Then she laughed. “I can see a nine-volt battery peeking out from under your Wildcats hat. And that bulge under your coat isn’t from a jack-o’-lantern.”
Maggie shifted the tool kit under her coat and stuffed her hair more carefully under the hat.
“Better?”
“Better.”
“Are you going to the game?” Maggie tried to make the question sound casual.
“No.” Maggie’s mother smiled. “It’s . . . hard . . . for me to be back, sometimes. You know, to run into people I knew in high school.” She grew quiet. “Sometimes I think that people from the town are disappointed in me. I was . . . well, I was supposed to be the Golden Girl. It sounds so funny to say it now. As if it even means anything. But I was supposed to become something they could be proud of, ‘hometown girl makes good,’ you know? That sort of thing. But I ended up right back here.” She looked around the living room as if seeing it for the first time. “And then other times I think they’ve just”—she hitched her shoulders up once and let them drop—“forgotten all about me, like the girl I was never even existed.” She examined the can of Moxie in her hand. “Neither feeling is great.”
“Mom?” Maggie advanced into the room and sat on one arm of the couch. “Why did you come back? I mean, I know Dad died, but why didn’t you stay in Boston?”
Her mother shook her head slowly as if trying to remember herself. “I didn’t have it in me. Your dad was so . . . it’s hard to put into words. He was dynamic. Like some brilliant supernova. Next to him, everybody just seemed to fade away. He was the one with all the ideas, all the dreams, all the energy. I was the one who kept things running, who held down a regular job, who made sure the bills got paid. And then when he died, I was so . . . shocked . . . and sad. And I was pregnant with you and overwhelmed. I didn’t think I could make it on my own. And honestly,” she said with a laugh though tears sparkled in her eyes, “I just wanted my mom.” She was quiet for a minute. “And then you were born, and Grandmom died, and I stayed.”
Maggie looked down at the floor. “I hate it here,” she whispered.
“I know you do,” murmured her mother, resting her head against the back of the couch. “But it’s a big, bad world out there, Maggiekins. Believe me. It can just swallow you up and spit you out like you’re nothing more than a crumb. Home is safe.” She clutched the can of Moxie so hard a dent formed on one side. “God, I want a drink.” She closed her eyes and took several long, deep breaths in and out.
She opened her eyes. “So when do you think you’ll be home?”
“I don’t know,” said Maggie, standing up. She suddenly felt defensive thinking about the hack that she and Lena were hoping to pull off.
“It’s just a question, Maggie,” said her mother, sounding hurt. “It’s not the Spanish Inquisition. It’s the kind of question mothers ask.”
But you never do, thought Maggie.
Her mother sighed. “I guess what I’m really asking is, ‘Are you going to be safe?’”
Maggie took a deep breath in. “That’s the plan.”
Her mother nodded, unhappy. “Come here.” Maggie moved closer and her mother pushed Maggie’s unruly hair under the Wildcats hat so that the battery was more securely hidden. “All Tech Men carry batteries!” said her mother. “Right?” Then she laughed.
Maggie laughed, too. “Yes, we do!” She headed for the door, then turned back and added, “Don’t worry, okay?”
“Just be smart,” said her mother, putting the can of Moxie on the coffee table and returning both hands to her laptop. Then she laughed again, as if recognizing that “being smart” was actually more of the problem than the solution when it came to Maggie.
THIRTY-ONE
TIMING IS EVERYTHING IN A HACK. In that regard, this one should have been simple. The home field for the Wildcats had a low fence around it and no security system. Maggie and Lena had stayed up all night laying wire, burying a small hydraulic press and a large inflatable mouse under the grass on the football field, and attaching an additional electrical outlet to the sprinkler system fuse box located under the bleachers. All they had to do once the game was over—win or lose—was plug the cord from the hydraulic press into the outlet. The Mouse would inflate midfield, and the celebration would begin. And if the team lost, hopefully the hack would lift everyone’s spirits or at least give the fans something to talk about on the bus ride back to the Opera House.
The Wildcats stadium was packed. Of course the entire town of Odawahaka was there, but the fans from Danville had traveled the short ten miles to fill the visitor stands and cheer for their Ironmen.
“Is it always this crowded for the last game of the season?” asked Lena as she and Maggie squeezed onto the end of a bleacher.
“This is insane,” said Maggie. “I’ve never seen it like this.” She wondered if the bleachers were strong enough to hold this many people. Clearly, the stadium was over capacity.
Lena, who knew nothing about football, followed Maggie’s lead in cheering and booing at the appropriate times. Maggie, who knew everything about football, thought it was one of the most exciting games she had ever watched in her life. First the Ironmen scored on a field goal, but then the Wildcats came back with a touchdown and an extra point and took the lead. Then the Wildcats scored again, but the Ironmen caught the next kickoff and returned it for a touchdown. They followed that with an interception and a touchdown, but missed the extra point. The Wildcats crowd went wild.
“This is perfect,” shouted Maggie as the game neared its end.
“What do you mean?” asked Lena frantically. “We’re losing, aren’t w
e? 14–16?”
“But there are only twenty seconds left in the game, and we have the ball at the fifteen yard line. All we have to do is kick a field goal to win. And our kicker is good enough to make it that far. Danville’s using its last time-out. Come on. Let’s jump down.”
They had already positioned themselves near the bottom row of the bleachers, so it was easy to sneak between the benches and drop into the space underneath. Maggie pulled her headlamp out of her coat pocket, adjusted it on her head, and switched it on. She pointed the beam in the direction of the sprinkler fuse box. “We just—”
Maggie froze. Two unexpectedly large eyes glared back at her—the eyes of a dragon just before it eats its prey alive.
“Well,” said a familiar voice. “Just the two I was expecting to see.”
Maggie and Lena stared into the face of Mrs. Dornbusch. She stood before them in purple sweatpants, neon-green sneakers, an enormous, puffy purple parka, and a raspberry knitted hat with an oversize pom-pom sewn on the top. Suddenly another one of Mrs. Dornbusch’s nicknames popped into Maggie’s head: the Bleacher Beast.
“Lena and”—Mrs. Dornbusch squinted at the two girls—“not Mabel. Not Melissa. Not Morgan—” She waved her mittened hand, annoyed with their silly naming game. “This is where I watch all the home games, did you know that? Thirty-eight years of cheering on the Wildcats, but I don’t like the crowds.”
Maggie looked beyond Mrs. Dornbusch at the fuse box, bolted to one of the stanchions that held the bleachers in place. The Gray Gargoyle turned and looked at the fuse box, too. “I thought this was your work. Well designed, but poorly executed.”
“Hey!” said Maggie, then slapped a gloved hand over her mouth to prevent any more damaging evidence from escaping.
“I think he’s ready to kick!” shouted Lena, peering through the bleachers and legs of the spectators to the field beyond. “He’s doing that warm-up kick thing.”
Mrs. Dornbusch quickly turned to watch the final kick, and Maggie leaped past her to the fuse box, grabbing the electrical wire so that it would be at the ready. She wasn’t about to let the crabby Dungeon Dragon ruin a perfectly good hack, not to mention the celebration of the year.
Nothing but Trouble Page 17
