“But if it’s all true, why wasn’t the latest Squirrel Kong attack on the news?” asked Martha.
“I’d bet SmilesCorp didn’t even report the attack to the police. They’d rather keep something like that internal than reveal that they’ve created a deadly monster squirrel in their labs that’s now menacing our town.”
“Ms. Fast, you’re a public relations director,” said Martha. “You have contacts in the media. Maybe you could use them to expose SmilesCorp’s negligence and irresponsible behavior. According to Sam, Squirrel Kong is just the tip of the iceberg. They’re putting fur on ducks and such. I don’t know if that’s technically illegal, but it certainly sounds wrong!”
“Hmm,” said Roberta Fast. “We’d need an event. Something really big and splashy to get people’s attention.”
Martha blinked. “The First Annual Maple Bluffs Disc Golf Exhibition Tournament! The event is sponsored by SmilesCorp and the CEO is going to be there this Saturday!”
“Nils Winroth is making a public appearance in Maple Bluffs in two days?” said Roberta Fast, her eyes widening.
Martha nodded.
“Then that’s perfect,” said Roberta Fast. “We’ll get in front of the cameras and ambush him with a bunch of questions about killer squirrels. Then we’ll hit him with the incriminating information contained in that file. We’ll force Mr. Winroth to explain everything, live on tape.”
“Hang on. Does it have to happen at the tournament?” I said.
“You never know where Nils Winroth is going to be,” said Roberta Fast. “This might be the best shot we get for months. Maybe years.”
“But aren’t we maybe losing focus on the real culprit?” I said. “Nils Winroth isn’t the one controlling Squirrel Kong. Unless he attacked his own company.”
“Maybe he did,” said Roberta Fast, shaking her head ominously. “I wouldn’t put it past him. That man is totally unscrupulous. And anyway, the ultimate responsibility for Squirrel Kong does lie with SmilesCorp, doesn’t it?”
She was right. Still, I didn’t relish the thought of disrupting the tournament that Dylan had put so much effort into planning.
“Can’t we just go to the police instead?” I said.
“Sure, we could try going to the cops first,” said Roberta Fast, “but I doubt they would believe you. Or understand your data file, for that matter. And even if they did, building a case against SmilesCorp might take years. Do you really want a twelve-foot-tall killer squirrel to be on the loose, rampaging around Maple Bluffs, for years?”
“Someone might get seriously hurt,” said Martha.
“Trust me,” said Roberta Fast. “If we make Squirrel Kong—great name, by the way—a national news story, that’s what will get the attention of the police. That’s what will bring the real culprit to justice.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Sam, as much as I hate not immediately going to the proper authorities in every situation,” said Martha, “this does seem like it might be more effective.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “As long as we can prove that Squirrel Kong is real, and clear Hammie Rex’s name, I guess we should do it. So what do you need from me?”
“The data file, for starters,” said Roberta. “I need to reformat it and print it out as digestible infographics and camera-ready pie charts, so you can wave them around in Nils Winroth’s smug face.”
“Wait, I’m going to be the one confronting him?” I said.
“It will be you and Martha,” said Roberta Fast. “Our messaging is going to be much more effective coming from two cute kids and not a former employee of the company who resigned on moral grounds. Besides, Sam, you’re the one with the personal connection to this Squirrel Kong story.”
“It’s okay, Sam,” said Martha, “I can do most of the talking. I’ve studied many of history’s greatest orators.”
“Fine,” I said, and I handed Roberta Fast the storage disc.
“Leave the rest to me,” said Roberta Fast. “I’ll go whip up a press release and get some hard-hitting squirrel gotcha questions ready. Let’s meet at Cannon Park half an hour before the event to coordinate.”
I still felt unsure. “And you’re positive there isn’t any other way?”
“Sam, you’re the one who faced this deadly mutant squirrel beast,” said Roberta. “If you think it’s best not to confront SmilesCorp at this event, then we don’t have to do this. Say the word and I’ll call it off.”
I took a deep breath. “No, I guess this is our best shot.”
“All right, then, kids, I’ll see you both Saturday. It feels great to use my PR skills for good!” She grinned and shook Martha’s hand and mine again. Then she disappeared into her office.
Martha and I took the crosstown bus back through town, together.
“I hope the plan works,” I said. “But I still wish I knew who was flying the Funchos quadcopter.”
“I’m stumped,” said Martha. “But you know there’s at least one person who’s still not telling the truth.”
“Gordon Renfro,” I said.
At home I found Hamstersaurus Rex asleep in his hypoallergenic box. He blinked when I woke him up to feed him a plastic container of my mom’s leftover beef stroganoff with some marshmallows on top. The little guy only ate about half of it.
“What’s wrong with your appetite? Are you still sore?”
He gurgled weakly. I was worried about the little guy. Squirrel Kong’s kick must have really packed a wallop.
The next morning, I left Hamstersaurus Rex at home again to recuperate and rode the bus to school. When I got there, I made a beeline to Room 117. I was surprised to see that it had been fully repaired, and then some. All the equipment was state of the art. Now everything was bright white or gleaming steel. It had the slick, futuristic look of a SmilesCorp laboratory.
“Good morning, Mr. Duderotti,” I said.
“What up, Sam!” said Mr. Duderotti, extending his fist.
I left him hanging. “Or maybe I should call you by your real name.”
“Todd?” he said.
“How about Gordon?” I said.
He flinched, but a millisecond later, he was all smiles again.
“Okay, rad,” said Mr. Duderotti, closing the door to the lab. “And while we’re goofing and riffing like a pair of cutups, I’ll call you Gordon, too. Yep, we’re just a couple of Gordons, having a dope chill sesh. Say, Other Gordon, what’re your thoughts on hoverboards? Because I’m literally obsessed—”
“You can cut the act,” I said. “I know you took a job at our school under an assumed identity. I know your real name is Gordon Renfro.”
“Say whaaaaat?” said Mr. Duderotti. “That accusation is, like, totally bananagrams.”
“I don’t know why SmilesCorp put you here, but I do know it has something to do with Squirrel Kong. Sorry, I mean Specimen #13108.”
Mr. Duderotti paused for a long time. His phony grin twisted into a scowl. “Listen, little homie, I don’t work for SmilesCorp,” he said, his voice now strangely different. “But if somebody did, I bet they’d just be trying to get their company’s gnarly intellectual property back.”
“So you admit that SmilesCorp scientifically created a giant squirrel?”
Now he grimaced. “Exqueeze me? No idea what you’re talking about, broseph. If you’re referring to the band Giant Squirrel, I told you I like their first album but everything after that was pretty corporate.” He crossed his arms and shrugged. “I’m curious where you got such a wack idea that you obviously have no credible proof for.”
“No proof? You don’t think a photo of your portrait hanging inside a secret genetic testing lab is proof?”
I’d clearly caught him off guard. His eyes flashed with anger and he stepped toward me, causing me to involuntarily back up toward a shelf of chemical containers.
“If you had proof like that, it would be totes surprising,” said Mr. Duderotti, pulling his sunglasses off. “Because it wo
uld totes mean that you’d totes illegally trespassed on SmilesCorp property. Epic fail. Can you imagine being linked to a recent break-in at a major international corporation?”
“What?” I said. “I don’t know what you’re, uh, talking about.”
“Oh snap, and it would be even worse for you if you’d taken something, like, say, a data file from one of the computers. That would be an extremely serious crime, the consequences of which would pretty much be the opposite of rad.” Mr. Duderotti scratched his jaw and pretended to think. “Come to think of it, doesn’t your mother work at SmilesCorp, Sam?”
This time it was me who was taken aback. “What? Yeah, she does,” I said. My voice sounded weak. “That doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“Hmm. You know, it’d be a total bummer to the max if all your snooping somehow affected your mother’s job,” said Mr. Duderotti.
I was at a loss for words. I moved my mouth but nothing came out.
“What’s the matter?” said Mr. Duderotti. “Did I kill the vibe by dropping a major truth bomb, amigo?”
Something on the shelf behind me caught my eye. It was a row of aerosol canisters that looked somehow familiar. Their labels read “Microcyll”—they were bottles of the Squirrel Kong antidote spray that Mr. Duderotti had used before!
“You just tell SmilesCorp to leave my mom out of it, okay,” I said.
“Hey, man, I don’t work for SmilesCorp,” said Mr. Duderotti. He put his sunglasses back on, popped his collar up, and grinned.
“If you don’t work for them, then explain that!” I pointed over his shoulder.
He turned and chuckled. “That’s a diagram of a plant cell,” he said. “You’re grasping at straws, homie.”
“Whatever,” I said. “But if I’ve got a photo of your lab chief portrait, you might want to stop and consider what else I took photos of inside that Animal Containment and Modification lab of yours.”
At this Mr. Duderotti’s jaw fell open. It was obvious that he was terrified of SmilesCorp’s secret experiments—cheetahgators, grizzly hares, furry ducks—becoming public knowledge.
“You know, I think we’re done here,” I said as I walked past him out the door. “Great chill sesh, Todd.”
As I walked down the hallway, I replayed the conversation in my head. Mr. Duderotti was a SmilesCorp spy, perhaps up to his own nefarious schemes, but I honestly felt like he wanted to capture Squirrel Kong as much as I did. Maybe more. He wasn’t the one flying the quadcopter. I only hoped he wouldn’t notice that I’d swiped a canister of his Microcyll spray. At least the next time I encountered Specimen #13108, I’d be prepared.
CHAPTER 19
AT LUNCH, I caught Dylan up to speed.
“Mr. Duderotti is a SmilesCorp plant!” I said under my breath. I was worried that he might be “chilling” somewhere nearby.
“Who, Todd?” said Dylan, cocking her head in disbelief. “No way, Sam. I don’t believe it. Todd is just a cool rebel who’s maybe a little misunderstood because he refuses to play by society’s rules.”
“Dylan, seriously, I have proof. Remember that photo I took, the one of all the paintings? Well, one of them is Mr. Duderotti!”
“I don’t remember any of them being him,” said Dylan.
“That’s because in the portrait, he didn’t have his ‘cool’ ponytail and ‘cool’ sunglasses.”
“You make a good point; his sunglasses are pretty cool. Fine. Let me see that photo again.”
“I can’t. I don’t have the picture anymore. I mean, I gave it to Roberta Fast.”
“Who?”
“Remember the invisible doughnut lady?”
“Sort of,” said Dylan.
“She’s the new PR director of the Antique Doll Museum,” said Martha Cherie, putting her tray down beside ours.
“Oh. Hi,” said Dylan. Her voice sounded cold.
“Hello, friends,” said Martha.
“Martha, I’m confused,” said Dylan. “I thought you hated Sam’s guts.”
“I did,” said Martha. “But he apologized and convinced me to help him by asking if he could steal a doll made of beef jerky.”
“Huh?” said Dylan.
“It made sense in context,” I said.
“Anyway,” said Martha, “with Ms. Fast’s help, we’re planning to confront SmilesCorp’s CEO at the First Annual Maple Bluffs Disc Golf Exhibition Tournament.”
“Hang on. You’re going to do what?” said Dylan.
“We’re going to confront Nils Winroth,” I said. “I found proof positive that Squirrel Kong is real. Taking that public is how I can clear Hamstersaurus Rex’s name.”
“You can’t ambush our guest of honor!” said Dylan. “This event is incredibly important, Sam. I’ve been planning it for so long. It’s for the good of the sport!”
“Sorry, Dylan,” said Martha, “but our plan is for the good of all humankind.”
“Sam, tell me this isn’t happening?” said Dylan. “Tell me you didn’t sign off on this!”
“Well, you know, it . . . seemed like maybe the best way?” I said, and stared at my sneakers.
“You can’t be serious!” said Dylan. “You know how much this tournament means to me. You want to ruin it by turning it into some sort of publicity stunt?”
“Well, it’s just that Roberta Fast knows about public relations and, uh, she thought this was the only opportunity we’d get.”
“Look, Sam, I know you care about Hamstersaurus Rex. I do, too,” said Dylan. “But I’m also your friend!”
“It’s just that Squirrel Kong—”
“Squirrel Kong, Squirrel Kong, Squirrel Kong. All I ever hear you talk about these days is Squirrel Kong!” said Dylan, furious now. “You know, it’s very odd how you’re the only one who’s ever actually seen Squirrel Kong.”
I felt my own anger starting to rise. “Other people have seen her! Todd—Gordon, whatever you call him! He saw her!”
“That’s not his story,” said Dylan, crossing her arms. “Martha, have you ever seen Squirrel Kong?”
Martha hesitated. “Well, no. Not exactly.”
“Thought so,” said Dylan.
“Beefer saw her!” I cried.
“Right. Beefer Vanderkoff,” said Dylan, “a super-reliable witness.”
“You know, you might have seen her, too,” I said, “if you hadn’t made up some lame excuse not to come with me to the SmilesCorp lab!”
“Guys, maybe keep your voices down,” said Martha, glancing around the cafeteria.
“I didn’t make up a lame excuse!” said Dylan. “That lame excuse was real. Sam, I’ve helped you every chance I got. I wasted a whole week looking around the woods behind school for Squirrel Kong. Now you can’t hold off for one single day, to not screw up the most important day of my life?”
“But time is of the essence,” I said. “Squirrel Kong’s a real threat to public safety!”
“Squirrel Kong’s not a real threat,” said Dylan, “because Squirrel Kong is not real!”
A silence fell over the cafeteria as her words rang in my ears. I knew I was about to say something I might regret.
“You know what’s not real?” I cried. “Disc golf!”
Dylan stared at me in shocked disbelief. Then she picked up her tray and stormed off.
“Wow, Sam,” said Martha, “you should probably be a little more careful about what you say. Might I suggest studying some of history’s greatest orators?”
The rest of the day passed less eventfully. A few kids tried to follow me home but I was used to it now. I doubled back and shook them off my tail. At dinner, I ate my tuna pasta, lost in thought.
I woke up early the next morning. I showered and dressed. Then I poured myself a bowl of cereal and turned on the Weather Channel. It was going to be a gray, windy day. I had two hours until the First Annual Maple Bluffs Disc Golf Exhibition Tournament. I could still contact Roberta Fast and tell her to call the whole thing off.
“Wow, you’re
up early for a Saturday, aren’t you Bunnybutt?” said my mom, yawning.
“Mom, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Did you hear anything about a giant squirrel attack on SmilesCorp, Building Seven?”
“A giant squirrel attack on the accounting department? No. They closed that building for fumigation. Is that what you’re talking about?”
I sighed. “Can I ask you another question? Should a person do the right thing, even if it might hurt the people they care about?”
“Well, that’s a very complicated question,” said my mom. “I guess it would depend on if you’re sure it’s the right thing and how badly it would hurt them.”
“What if I’m not sure of either of those things?”
“Hmm. Then I guess you’ve got to just trust your conscience.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” I said with a sigh. “Look, Mom, SmilesCorp is up to some bad stuff. They created Squirrel Kong and now she could hurt somebody. We’re planning to prove Squirrel Kong is real by telling everyone what they’ve done. Even though it might cost you your job. . . . I hope you can forgive me.”
My mom gave a wry smile. I could tell she still wasn’t taking me seriously. “Well, if you think that’s the right thing to do, Sam. But I’m curious, how are you going to ‘tell everyone’?”
“Well, I’m working with Roberta Fast to confront the CEO when he—”
“Wait. Who did you say you’re working with?” said my mom, her face now stricken with fear.
“Roberta Fast,” I said. “You remember, she used to work with you at SmilesCorp but now she’s the PR director of the Antique Doll Museum.”
My mom grabbed me tight by both shoulders. “Of course I remember Roberta Fast. Sam, I don’t want you anywhere near that woman.”
“What? Why?”
“She’s crazy. After she got fired for the invisible doughnut debacle at Science Night, she vowed to get revenge on the entire company. It was an awful scene. She had to be escorted off the premises by the police.”
“Hang on,” I said. “She got fired? I thought she resigned, you know, for ethical reasons.”
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