My mom shook her head gravely. “No, Sam, as they were dragging her out she swore she’d get back at ‘all those responsible for destroying her life.’ I never told you this because I didn’t want to scare you but . . . she even mentioned that hamster at your school. Can you imagine how deranged you’d have to be to blame a sixth-grade class pet for losing you your job?”
My blood ran cold. “That is . . . scary,” I said.
“Scary is an understatement,” said my mom. “Sam, you have to stay away from Roberta Fast! I have no idea what she’s capable of.”
“I think I do,” I said. It had suddenly become clear to me who might want to get back at Horace Hotwater Middle School, SmilesCorp, and Hamstersaurus Rex.
CHAPTER 20
“MARTHA, COME ON . . . come on . . . answer.” I listened to the phone ring three, four, five times. “Answer!”
Then I heard a voice on the other end: “Olá, quem é?”
My heart sank. “Oh, I must have the wrong number.” I started to hang up.
“Wait, Sam? Is that you?” said Martha. “Sorry, I’m expecting a call from my new Portuguese tutor, Faustino. What’s up?”
I told her everything my mom just told me.
“. . . and I’m worried Roberta Fast is the one controlling Squirrel Kong!” I said. “She’s flying the quadcopter!”
“Wow,” said Martha. “She’s been such a good PR director for the museum, I never would have guessed she’s an evil mastermind.”
“Well, she is. And I think it’s up to us to stop her. Do you have any idea where she could be right now?”
“I don’t,” said Martha, “But . . .” She trailed off. “But what?”
“Well, the Antique Doll Museum might have her address on file somewhere?”
“Can you call and ask them for it?”
There was a long pause. “Sam, I don’t think they’re going to be authorized to give out personal information like that. It’s against the rules.”
“So we have to break the rules,” I said. I could practically hear her flinching on the other end of the phone. Seconds of silence passed. “Martha, are you still alive?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I just need to do a little deep breathing. Yes, Sam, I think you’re right. We might have to break the rules.”
“Okay,” I said. “Meet me at the Antique Doll Museum in forty-five minutes.”
I hung up the phone and ran out to the garage to get my bike. I opened the lid to Hammie’s “Extension Cords” habitat. The little guy was on his feet, almost like he was waiting for me. He looked healthy now and I could see the old fighting spirit gleaming in his eye. I couldn’t help but smile. I reached into the cage and took him out.
“Gotta go,” I said. “I need to find Roberta Fast, quick. In case something bad happens, I just want you to know, I love you.”
I gave him a kiss on top of his head. He gave a little love burp and nuzzled my face.
“Hey! I knew it! Sam’s keeping Hamstersaurus Rex at his house!” cried a voice.
I turned to see the faces of Caroline Moody and Jimmy Choi crowded together, staring through the garage window. I sighed.
“Sam, that hamster’s a criminal!” cried Jimmy. “Open this garage door right now!”
“Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Jimmy,” I said. I scooped Hammie Rex up and dropped him into my shirt pocket. The little guy would have to go with me now.
“If you surrender peacefully, things will be easier for you when I call Animal Control,” cried Caroline.
“If I surrender peacefully, Squirrel Kong will strike again and Roberta Fast might get away with it,” I said.
I shrugged and picked up my bike and carried it back into my house.
“Bunnybutt, do you still need a ride to Dylan’s tournament?” said my mom, confused.
“No, Mom. Change of plans.”
“Why are you carrying your bike into the—ACHOOOOOOOOO!” She interrupted herself with a deafening hamster-induced sneeze that rattled the windowpanes.
“I can’t go out in the garage,” I said, handing her a tissue. “Too much heat.”
Just then our doorbell rang.
“Don’t answer that,” I said as I made my way to the back door. The bell rang again.
“Wow, being twelve seems like a nonstop thrill ride,” said my mom. Then she gave another one of her explosive sneezes. “Yuck. I must be coming down with something.”
I snuck out into our backyard. Then as quickly and as quietly as I could, I dragged my bike through several adjoining yards and into Mr. Greco’s boxwoods. I poked my head out. The street ahead was all clear.
Suddenly, Caroline and Jimmy jumped out from behind the Wilkersons’ seasonal fall display of scarecrows playing touch football.
“End of the line, Sam!” said Caroline, standing across my path.
“Guys, I’m in a hurry,” I said. “Can you turn me in to the authorities tomorrow? I promise you I’ll still live in the same house then.”
“Nope,” said Jimmy. “You’re going to sit tight while I call the Department of Animal Control right now. And keep the hamster where I can see him.”
Hammie snarled. Jimmy pulled out a cell phone and started to dial. I had to think fast.
“I’m just curious, Jimmy, why are you the one calling to claim the three hundred dollars? Didn’t Caroline spot me first?”
“We’ll split the reward,” said Jimmy, holding the phone to his ear.
“Huh? We didn’t discuss that,” said Caroline.
“Caroline, we both saw him at the same time,” said Jimmy.
I could hear the phone ringing.
“Um. No we didn’t,” said Caroline. “Sam said I spotted him.”
“Also—and I don’t mean to complicate things—but technically I think the check has to have one person’s name on it,” I said. “So I don’t really think you two can split it, per se.”
“We can’t?” said Caroline.
“One of you would have to cash it and then give the other half the money,” I said. “You two trust each other, right?”
Jimmy and Caroline paused for a moment.
“Look, I’m just going to make this call,” said Jimmy.
“No, you’re not!” Caroline snatched the phone out of his hands.
“Hey, give me that back!” cried Jimmy.
“Hello?” said a confused Animal Control operator on the other end.
“You’re not going to steal my reward!” cried Caroline, holding the phone out of his reach.
They were still arguing back and forth like that when I took off, pedaling as fast as I could toward the Antique Doll Museum.
When I got there, I found Martha outside, looking grave. She seemed like she was rehearsing what she might say to a judge. I locked my normal bicycle beside her strange tandem one. “Sam, is what we’re about to do going to put me on a path that leads to a life of crime?” whispered Martha. “Like the one you seem to be headed for?”
“We’re doing the right thing,” I said.
Hammie poked his head out and gave a growl of support from my pocket.
Martha gasped. “Hamstersaurus Rex has been with you the whole time?”
“Yep,” I said. “Aiding or abetting a fugitive hamster. Just another line on my rap sheet.”
As we walked past the counter, Martha greeted Patricia, the ticket taker.
“Greetings, Patricia! I’m just here to volunteer, as per normal,” said Martha, in a strange high-pitched voice. “Like I usually do.”
“Fine. Don’t care,” said Patricia. She didn’t look up from her book.
“But my great-grandfather Étienne, on his deathbed, bestowed upon me his lucky pocket watch,” said Martha. “It’s silver and emblazoned with the head of an elk. Such a noble beast! Anyway, my whole life I’ve always cherished this timepiece for personal—”
“Get to the point!” said Patricia.
“Martha forgot something in Roberta Fast’s office,” I said. “Can you let us in?�
��
“Knock yourself out,” said Patricia. She took a key off her key ring and tossed it to me. Then she returned to her book.
“Whew! That was a close one!” whispered Martha.
I shook my head.
We entered the museum and made our way to the back office. At the end of the hallway was a door that said “Roberta Fast” in block letters on it. A small Do Not Disturb sign hung on the handle.
I unlocked the door to the office and we ducked inside. The room was dark and filthy. Every surface was covered in clutter or trash, and the place reeked of Funchos Flavor-Wedges. On a filing cabinet in the corner was an empty cage. A board on the wall had dozens of newspaper clippings pinned to it: stories about SmilesCorp’s quadcopter delivery program, events at Horace Hotwater Middle School, Principal Truitt being honored by the Lions Club, and more. They all had strange handwritten notes scrawled on them. From my pocket Hammie Rex gave a soft continuous growl.
“Martha, I think this is actually where she was planning it all,” I said as I looked around the office. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end.
“Yeah,” said Martha, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “It feels like she just left.”
As I took a step, I accidentally kicked a spent Funchos Flavor-Wedge canister and sent it spinning across the ground. I looked down to see that there were dozens more just like it littering the floor.
“Well, that explains the smell,” I said.
“Hey, check this out,” said Martha, holding up a thick binder. “‘Flight Manual for SmilesCorp 4B-800 Delivery Copter. Not for Distribution. Internal Use Only.’ She must have somehow stolen the quadcopter from SmilesCorp and taught herself to fly it.”
“Yep. Just like she stole these,” I said. Inside the top drawer of her desk were several bottles labeled “Huginex-G.” They were all empty, except one. “I think she’s nearly down to the end of her supply.”
I picked up the nonempty bottle and shoved it in my backpack.
“What?” cried Martha. “Sam, you can’t disturb a crime scene! Haven’t you ever watched TV?”
“I know, but I can’t risk leaving it here,” I said. “Without any more Huginex-G, Squirrel Kong will turn back into a normal squirrel.”
Martha nodded. “Here’s what’s starting to worry me,” she said. “The squirrel cage is empty. Where do you think Roberta Fast is right now?”
“This might give us a clue,” I said. Taped to the far wall was a giant map of Maple Bluffs with various locations hand-marked: Horace Hotwater Middle School, SmilesCorp, and others I didn’t recognize. A building on Front Street was labeled “TERRIBLE DRY CLEANER WILL DESTROY!!!” Another house said “HODGE’S HOUSE. LAUGHED AT ME IN THE 9th GRADE. REVENGE WILL BE MINE!!!”
“These are all her Squirrel Kong targets,” said Martha.
“Yep. And I’m thinking she’s exactly where she said she would be.” I pointed to the map. On it, Roberta Fast had repeatedly circled Cannon Park, site of the First Annual Maple Bluffs Disc Golf Exhibition Tournament. Beside it, four words were written in a spidery scrawl: “NILS WINROTH WILL PAY!!!”
CHAPTER 21
“THE TOURNAMENT IS starting in twenty minutes!” cried Martha. “How are we going to make it in time?
“No idea,” I said. “But I need to make a quick phone call first.”
“Meet you outside!” said Martha as she dashed out the door and I started to dial.
A minute later, I joined her on the sidewalk in front of the Antique Doll Museum. Martha looked dejected.
“Sam,” she said, “I’ve done the math, and if we ride our bikes, there’s no way we’re going to make it to Cannon Park before Nils Winroth makes his opening remarks.”
“What about the bus?”
“I already checked the schedule. There’s not one coming for another fifteen minutes.”
“Wait,” I said. “Your bike has two sets of pedals. What if—”
“Yes!” cried Martha, doing the calculations in her head. “Operating at peak efficiency, we should be able to go roughly twelve percent faster on my tandem! We’ll just make it.”
Martha and I scrambled onto her bike and we both pedaled as hard as we could through the town of Maple Bluffs. Soon the tree line of Cannon Park loomed ahead. Powerful gusts of wind tore at the branches.
We rode on the park’s bike path toward the tournament site. Soon we saw a fifty-foot-tall temporary digital scoreboard looming above the trees. It was emblazoned with the SmilesCorp smile logo. Rows of bleachers had been set up on the green beside it. The tournament was surprisingly well attended. The stands were mostly full and at least three local news stations had sent crews to cover the event. I had to hand it to Dylan, it really had generated interest in the sport.
As Martha and I approached, the sounds of the national anthem floated toward us. The three Discwhippers—Dylan, Dwight, and Tina—stood in a line, singing along, their maroon and mauve jerseys flapping in the wind. Coach Weekes stood proudly beside them. As the song crescendoed, I saw him brush back a patriotic tear. Nearby, in plain purple T-shirts, were what must have been the West Blunkton Flingmasters and their jowly red-faced coach. Principal Truitt stood between both teams, her hand on her heart. And there was Mr. Duderotti off to the sidelines, mouthing the words and bopping slightly to the beat. Behind them all, a twisting course of chain-and-wire disc golf goals stretched out into the distance.
“We made it in time!” I cried, between gasps for air.
“Tandem bicycle!” cried Martha, pumping her fist.
“There! That must be him,” I said, pointing to a trim, well-dressed blond man in wire-rim glasses, with two beefy security officers flanking him on either side.
As the anthem ended, Principal Truitt took the mic. “Welcome, one and all, to the First Annual Maple Bluffs Disc Golf Exhibition Tournament! This event would not have been possible without the generosity of SmilesCorp. And the man I’m about to introduce helped put our little town on the map with his visionary decision to relocate the headquarters of a major international corporation right here to Maple Bluffs. Please welcome the global CEO of SmilesCorp, Mr. Nils Winroth!”
The audience applauded as Nils Winroth stepped up to the podium.
“Good morning, Maple Bluffs,” said Nils Winroth in a slight Swedish accent. Then he paused for a long time. “ . . . Creativity is about making connections. The human being is the only animal that laughs. We alone ask ourselves the big questions: What is gravity? Where do clouds come from? How can a brightly colored plastic disc be made to soar like an eagle into one of those barrel thingies? Today we celebrate connections and creativity and laughter. Today we celebrate humanity.”
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause.
“So inspiring,” said Martha, lost in the moment and clapping along with the rest.
Above the noise I heard a familiar sound. I scanned the sky. Sure enough, there was a tiny speck approaching fast.
“You know,” said Nils Winroth, “when I was a small boy growing up on my father’s dill farm north of Malmö, I always—”
“Everyone, you have to leave!” I cried, leaping in front of the podium. “It’s not safe here!”
The entire crowd stared at me.
Nils Winroth scowled ever so slightly. “Hem. Who is this fellow?”
“Ha-ha. Don’t mind him!” cried Coach Weekes, trying to block me from view. “Very unenlightened kid! Long way to go on his spiritual journey!”
Principal Truitt ground her teeth, both fists balled. “Sam Gibbs, you are being extremely insulting and inconsiderate of Nils Winroth’s valuable time. Sit down. Now!”
“I’m not trying to be rude—”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Dylan, yelling over me. “No need to answer his questions. Let’s get things going. How about that coin toss to see who throws first?”
“Dylan, please! I’m trying to warn everyone,” I said. “About that!”
I pointed to the quadcopter. I
t was close now, hovering about a hundred feet over the bleachers. The whole crowd turned to look up at it. Heavy wind buffeted it from side to side.
Nils Winroth laughed. “Ah, this is all you’re worried about? Don’t be afraid, young man. That’s just one of our new SmilesCorp delivery copters.” He grinned and waved at the copter and beckoned it closer.
“No, Mr. Winroth!” I cried. “Don’t let it get near you. The woman flying it wants to hurt you!”
“I’m afraid you are very much mistaken,” said Nils Winroth. “Soon, it will be quite common to see such copters flitting to and fro, delivering books and toothbrushes and pet-grooming devices, and other—”
“Stop right there, Sam!” cried Caroline Moody as she ran across the green. Jimmy Choi was running right beside her, huffing and puffing.
“How many small children are going to interrupt me, today, I wonder?” said Nils Winroth, frowning.
“Sam Gibbs has Hamstersaurus Rex in his pocket!” yelled Jimmy Choi and Julie Bailey in unison.
The crowd of mostly Horace Hotwater middle schoolers and parents gasped.
“Let the record show that Julie and I simultaneously reported this information,” cried Jimmy Choi, “and thus believe that it’s entirely reasonable for us to receive two separate three-hundred-dollar checks in our own names!”
“Mr. Gibbs, is this true?” cried Principal Truitt. “Do you have the rogue hamster that nearly destroyed our school with you, at this very moment?”
The copter was hovering lower now, barely ten feet off the ground. It was wobbling toward Nils Winroth in the wind.
“Yes, I do,” I said, “but that’s not what’s important!”
“It wasn’t Hamstersaurus Rex that did the attacks, Principal Truitt. He’s not the dangerous one,” cried Martha. “You can trust me because I don’t have a history of fabricating fanciful stories, like Sam.”
“Mr. Winroth, please,” I cried, “for your own sake, don’t let that quadcopter get near you!”
“No need to have fear, young ones,” said Nils Winroth, reaching out to it, “this little flying copter is the future of—”
Hamstersaurus Rex vs. Squirrel Kong Page 12
