“Ah!” I dropped the shovel and wiped at my cheek. Little pieces of snow trickled down. I spun and glared at Ryan. “What was that for?”
“I asked you a question and you didn’t hear me,” he said, wiping a hand on his board shorts. “And now my fingers are numb.”
“Serves you right!” I said. “What do you want?”
“What are you listening to?” he asked.
I stared at him. “Are you seriously trying to make small talk while you’re blackmailing me?”
Ryan shrugged. “I’m bored.”
“So go inside and watch TV,” I said, picking up the shovel. “I’m not here to chitchat. I’m here to cross items off your stupid list.”
Ryan opened his mouth to respond but then paused, tilting his head to one side, as if listening for something. His eyes widened, and he threw the contents of his cup on the snow. Then he recapped the thermos and scrambled out of his chair.
“Hand me the shovel,” he said.
“What?” He didn’t even wait for me to comply before yanking it out of my hand. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just shut up and sit in the lawn chair!” he said with such force that I was momentarily startled into sitting.
Snow started flying left and right from Ryan’s shovel as he cleared the walkway. A moment later, a car appeared around the corner and pulled up the drive.
I watched in fascination as a stout woman in a waitress’s uniform stepped out and scowled at Ryan.
“Hey, Aunt Sue!” Ryan said with a nervous smile. “I thought you’d be at work all day.”
“What on Earth are you doing in those clothes? You’ll catch pneumonia!” She charged up the driveway toward him, and for a second, Ryan looked as if he might use the shovel as a shield.
But the woman paused when she saw me in the lawn chair. “Oh! You have company.”
“Uh . . . yeah.” I got to my feet and extended my hand. “Tim Antonides. Your nephew and I are working on a science project, actually.”
I shouldn’t have covered for Ryan; I should’ve let him squirm and suffer. Something told me, though, that Ryan and his aunt already had a pretty rocky relationship. I wasn’t going to be the guy to make it worse.
“Antonides, did you say?” she asked, shaking my hand. “You can call me Sue.” She looked from the lawn chair to her shivering nephew clutching the shovel. “What kind of science project is this?”
“Uh . . . ,” I began.
“Thermodynamics,” supplied Ryan.
I was surprised he even knew that word, and more important, that it was an excuse that made sense. Of course, I was also surprised he’d managed to create a humiliating video of me, so . . .
Sue nodded as if thermodynamics were the only thing it could be. “Well, have you done enough research? You’re turning blue, and it’s not a good color on you,” she told Ryan.
He ducked his head and then mumbled, “Yes, Aunt Sue.”
“In the house, then, both of you.” She gripped one of his shoulders and turned him toward the door. “And hurry it up. I only came home to grab my badge. Can’t waste time.”
I hesitated for a moment before I followed, sighing deeply. Cleaning Ryan’s room was on my list of chores, anyway.
“Did you offer your guest any snacks?” Sue asked Ryan as we approached the kitchen. She grabbed a badge off the counter and clipped it to her shirt.
He shook his head. “I was going to, though,” he said.
After he was done pelting me with snowballs. Sure.
Sue held an open cookie jar out to me. “I’m known for my prizewinning snickerdoodles.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking one.
Sue tossed one to Ryan and put the jar back. “All right, I’m leaving. Stay out of trouble.” She pointed at Ryan and then walked back outside. Ryan’s entire body relaxed, and he hurried to the peephole in the front door to watch her go.
I followed him and cleared my throat, holding up my blackmail list and a pencil. “So can we call that chore done or . . . ?”
He spun around, all serious and strong again. “It’s done. Time for chore number two: clean my bedroom.” He led the way back to the kitchen and opened a cabinet under the sink. “You’ll need these,” he said, pulling out a supply caddy.
I pocketed my list, on which I’d just scratched out my latest task, and studied the contents of the basket he handed to me. “Um . . . are these mousetraps?”
“Yeah, something’s been eating the toast I keep on my nightstand.”
“Why—” I shook my head. “Never mind. Any other wildlife I should be aware of? Should I set a bear trap or two?”
“Nope. Oh, but if you come across any spiders, add them to my spider jar.” Ryan wandered into his living room and flopped down onto the couch.
I followed. “Spider jar?” I repeated, the hairs on my neck standing on end.
He nodded. “Yeah, jar. If they’re in a box, they can get out easier.”
“Uh . . .” I opened my mouth and then closed it, trudging upstairs. Below me I could hear him turn on the TV. “Even if I was getting paid, no amount of money would be worth this,” I mumbled to myself.
And then I opened the door to his room.
“Whoa! No amount!” I cringed and backed away.
From the living room, I could hear Ryan chuckling.
Forget the supply caddy. The best way to clean this place would be to just burn it down and start over. I’d worn my boots to handle the snow, but I was grateful to have them on now as I stepped on fast-food wrappers and kicked a T-shirt aside. There was no telling what could’ve crawled up my pants leg.
“Do you have a laundry bag?” I called out the bedroom door. In a softer voice I added, “Or a blowtorch?”
I pulled on a pair of rubber gloves I’d found in the cleaning caddy and started gathering clothes into a pile, picking them up from the floor or lifting them off various items. The only thing he hadn’t used as a clothes rack was his computer.
I dropped the shoe I was holding.
Ryan’s computer.
When he’d filmed me with his phone, he’d no doubt transferred the video there so he could blur my face. That meant the copy showing my identity was on the hard drive! If I could access his computer, I could erase it and, if I was lucky, even remove it from his data cloud.
One step closer to regaining my freedom.
I tiptoed to his bedroom door and closed it, kicking a shirt underneath to jam it. Then I dropped the cleaning caddy and hurried to the computer, booting it up. The motor whirred and the login screen appeared.
“Shoot,” I whispered.
His password could be almost anything, and I knew nothing about him. But there was also no way a kid who had an aunt like Sue could get away with total privacy.
I opened Ryan’s desk drawer and rifled through the papers and pencils and random Skittles inside. Nothing.
I bent to pick up a paper that had fallen when I saw something taped to the side of his computer.
“Bingo,” I said, straightening up. I typed in what I’d seen, and the computer finished its booting process. For just a second I paused to listen for any outside noises before searching through his recent files. “Aha!”
I completely cleared the file off his computer and data cloud (thank you, auto login!). Then, for good measure, I also changed the password on his computer before powering it down. All I had left to do was get his phone from him.
I waded back across the room, opened the door, and called out, “Hey, Ryan? All your spiders got loose.”
“What?” In less than a minute he was standing in the doorway. “What’d you do?”
His phone wasn’t with him. Good sign.
I shrugged. “Sorry. I’ll grab a second jar and some spider food. I think I saw a dead fly on the living room windowsill.”
I strolled casually out the door, but as soon as I was around the corner, I raced down to the living room. Ryan’s phone had been tossed aside on the couch.
“Please no password, please no password,” I mumbled, picking it up.
As soon as I turned it on, I was in.
With a relieved sigh and a jackhammering heart, I clicked on his photo album.
There was the original video.
A fanfare played in my head as I deleted the video, followed by the roar of an imaginary crowd. I stood a little taller and threw back my shoulders.
Nobody messed with Tim Antonides and got away with it.
“Hey, Ryan? I’ve got some news for you!” I marched back to his room and found him sitting at his computer with a full jar of spiders.
“Geez!” I recoiled when he held them up.
“The spiders are all here,” he said. “But my desk is a mess.”
“That’s because it’s part of your room,” I said.
Ryan placed the jar of spiders on the desk and swiveled in his chair to face me. “You must think I’m pretty stupid.”
“That depends,” I said. “What’s the scale we’re working with?”
He crossed his arms. “I sent the original video to my computer using email.”
His email. It turned out I was the one who was pretty stupid.
I groaned and rubbed my forehead. “I didn’t even think of that.”
Ryan leaned forward. “And the password is only available up here.” He tapped his skull. “You can’t get rid of the video, and I can pull it up whenever I want.”
I stepped toward him. “Look, Ryan . . .”
“I’m giving you a warning.” He pointed at me. “But only because you kept me out of trouble with my aunt. If you ever mess with my stuff again, I’ll make sure the original video goes not just to the school but to the entire world.” Ryan got up and gestured to the desk chair. “Now reset my password and finish cleaning this room.”
Without another word, he picked up his jar of spiders and left.
And I was right back where I’d started.
I worked straight through the morning and half the afternoon to get the room looking decent. Ryan saw it and grunted, but I took that to mean he was satisfied, so I crossed it off my list. Three down, two to go.
When I called Mom to pick me up, I asked her to bring a foot-long sub and a bottle of hand sanitizer. She didn’t even ask why. I guess having a son who plays sports will do that to you.
While I waited I retrieved my backpack, and Ryan weighed it down with his homework.
“I’m really good at Spanish, so don’t mess up,” he said, passing me the bag.
“But I don’t know any Spanish,” I said, shrugging it onto my shoulders.
“You’ve got until Monday to learn,” said Ryan. He turned me around and pushed me toward the door. “See ya!”
I stumbled forward and then glared back at him.
“Two more tasks,” I muttered to myself, walking outside.
Mom pulled up a few minutes later and drove in silence while I scarfed down half the sub before taking a break.
“How was the group project?” she asked, stopping at a light.
“Group project? More like group blahject,” I said with a mouth full of food.
She stared at me. “Really?”
I covered my mouth. “Sorry.”
“Group blahject?” she mused. “That’s the best you can do?”
“Group . . . poor-ject?” I tried again.
She shook her head. “Your father would be so disappointed.”
I grinned. “All right, you do better.”
“Group project? More like group project . . . ile vomit,” she shot back.
I almost choked on my food. “Gross! You’ve been working on that all afternoon, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been batting some ideas around.” Mom glanced down at my bag. “That looks a lot heavier than it did this morning. Like there’s actually stuff in it this time.”
I blushed and concentrated on my food. “It’s just some books he’s letting me borrow.”
Mom patted my leg. “It’s not a crime to hang out with one of the unpopular kids. You don’t have to pretend.”
I snorted. “Thanks. But . . . I don’t think he and I will be hanging out again anytime soon.”
“Why, he heard your group blahject pun?” she asked, making a face.
“Stop it!” I laughed and pushed her.
“Hey, I’m driving!” she said with a grin.
I settled back in my seat. “Mom?”
“What, sweetie?”
I looked up at her and smiled. “Nothing.”
She smiled back. “I love you, too.”
As soon as we made it home, I rushed upstairs and took a shower. Then I closed my bedroom room and settled down with Ryan’s Spanish homework. I had just figured out that the Spanish word for mosquito was mosquito when there was a knock on my door, followed by the appearance of Gabby.
I covered Ryan’s book with some of my own. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Uncle Theo’s here to take us to practice.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Gabby stepped into my room and closed the door behind her. “Because of what happened at school yesterday.”
“Oh, that,” I scoffed. “You can’t even tell it’s me.”
“Yeah,” she said, “but someone was at the studio watching us. Someone from our school! Don’t you want to know who it is?”
I shook my head. “If I did, I’d probably punch them.”
“So it does bother you.” She sat on the floor beside me.
“Of course it does,” I said. “But it’s already happened, and there’s nothing I can do about it. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” I pointed my pencil at her.
She leaned back and put her hands up defensively. “Wasn’t going to. But I did want to know how you planned to stop it from happening again.”
My body went rigid. “You don’t think . . .”
Gabby shrugged. “Whoever it is could make a whole series of videos about you.”
There was another knock on my door, and Uncle Theo poked his head in. “You kids ready to go?”
All I could do was make a grunting noise.
“Tim’s not feeling so great,” said Gabby. “Would it be okay if we practiced without him?”
Uncle Theo’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “Of course. Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll be okay,” I told him. “I just need some rest.”
He nodded and beckoned to Gabby. “Let’s get going.”
Gabby moved to follow him but paused at the door to tell me, “You need to figure out who sent the video.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. It’s over and done with,” I said.
But it wasn’t.
Not only did I spend the rest of my weekend doing Ryan’s homework, but on Monday someone had distributed the latest issue of the Lincoln Log in the student lounge. I walked into a sea of blurry-faced me, smack in the middle of the front page. I picked up a copy that had been tossed onto a chair.
“What Makes a Video Viral?” was the headline.
“Great,” I muttered.
Berkeley was coming in behind me when he saw the paper.
“Dude, did you see that video?” He pointed to the page, grinning.
“Yeah,” I said with a forced laugh. “Crazy, right?”
“No joke! I didn’t think guys could kick that high.”
“It’s all about flexibility,” I said. Berkeley gave me a curious look, and I stammered, “I—I mean . . . one would think.”
He blinked at me. “Well, listen, I want to make sure you’re still planning on . . . having Ryan presentable at my party.” He cleared his throat. “I saw him in the bus line rolling a sheet of paper into a cone and burping in it.”
“Of course,” I promised. “When you see him he’ll be a completely different person.”
“Cool,” Berkeley said with a grin. “Hey, me and some of the other guy
s are heading outside to cover Mitchell with snow so he can pretend to be a snowman and scare people. Wanna come?”
Before I could answer, someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I saw you—”
“That’s not me! I’m a terrible dancer!” I cried, spinning around.
A girl with messy hair and glasses jumped back, startled. “O-okay. I saw your ad in Locker 411 about gifts for your family?”
“Oh! Sorry!” I laughed nervously and glanced from her to Berkeley, who had raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, just put your request in the locker and—”
The girl shook her head. “You’re standing in front of me. Can’t I just talk to you?”
“Well . . .” I looked around for Brooke, Heather, or Vanessa, hoping to pawn her off on one of them, but before I could get their attention, Berkeley clapped me on the shoulder.
“You do what you gotta do, Tim. I’ll catch you later.”
He trotted off, and I shouted, “Tell everyone I said hey!”
The girl was now shifting from foot to foot in front of me.
“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “How can I help?”
“I need a gift for my sister,” said the girl. “She doesn’t like anything except chickens. Weird, right? I’ve already gotten her chicken pajamas and a Chicken Little hat—”
“How old is your sister?” I interrupted.
“Eighteen.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Ah. Maybe start with slightly older gifts.” I thought for a moment. “Have you ever thought about taking her to a farm to see them for herself?”
The girl’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant! When can you set that up?”
“Set what up?” I repeated.
“The farm visit, duh!” She smacked my arm.
Why are girls always hitting?
“I don’t take care of that,” I said.
She frowned. “But your flyer said if we tell you who we’re shopping for, you’d take care of the rest.”
I sucked air through my teeth. “Yeah, all that means is we’ll give you gift advice.”
“Ohhh.” She reached down and rummaged through her purse. “Well, how much do I owe you for the advice, then?” I saw a flash of green, and for a moment I was tempted to name my price, but one of the rules of our advice column is that we can’t profit from it. In fact, we have an actual rulebook with that written in it.
The Secret Talent Page 5
