Table of Contents
Title Page
Table of Contents
Photo
Dedication
Copyright
1. "What Are You Doing?"
2. The Ultimate Spy Test
3. What Does Underwear Have to Do with Camouflage?
4. Fancy Meeting You Here
5. "Punish Us Now. Please."
6. Taking It Like a Man
7. Trapped Again
For Cooper and Alyssa,
who taught me a thing or two
—S. G.
For Peter
—M. W.
Clarion Books a Houghton Mifflin Company imprint 215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003 Text copyright © 2001 by Stephanie Greene Illustrations copyright © 2001 by Martha Weston First Clarion paperback edition, 2005.
The text was set in 13.5-point Palatino. The illustrations were executed in pencil. All rights reserved.
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003.
www.houghtonmifflinbooks .com
Printed in the U.S.A.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Greene, Stephanie.
Owen Foote, super spy / by Stephanie Greene; illustrated by Martha Weston.
p. cm.
Summary: Owen and his friends decide that spying on the school principal at his own house will be a fun challenge. ISBN 0-618-11752-0 [1. Spies—Fiction. 2. Honesty—Fiction. 3. School principals—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction. 5. Humorous stories.] I. Weston, Martha, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.G8434 Oyf 2001
[Fic]—dc21 00060341
CIP AC
CL ISBN-13:978-0-618-11752-9 CL ISBN-10: 0-618-11752-0
PA ISBN-13:978-0-618-55159-0 PA ISBN-10: 0-618-55159-X
eISBN 978-0-547-56309-1
v1.1012
1. "What Are You Doing?"
"Dad will never see me."
"Owen?" said Mrs. Foote. She sounded amazed. "What are you doing?"
Owen walked toward the kitchen table. He had on his too-big green fishing vest with a million pockets, a green T-shirt, and green pants. On his head, he was wearing his new camouflage headgear.
"Are those Dad's boxer shorts?" said his mom.
"They had a hole in them," said Owen. He shifted the headgear up so that the eyeholes were over his eyes again and not his nose. He didn't want to trip and ruin how cool he looked. "Dad won't care."
Mr. Foote's white boxer shorts were covered with dabs of dark green and light green paint. There were brown dabs, too, and a strip of bright red around the top.
Two empty leg holes flopped down over Owen's ears.
"Isn't it great?" he said. "If we were outside right now, you could hardly see me."
Owen whipped the shorts off his head and put them on the table in front of his mother. "Pretty realistic, huh?"
His mom didn't say anything. But from the way her eyebrows were raised high above her eyes, Owen could tell she was impressed.
"Is that the waistband?" she said finally. She pointed to the strip of red elastic.
Owen nodded. "I cut it off and sewed it on top to hold the thing on, but it keeps slipping down. I have to sew it tighter."
He slipped the shorts over his head again and stared out at her. "I'm going to try it out on Dad."
"Do I see what I think I see?"
Lydia, Owen's sister, was standing in the kitchen door with a horrified expression on her face. "Are those Dad's boxer shorts?"
"Lydia ..." warned their mom.
"I can't stand it." Lydia staggered into the kitchen and fell into a chair as if she had been mortally wounded. "My brother's wearing underwear on his head."
She raised her hands to the ceiling. "Why me?" she cried. "Why am I the only person in the world who has Owen for a brother?" She put her head down on her arms and made loud sobbing noises.
Mrs. Foote started to laugh.
"It's not funny, Mom," said Owen. The eyeholes slipped down over his cheeks and nose again. "Darn!" He whipped the camouflage off. "I can't get this thing tight enough."
"You know what the worst thing about this is, Owen?" said Lydia. "You think it's perfectly normal. You don't see anything wrong with wearing your father's underwear on your head. You think everyone does. And if they don't, you think they should."
"Lydia, that's enough." Mrs. Foote put her hand on Owen's shoulder. "I'm sorry I laughed, Owen. It's really very creative. But why did you paint the waistband red? Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose of camouflage?"
"It's supposed to be like the property line."
His mom looked blank.
"You know the red tape they tie around trees to mark a property line?" Owen said. "That's how they marked the line at the house Mr. Gallo's building. Joseph and me are going to spy on the builders, so I painted the waistband the same color."
"Joseph and I," said Mrs. Foote.
"You're going out in public like that?" said Lydia.
"That way, if they see me move," said Owen, ignoring her, "they'll think it's the property line."
"The moving property line?" Lydia shook her head, as if every new word out of Owen's mouth was more incredible than the one before. "I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"If this thing works the way I think it will," said Owen, "I can probably sell some to the government."
"Right, Owen. That's what this country really needs," said Lydia. "The CIA walking around with recycled underwear on their heads."
Mrs. Foote went and stood in front of the sink. They could see her shoulders shaking.
"It's not funny, Mom," Lydia said indignantly. "When you laugh like that, you only encourage him."
"You two don't know anything," Owen said disgustedly. "You should try spying sometime. It's the coolest thing in the world."
"I'm sorry, Owen." His mom turned around to face him. "It's just that sometimes you amaze me. You really do."
"He's always been like this," said Lydia. "Remember when he was little? He used to come into the room and put his hands over his eyes and say, 'You can't see me.' When he was standing right there, in plain sight."
"I did?" said Owen. "What a weirdo."
"You were such a comical little boy," said Mrs. Foote.
"Well, he's not that little anymore," Lydia said grimly. "You have to make him stay inside when he's wearing that, Mom, or we'll be the laughingstock of the whole town."
"Are you joking?" Owen snatched his headgear off the table in case Lydia tried to grab it. "I spent a lot of time working on this thing. I can hardly wait to put it into action."
"What are you hoping to see the builders do?" said his mom.
"I don't know." Owen shrugged. "Stuff."
"You'll see stuff, all right," said Lydia. "You'll see them falling off their ladders, they'll be laughing so hard."
"You wait," said Owen. "I'm good. I spied on Dad last weekend when he was working in his garden. I was about three feet away, and he never even knew I was there."
"When Dad's working in his garden, a spaceship could land next to him and he wouldn't notice it," Lydia said.
Lydia was right. It was very annoying.
"Oh, yeah? Well, what about yesterday?" he said. "When you were baby-sitting the Sweets. I saw what happened."
"Something happened at the Sweets'?" said Mrs. Foote.
"No. He's making it up."
"I am, am I?" Owen raised both eyebrows.
"Lydia, why didn't you tell me?" Their mom sounded worried.
"Because nothing happened," said Lydia. She tucked her hair behind her ears.
Good.
Owen smirked. She's getting mad.
Lydia glared at Owen through slitty eyes. "Tell her, Owen," she said.
"Ohhhh, no." Owen waved his hands in front of his face as if he didn't want any part of the trouble Lydia was about to get into. "I'm not going to be the one to tell her."
"Would someone please tell me what happened at the Sweets'!" yelled Mrs. Foote.
"Gee, Mom, calm down," Owen said. "Nothing happened. But if it had"—he slipped his headgear back on—"Owen Foote, Super Spy, would have seen it."
"I told you he was lying!" Lydia made a lunge for him, but Mrs. Foote caught her by her shoulders. Owen stepped neatly behind his mother.
"Make him apologize!" Lydia shouted. Her arms were flailing away on either side of her mother, trying to connect with a small piece of Owen. Mrs. Foote kept a firm grip.
Owen ducked around to the other side of the table. "Apologize for what? I didn't do anything."
"Calm down. Go back upstairs and finish your homework." Mrs. Foote was pushing Lydia gently but firmly out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. "I'll take care of Owen."
"I'll get you for this!" Lydia yelled.
"Go on." Their mom stood at the bottom of the stairs like a sentry to make sure Lydia went all the way to the top.
"Wait till they see you in Dad's underwear! They'll laugh you right out of town!"
Lydia's bedroom door slammed.
His mom came back into the kitchen and gave Owen a level stare. "Why do you have to get her worked up like that?"
"She makes fun of me, I get her in trouble," said Owen. "If you ask me, I think she has a guilty conscience." He started for the back door. "See you later."
"Owen, stop for a minute."
Owen stopped and turned around.
"I'm not sure it's a good idea for you and Joseph to spy on the Gallo house," said his mom. "Mr. Gallo might not like it."
"It's fine," said Owen. "He's Anthony's uncle. Anthony's going to come with us."
He opened the back door. "Besides, no one is going to see us, remember?"
"Well, be careful. I'd hate to see you get into trouble. And, sweetie?"
"What?"
His mom smiled. "Don't worry about what Lydia said. I think you look very nice."
"I do?" Owen's face fell.
He closed the door behind him. Great. The last thing he wanted was to look "nice."
If this thing looked "nice," it was coming off.
Owen peered into the rearview mirror on his dad's car. What was she talking about? he thought with relief. He didn't look nice.
He looked like a forest. Just the way he had planned. Sometimes his mom didn't have a clue.
Owen started to inch his way along the side of the house toward the back yard. He could tell his mom thought he was crazy to think people might do things that were worth spying on. She thought everyone was normal, that no one ever did anything strange or weird.
Owen knew better.
One time, he and Joseph had spied on the Lees, the people who lived next door to Joseph. They were out on their porch with their baby. It looked like a sack of potatoes with a bowling ball on top, as far as Owen could see. But the way Mr. and Mrs. Lee were bouncing it up and down and making goo-goo noises at it, you would have thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
It was a pretty boring thing to spy on. He and Joseph were just about to leave when the baby did the most amazing thing. It threw up, straight out, like water out of a squirt gun.
Vomit hit Mrs. Lee right in the chest.
The way Mr. and Mrs. Lee both froze—with their mouths and eyes wide open—had made Owen and Joseph laugh so hard they'd fallen over each other all the way back to the house.
That was what spies lived for, Owen thought now as he neared the corner of the house. To see someone normal do something incredible.
What was incredible depended on whom he was spying on, of course. Say he was spying on his dad, and his dad burped. That wouldn't be so amazing. His dad burped all the time.
And he wouldn't want to see his mom do something gross like pick her nose. It would be incredible, all right, but even thinking about his own mom doing something disgusting like that made him feel funny.
As for a little kid picking his nose, that was out, too. Little kids picked their noses all the time. Lots of them even ate it, like it was food.
Owen peered cautiously around the corner of the house. Great! His dad was talking to Mr. Bailey, their next-door neighbor. Sneaking up on two people who were talking definitely would be more challenging than sneaking up on one person who was in a trance.
He crouched down and made a dash for the apple tree in the side yard. He reached it and flattened his body against the trunk. He almost expected to hear bullets whizzing by, it felt so exciting.
When he was sure his dad hadn't seen him, he made a dash for another tree. He was so close now he could hear the rumble of their voices.
This was so cool. Maybe he would hear them say something important. Maybe his dad would say, "I think Owen's a genius," or "We've decided to buy Owen a dirt bike for his birthday."
The smell of paint was strong in his nostrils. The jagged edges of the underwear were blurry lines out of the corner of his eyes.
He felt invisible.
Unfortunately, he wasn't. Like a spy's worst nightmare, Major, his dog, came charging around the corner of the house.
Owen froze.
Major pounced on a yellow tennis ball lying in the grass. He tossed it up in the air. He rolled over on the ground and scratched his back against the grass. He flipped back over onto his feet.
Then he looked straight at Owen.
Owen did his best to look like a tree, but it was no good. Major came bounding across the yard and made a flying leap right for him. He put his paws on Owen's chest. He panted his smelly dog breath in Owen's face.
"Down, boy!" Owen whispered. He pushed on Major's head. "Down!"
Major's tail was wagging so hard it was as if he hadn't seen Owen in a hundred years. Owen picked up a stick and threw it as hard as he could.
Major went after it.
Owen peered out from behind the tree. His dad was leaning on his rake, talking. Mr. Bailey had his head bent, listening. Owen dropped to his knees and scrambled closer behind an azalea bush.
"I used to use 5-10-5," he heard his dad say. "Then I switched to 15-30-15."
"15-30-15? I'll have to give it a try," said Mr. Bailey. "I use 30-30-30 on our flowers. Our peonies are as big as footballs."
Owen groaned.
Fertilizer. He should have known. His dad could talk about fertilizer for hours. There was a race in their house to see who could get out of the room fastest when his dad got on the subject of fertilizer.
Owen was almost glad when Major came running back. He dropped the stick in Owen's lap and stood there waiting for more. Owen scratched him behind his ears.
"Sorry to break this up, John," Mr. Bailey said suddenly, "but I've got to take Allison to the dentist."
Thank heavens for Allison and her rotten teeth! thought Owen. He pushed Major's head off his lap and got up onto his knees.
Mr. Bailey was walking away across his lawn. Mr. Foote was bending down to pick up the watering can. "Hi, Owen," he said. He didn't turn around.
Darn!
Owen pulled off his camouflage and stood up. "How long did you know I was there?"
"Since Major started attacking the tree. I figured he had either become an avid arborist or you were hiding behind it."
"I was practicing my spy techniques," said Owen. "I made it all the way across the yard without your knowing."
He balled his camouflage up and stuffed it in his pocket. It was one thing to have his mom laugh at it. He wanted to make sure all the kinks were worked out before he showed it to his dad.
"You can practice on me anytime," said Mr. Foote.
"Thanks, but you're kind of boring," said Owen. "Nothing personal."
He could hear his
dad laughing as he headed back toward the house. He wanted to tighten the elastic on his headgear before he showed it to Joseph. And he needed to jot down a few observations about the spy business.
Like how important it was to pick the right person to spy on. And what a spy should do if the person was really boring. Maybe he could invent some way for him and Joseph to talk to each other without actually speaking. Some kind of Morse code.
Owen stopped. Morse code. It was perfect. He had a book in his room about Samuel Morse, the man who invented the Morse code. There was a list of the dots and dashes assigned to each letter of the alphabet in the back.
But how could they communicate in dots and dashes without making any noise? He made his way across the yard, deep in thought.
And then it came to him.
They could blink. That would do it.
Owen blinked his left eye experimentally. One blink of the left eye for "a," one blink of the right eye for "b."
Then maybe two blinks of the left eye for "c." Owen blinked his way hurriedly into the house. When he tripped on the lower step trying to blink both eyes for "e," he made a mental note.
Spies could blink, or they could walk. They shouldn't try to blink and walk at the same time.
2. The Ultimate Spy Test
"What did you just say?"
"I said, "How are you?'"
"Oh." Owen frowned. "Why would a spy want to ask another spy how they were?"
"I don't know," said Joseph. "I couldn't think of anything else to say."
"Oh," said Owen again. He thought for a minute. "Maybe we shouldn't have dots and dashes for every letter," he said finally. "Maybe we should have them for whole sentences."
"That might be better," Joseph said. He rubbed his eyes. "My eyelids were getting kind of tired."
Owen looked at the list of international Morse code symbols he'd copied from his book. "This is worthless," he said decisively. He took two new pieces of paper from his drawer. "Let's both make a list, so we can practice at home in the mirror and stuff."
He handed a piece to Joseph. "Now. What do we need to say to one another when we're spying?"
Owen Foote, Super Spy Page 1
