by Zoe Quinn
I'm working on it, I thought.
I reached Main Street at the height of the morning rush. The sidewalk was busy with people heading to work, carrying huge cardboard cups of expensive coffee.
I marched up to Grandpa just as he was unlocking the front door of Speedy Cleaners.
I got right to the point: “Okay, I don't really get the difference between dodging a proton-charged death ray and deflecting a semiseismic brain melt.”
Unfortunately, a woman in a business suit overheard me; she stopped in her tracks, nearly spilling her cappuccino, and stared at me with wide eyes.
I gave her a bright smile. “Science test,” I explained.
The woman continued to gape in disbelief.
“She's in the advanced class,” Grandpa added calmly.
The woman hurried off.
“Nice save,” I told Grandpa.
“You wouldn't have needed saving,” Grandpa said sternly, “if you'd been a little more careful.”
“Sorry.”
Grandpa's expression softened into a smile as he held the door open for me.
“I seem to recall that when I was studying for my first superhero test, I had a little trouble understanding the distinction between brain melts and death rays myself.” He chuckled. “You see, it all has to do with the proton projection— and of course, what the bad guy ate for breakfast is always a factor….”
The door to Speedy Cleaners closed behind us, and for all the pedestrians outside knew, it was just another ordinary shop on Main Street.
Grandpa walked toward the back room. I followed him, resisting the urge to hurdle the tall counter.
“First things first,” said Grandpa. He flashed a grin at me. “Will you lift the pressing machine for me and move it over there?”
“Sure,” I said, easily hoisting the huge metal piece of equipment and carrying it across the room.
I lowered the presser carefully. “Here?”
“Perfect,” said Grandpa. He ruffled my hair. “Thank you, Zoe.”
He motioned for me to sit as he plugged in the presser and turned on the steam. “Now,” he said, “about those death rays…”
Fourth period. History.
Ms. Krangle was lecturing about Patrick Henry and some speech he made back around the time of the Revolutionary War.
“Psst.”
I turned to my best friend, Emily Huang, who sat in the desk next to me. She was looking straight ahead, but her hand was dangling down beside her chair. She clutched a folded piece of loose-leaf paper between her fingers.
Keeping a casual expression, I gave my pencil a nudge, which sent it rolling across the desktop and over the edge to the floor.
I leaned down to retrieve the pencil, snatched the note from Emily's grasp, and was upright again in a split second (not a superhero skill, just a sixth-grade-note-passing skill). I unfolded the note.
It sounded like fun. But I'd just promised my mother I'd help her with her meeting on Sunday. I wrote back to Emily:
I refolded the note and placed it on the corner of my desk. When Ms. Krangle wasn't looking, I slipped it to Emily under our desks. She glanced at me and gave a little smile as she grabbed the note in a lightning-fast motion. Six years of note passing sure had taught us a thing or two—we were champs.
I watched out of the corner of my eye while Emily unfolded the note. Her grin faded as soon as she read the first word. She picked up her pen and wrote something under my reply, but she didn't bother to pass it to me. Instead, she tilted the paper up so I could read the message, which she'd written in large, bold letters:
YOU'RE BUSY—AGAIN?
I guess I couldn't blame her for being disappointed. I'd been making lots of excuses since the superhero thing began. I wrote back quickly:
Emily read the note, then giggled quietly. She turned to me with a smile and mouthed the words
Okay, so maybe the universe wasn't exactly in danger. But still…
At the front of the room, Ms. Krangle had plunked a tricorner hat on her head and was standing on a chair, wildly swinging one fist above her head (trust me—if you knew Ms. Krangle, this would not surprise you one bit). She was bellowing dramatically, “Give me liberty, or… give… me…”
Her eyes scanned the room from beneath the brim of her patriotic headwear. When her gaze fell on Howie, she fixed him with a questioning look.
“Um …” Howie gulped. “Lunch?”
Ms. Krangle folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “Give me liberty or give me lunch?.”
“No, ma'am.” Howie pointed to the clock above the chalkboard. “I meant it's time for lunch.”
Ms. Krangle shoved the hat back from her forehead and eyed the clock. “Ah. So it is.” She climbed down from the chair, removed the hat, and smiled at us. “Class dismissed.”
gathered up my books and followed Emily out of the classroom.
“Hey, I'm sorry if I sounded snippy back there,” Emily said. “You know… that second part of the note.”
I shrugged. “It's okay.”
We reached my locker. As I worked the combination, Emily leaned against the locker next to mine.”It's just that it seems like we never hang out anymore, ya know?” She gave me a nervous look. “Are you mad at me?”
“No!” I answered quickly. “Of course not.” I tugged open the metal door of my locker. “I mean, I miss doing stuff with you. But now that I'm twelve …”
… my super powers are kicking in and it's up to me to continue my family's heroic legacy as Zachary “Zip” Richards's granddaughter….
“… my parents expect me to take on more responsibility at home.”
Again, mostly true.
Emily sighed. “I know exactly what you mean. My twelfth birthday isn't for two months and my dad already expects me to empty the dishwasher.”
I couldn't stop myself from giggling. I was talking about protecting the universe, not washing the dishes, but of course, there was no way to explain that to Emily. I was just glad she understood.
“I have an idea,” I said, removing my lunch bag from my locker and swinging the door closed. “Why don't you come over to my house on Sunday? For the meeting.”
Emily looked wary. “The meeting, huh?”
As we started down the corridor, I could tell she was remembering the last time she attended one of my mother's activist meetings. It was to raise animal rights awareness, and the cochairperson put Em and me on two straight hours of envelope-stuffing duty. Emily had hated it. I mean, she likes animals as much as the next kid, but even I had to admit that the stuffing job was way boring!
“What's the deal?” she asked. “What's so dangerous about this factory?”
“Mom's heard they're doing stuff that might be bad for the environment,” I replied. “Pumping toxic waste or something.”
I could see in Emily's eyes that she knew this was a big deal, but before she could comment, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned and came face to face with Josh Devlin. He was so close I could actually see the gold flecks in his green eyes!
“I heard about the factory, too,” he said. “I rode my bike out there yesterday to see if I could find out anything, but I couldn't get past the gate.”
I was momentarily sidetracked by an image of Josh coasting along on his bicycle with the sun on his face and the wind in his hair….
Emily gave me a little nudge in the ribs. I blinked and made myself pay attention.
“Anyway my mom's going to your mom's meeting, and I was thinking I might go, too.” He glanced away, then back. “That is, unless it would bother you if I… ya know… tagged along.”
I forced myself not to yelp with delight. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?”
“I don't know.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was afraid you might think it was… kind of… you know… weird. For me to come to your house. Not that your house is weird, but…”
I knew exactly what he meant: in sixth grade, hav
ing a boy come to your house—even for a meeting about toxic waste— could cause big-time gossip. People might think Josh and I were an item or something. I could hear them now: “Oooooooh! Zoe and Josh sittin' in a tree …” and junk like that. So immature! Besides, it wasn't like Josh was coming by to hang out with me; he'd be coming to the meeting because of his concerns about environmental stuff.
Josh's teeth were unbelievably, perfectly, amazingly straight. I heard myself ask, “Do you think it would be weird?”
“No, not really.” He was looking directly into my eyes now. “Do you?”
It was thoughtful of him to check with me. He knew as well as I did that sixth graders could take something like this and run with it. But if Josh was willing to risk rumors about us being Sweetbriar Middle School's next big couple for the sake of the environment, then so was I. We could be courageous together.
“Nope.” I swallowed hard and shook my head. “I think it would be very… you know… not weird.”
Josh smiled.
I smiled.
Emily rolled her eyes.
“Well, I've got to get going,” said Josh. “See ya later.”
“See ya.”
I watched him walk away, all the way down the hall until he turned the corner. Then I looked back at Emily, feeling dazed. “Josh Devlin is coming to my house on Sunday.”
“Yeah.” Emily quirked her lips into a grin. “I got that.”
There was a tumble in my stomach that was part excitement, part panic. “What if it's … you know… weird?”
“Please!” Emily laughed. “Let's not start that again, okay?”
“Right. Sorry.”
We began walking in the direction of her locker. “I guess I won't be at the meeting after all,” she said matter-of-factly
“What do you mean?”
“Well…”Emily smiled.”As your best friend, I feel it's my duty to give you some quality alone time with your extremely crush-able crush.”
I rolled my eyes. “Alone. Right. Just me, Mr. Crush, and a million moms.” I laughed, then added honestly, “To tell you the truth, that's plenty alone enough for me!”
“Whatever,” said Emily. “It will be great.”
We reached her locker; she twirled the lock and pulled at the door once… twice. Stuck, as usual.
Absently, I reached in front of her, took hold of the handle and gave a tug. I hadn't meant to use my superstrength, but I guess I accidentally did because the door gave way and crashed open so hard that it dented the locker next to it.
Emily looked at me strangely.
“You must have loosened it up,” I fibbed, and quickly shifted the subject back to Sunday's meeting. “So you're sure you don't want to come? We were just saying we never get together anymore….”
“Zoe, chill!” Emily's expression was utterly genuine. “I'm completely cool with it.”
I gave her a huge best-friend hug.
“All right,” I said. “But next weekend, we're going to do something way best friend-ish. A sleepover, maybe. Or shopping.”
“Did somebody say shopping?” Caitlin Abbott was heading toward us, looking like she'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine. She was dressed in one of the funkiest outfits I'd ever seen: lime green flared jeans with a rhinestone belt and a zip-front sweater with oversized faux-fur cuffs. For some reason, the cuffs on her sweater made me think of the costume she'd worn in the play. She'd said that the cuffs were way too long and that she'd used these giant scissors to fix them, but it turned out that she'd lied about shortening the sleeves herself. Something about that had always made me feel a little funny. What had she really been doing with those scissors? But I was in such a good mood I decided not to dwell on it.
Caitlin was giving us her prettiest smile. “My aunt is taking me to the new mall in Templeton Heights this Sunday. Anybody wanna come along?” She looked from Emily to me, then back to Emily. “They've got all the best stores and a food court that's so big it almost has its own zip code.”
Emily gave me an awkward look.
“This Sunday?” I asked glumly.
Caitlin nodded. “They're having all kinds of grand opening sales.”
“Thanks anyway Caitlin,” I said. “I can't make it.” I nodded to Emily. “But you should go.”
Caitlin turned to me with a sympathetic sigh. “Maybe you can come next time, Zoe.”
I was about to say that I'd like that, but she turned back to Emily as though she'd already forgotten what she'd just said. “Walk with me to my locker, and we'll plan our shopping strategy.”
“Okay.” Emily pulled her lunch pack out of her locker. “Do you mind, Zoe?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. I hear there are forty-seven shoe stores on the first floor alone. You're gonna need all the strategy you can get.”
“We'll see you at the lunch tables, then!”
They took off down the hall and I headed the other way, toward the doors that led outside. I couldn't blame Emily for wanting to go to the mall.
But I could feel a little left out.
And I could feel more than a little nervous, because there was something about Caitlin that made me suspicious.
I could… and I did.
But by the time next weekend rolled around, my superhero exam would be behind me (I hoped I'd pass with flying colors), and I'd be spending some quality time with my BFF. Unless, of course, some extreme villain got his death ray up and running, or I got called away to some far-off planet to prevent an alien invasion.
But I wasn't going to dwell on that, either.
n Saturday afternoon, I was in my room studying for the superhero test when Mom called up the stairs.
“Zoe, will you please come down here for a moment?”There was a chuckle in her voice. “You have a visitor.”
I tucked the manual into the drawer of my night table and went downstairs.
“Who is it?” I asked, hopping with both feet onto the lowest landing.
“Well,” said Mom, making a sweeping gesture with her arm toward the foyer,” I think it's your grandfather… but it's difficult to be certain.”
Sure enough, a man stood in the middle of the entry hall, holding a big tackle box in one hand and clutching a fishing pole in the other. He was dressed head to toe in outdoor gear— a gray nylon vest with about a zillion pockets on it, a pair of tall, green rubber wading boots, and a floppy canvas hat with fishing lures pinned to its brim, which hung down so low over his face that I couldn't see his eyes or his nose. I laughed out loud. “Grandpa Zack, is that you under there?”
“What's with the getup?”
Grandpa put down the tackle box and pushed his hat back. “Did you forget about our fishing trip?”
“Um … well…” I hadn't forgotten about our fishing trip because we hadn't planned any fishing trip. But he winked at me, and I knew I was expected to play along with the charade. “Yes. I forgot all about it.”
“Well, throw on an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I closed the shop early, I've got plenty of bait, and I know a great spot along the Sweetbriar River where the fish practically jump out of the water and into your hands.”
“Then what do we need bait for?” I joked.
Mom laughed. “I think it sounds like fun, as long as you're planning to follow the catch-and-release rule. So where is this amazing fishing spot?”
“Oh, it's way out past the town limits,” replied Grandpa. “At the end of Shady Bank Road.”
“Really?” Mom was suddenly on alert. “Near the detergent factory?”
I shot Grandpa a look.
he answered.
“Hey, Mom,” I said quickly, before she could start making a big deal about the location, “do you think you could fix Grandpa and me a couple of sandwiches for the trip while I go get changed?”
“Good idea,” said Grandpa. “I work up an appetite when I go fishing.”
After Mom had disappeared into the kitchen to prepare our feast, I whispered to Grandpa, “W
hat's up?”
“Training exercises. And we're going to need lots of room.” He gave the zipper on his fishing vest a little tug. “Lots of room.”
“Oh.” That sounded… challenging. “So the fishing expedition is just a cover?”
Grandpa nodded, and I could feel the excitement rush through me. This was real secret agent-type stuff. We were establishing a cover. Cool.
I hurried up the stairs to change. After a quick search of my closet, I chose a pair of holey blue jeans and a faded old sweatshirt. Then I quickly wound my hair into two loose braids and slapped a frayed ball cap on my head. I sure didn't look like a superhero-in-training; I looked like a kid going fishing with her grandpa. Perfect!
“I'm ready!” I cried, clattering back down the stairs. “Fish, beware!
Mom had returned from the kitchen and was holding a picnic basket. “You'11 have to be a lot quieter than that if you expect to catch anything,” she advised.
“I'll be quiet,” I told her, to keep from blowing my cover. I took the picnic basket and kissed her good-bye. “In fact, I'll be superquiet.”
Grandpa's secret spot had nothing to do with fishing. It was a place on the outskirts of town where the span of the Sweetbriar River was at its widest—nearly fifty feet across from one grassy bank to the other. We stood on the woodsy side; the other bank opened into a broad stretch of grassy meadow that was usually dappled with thousands of purple and pink wildflowers.
“Where are the flowers?” I wondered aloud, frowning across the field at the ugly gray factory in the distance.
“Huh?” Grandpa was busy surveying the width of the river. “What flowers?”
“The ones that used to grow wild in the meadow. Look.”
He gave a quick glance over his shoulder, then did a double take. “You're right,” he said, shading his eyes from the bright sunshine and scanning the expanse.
There was not a single petal in sight, just dry grass and brown stems with dead leaves and shriveled heads.
It was a depressing scene. I turned away. It seemed that Mom's hunch about the factory was a good one; even without proof, it wasn't much of a jump to imagine that something connected with the factory could be the cause of the dead flowers. I made a mental note to mention it at tomorrow's meeting.
