“I was really interested to meet James and his grandmother at the party,” Mom tells me, putting aside her phone. “It’s so odd that we didn’t know Mrs. B better before this. She’s lived in that house for nearly twenty years.” She eats a piece of popcorn. “But I guess that’s Northern Virginia for you—no one is out of doors long enough to get to know their neighbors.”
“Or if they are out of doors, they’re smashing your stuff,” I mutter.
Mom gives me a smile. “Have you ever asked Kenny why he smashed the paddle?”
“Mom. His name is Paddle Boy.”
“Okay, okay.” Mom shrugs a little. “Just seems like there might be a story worth telling there.”
I grimace. “He’s evil. There’s nothing to uncover.”
“Anyway. Did you know Mrs. B’s late husband was retired navy?”
I shake my head. “I just knew he died of cancer.”
“Apparently he was injured in a car accident on his way to work, and while he was in recovery he got diagnosed with lung cancer. Never smoked a day in his life, Mrs. B says. But even while he was in chemo, Veterans Affairs refused to compensate him for his injuries. I think there’s a story here that my audience will appreciate.”
Mom does a lot of different sorts of content—Do-It- Yourself guides, recipes, 20-things-you-didn’t-know-about-whatever—but these feature stories are not terrible. Sometimes I even read them. They’re the closest she gets to being kind of like a reporter. “Are you going to do an interview with Mrs. B?”
Mom nods. “Yes, I think so. Maybe in a few days—I need to check what her schedule is like.”
An idea begins to form in my mind. “Do you think you could do it at Riverside Park?”
Mom blinks. “What?”
“If you do it there, it’d be like—atmospheric. With birds and stuff.” The park is on the bike trail my parents and I use on weekends, and it’s only about a five-minute walk from our house. “And also James is doing photography of wildlife around here, and I think there’s an eagle nest near the park. So he could come, too.”
Mom nods slowly. “Not that I have anything against the man, but why do I need James Wilson to be present…?”
I shrug casually. Just because he blew it at Little Hunting Jr., and at the house party, doesn’t mean I can’t give the poor guy another shot. “Because maybe Aunt Lexie and I could go on a bike ride that day.”
“Aha.” Mom taps the side of her nose. “Well, I think that could certainly be arranged.”
I smile and throw a handful of my popcorn into my mouth. Paddle Boy might be onto the secret studio story (though it is suspiciously secret for something so boring), but one thing’s for sure: No one makes stories happen like Nadia Quick.
Chapter 7
GIRL REPORTER SAVES DAY, NOT DATE
Aunt Lexie suspects nothing.
We started out on the ride Friday afternoon. She borrowed my mom’s bike, and I’m on my own with Wonder Dog attached via her dog-friendly biking leash. My family regularly goes on rides along the Mount Vernon Trail, sometimes to Old Town Alexandria, and sometimes we even veer off to visit Washington, DC. Today, Aunt Lexie and I go about a mile and then turn back around to return to Riverside Park.
“I know I said I want to exercise more,” Aunt Lexie pants, coming up beside me on the trail, “but maybe I should wait until winter!”
I snicker. This heat is wimpy. Clouds gather on the horizon, dark blue and gray and angry. More thunderstorms tonight, probably. But none of this is anywhere close to the weather down in the real South.
“Is your mom still doing this?” Aunt Lexie asks. “Biking—and stuff?”
“Yeah, sure.” I shrug. “We did a short route last week.”
Aunt Lexie frowns. “Hmm.”
I glance over at her. Her face is red and shiny. “Why?”
She slows to fall behind me as we approach some walkers. “No reason.”
We come around a bend and clatter over a wooden bridge. Ahead, I spot Mom sitting at a picnic table with Mrs. B. James Wilson is nowhere in sight right now, but Mom promised she’d find a way to bring him along. Maybe he’s off taking pictures—which would be great, because then I could get Aunt Lexie to wash her face first. Meeting up with him after biking might not have been one of my more brilliant ideas.
We cruise into the park. Once I leave the smooth paved trail, the ground bounces and my bike bucks under me. Wonder Dog gives an excited bark as I pull to a stop.
“Hey there, Dia,” Mom says with a smile and a wink. “Hi, Lex.”
I hop off and switch Wonder onto a normal leash before she can pull my bike over. Aunt Lexie takes off her helmet and wipes her forehead with a corner of her shirt.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. B,” she says. “What are you two doing?”
“Interview.” Mom holds up her phone, which has the recording app active. “Mrs. B was just telling me about her husband’s experience with veterans affairs.”
Mrs. B nods. “It’s a beautiful day to be out. Seemed a shame to spend it cooped up.”
“At least indoors has air-conditioning,” Aunt Lexie says with a laugh. “Nadia’s been putting me through biking boot camp. I could barely keep up!”
Over Aunt Lexie’s shoulder, I spot James. He’s coming from a path in the woods, his camera in hand and his head angled up while he looks at the trees. I dig in my backpack and pass Lexie a bottle of water and my hand towel, just as a gentle hint. She takes a long drink, then pours a bit on the towel and wipes her face. It’s not a whole lot of improvement, but it’s something.
“Hi, Lexie.” James approaches, wearing the same goofy smile that appeared when he was around Aunt Lexie at the party. “Hey, Nadia. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hi, James.” I move back a little to nudge Aunt Lexie toward him. “Me and my aunt were on the trail. We did five miles, round trip.”
“Wow, in this heat?” James glances at Aunt Lexie and smiles.
“Nadia’s exaggerating a bit,” she says, smiling back. Then she turns to Mrs. B. “Is it okay if I join you? I think my legs are turning to jelly.”
“Why don’t we go sit over there?” I blurt, pointing to a perfectly romantic bench nearer the water.
“I think your aunt might want to get out of the sun,” Mrs. B offers in a good-humored tone. Belatedly, I realize that my selection is in full sunlight, while this place is in shade. Mrs. B pats the bench next to her. “Come on and rest your bones a bit.”
“Are you sure?” Mom asks Mrs. B, though she glances in my direction. “I know sometimes it can be awkward to do an interview in front of someone else…”
“Oh, that’s no problem.” Mrs. B waves away Mom’s concern. Aunt Lexie sinks down with a grateful thanks and sips from the bottle.
Me, James, and Wonder Dog stand off to the side. Mom shrugs at me. This is not going the way I’d hoped.
Then things get even worse.
“Hey, Nadia,” says the most irritating voice in the universe, somehow directly behind me.
I whirl and narrow my eyes. Paddle Boy.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. Does he know I still have the Invisible Boy’s picture in my backpack? Does he hope to send me and my dog to the depths of the Potomac?
“Waiting for my dad.” Paddle Boy shifts his backpack higher up on his shoulders. “What about you? You look hot—” His face goes red. “Warm. Because it’s hot outside.”
“I went biking.” I glance at James, but he’s walked off, carrying an empty bottle to the water fountain. I kneel down and loop Wonder’s leash around the picnic-table leg so she can crawl under to lie in the shade. Paddle Boy’s mom has always seemed semi-normal, but I’ve never met his dad. Maybe that’s where the supervillain influence comes from. “Are you like … going to have a family picnic or something?”
“Erm. No.” Paddle Boy points to the parking lot, where a car is stopped with the engine still on. His mom is texting in the driver’s seat. “I’m spending th
e weekend with him in Arlington. My mom doesn’t really like to have him by the house, so we meet here.”
A new hope fills my chest. “So you’ll be gone the entire weekend?”
“Don’t sound too excited.” He kind of smiles.
A weekend isn’t a whole lot of time to be free of him, but I will take what I can get. Though I should keep an eye on news in Arlington. Make sure he’s not up to too much trouble there.
Casually, I ask, “Where in Arlington does your dad live?”
“Near Iwo Jima Memorial. I can see it from my window.” He shrugs, then hesitates before pulling out a sheet from his backpack. Gel window stickers. “Um.”
My jaw drops.
Superman stickers.
“For my new room,” Paddle Boy says. “At my dad’s place.”
I can’t help staring. “You like … Superman?”
“Yeah. I haven’t read the comics, but I’ve seen almost all of the animated series.” He shrugs again and puts the stickers back in his bag. “Your mom said you like him?”
Any momentary curiosity drains right back out of me. He would have found that out from Mom’s blog. I know she’s done at least one entry about “How to Encourage Military Kids’ Interests,” where she talked for a long time about how she “fostered” my “obsession” with Superman. (Never mind that Aunt Lexie’s the one who introduced me to the cartoons, and Dad bought my first comic book, and I am most interested in Lois Lane, which isn’t the same thing as being all about Superman.)
“I like Lois Lane,” I answer, flat-toned.
I take my bike and turn to Mom. She’s scribbling notes while Mrs. B talks and Aunt Lexie listens in perplexed indignation (the usual reaction for anything related to Veterans Affairs). James returns and passes Aunt Lexie the newly filled water bottle. She mumbles, “Thanks, Nadia,” without looking away from Mrs. B.
When there’s a pause, I clear my throat. “Mom, can I head home?”
Aunt Lexie blinks at me in surprise. I subtly point at James so she’ll realize he got her the water.
Mom glances over. “Not by yourself.”
“It’s not that far,” I complain, embarrassed that she’s treating me like a kid in front of Paddle Boy.
Mom shakes her head. “We drove here—why don’t you go ahead and hook your bike to the car?”
I blow a strand of hair out of my face, lift my chin, and march past Paddle Boy to the parking lot. He follows me after a minute, like a mosquito buzzing around my head. I ignore him as I lift my bike and strap it on the carrier.
Paddle Boy kicks a pine cone with his shoe. It rolls to a stop against my foot. “Look, Nadia. It’s not my fault that your mom talks about you on the blog.”
“Yeah, but you read it,” I hiss over my shoulder.
“If you don’t want her to write about you, why don’t you just tell her to take down those old entries?”
Honestly. A journalist wouldn’t impose on someone else’s freedom of speech—even if that freedom led to said journalist’s eternal mortification. It’s easier to just pretend I’ll never have to interact with people who read about me. The kids at school have mostly forgotten “blog girl” and moved on. Though, obviously, Paddle Boy persists in bringing it up. So maybe other kids from school still remember Mom’s entries.
I decide it’s time to change the subject. I turn to face him, hands on hips. “I figured out my mom’s big announcement.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Cool?”
“She’s starting a podcast,” I tell him. It sounds even more lame out loud. Lame, and anticlimactic. But if that’s the story she’s trying to sell, I might as well sell it, too.
One eyebrow lifts. “That’s it?”
Inwardly, I completely agree. But I can’t let him know that. “She’s making a whole studio. It’s going to be very neat when she finishes and reveals everything. She’s letting me help put it together.”
“Okay.” He looks pretty bored now.
“So I am a good journalist,” I clarify, trying to make my point. I kick the pine cone hard, and it bounces off his ankle.
“Okay,” he says again, frowning and kicking it back.
I roll my eyes. “Have a great weekend, Paddle Boy.”
“Kenny,” he corrects. “How would you like it if I called you Journalist Girl?”
“I would be absolutely fine with that, Kevin.” I flip one of my two braids over my shoulder, give the pine cone a final kick in his direction, and head back to Mom and the others.
Something light and prickly bounces off my back. He says, “Kenny.”
I turn around. The pine cone we’d been kicking is on the ground. He threw it at me! I pick it up and toss it at him, not really aiming to hit him, just annoyed. “Quit it, Kirk.”
He catches the pine cone. He tosses it in one hand, up and down. “Bet you can’t get this back.”
“Why would I want to, Kennedy?”
His eyes sharpen. “Because if you do, I’ll tell you something about that boy—the one you keep looking for.”
I stare at him, not breathing for a second. Then, before I can think better of it, I dive at him. Paddle Boy bounds back. He’s grinning, like we’re playing some sort of game. I focus on just getting the stupid pine cone back. If he has information about the Invisible Boy, then there’s no way I’m giving up. Paddle Boy runs around parked cars, using the lot like a maze.
“Stop being dumb!” I call after him. “Watch where you’re going!”
“Hey, check this.” He tilts his face up and puts the pine cone on his nose. It balances there for a second.
I jump forward to grab it, but he jerks away with a laugh. The pine cone falls.
In the corner of my eye, I see red.
A car. Speeding through the parking lot.
I grab Paddle Boy out of the middle of the lane and yank him toward me. We both fall against another car and land in a heap.
The red car screeches to a stop. I’ve landed half under Paddle Boy. My chest has frozen—I can’t get any air.
“Nadia?!” Paddle Boy gasps, jumping off me.
I can’t answer. My chest won’t move.
Out of nowhere, Mom grabs me and pulls me into a hug. All at once, breath whooshes into my lungs. I cough and gasp.
“Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” Mom asks, leaning back so she can get a look at me. “Did you hit your head?”
I blink. My elbow stings—it’s scraped and bleeding. My chest feels bruised. “I don’t think so.”
Aunt Lexie wraps her arm around my shoulder. “That was amazing, Nadia! You reacted so quickly!”
James and Mrs. B are there, too, and other adults who saw what happened. They pepper me with questions and compliments and concerns. Some of them argue with the driver. On the other side of the small crowd, there’s Paddle Boy and his mom. My gaze catches on the pine cone, right where we stood. It’s flattened. In pieces.
I hear Paddle Boy’s mom say, “How could you be so thoughtless, Kenny? You could have gotten hurt!”
He mumbles a reply I can’t make out. A twinge of something strange and sour sinks into my stomach.
I look around at the faces, all concerned and proud and talking. Paddle Boy and I could’ve been run over.
And the Invisible Boy didn’t come.
Maybe it’s because Paddle Boy was involved. And Paddle Boy is a supervillain, and heroes aren’t obligated to save supervillains—right?
I look up as Paddle Boy and his mom walk over to me. His head is bowed.
“Thanks, Nadia,” he says. “Sorry I … Yeah.”
“It’s okay,” I blurt, not sure how else I’m supposed to respond. This time, I know he didn’t orchestrate it. He’s the one who almost got hit.
“Look,” he adds, lowering his voice and leaning toward me so his mom can’t hear. “That boy. I’ve seen him out in front of the house on the corner. Twice. At night. Super late. Doing something with the lawn. He never left the yard.”
“Oh.” That’s not a lot o
f information. But my head rings and I can’t think straight.
Paddle Boy’s mom keeps a hand tight on his shoulder and marches him to their car. He doesn’t look too much like a supervillain right now.
Heroes save people, no matter who they are. Even I, the archenemy of Paddle Boy, saved his life just now. That can’t be the reason the Invisible Boy didn’t rescue us.
So …
Superman has super speed—and he can fly—which makes protecting people pretty easy. But maybe the Invisible Boy doesn’t. Maybe the Invisible Boy has a limited range. Like, he can only sense danger that’s closer to his home base. He’s only ever showed up on my street before.
An idea blooms in my head.
I know how to catch—or rather, be caught by—a hero.
Chapter 8
HOW TO CATCH A SUPERHERO
“Y ou going out already?” Mom asks.
We just got home, and I let Wonder have a drink before I went right back to the door. Now Aunt Lexie and Mom are looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I have to test something,” I explain without explaining. “It won’t take too long!”
Before they can protest, I rush off to put my plan into action. Wonder Dog doesn’t seem to mind the extra walk. We circle the street twice to find the perfect location for my experiment: right across from the Invisible Boy’s house. Perfect.
I loop Wonder’s leash around a tree trunk and toss my backpack down beside her. Pin prickles race up and down my neck. I’m being watched. I don’t even bother to look—I won’t be able to see the Invisible Boy.
I reach up and swing my legs to hook them around the lowest branch. I maneuver to the top of the limb and reach for the next one.
When I’m about twelve, maybe fifteen feet off the ground, I test my grip and edge away from the trunk, sloth-style. Blood heats my head, but I keep going until the branch starts to bend. With a quick glance, I check the ground below. I’m over the paved street, just a few other branches between me and a nasty fall.
Excellent.
When I call out, the warble of excitement sounds convincingly like a panicked kid. “HELP! HELP! I’M STUCK!”
The Invisible Boy Page 5