Secret Identity

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  “No!”

  “We're talking big things?”

  “Right.”

  She thought some more. “Well, no… but you are approaching puberty.”

  “Mo-om! I'm in the fifth grade!”

  Dad was in the room. He shrugged. Mom closed her eyes. Finally she sighed and said, “This is the one and only time I'm going to go for this. You'd better not let me down, Nolan.”

  “I won't, Mom! I promise I won't!”

  “Okay, then.”

  Shredderman.com became mine that night.

  WebBuilder came flying through cyberspace seconds later. Complete with E-Z Launch instructions.

  I had the tools. I had the site. Time to start building!

  But I'd barely had a chance to print out the instructions when Mom knocked on the door.

  I shut off the computer monitor. “Come in!”

  “Honey? It's past bedtime.”

  “But it's Friday!”

  Her eyes narrowed. Her hands punched both sides of her waist.

  “Oops. Sorry,” I said. “I'm going.”

  I went, all right. But I couldn't sleep. All I could think about was being Shredderman. And besides, superheroes don't need sleep, right?

  So when Mom and Dad went to bed, I waited until I was sure they were asleep, then I booted up and got building.

  By morning my home page had an awesome look. Cool font. Radical colors. Across the top was:

  Welcome to Shredderman.com, where truth and justice prevail!

  Then a purple and gold SHREDDERMAN banner waved as a masked cartoon guy zoomed from one corner of the screen to the other. That was the hard part, but it was so, so cool!

  At six-thirty I heard the toilet flush. I saved quick, then shut down the computer, hid the instructions under my pillow, and hopped into bed.

  The next thing I knew, Mom was shaking me, saying, “Nolan! Nolan, it's nearly noon, honey. You've got to get up!”

  Noon? How could it be noon! I sat up. Had I dreamt the whole thing? My hand shot under my pillow. Nuh-uh. The instructions were right there.

  “Are you all right?” she asked me. “You've got bags again.”

  “I… I couldn't get to sleep.”

  “Mmm,” she said. “Well, it's definitely time to get up. Your dad's gone into work for a few hours, and I want to get some groceries.” She patted my leg. “Come on, honey.”

  I dragged behind her in the store. I dragged some more carrying in the groceries. But the instant she told me I could go work on the computer, zingo, I woke right up. Time to shred!

  I spent Saturday night up all night again. And Sunday I was worthless. Again. Sunday night I tried to forget about Shredderman and get some sleep. I couldn't be worthless at school! I had time-trials to ace. Pictures of Bubba to take. Lots more pictures of Bubba!

  My computer was shut down but my brain wasn't. At eleven-fifteen I finally gave in and snuck out of bed. And by the time the toilet was flushing Monday morning, the site was really shaping up. I had a Bubba Jokes link that had stuff like:

  Q: Why did the bully steal the trick-or-treater's candy bag?

  A: He wanted some Bubba-gum!

  and…

  Q: What do you call a bully fire?

  A: A Bubba-que!

  and…

  Q: Why run from a bully?

  A: He's got the Bub-onic plague!

  I had a Bubba, Caught in the Act link where I posted the picture of him dumping the trash can all over the ground.

  And my favorite—a link called Bubba's Big Butt.

  That's all it was, too. That picture I'd taken of Bubba's butt. Made me laugh every time I clicked the link.

  I also had a link that said, What's big and fat and smells all over? (Click here) that took you straight back to that same picture.

  It had been a great night.

  I shut down quick and got packed for school.

  Camera—check!

  Memory card—check!

  Recharged battery—check!

  Remote control—check!

  I even remembered to put my socks on first.

  I wasn't tired—I was wired!

  Wired, and ready to shred.

  CHAPTER 7

  Flip-o-rama

  I was crossing the street to school when I had an idea. Why just pictures of Bubba? My camera had a movie-clip mode! It took up a lot of memory, but who cared? What if I could get movie clips of Bubba-boy in action? Stealing stuff. Shoving second graders. Throwing food.

  Live-action reporting—oh, yeah!

  Also, I had to start being more careful. If I didn't want anyone to know who Shredderman was, I couldn't shoot Bubba in the classroom anymore. If my shots came from inside Mr. Green's room, everyone would know it was someone in his class.

  Pretty soon everyone would figure out it was me.

  So I stopped using my camera in class. Instead, I planned new ways to shred on him.

  I thought up a cartoon strip: Alvin and the Dumbmunks, starring Alvin “Bubba” Bixby and his chattering chipmunk chums, Kevin and Max. I'd get Alvin and the Chipmunks pictures off the Internet—there had to be some! Then I'd scan in Max and Kevin and Bubba from last year's year-book, shrink their faces, and superimpose them on chipmunk bodies. Add a few bubble shapes for their words… I was cracking up just thinking about it!

  But at recess, I stopped planning and got gutsy. I followed Bubba around. I hid between buildings. Behind bushes. I spent a lot of time pretending to tie my shoes.

  I started listening to what other kids were saying about Bubba. I started listening to what he was saying to other kids. I took notes. I was a data-collection machine!

  Then on Tuesday I got my interview:

  Kevin: “What'cha doin’ after school today, Bubba?”

  Bubba: “Pickin’ my nose, what d'ya think, stupid?”

  Max: “Oh, yeah—I can't come over today, Bubba.”

  Bubba: “Why not?”

  Max: “I… Mom says I have to work on my newspaper project.”

  Bubba: “Tell yo mama to do your project.”

  Kevin: “Yeah, man. Tell yo mama to do your project.”

  Bubba: “All you have to do is smile like this, see? Then sniff like this, see? Boo’ hoo-hoo. It's easy. Get yo mama to do your work.”

  Max: “Does yours really do yours?”

  Bubba: “You think I'm gonna do that Happy Hippie assignment? Get real.”

  Maybe it didn't have all of Who-What-When-Where-Why in it, but it wasn't bad! And I didn't have to ask him a single question.

  Then on Wednesday it happened. I'd just sat down with my lunch. My backpack was next to me, on the table. The flap was open. My remote was ready. Bubba walked into the cafeteria. He saw the teachers were busy helping clean up a spill, and smiled. And I could tell from across the room—he was in the mood for a flip-o-rama.

  He did it to some little kids.

  He did it quick.

  He put his fingers under the lip of a tray and flip. He tipped food all over a little kid. Then flip, flip, flip, flip—he went right down the row!

  Chicken nuggets went flying!

  Orange slices splatted on the floor!

  Jell-O was wiggling everywhere!

  And Bubba ditched it out the side door before the teachers had turned around.

  I almost couldn't believe it. It had happened right in front of me! I was so excited I was shaking. I grabbed my backpack, left my lunch, and headed straight for the bathroom.

  By the time I saw Bubba standing by the bathroom sinks, it was too late. Max and Kevin were with him, so I was surrounded.

  I threw it in reverse and tried to run out the door, but Bubba grabbed me and said, “Hey, Nerd. You come in here too much, you know that?”

  I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want him to hear me shaking.

  He could see it, though. “Wassa matter? Gotta go?”

  I nodded.

  “Bad?”

  I nodded faster.

  His face was
close.

  His breath was deadly.

  Max said, “Wassa matter, Nerd? Yo mamo feed you prunes for breakfast?”

  Bubba looked at him over his shoulder. “It's mama, stupid.”

  Max shrank back. Then Bubba leaned his face in even closer to mine, saying, “Did I hear you say you're gonna do my project for me?”

  I shook my head.

  “I said—” he grabbed me harder “—did I hear you say you're gonna do my project for me?”

  I choked out, “No!” I tried to wrestle free. “Now let me go!”

  He slugged me. Right in the stomach. I folded in two and fell on the floor, gasping for air.

  My stomach was in a giant knot.

  My chest caved in.

  I felt like I was going to die.

  Bubba stepped over me. Max and Kevin walked around me. All three of them were gone before I could move a muscle.

  It took about five minutes for me to stand up. And when I did, I didn't run to a teacher to tell on Bubba. I locked myself in the stall and dug out my camera. Then I zoomed back through the movie clip and held my breath.

  Had I caught him in the act? Had I recorded him flipping those trays? Did I get his face and the trays? My aim had been off so many times. Had I blown it again?

  But all of a sudden I saw him on the monitor— mini-Bubba, looking over his shoulder at the teachers. Walking faster. Then flip, flip, flip, flip, flip, and he was gone.

  I looked at the clip again.

  And again.

  I'd done it! I'd really done it!

  Boy, was Bubba Bixby going to be sorry he'd ever laid a hand on Shredderman!

  CHAPTER 8

  Blastoff!

  I downloaded the flip-o-rama clip, no problem. I linked it to my home page with a The Bully in Action button. Didn't even add words. The clip said it all.

  Then I finished building a couple of other links I'd been working on: Lullaby for Bubba and The Green Sheet Goblin.

  If you clicked on Lullaby for Bubba, you got a cheesy-sounding keyboard playing “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” while my new words for the song scrolled over a background of Bubba's face:

  Bubba bad sheep, throw him out of school

  Yes sir, yes sir, he just breaks the rules

  One, he's a liar

  Two, he's a pain

  Three, he's a bully

  Bubba's got no shame.

  Bubba bad sheep, throw him out of school

  Yes sir, yes sir, he just breaks the rules

  The Green Sheet Goblin linked to a page where a flying green ghost with Bubba's face went in a circle around:

  Miriam Wipple!

  Ian McCoy!

  Danielle Duncan!

  Your green sheets didn't just disappear,

  The School Ghoul STOLE them!

  Last but not least, I put in a site counter. That way I could tell how many people visited shredderman. com.

  I checked all the pages over about twenty times, and when I was sure everything was perfect, I followed the steps for “going live.” And then, with a final press of the Enter key, shredderman.com was launched into cyberspace.

  My heart was beating really fast. And when the computer told me my site was now live, I sort of panicked. Had I really done it? Was shredderman.com really live?

  I shut down my computer. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. It felt so hot. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time. Was I Shredderman?

  I went back to my room and booted up my computer. The address box appeared. My hands were shaking as I typed in shredderman.com.

  I pressed Enter.

  At the bottom of my screen I saw the blue connection line begin growing. Next to it flashed Web site found.

  Then, Connecting. Waiting. Opening…

  Then there he was, streaking across my screen—Shredderman!

  “Wa-hoo!” I yelled. “Wa-hoo, wa-hoo, wa-hoo!”

  A minute later there was a knock at my door. “Honey?”

  I clicked off the monitor and tore open the door. “It works!”

  “Your operation is a success?” my mom asked.

  I gave her a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!”

  “So now do we get to know what your project's about?”

  I stepped back. “Uh… no!”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh… you can't! Not yet!”

  She frowned at me. “Well, when?”

  “I… I don't know.”

  We stared at each other.

  Finally she said, “Nolan, I don't want you buried in your room alone all the time. And I don't like that you have secrets from me. You used to tell me everything!”

  “I know, Mom. And I will! But not today.”

  “Hmmmm.” She looked at me for the longest time. Finally she sighed and whispered, “You're really not going to let your dad help you with your project?”

  I looked down.

  “He really wanted to, you know.”

  I nodded, then kind of shrugged. “Parents aren't supposed to help.”

  “I know that, honey, but this is different. He just wanted to be involved… not do it for you.”

  I kept looking down.

  “I know your dad can get a little… excited. And you don't even have to take his suggestions. But isn't there something he can do to be part of this?”

  I felt bad. Really bad. I'd been totally ignoring my dad. Actually, I'd been avoiding him, wishing I'd never said a word about the project.

  But what was I supposed to do about it? If Dad knew I was doing my project on Bubba—not the mayor, or a policeman, or even his boss—he'd think I was being childish.

  Vengeful.

  Stupid.

  So I just kept looking down and said, “I wanted it to be a… surprise.”

  “Oh,” she said. And when I looked up, she was smiling.

  Uh-oh. What did she think that meant? Did she think I was doing something to surprise them?

  She nodded and said, “I understand,” then held my head and kissed me on the hair. And when she let go, she said, “Say, did you have a growth spurt?”

  “Mo-om!”

  “I used to have to stoop way over to smooch your head!”

  “Mo-om!”

  “I'm serious. And you look taller! In the morning I'm going to measure you.”

  I smiled back at her. My mom has a magic way of making me feel taller.

  “Anyway. Do you know it's way past your bedtime? Again?”

  I nodded. “I'm going.”

  “Good.”

  I double-brushed my teeth. Even wiped out the sink when I was done. But before I could actually go to sleep, I finished checking out the links on my site. They worked great. The site looked great! It was so, so cool!

  I jumped into bed.

  Closed my eyes.

  And dreamed the best dreams ever.

  Shredderman dreams.

  CHAPTER 9

  Spreading the Word

  I got up early and checked the site again.

  Still there!

  And the site counter was at… 2.

  What good was a Web site if nobody knew about it? And how could I tell anyone about it without giving away that I'd built the site?

  They'd know right off that I was Shredderman!

  Maybe I could get e-mail addresses from the kids in my class and Shredderman could send them the link!

  Nah. Getting the addresses would take too long. Plus, it'd be really obvious.

  Maybe I could tape flyers up around school before the teachers got there!

  Nah. Mr. Hoover would take them down by the time they let kids on campus.

  So how was I going to spread the word? There had to be some way to do it before the teachers could stop me.

  But how? How could I let kids know about the Shredderman site without giving myself away?

  I looked out my window over at the school and saw the American flag being hoisted up the pole. Boy, Mr. Hoover started working
early! I wouldn't be able to do anything with him around!

  I watched the flag flutter in the breeze, and that's when I got the idea.

  Confetti.

  Mr. Hoover was always picking up trash. He couldn't keep up! What if there were pieces of paper all over the playgrounds? Colored paper! Kids would have to notice them! And Mr. Hoover and all the teachers put together couldn't pick them all up—they'd make the kids do it!

  Oh, yeah!

  I got to work making confetti. Big confetti. Lots of confetti. I made a document on my computer that had a bunch of different things on it. Like:

  Does Bubba Bixby cause you grief? Try

  SHREDDERMAN.COM

  for comic relief.

  *

  Hey Bubba!

  Get yo mama to go to

  SHREDDERMAN.COM!

  *

  SHREDDERMAN.COM

  Where the good guys shred!

  *

  POW! KA-BAM! SMACK!

  Shredderman KO's Bubba for you on

  SHREDDERMAN.COM

  Next, I copied and pasted as many as would fit on one page, put purple paper in the printer, and let her rip!

  I got ready for school!

  I gobbled down breakfast!

  And when I was out of purple paper, I put in yellow.

  My printer was flying!

  And while it was printing, I cut the finished papers into strips. Hundreds and hundreds of strips! By the time the school bells were ringing, I had a couple of gallon-sized Ziplocs filled with super-sized confetti and I was ready to use it!

  But how?

  I couldn't let anyone see me throw it around. They'd know I was Shredderman.

  I'd have to be sly.

  Quick.

  Smart.

  I double-checked my shoelaces. This was no time to trip up!

  “Are you all right, honey?” my mom asked as I was heading out the door.

  “Yeah, great!” I told her.

  She felt my forehead anyway. “You look flushed.”

  “I'm fine,” I said.