Secret Identity

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  I wanted to just sit there, refreshing the site, waiting for the counter to go up or more e-mails to come in, but I made myself shut down. Then I kept on shredding, right through my homework. When Mom called, “Dinner!” I raced to the table. I was starving! I ate lasagna! Beans! Salad! More lasagna! More beans! More salad!

  Being a superhero sure gives you an appetite.

  My father said, “You having a growth spurt, champ?”

  My mother said, “See, Nolan?”

  I said, “What's for dessert?”

  After I cleared the dishes, I ditched it back to my room. Computer on… site loaded… shredder-man, com was up to… seventy-three hits!

  Wa-hoo!

  There was more e-mail, too.

  I scrolled through them, but froze about halfway down. There was a message from bixby@bignet.com.

  Uh-oh.

  I opened the file, hoping my virus protection was working. The message was from Bubba, all right. And it said:

  I know who you are you ugly turd. You're gonna

  be sorry you were ever born!

  Uh-triple-oh!

  I sat there for a long time, looking at it. Could he really have found out it was me? What would he do to me if he did know?

  Pound me?

  Crush me?

  Kill me?

  But wouldn't he have put “you stupid nerd” instead of “you ugly turd” if he knew it was me?

  I answered the rest of the e-mails, then finally hit the Reply button on Bubba's message. And after staring at the screen for a minute, I typed:

  Alvin:

  You're right—you do know me. I'm everyone

  you've ever beaten up or threatened. Everyone

  you've ever made fun of or robbed. You see me,

  all right. Every time you turn around. So look out

  I'm watching.

  Yours in truth and justice,

  Shredderman

  I pressed Send, and added the conversation to the This Just In page. Then I shut down and got ready for bed early.

  It was dangerous being a superhero.

  A little scary, too.

  What if Bubba really did know?

  Tomorrow, I'd find out.

  CHAPTER 13

  Miracle at Table 4

  The next day, the buzz was even louder. Everyone was talking about shredderman.com. Even the teachers.

  I'd left my camera at home, and Bubba didn't seem to be around anywhere, so I played foursquare like I used to. The kids in line were all saying how they'd visited the site, or heard about the site, or were going to visit the site.

  Some kids in front of me—who usually ignore me or call me Nerd—even asked me if I'd seen it. I smiled and said, “What do you call a bully fire?”

  “A Bubba-que!” they cried, and we all laughed.

  When it was my turn to play, Ronnie Stalwess was server. He said, “Easy out!” like all the kids always do when I get in.

  I backed up.

  I dug in.

  Not this time, I told myself. Not this time.

  He served me the ball.

  I hit it to square three.

  It came slamming back.

  I slapped it to Ronnie.

  Ronnie shot it straight at me.

  I jumped to the side. The ball was out!

  Ronnie said, “Maaan!” and went to the end of the line.

  When the last bell rang, I was standing in square two. Square two! One of these days, I'd make it to server.

  One of these days, I'd call the rules.

  Yes, I would!

  I ran to class along with everyone else. We said the pledge. Mr. Green called for absences. Jenni said, “Bubba!” Everyone looked.

  No Bubba.

  I'd already noticed that. It was the first thing I'd looked for when I'd sat in my seat.

  “Okay, gang,” Mr. Green said from his desk, “before we begin, Miriam, Ian, Danielle…,” he waved three green sheets in the air, “… I have something for you.”

  They ran up, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Green! Thank you!”

  “Thank Shredderman,” he said with a grin. “He's the one who shed light on the situation.” He nodded over at Table 1. “What is it, Kayla?” Her hand was flapping in the air.

  “Some people are saying that you're Shredderman. Is that true?”

  “Me?” Mr. Green asked, then laughed. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From some kids on the playground. Sixth graders.”

  “Well,” Mr. Green said. Then he grinned and added, “Dr. Voss accused me of the same thing.”

  “Well?” Kayla asked. “Are you?”

  His mouth went left, right, all around. He grabbed his guitar and strummed it. Faster. Then faster. And faster! His hand was just a blur.

  When he stopped, Kayla said, “I'll take -that as a yes?”

  “Don't,” he said. “Take it as an, I'm not telling.”

  “But, Mr. Green…!”

  “I think Shredder-man put it best— he is all of us.”

  “But, Mr. Green…!”

  “Yeah, Mr. Green, tell us!” everyone else was saying. “We can keep a secret.”

  “Oh, right,” he said with a grin.

  “Really!” Kayla said. “We can!”

  “Well, gang, the truth is…” He looked around the classroom. Everyone held their breath. “That Web site is not mine.”

  “It's not!”

  He shook his head.

  “So whose is it? And where's Bubba?”

  “Let's all call him Alvin, shall we?”

  Brian said, “That's too weird, Mr. Green.”

  Ian added, “Yeah. It's also dangerous.”

  “Not if you all call him Alvin,” Mr. Green said. “Calling him Bubba just feeds into that whole … image he's trying to build for himself. Don't enable him. Just call him Alvin.” Then he added, “Alvin and his parents are meeting with Dr. Voss today. He'll probably be out all day.”

  “But did you see that e-mail? He said he knows who Shredderman is! Do you think he does?”

  Mr. Green noodled a little on his guitar, then said, “No.” He looked around the classroom. “Do

  7”

  you:

  People shook their heads.

  “Which brings us back to what Shredderman said to Alvin in his message. He—or she—is everyone.”

  “She?”

  “Well, sure. What if it's a girl—or woman— who's trying to throw you off track?”

  Everyone started whispering.

  Mr. Green laughed.

  “What I think you should do is imagine that Shredderman is the person next to you. And imagine that they can put the things you say and do on the Shredderman Web site.” He leaned across his guitar. “How are you going to act? Snotty? Some of you can get wicked snotty. Nasty? You think I can't hear you dogging each other? C'mon!” He smiled and said, “The beauty of Shredderman is that you don't know who it is. He or she could be anybody!” He leaned back, strummed a few chords, then said, “It's what you do when you think no one's looking that tells us what kind of person you really are. And maybe if you thought that someone was always watching you, you'd get in the habit of being a little nicer to each other.”

  No one said a word.

  “So,” he said with a final strum, “pretend Shredderman's the person standing next to you, sitting next to you, walking next to you… then act accordingly.”

  All the tables looked around at each other.

  Everyone was wondering, Are you Shredderman?

  Randy blinked at me.

  I kept a straight face and blinked back.

  Freddy looked at Randy, then at me.

  Trinity looked around, too, then smiled at me.

  I smiled back. And I kept on smiling, too. First at Freddy, then at Randy.

  Then a miracle happened at Table 4.

  Both of them smiled back at me.

  CHAPTER 14

  Shredderman Gets a Sidekick

  It was lunchtime.
Everyone was charging the door, me included. I hate getting to the lunch line late. You waste too much lunch recess waiting. I wanted to play four-square. Maybe I'd make server!

  But Mr. Green stopped me. “Nolan!” he called. “Come here a sec.”

  I went to his desk, where he was stacking the science papers we'd just turned in. “Yes, Mr. Green?”

  “How's your project coming along?”

  “Uh…fine.”

  “Having any problems with it?”

  I shook my head.

  The classroom was empty now, except for him and me. “What are you doing it on?” he asked.

  Uh-oh.

  “Nolan?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What's the subject?”

  “Uh, well, actually, I keep starting over.”

  His eyebrows went up.

  He sat down.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah.” I started talking really fast. “My dad wanted me to do it on the mayor, but I didn't want to. So he said to do it on his boss, but his boss makes him work too much and he's kind of mean to him. So then he said I should do it on Sarge—”

  “Sarge?”

  “He's a friend of my dad's. He's on the police force.”

  “Ah.”

  “So I've been um… I've been working on…” I didn't want to lie to him! What was I going to say?

  “Yes … ?”

  “I've been working on switching to him.”

  He studied me. “Okaaaaay. And what's this police sergeant's name?”

  “Urn…Sergeant Klubb.”

  “Hey,” he said, smiling, “I know Billy! He's one cool cop. Do you want me to put in a word for you?”

  “No! I mean, no thank you. My dad… my dad's got it covered.”

  Mr. Green nodded, but his smile fell away. He shifted in his chair. His mouth went from left to right and back again.

  Finally he took a deep breath and said, “Did you know that all the teachers were asked to turn in names of students who were out of class before snack recess yesterday?”

  I was still standing, but my knees had turned to jelly.

  “Nolan?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Worried?” I was sweating cannonballs!

  “That I turned in your name.”

  I shook my head.

  “Really.” He cocked his head. “I thought you might be.”

  I shrugged. “Why?”

  He leaned back, his hands folded behind his head. A foot kicked onto the science papers. The other came up and crossed it. Finally he said, “You're being very cool about this, Shredderman.”

  Uh-quadruple-oh! “Me?” I said.

  “Have a seat, Nolan.”

  I sat.

  “It's okay, Nolan. I didn't turn your name in.”

  “You didn't? I mean, you could have….“

  He put up a hand. “I have an apology to make, so please hear me out.”

  I nodded.

  “Earlier in the year you tried to tell me things about Alvin. It's clear that I didn't take them seriously enough. But I want you to know that from now on, if you have a problem with some’ one, I'll listen better. There's a lot going on in class, but that's no reason for things to have come to this point. I should have paid more attention, and I'm sorry.”

  I started to tell him that it wasn't his fault Bubba was born big and mean, full of teeth and ready to bite, but he put up his hand again and said, “The situation with Alvin is pretty complex, but again, that's no excuse. And off the record? Your solution is brilliant. Very well executed, I might add.” He shook his head and chuckled. “All this time I thought you were shy, but you're a real comedian, you know that? I laughed my head off.”

  I hadn't admitted anything yet. And even though I wanted to tell him he was right—that I had built the site—it felt like it would be the end of Shredderman if I did. “But, Mr. Green, I'm not Shredder man.”

  His feet swung off the desk.

  He leaned forward.

  Then he whispered, “I'm not going to breathe a word of this to anyone, Nolan. You cover your tracks by turning in a real project, and I'll make sure no one suspects it's you.”

  I just stood there, staring at him.

  “Look. I love Shredderman! I think what you've done is going to change the tone of this campus. Let me help you! Your site could be so much more than All Bubba, All the Time. Think about what you can do with it! You could post kids doing nice things to each other! Have mystery guests. Or riddles about kids no one knows very well. There's a ton you can do with your site. Good stuff!”

  “But—”

  “Come on,” he laughed. “Superman had Jimmy Olsen! Batman had Robin! Shoot, even The Gecko's got Sticky, right? Shredderman needs an ally.” He leaned in a little closer. “Nolan, let me be your sidekick.”

  A teacher as a sidekick?

  I laughed out loud. And I was about to say, Really? but he stopped me. “You don't have to say a word,” he whispered, then put out his hand.

  I looked at him a minute, then shook it.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mr. Bixby

  After lunch, it was like my conversation with Mr. Green had never happened. He taught, he sang, he read a story. He was just Mr. Green.

  He sure wasn't acting like a sidekick!

  And after school, he stood at the door and said bye to us like he usually does. “Don't forget your lunchbox, Sarah…. Good luck at your game this afternoon, Andrew…. Hey, Danielle, your back pack's wide open…. See ya, Myles…. Keep smiling, Trinity…. “ When I came past, he said, “Stay cool, dude,” and gave me a wink.

  I didn't go straight home. I sat on a bench at the edge of the playground, thinking. What was I going to do with my Web site now?

  And what was happening to Bubba, anyway? Were they going to make him be nicer?

  Could they do that?

  Were they going to kick him out of school?

  And if they did, why have a Web site?

  Why be Shredderman?

  Mr. Green seemed to think there was lots more I could do with the site, but right then I was thinking that maybe I should just tear it down.

  Then I spotted Bubba. He was out in the parking lot, standing between his mother and father.

  I jumped off the bench and moved closer.

  I hid behind a tree and watched.

  Bubba's dad was unlocking their car and yelling at Mrs. Bixby.

  Mrs. Bixby started yelling back, but he grabbed her by the arm and kind of shoved her into the car.

  Then Mr. Bixby started yelling at Bubba, and when Bubba said something back, Mr. Bixby popped him across his head and shouted, “I said, get inside!”

  Where was my camera? Boy! That Mr. Bixby was big and mean. A real bully!

  All of a sudden I was Shredderman again, only this time I wanted to defend Bubba. How could his father be so mean?

  There was nothing I could do, though. Not now anyway. They were already driving away.

  And as I watched their car peel out of the parking lot, I thought that maybe Bubba Bixby wasn't born big and mean, full of teeth and ready to bite.

  Maybe Bubba had learned it from his dad.

  I wandered home, thinking about Bubba's dad. About my dad. What a difference!

  And it made me think about how lucky I was— my dad had never treated me like that.

  Ever.

  By the time I got home, I had a new plan. A cool plan! One I couldn't wait to get started on!

  “Mom!” I shouted when I burst through the door.

  “In here!” she called from the kitchen.

  “Hey! Can you take me over to the Gazette!”

  “The Gazette! Why?”

  “I want to see Dad. Right away.”

  She stopped smearing peanut butter in a celery stick. “Is everything all right?”

  I took the celery stick. “Everyth
ing's great!” I chomped through peanut butter and said, “I want to talk to him about my project!”

  “You do?”

  “Uh-huh! Can we go?”

  She dropped everything, grabbed her purse, and off we went. And when we got to Dad's cubicle at the Gazette, Mom leaned around the corner and said, “Surprise!”

  “Eve!” Dad said, standing up. Then he noticed me. “Nolan!”

  “Hi, Dad!”

  “Hey! I'm glad you caught me. I actually just got in from an assignment. Mr. Zilch had me chasing down some—”

  “Steven,” my mom laughed, “don't you want to know why we're here?”

  “Of course!” He looked at me. “You look like you have big news.”

  I shrugged. “Well, no. I just changed my mind.”

  “About your… ?” I could tell he was hoping it was about my project but didn't want to risk guessing.

  I nodded. “About my project.”

  “Well!” he said, a smile stretching across his face. He glanced at my mom, but she shook her head and said, “I had nothing to do with this, Steven, I promise. He came home from school wanting to see you.”

  “So!” my dad said, smiling at me. “Am I calling the mayor? Mr. Zilch? Sarge?”

  I shook my head. “I want to do my project on someone better than them.”

  “Shhh!” Dad whispered, looking around for Mr. Zilch. “Uh, who do you have in mind?”

  “Someone better than the mayor, or any sports hero, or the president, or even Bill Gates!”

  “Someone better than… ?” His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath. “Nolan, when I said I could get you in touch with people, I meant in this community. I didn't mean the president. Or Bill Gates!”

  “Da-ad!” I said, grinning. “Someone better than them!”

  His eyes shifted from me to my mom and back again.

  I laughed. “I want to do my project on you!”

  He stared at me.

  He stared some more.

  Then his chin started quivering.

  “On…me…?”

  I nodded.

  He gave me a hug. Even picked me off the floor a little!

  “Da-ad!” I said, but it felt good.

  Super good.