Flaaah! Flaaah! Flaaaaaaah! Mr. Burns blew his bugle so hard everyone jumped. Thorn’s hand sprang open.
“Nooo!” Finch cried as Anthony flew through the air. He felt a thump on the top of his sneaker. He looked down. Anthony was resting there.
“Everyone freeze!”
While the kids stood like statues, Mr. Burns strode over to the Critter Corner. He leaned down in front of Finch and scooped Anthony up.
“Is he okay?” Finch asked.
Mr. Burns brought his palm up to eye level. “I think so. Landing on the sneaker probably saved him—no thanks to you boys.”
“Me? But it wasn’t my fault—” Finch began.
“Yes, it was.” Thorn sniffled. “You socked me and I dropped him. I couldn’t help it.” Blood was leaking out of his nose.
“I didn’t!” Finch protested. “I fell.”
“You’d better go to the nurse’s office and get some ice for that nosebleed,” Mr. Burns told Thorn.
Bud bounced on his toes. “Should I go with him?”
Mr. Burns hesitated a moment. “No.”
Finch touched his teacher’s arm to get his attention. “Mr. Burns, it really wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to—”
But Mr. Burns cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. I’ll talk to you later during recess. For now, just go back to your seat.”
“You didn’t even see what happened,” Finch protested.
“I said later, Fin.” Mr. Burns turned away. “Everyone—return to your desks and take out your math books.”
After lunch, Finch went back to the classroom instead of out to the school yard with the rest of the guys. Mr. Burns was reading a magazine called Snowboarder.
“Don’t sit at your desk, Finch. Come over to the rug.” Mr. Burns closed his magazine. “I thought we could do a little yoga together. Before we begin, I want you to know something. Yoga is not a punishment. That’s not why you’re here. Doing yoga stretches not only the body, but the mind, too. It can help you think clearly and have more positive thoughts. And it’s a great way to chill out.”
Mr. Burns lowered himself down easily and sat Indian-style. Finch plopped down and slouched over. He breathed a noisy sigh. Maybe yoga wasn’t a punishment, but what about losing your recess time?
“Anyone can fight,” Mr. Burns said as quietly as if he were telling Finch a secret. “But bullying isn’t the answer. The thinking person figures out a better way to solve a problem.”
Finch clenched his jaw. Mr. Burns was going to make a terrible teacher. He couldn’t even tell a bully from a victim. He still hadn’t heard Finch’s side of the story. It was as if he didn’t care who was right.
But in a few moments, Finch was in the downward-facing dog pose. He was bent over at the middle with his hands and feet on the floor. His arms and legs were stretched out tight. His rear end was pointed up in the air. The pose was harder to do than it looked, but Finch tried until he got it.
“Not bad,” Mr. Burns said. “Now let’s try the rattlesnake pose—and if we have time, we’ll do the scorpion.”
Finch thought Scorpionman would be a good name for a superhero—or an evil villain. There were times when it would be extremely helpful to have a poisonous stinger. Like right now. Zap! He’d use it on Thorn. It was his fault Mr. Burns didn’t like Fin after just a day and a half of school.
The thought created a stinging feeling behind Fin’s eyes. He kept his head down. He wondered if he would ever be able to change his teacher’s mind.
9
THE BEGINNING
Finch was down on the floor of his room, leaning on his forearms and his right knee. His left leg was in the air, knee bent, toes pointed up at the ceiling. It was a version of the scorpion pose, although he hadn’t totally gotten it yet. He still needed to raise his right knee off the floor too, balancing on his foot instead. He was determined to be ready in case Mr. Burns asked him to do yoga again. He wanted his teacher to see he’d been practicing.
One, two, three, up! He pushed onto the ball of his foot, toppled over, and hit his head on the garbage can. “Ow! Ow!” he moaned as he lay there rubbing his temple.
Cubby scampered in to check out the commotion. He climbed over Fin’s face and headed for the garbage can, which had rolled onto its side.
Pfu! Pfu! Get off of me, you odiferous polecat!
Finch let out a giggle. Now the mind voice was being funny. He wondered if he’d gotten a concussion or if he was going a little crazy.
He reached into the can and pulled Cubby out. Then he removed the cape. He had to admit he was glad the old thing was still in the garbage. After the day he’d had, he needed something to calm him down and help him think clearly. He folded it into a pillow and stuck it under his head.
It was a joke that Mr. Burns had gotten mad at him for fighting today, but not the ha-ha kind of joke. It had been the only time in his entire life that he’d hit someone. Once again, he saw his hand smacking Thorn’s nose and bright red blood snaking from Thorn’s nostrils. Ugg. Fin was sure Thorn would find a way to get even.
In comic books, superheroes always did a lot of fighting. There were tons of kapows! and kapops! But if he was ever to be a real superhero, Fin thought he’d have to be a different kind.
“Yeah, right,” he told himself.
But an idea had already begun stirring his brain—no, his entire body—into action. He sprang up off the floor and headed for his desk, stopping to grab the cape off the floor. It might help to think like a superhero, he told himself as he tied it on. Then he dropped into his desk chair and began writing.
The Oath
I PROMISE to do my best to help others at
all times.
Ugg. That sounded like the Boy Scout oath. Finch had been a Cub Scout for a few months. At the first den meeting, he’d made a compass out of a penny and a paper clip. At another, he’d made a mini-tepee out of brown paper and Popsicle sticks. And at his third and last, he’d carved a canoe out of a bar of soap. But he’d wanted real compasses, real tents, and real boats! He’d refused to go to another meeting, even after his mother pointed out how much she’d spent on the uniform.
I PROMISE to do my best to help others at
all times, to fight only for truth and justice,
never for selfish or evil ends.
There—that was better. Sure, he’d borrowed a bit from Superman’s oath, but he didn’t think the big guy would mind. Something else was missing, though. He chewed on one of the cape strings while he considered what it was.
I PROMISE to do my best to help others at all
times, to fight only for truth and justice, never
for selfish or evil ends, but to solve problems
by thinking, not fighting, whenever I can.
Hmmm . . . the last part sounded like something Mr. Burns would say. But Fin liked the idea anyway—especially when he thought of Thorn’s sickeningly bloody nose.
As a member of the Super Secret Heroes’ Club,
No, that sounded like kindergarten. Fin chewed the end of his pen.
As a member of the Super Secret Heroes’
Association,
No, that sounded like a group of businessmen.
Perchance you should try “Society.”
Finch pressed his palm against his forehead. He wished the mind voice would go away already. Still, he liked the sound of it—the Society of Super Secret Heroes.
As a member of the Society of Super
Secret Heroes, I will carry out all missions
without ever letting anyone know that it
was me. I will protect the Thinking Cape
from falling into the hands of ordinary
people. And most of all, I will keep my
true identity hidden and the SSSh a
secret until I die.
Fin put down his pen.
He read the Oath aloud in a low, quick mumble. “The Thinking Cape? Come on!” he chided himself as he crossed that part out. He gazed over the paper
once more and covered his eyes with a hand. “What am I doing?” he moaned. “I can’t show this to the guys. They’ll think the whole thing is stupid.”
On the contrary, it is the finest oath I have ever heard.
This was sick! Now the mind voice was answering him. “Shut up!” he snapped.
Yes, Master Fin.
Finch froze. “Wh—who are you?”
I am the Thinking Cape.
Quickly, Fin untied the cape from his neck and threw it into the wastebasket. He needed to go to a doctor right away.
Have I displeased you, Master?
“You’re just some old cloth. You can’t speak,” he said.
You are right, Master. No common cape can speak. But I am not common.
Finch pressed his hands against his temples. This only happened in books or movies. It couldn’t be real. “I’m not actually hearing anything,” he told himself firmly.
It is true that you are not hearing me with your ears. You are hearing me with your mind, Master.
“Stop calling me that!”
I am sorry, but I cannot help myself. It is part of the rules. When you guessed my identity, you became my master.
“What identity?”
But I have told you. I am the Thinking Cape. That is what you called me when you put me on and wrote the Oath.
“It’s not a real oath. I was just fooling around,” Fin said.
It could be real, Master. My job is to help make ordinary mortals into extraordinary ones. I can assist you in following the Oath—to do your best to help others. You do want to be a real superhero, do you not?
Maybe I’m dreaming, Finch thought. How else could I be talking to my kindergarten plaything? How else could it be answering back? “I don’t really like fighting,” he answered finally. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
Rest assured I detest violence as well. I can help you solve problems by thinking, not fighting. That is my power, Master.
“I AM NOT YOUR MASTER!” Fin shouted.
Alas, there is nothing to be done about it. The rules cannot be changed. O Master, you have no idea what a relief this is! I have been waiting a thousand years.
“No! I don’t want to be a mental case.” Fin picked up the wastebasket. “I’m dumping you into the garbage can by the driveway. You can talk to the trash from now on.”
But Master, should you not ask the other members of the Society of Super Secret Heroes what they think first? Perchance they would appreciate having a magical cape.
“There aren’t any other members. There isn’t any Society of Super Secret Heroes.”
Do you not think your friends would like to be members—and superheroes? You could ask them to join you.
Fin hesitated. “My friends could hear you, too?”
Of course—if you want them to.
Finch thought about how amazed the guys would be if they heard the Thinking Cape speak in their heads. They’d freak out, of course. But if they heard it, too, that would mean he wasn’t nuts. He had to know.
“All right. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll ask the guys to come over. But don’t talk to me anymore until then.”
Yes, Master.
“I said no talking!” Finch shoved the cape to the bottom of his backpack. This time the Thinking Cape didn’t answer.
On Wednesday nights, Finch and Mimi always had dinner with their father—unless Mr. Mundy had to babysit for Jake. The kid was eight months old now. Sometimes Finch’s dad brought him to see Jake, but the little blob had a schedule like a business executive. It was always time for his lunch, his bath, his nap, his walk, his playgroup, his baby gym class, or his baby swim class. Mostly, Finch saw the back of the kid’s head as he was leaving. It was hard to feel brotherly.
Tonight they went to Finch’s favorite Italian restaurant, Sal’s, since Mimi claimed she was too sick to go out. They sat in their favorite booth, which was next to a window in the wall where you could watch the two pizza men, Dom and Louie, tossing pies. Sometimes Finch and his father bet on which of the guys would finish making a pizza first. Or else they tried to guess what toppings would go on the next pie. But tonight, Finch just stared through the window while he downed a soda.
“A pepperoni for your thoughts,” his father said.
“Dad, when you were a kid, were you normal?”
“Normal? I don’t know, Fin. One man’s normal is another man’s nuts.”
“What?”
Fin’s dad grinned. “I mean it’s normal for people to have different opinions of what’s normal.”
Finch twisted his straw wrapper between his fingers. His father wasn’t helping. “I don’t think I’m normal,” he blurted out.
“In what way?”
Finch hesitated. What if his dad whisked him off to the hospital? But he had to tell someone. He couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ve been hearing this voice in my head.”
“What does it say?”
Finch felt his ears getting hot. “It reminds me of stuff. And, um, I think it wants me to be a superhero.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“Dad!”
Mr. Mundy smiled. “Sorry. So it’s like you’re talking to yourself ?”
“Sort of—but not exactly. It’s more like someone else is talking.”
“Who?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Fin said after a long sip of his soda.
Mr. Mundy nodded. “You know, I used to be a lot like you. Except, I used to think about robots instead of super-guys. I wanted to invent one that would do homework, take out the trash, rake the leaves, and be my friend. Every year for science fair, I made a robot. I liked to imagine it could talk to me—but the most I could ever get it to do was pick up a golf ball. One Halloween, I dressed up in a robot costume. After that the kids called me Robo-boy.”
Finch imagined his dad in a costume made of foil-covered cardboard boxes from the supermarket. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But it made him decide to trust his father. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Dad? I think I know who—I mean what—the voice is.”
Mr. Mundy was looking at his watch. “Hold on, Fin. I’ve got to make a quick call to Lisa. Jakey has an ear infection. I want to make sure the pain isn’t back. Then you can tell me more, okay?” He took out his cell phone without waiting for an answer.
Finch turned back to the window. One of the pizza men, Dom, grinned at him, but he was too upset to smile back. His dad didn’t really care about his problems. He’d only been pretending to be interested in what Fin had been saying. Probably, he’d been thinking about Jake the whole time.
Anyway, it had been a bad idea to tell his father about the voice, Finch chided himself. No adult would take him seriously. He began making loud slurping sounds with his straw. He kicked the back of the booth with his heels. The people at the next table glared at him.
“I’ve got to go now, Lisa,” Mr. Mundy said quickly. “I’ll be home soon.” He snapped his phone shut and looked across the table at Fin. “So, about the voice. You were going to tell me what you think it is.”
Fin shrugged. “I guess it’s just my imagination,” he mumbled.
When Sal brought their pizza to the table, he gobbled down his slices. He wanted to get home fast so he could call the guys. They were his only hope.
10
TILL DEATH DO US PART
“Until I die?” Elliott dropped the paper from his fingers.
The guys were sitting in a circle on the floor of Fin’s room, passing the Oath around. The ferrets crawled in and out of their laps, sniffing for raisins and crumbs. Fin finished tying on the cape and lifted Cubby into his arms. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the Thinking Cape yet. He knew his friends would never believe it could talk unless they heard it themselves. But now that they were all together, he wasn’t sure how to begin. What if he’d been imagining the whole thing—if he really was crazy?
“Why does it have to be a ‘secret’ society?” Elliott complained. “If I’m going
to be doing good, why can’t I let anyone know?”
“Remember the gift or the curse?” Finch asked. “Superheroes never reveal their true identities. Otherwise people would always be bothering them to do things. They’d never get any rest.”
“Besides, if anyone found out about the Society, we’d be goners. We’d have to move to Reject Island,” Raj explained, as if he were talking to his little brother. “I mean it El, you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone!”
“Okay, okay.” Elliott held up a hand like a policeman stopping traffic. “We’ll be super secret heroes.”
“Yeah—except we haven’t got the super part,” Kevin pointed out. “How can we be superheroes without superpowers?”
“We’d be a different type of superhero—the regular person kind. But maybe we’d have, er, outside help,” Fin said.
“Yeah? Who’s going to help us—Batman?” Kev asked. “You got his cell number?”
Raj and El burst out laughing.
Finch swallowed. So far, the only thing talking inside him was his nervous stomach. “Come on, say something,” he urged in his head. But the Thinking Cape didn’t make a peep.
“I’ve got superpowers,” Elliott announced. “I’m Elliott the Elastic.”
“Funny,” Kev said in a bored voice.
“No really, I—AHH . . . AHH . . .” Elliott reared back and let out a huge sneeze. “ACHOOO!” A string of greenish-yellow snot shot out of his nose and dangled all the way to the floor.
“Yeeeuck!” Raj and Kev scrambled backward.
Elliott pounded his chest with a fist. “See? Even my snot is elastic!” He reached out a finger and plucked the strand like a guitar string.
“Hey, that’s rubber snot!” Raj exclaimed.
“Yep, my newest gag from Gag-o-Rama,” Elliott said. Carefully, he wound up the snot and stuffed it into his cargo pocket.
“I think Fin’s idea is cool,” Raj said when the guys had settled down. “I wouldn’t mind being a secret superhero. I could be Raj the Remarkable. That’s what I’m going to call myself when I become a professional magician.”
The Society of Super Secret Heroes Page 4