The Society of Super Secret Heroes

by Phyllis Shalant

  Perchance you should reconsider, Master. That does not seem like a wise idea.

  Finch shrugged a shoulder. “No one asked you. You’re a thinking cape, not a manners cape.”

  But, Master Finch, this party is for Mr. Burns. He would not want to hurt the feelings of any of his students. Not even if one is a scorpion and the other a dung beetle.

  “Dung beetle?” Raj exclaimed. “My grandma told me they’ve got those in India—giant ones that eat elephant poop.”

  “Elephant poop!” Elliott and Kev began screaming with laughter. But Finch felt a flicker of irritation.

  “I’m the master around here, not you,” he snapped at the cape. “Quit telling me what to do.”

  I am sorry, Master. I was only trying to be helpful.

  Kev was still cackling. “I think the cape is right, Master. It’s Mr. Burns’s party, not yours.”

  “Yeah, Master.” Elliott’s blue eyes were wide with mischief. “Besides, with the principal and the teachers at the party, Thorn and Bud won’t dare make trouble. So there’s nothing to worry about, Master.”

  The guys began laughing again.

  “Okay, okay!” Finch agreed grudgingly. “We’ll include them. But quit calling me Master.” He tugged on the cape. “Except you.”

  They set up an assembly line. Elliott folded the paper. In black marker, Kev drew the bugles and lettered the word Shhh. With gold markers, Raj and Finch colored in the bugles. Everyone helped write out the insides:Come to: A SURPRISE Birthday Party

  For: Mr. Burns

  Date: Friday, September 30

  Time: 3:30 sharp!

  Place: The Cafeteria

  Please Bring a Birthday Card and a Snack to Share

  “My hand hurts,” Elliott complained when they were done.

  “Mine, too.” Raj waggled his fingers.

  “How are we going to give them out without getting caught?” Kev asked.

  Finch straightened the stack of cards. “I already thought of that. Back to School Night is the perfect time. Mr. Kutler told me everyone’s going to meet in the gym first. So while all the classrooms are empty, you guys can put an invitation on each teacher’s desk. I’ll take care of the invitations for our classmates.”

  “I love surprise parties,” Elliott exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see Mr. Burns’s face when we all jump out.”

  I used to love parties, too. My master the merchant always held them on his birthdays. Everyone would dress in his or her finest clothes. The maid always washed and brushed me for the occasion. Do you think I need a washing, Master Finch?

  “Wait a minute. I’m not wearing you to Mr. Burns’s party,” Fin said. “If I did, everyone at school would laugh at me.”

  But, Master, you might need me there.

  “At a party? What for? This isn’t the olden days. Ordinary guys don’t wear capes. Besides, something could happen to you.”

  “Yeah, someone might spill a drink on you,” Kev said.

  “Or worse.” With a flick of his wrist, Elliott flung something rubbery and yellow toward Finch. Splat! It hit him in the chest. The Thinking Cape let out a yelp.

  Aiyyya!

  Fin grabbed the rubbery mess. “Yeah, you could get hit by flying puke.” He sent the fake vomit sailing back to Elliott.

  The Thinking Cape was silent.

  “What’s the matter? Didn’t they have fake vomit in old Persia?” El teased.

  The guys hooted at the thought. But the Thinking Cape still didn’t make a peep. And for once, it didn’t talk to Finch all the way home.

  19

  NIGHT CLIMBERS

  In the middle of the night, Finch awoke with a start. A chilly breeze blew over his blanket and made him shiver. “Cape?” He felt around his mattress. Had he kicked it onto the floor in his sleep? He’d stayed up late watching an old Superman movie he’d hoped would cheer up the Thinking Cape. But the cape hadn’t seemed to enjoy the movie. It had hung limply over his shoulders. It didn’t laugh at any of the funny parts.

  Finch sat up and switched on his lamp. The Thinking Cape was draped over the sill, hanging halfway out.

  “Cape, what are you doing up there?” he whispered as he snatched it back inside.

  A swift breeze blew me up here, Master. I have been enjoying the fresh air.

  “Did you stir up the wind again?” Suddenly Finch had a worrisome thought. “You weren’t trying to get out, were you?”

  Nay, Master. I was only thinking about the moving picture we watched. I have always wondered what it would be like to sail in the sky like that.

  Finch felt his throat tighten. The cape sounded depressed. Maybe he wasn’t doing such a good job of taking care of it.

  “I could show you how it feels to be closer to the sky,” he offered.

  Really, Master?

  “Yep, let’s go.” Finch stuffed his feet into his sneakers and tied the cape on over his pajamas. He grabbed his pillow, a flashlight, and his book and climbed out the window.

  He was afraid someone might see the flashlight beam, so he trotted across the yard in the dark. He was used to running with his eyes shut anyway. When he got to the tree, he felt around the trunk for the wooden slats his dad had nailed up as toeholds. The breeze nipped at Fin’s ears and the tip of his nose as he began climbing. But across his back, the cape felt as warm as a steam pipe.

  “How do you like it?” Fin asked when they’d reached the wide, sturdy platform. He hadn’t come up here since school had started. The crescent moon was like a big yellow smile in the sky. The treetops waved their leaves at him.

  Now I know how a flying carpet feels, Master. It is wonderful!

  Finch tied the cape to the railing so it could flap without sailing away. Then he lay on his back with his pillow under his head. “Would you like to hear a story from this book?”

  Indeed, Master! Would you mind reading the one about the fisherman and the bottle again?

  “Okay.” It was one of Fin’s favorites, too. The story was about a simple fisherman who found a copper bottle in his net as he dragged it from the sea one morning. Finch turned on the flashlight and began reading aloud.

  “Although it won’t fill our bellies, my wife might like this pretty vessel,” the fisherman said. As he lifted it up, the bottle made a sound like the shifting of sand. The old man pulled out its stopper and turned it over. No sand poured out. Instead, a cloud of smoke rushed upward and a jinni appeared. It was so tall its head nearly reached the clouds, and so fierce its sword flashed brighter than lightning.

  “Prepare to die, unlucky one,” the jinni boomed.

  At first, the fisherman just gaped at the jinni. Then he asked, “Where did you come from?”

  “From the bottle, you stupid worm,” the jinni replied.

  The fisherman eyed the bottle. “I couldn’t even get my big toe through that bottleneck. You could never fit in there.”

  “Are you saying I’m a liar?” the jinni raged. With his flashing sword he sliced at the sky.

  The fisherman shrugged. “Only a fool would believe you could fit in that small container.”

  “You’re the fool!” the jinni thundered. But though he stormed, and spat, and waved his sword, the stubborn fisherman still refused to believe him.

  “I’ll show you!” the jinni thundered. He turned into a cloud of blue smoke and wafted back into the bottle.

  “Are you all the way in?” the fisherman asked.

  “Yes, you numbskull,” the jinni’s voice echoed.

  “Good, then I believe you,” the fisherman said, and immediately pushed the stopper back into the bottle. With an arm that was strong from years of fishing, he threw it far into the sea. That was how a simple fisherman got rid of a boastful jinni forever.

  “That’s such a great story,” Finch said as he closed the book.

  But it is not true, Master.

  “What do you mean?”

  The fisherman was clever, but he did not dispose of the jinni forever. Sometime la
ter, my master the merchant purchased the same copper bottle in a shop that sold antiquities.

  “What are those?”

  Ancient objects of interest, Master. The merchant wanted to add the old bottle to his personal collection. But as he was about to set it on a shelf that held three other bottles, he heard a sound like the shifting of sand. So he pulled out the stopper and turned it over.

  Finch swallowed. “And the jinni appeared?”

  Exactly so. Unfortunately, it was still horribly angry. It was ready to strike down my master with its terrible flashing sword.

  “Quick, Master,” I said. “Tell it there are also jinnis in the other three bottles—one who claims it is the most powerful in the world, another who says it owns the largest diamond in the world, and the third who is the most beautiful female jinni in all the worlds of the universe.”

  In a shaking voice, my master did as I bade him.

  “Is that so?” roared the jinni. “Well, any jinni who claims he is stronger than myself is a liar. And what do I care for diamonds, when I can take whatever I want from anyone, anywhere? But beauty is another story. I would like nothing better than a beautiful wife. Pull the stopper from her bottle and let me see her.”

  The merchant obeyed. Nothing appeared. The jinni raised his lightning bolt of a sword to slay him.

  “Explain that the lady is shy because so many unworthy jinnis have tried to woo her, Master,” I urged.

  My master did so. His voice was so meek, the jinni had to stoop to hear it.

  “Then I will enter the vessel to meet this lady—but only for a moment,” the jinni grumbled with impatience. “When she sees how handsome I am, she will certainly come out with me. Wait here.” And in an instant, he turned into a puff of red smoke and wafted into the bottle.

  “Master, hurry! Put the stopper in,” I instructed.

  Quickly, my master closed up the bottle. Then he hired a boat and we set sail immediately. When we reached the center of the sea, my master tossed the copper bottle overboard. That is the true story of how the jinni was disposed of for good.

  Finch thought for a moment. “If the jinni was so ferocious, why didn’t he just kill the merchant before he went into the bottle to look for the female jinni?”

  But that is the point, Master. With my help, the merchant outwitted him.

  “Again? After being fooled by the fisherman? Huh! That jinni was a real dummy.” Finch yawned. “I’m pooped. We’d better go back inside.” He began gathering his stuff. He was about to start down the tree when he thought of something else. “Cape? In the book it said the jinni turned into blue smoke. But you said it turned into red smoke. Which was it?”

  A jinni can turn into any color smoke it chooses. It is a small matter.

  “Oh,” Finch said. Maybe he was being picky, but there was something about the Thinking Cape’s story that was bothering him.

  20

  BUSTED

  “Do you really have to bring your backpack along?” Finch’s mother asked as they left for Back to School Night. “What have you got in there, anyway?”

  “Just some stuff I might need, like a pencil and pad to take notes,” Finch answered.

  “Fourth grade must agree with you. You’re so diligent this year.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Hardworking. Careful.”

  “Oh—I’ve had a lot of help,” Finch said.

  His mother pulled him into a big hug. “I wish you’d give yourself some credit. But I’d also like an opportunity to thank your teacher—and whoever else has been helping you.”

  A crowd of parents and students were already walking down the hall as they entered the building. “We’re supposed to go to the gym first,” Fin said. “Mr. Kutler is going to welcome everyone.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his dad. He could hardly believe it! Even when his parents had still been married, his dad hadn’t come to very many school events.

  For the first time in years, he took his mother’s hand. “This way, Mom,” he said, towing her along.

  “Fin, hold on!” his father called as he wove in and out of the crowd.

  Finch pretended not to hear. He stuck out his chin and kept on going—or tried to.

  “Finch, that’s your dad. We have to wait.” Mrs. Mundy began to slow down.

  But Finch only tugged her harder. He hated having both parents together at the same time. He didn’t know how to act. He was worried his mom might get upset. When his dad had moved out, she’d cried a lot. Why hadn’t he stayed home with the blob?

  “Finch, stop!” His mother planted her feet and refused to move.

  “No rough play in the hallways!” a voice barked. A hand grabbed Finch’s arm and yanked him around. Thorn flashed him the grin of a man-eating shark.

  Finch stared at the name tag stuck to his chest. In red magic marker it said THORN—HOSPITALITY CAPTAIN.

  “Is this a friend of yours?” Mrs. Mundy asked.

  “Classmate” was all Finch could manage to say.

  Thorn whipped a little notebook out of his back pocket and removed a pencil from behind his ear. “Sorry, but I’ve got to write your names down,” he told Mrs. Mundy. “I’ll have to report you.”

  “I’m a lawyer,” Mrs. Mundy told Thorn. “If you do, I’ll haul your butt into court.”

  Thorn’s jaw dropped. “But you’re supposed to obey the rules.”

  “I’m sure the rules say you’re not allowed to touch anyone,” Mrs. Mundy said. “Get going or I’ll report you for Hospitality Abuse.”

  “I didn’t hurt him,” Thorn protested. But he began backing away.

  “Mom, you’re not a lawyer—you’re an insurance agent,” Fin said when Thorn was gone.

  “And he’s no hospitality captain,” she answered. She giggled at her own joke.

  Finch managed a weak smile. He knew she’d been trying to help, but his mother didn’t understand. It was one more thing for the Thorpion to hold against him.

  “Hello, Elaine.” Suddenly Finch’s dad was beside them. On the shoulder of his sport coat Finch noticed a crusty stain. It looked like baby food or spit-up. Probably his dad thought it was cute.

  “Hello, Pete,” Mrs. Mundy said, switching to the voice she used for business.

  “How are you, buddy?” Mr. Mundy gave Finch a playful punch in the shoulder.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?” Fin said accusingly.

  His father opened his mouth but no words came out.

  “Finnnnn.” There was a warning in his mother’s tone.

  “I thought I’d find out what you’ll be doing in school this year—and meet your new teacher,” his father said.

  Fin stared down the corridor. “Don’t you have to be home with Jake?”

  “Lisa is taking care of him.”

  “But you don’t like coming to this kind of stuff,” Fin said.

  The tips of Mr. Mundy’s ears were red. So were Fin’s. “I want to be here, Fin. Is that okay?”

  Finch shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

  His mom put a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Fin. This isn’t the time to—”

  “It’s all right,” Mr. Mundy said quietly. “I’ll just head over to the gym. I’ll see you in your classroom after the principal’s talk.”

  “I’m sorry, Pete. I guess Fin can’t handle being with both of us together,” Finch’s mother said.

  “Yes, I can!” Finch snapped.

  Master Finch, you should give your father a chance to show you—

  Finch elbowed his backpack. “Quit butting in,” he ordered silently. “You’re not my conscience.”

  But, Master. It is not too late to say you are—

  “That’s it,” Finch murmured under his breath. “Pell-mell, a speechless spell!”

  Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Come on, we’d better go, too,” his mother said. The tightness in her voice made Finch wish he’d never heard of Back to School Night.

  At the entrance to the gym
, they stopped. The big square room was set up with rows of folding chairs. Already, most of them were full. Mr. Kutler was up front, adjusting a microphone.

  Elliott and his mom arrived. “Hello, Elaine. Hello, Finch,” Elliott’s mother said.

  “Hi, Ms. Levenson. Hi, El.” Finch felt relieved that his mother would have someone to sit with. Ms. Levenson wasn’t married either. She and Elliott, and their big dog, Peewee, lived in an apartment near the campus where she worked.

  “I think there are some empty chairs all the way on the right,” Ms. Levenson said. “We’d better take them before someone else gets there.”

  Finch squirmed uncomfortably. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

  “Maybe I’d better go, too,” Elliott said.

  Mrs. Mundy frowned. “Mr. Kutler looks almost ready to start.”

  “That’s okay, Mom. You and Ms. Levenson go in. We’ll see you later.” Without waiting for her reply, Finch turned and ran. Elliott was right behind him. Finch was worried they’d run into Thorn or Bud, or one of the other hospitality captains. But they managed to get to the boys’ room without being seen.

  Kev and Raj were already there. “What took you guys so long?” Kev grumbled. He took the stack of invitations out of his backpack.

  “Don’t worry,” Finch said, although his stomach was doing gymnastics. “We’ve got plenty of time. Mr. Kutler really likes to talk. While you’re delivering the invitations around school to the teachers, I’ll do the ones for the kids in our class. Meet me at our room when you’re done.”

  He opened the bathroom door and peeked out. No one was in the corridor. “Okay, let’s go!”

  All the lights in the empty classroom were on when Finch arrived. As fast as he could, he stuffed an invitation into each of his classmates’ desks. Then he went to his teacher’s computer and tried the mouse. Good—Mr. Burns hadn’t shut down yet. He clicked on the e-mail program. There was one more person he wanted to invite. It was a long shot, Finch knew, but if that person came, it would make the surprise party even more surprising.