The Society of Super Secret Heroes

by Phyllis Shalant

  To: Anthony Burns ABurns@mailme.com Subject: Surprise Party

  Dear Mr. Anthony Burns,

  I’m a student at Middleburgh Elementary School. Your brother Mr. Slope Burns is my teacher. To help him feel at home, we are having a surprise party for his birthday. But I think the best surprise would be if you were here, too.

  I am writing to you from your brother’s e‑mail account, but please answer me at Madbird@mailme.com so you don’t spoil the surprise.

  The party is here at school on Friday, September 30, at 3:30, seven days from now. I really hope you can come!

  Sincerely,

  Finch Mundy

  Finch was clicking “Send” when he heard a voice outside the room. Quickly, he turned off the computer and hid in the kneehole space under the desk.

  “Da da DAAA, da da DAAAH,” the voice sang. It was the theme from Rocky. Finch’s stomach dropped like a stone down a well. He knew whose voice it was.

  21

  THE INSURANCE POLICY

  “Heh-heh! This is going to be great,” someone else said.

  Ugg. Finch knew who that was, too—the world’s only talking dung beetle. He held his breath and listened as feet shuffled across the floor. They seemed to be heading toward the window.

  “Hey, you crummy crabs, look at this nice shell. You both want it, don’t you?”

  “Heh-heh—guess you guys have got to fight for it.”

  Still on his hands and knees, Finch peeked around the side of Mr. Burns’s desk. Thorn was removing the screen from the top of the crabs’ tank. Beside him, Bud was holding a big orange shell.

  “Okay, put it in,” Thorn directed.

  Bud looked into the tank. “Do they bite?”

  “Aww, is Buddy-Wuddy scared of the cwabbywabbies?”

  “No.”

  “Then do it!”

  Clank! The shell clattered down between Phillip and Anthony. “Attack!” Bud ordered.

  Instead of crawling toward the shell, both crabs backed away.

  Thorn tapped the glass. “Come on—you’re supposed to be crabs, not chickens. Fight for it!” He smirked at Bud. “I think we need to give them a little encouragement. Get some paintbrushes.”

  Bud ran to the Art table and grabbed two paintbrushes. “Here.” He handed one to Thorn. “Now what? We paint ’em?”

  Thorn rolled his eyes. “Do I have to tell you everything? Watch.” With the back end of the brush, he pushed Anthony toward the new shell.

  Anthony’s antennae began going crazy.

  Bud stuck his paintbrush into the tank, too. “Move it, Philly!” He used the brush like a drumstick to bop Phillip.

  Little electric shocks were running down Fin’s arms and legs. He had to stop Thorn and Bud before they really injured the crabs. But the Thinking Cape’s warning was stuck in his brain: A melon seed in the ground may one day reappear a thousand times bigger and fatter and pop you in the nose. He imagined getting hit in the face by a big, round honeydew.

  He didn’t want to get hurt, but even more he didn’t want to get into trouble. What if someone came in while he was fighting? Last time he’d gotten blamed. It could happen again. He’d already upset his mom enough tonight.

  But Thorn had Anthony in his hand now. He was shaking him. “Come on out here, you spineless seafood, or I’ll have to crack your shell open,” he threatened.

  Quietly, Finch crawled out of the kneehole. He held his breath until he was right behind the two hospitality captains. “Put him back!” he ordered.

  Thorn jerked his head around. For a moment, he looked startled. Then he chomped his teeth together. “Who’s going to make me, Towelman? Your lawyer mommy?”

  “No, I am.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in using your gift,” Bud piped up.

  “S-sometimes it’s necessary.” Finch thought about running out of the room to get help, but he didn’t want to leave the crabs alone with Thorn and Bud for even a moment. He sent a frantic thought message toward the wall where his backpack was hanging. “Cape, I need help!”

  The cape didn’t reply.

  Finch tried again. “Look, I’m sorry I told you to shut up before. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  The stillness in Finch’s head continued. Suddenly he remembered—the cape was under the speechless spell. “Quell, quell the—”

  “What’d you say?” Bud asked before Finch was finished.

  Fin bit his lip. “Er, I said ‘ssspell.’ I’m not sure how to spell, uh, insurance,’ ” Finch stammered.

  Thorn squinted at Finch. “Insurance?”

  “Yeah, insurance,” Finch said as an idea formed in his head. “I’m trying to remember how to spell insurance so I can write it down.” He ran over to Mr. Burns’s desk and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil.

  “What are you doing?” Thorn snarled. He drew his arm back as if he were going to hurl Anthony like a baseball.

  “Put him back!” Finch begged. “I’m going to fight you. I just have to write my insurance policy first.”

  “You’re nuts, Towelman,” Thorn said, but he put the crab into the tank.

  Finch scribbled as fast as he could. When he was done, he shoved the paper across the desk. “Here, sign this and I’ll fight.”

  Thorn held the paper up to read.

  Insurance Policy

  I certify that Finch Mundy is not

  responsible for my injuries because

  I made him fight me.

  Signed _____

  “Hurry up—sign,” Finch urged.

  “Why should I sign this?” Thorn dropped the sheet onto the desk.

  “Insurance is a kind of protection in case something bad happens,” Finch explained. He wasn’t the son of the town’s best insurance agent for nothing. “I need to protect myself in case I hurt you. I don’t want to get expelled from school. My mom would go through the roof.” Finch raised an eyebrow. “You met her. She can be pretty tough.”

  “Ha! You’re not going to get expelled,” Thorn said. “You’re just going to get injured.”

  “If I hurt you really bad, I might.” Finch glanced at the clock. “Better hurry and sign your name.”

  Thorn jabbed Bud with his elbow. “Buddy can say who started it.”

  “Oh, no.” Finch shook his head from side to side. “I’m not trusting him. Besides, what if I knock him out, too?”

  “Me?” Bud took a step backward.

  “This is dumb. You’re faking. You couldn’t even knock yourself out,” Thorn said.

  “Then sign it and let’s fight.”

  “First I’m taking out insurance, too.” Thorn helped himself to a sheet of paper.

  “You can’t—you’re the one who’s insisting on fighting. I’m just going to defend myself,” Finch pointed out.

  Thorn crossed his arms over his chest. “Then I’m not signing.”

  Finch shrugged. “Okay, don’t. But I’m leaving this on Mr. Burns’s desk anyway.”

  “Give me that!” Thorn grabbed the paper and began tearing it into bits.

  “Shh! Someone’s coming,” Bud whispered.

  All three boys looked toward the door as the thundering of feet sounded in the hallway. Raj, Kev, and Elliott ran into the room.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Thorn demanded.

  “What are you doing here, Thorpion?” Kev shot back.

  Thorn’s eyes flashed rays of death at him. “I’m a hospitality captain. I’m keeping the school safe. You’re not supposed to be here now.” He pulled his notepad from his back pocket. “Too bad I’m going to have to report you guys for skipping Mr. Kutler’s talk in the auditorium.” He removed the pencil from behind his ear and began writing down their names.

  “If you do, I’ll tell Mr. Burns what you and Bud were doing,” Finch threatened.

  Thorn hesitated. “Guess we should call a truce, then.” He held out his hand to shake. Suddenly a disgusted look came over his face. He brought his palm to his nose and sniffed. “Ew, it
smells like crab poo—I’d better wipe my hand first.” He leered at Finch. “Got a towel?”

  “No!”

  Bud began cackling. But Thorn was suddenly businesslike. “C’mon, Buddy, we’d better go to the boys’ room and wash off the stink.”

  22

  VANISHED!

  “Oh, man! Why did Thorn ask for a towel? You think he knows something about the Thinking Cape?” Raj whispered as parents and kids began straggling into the room.

  “Why would he? No one said anything, right?” Slowly, Finch peered into each guy’s face.

  “Don’t look at me,” El protested.

  Fin glanced toward the side of the room. He could still see his jacket on the hook where he’d left it, and underneath, the bulge of his backpack. He wished he’d left the Thinking Cape at home—it was in a meddlesome mood. To be safe, he decided to keep the speechless spell in force.

  Someone put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Fin, where have you been?” his mother said. “You missed the principal’s talk.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You were inexcusably rude to your dad. I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight.”

  Finch studied the floor. He couldn’t see why his mother was worrying about her ex-husband. He’d gotten himself a replacement wife and a replacement son. He didn’t need them anymore.

  His mother sighed. “Okay, we’ll talk about it later. Why don’t you show me around until your teacher gets here?” She pointed to the side of the room where Mr. Burns had filled a bulletin board with the compositions the students had written on their first day of school. “What are those?”

  “Just some stuff we wrote. You don’t have to read mine—it’s not so good,” Finch said quickly.

  But Mrs. Mundy went over to look anyway. Finch trudged after her. “Where’s yours?” she asked as she scanned the bulletin board.

  Finch wished he’d chosen to write about the Spider-Man movie, which she’d taken him to, instead of the lookout platform he’d built with his dad. He glanced around. At least his father hadn’t come to the classroom. Maybe he’d decided to go home.

  But a moment later, Mr. Mundy came walking in with Mr. Burns. They looked as if they were having a serious discussion. Maybe his teacher was telling how Finch had disrupted the class with his “scorpion” outburst. Or maybe his dad was telling Mr. Burns about how he’d acted tonight in the hall. Either way, Fin felt like a bug under a microscope—a flea, or a tick, or a dung beetle.

  “Good evening,” Mr. Burns said in a formal voice that made some kids giggle. He was actually wearing a jacket and a tie. His bunchy red hair was all gelled down. “Students, please take your regular seats. Parents, you can pull one of the extra chairs over to sit with your kids. You’re also welcome to sit along the windowsills and any other spaces you find.”

  Fin’s mother brought a chair up beside his. To his relief, his dad leaned against the back wall. Once Mr. Burns began explaining about the activities at the learning centers, he sounded more like himself. Finch tried to listen, but his mind kept wandering. He’d have to remember to remove the shell Thorn had dropped into the crab tank without attracting attention to himself. He wondered if there was a way to attach an alarm to the tank in case the scorpion or the dung beetle stuck their hands in again.

  Then there was the problem of the Thinking Cape. It was getting harder to keep it from being discovered. He knew some of it was his fault—he kept forgetting to speak to it inside his head. But the cape could be pretty annoying. It wanted to tell him what to do. It was oversensitive. It kept asking for things that were impossible, like being worn in public.

  “Are there any questions?” Finch heard Mr. Burns ask. His presentation seemed to be over.

  Mrs. Mundy raised a hand. “Are the students going to do a research project this year?”

  “As a matter of fact, they’re going to do one on extinct animals next month,” Mr. Burns answered.

  The idea of extinct animals always made Finch a little sad. He hated the notion that there had once been creatures he would never get to see except in a book or a museum. And he couldn’t help imagining how lonely life must have been for the very last dinosaur, or dodo bird.

  Probably, that was how the Thinking Cape felt. It wasn’t an animal, but it was almost extinct, too. It could even have been the only one left on the planet. Suddenly Fin felt guilty. He promised himself he’d wear the cape around the house this weekend, even if Mimi made fun of him. He’d do other fun things for it too, like rent a new superhero DVD. And he’d take it up to the lookout platform to read more of Tales from the Arabian Nights. This time he wouldn’t ask a single question if the Thinking Cape told a different version of the tale.

  “Fin, time to go,” his mother said, waking him from his thoughts.

  He looked around. Everyone was leaving. Raj and Kev waved as they walked out with their parents. Elliott and his mom were already gone. “I’ll get my things,” he said, heading for the side of the room.

  Chloe’s stuff was hanging next to Fin’s. “This was such a great idea to have kids come with their parents to Back to School Night,” she said as she lifted her sweater off the hook. She was still wearing her hospitality captain badge. “I hope we do it again next year.”

  “Yeah, great,” Finch grunted. He grabbed his sweatshirt and put it on. Then he lifted his backpack. He was slipping one of the straps over his shoulder when he realized something. It seemed too light.

  “Hey, Cape, is everything okay?” he asked silently. He waited and listened in his head. The Thinking Cape didn’t reply. He unzipped his pack just enough to slip a hand inside.

  “Ahh!” Finch gasped, very much out loud.

  Chloe giggled as if he were joking. “Did your backpack bite you?”

  “No! I lost my . . . something.” Finch could feel his ears flashing red.

  “What?”

  “My, er, homework notepad.”

  “Well, if you need the assignment, you can call me tomorrow. My mom calls me Miss Organized.” Chloe flashed Finch a big, bright smile. “Do you want my telephone number?”

  “I’ll look it up,” he said stiffly.

  “Okay. I’ve got to go now—my mom’s waiting. Bye, Finny!”

  Finch tried to smile, but he could only grit his teeth. He turned his back and peered into his pack.

  “Fin, is everything okay?” his mother asked from behind him.

  “No—my homework pad is missing.”

  Mrs. Mundy sighed. “Look around the floor. You probably dropped it somewhere.”

  Finch checked in the kneehole of his teacher’s desk and under the table that held the crab tank. He looked on the bookshelves, in the Banking Center, and beneath the Art table. He even poked in the garbage can. “Quell, quell the speechless spell!” he chanted. “Cape, where are you?”

  The only thing he heard was his own fast breathing.

  His mother had her car keys out as she approached him. “Maybe someone picked it up by mistake. I’m sure whoever has it will return it Monday.”

  “No! I mean I need it to do my homework.”

  “It’s Friday night. Tomorrow you can call one of the guys for the assignment. Now let’s go. It’s getting late.”

  “I can’t leave!’ Finch yelled. “I’ve got to find it.”

  His father joined them. “Is something wrong, Fin?”

  “My notepad is gone.”

  “I’m sure it will turn up,” Mrs. Mundy said. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

  Finch clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I need to keep looking.”

  “Elaine, if you want to go home, I’ll search with him a little while longer,” Mr. Mundy offered.

  “Would you? Thanks. I’m bushed.” Mrs. Mundy pecked the top of Fin’s head. “See you later.”

  Fin and his dad traced the route along the corridor from the classroom to the gym. The custodian, Mr. Paul, let them into the front office to search the Lost and Found box. In the boys’ room they
checked the stalls. Fin didn’t find the cape.

  “I think we’ve looked everywhere. Let’s go home, buddy,” Mr. Mundy finally said.

  Finch hung his head. He felt as if he were going to cry. As they walked out of the building, his father put an arm around him. “What was in your notepad, anyway? It wasn’t just homework, was it?”

  Something in his father’s voice made Fin feel as though he could tell the truth. “I didn’t really lose my notepad. I lost my cape.”

  “The old one with the lightning bolts?” His father looked surprised, but not like he thought it was funny.

  “Yeah,” Finch said. He didn’t try to explain. To his relief, his dad didn’t ask him to. They got into Mr. Mundy’s station wagon and drove in silence for a while.

  “Your teacher told me you’re the first friend he’s made here,” Mr. Mundy said finally. “He thinks you have an unusual ability to empathize with people and hermit crabs.”

  “What does empathize mean?”

  “It means you’re a caring, understanding kid.” Pete Mundy reached across and ran a hand over Fin’s hair.

  Fin felt like a giant rat. He couldn’t believe his dad was saying nice things after the way he’d behaved tonight.

  “I’ve got an idea. How about sleeping over at the apartment? Lisa makes great pancakes, and after breakfast, you and I could take Jake to the park. I could call your mom right now.”

  “I don’t really feel like it tonight.”

  “Listen. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it lately, but I think you’re a really special kid. I know I’ve been wrapped up in Jake. I just wanted to give him a good start, so he grows up to be a superhero like you.”

  Fin closed his eyes. His dad had it wrong—he wasn’t special. And without the Thinking Cape he definitely wasn’t a superhero.

  23

  AN URGENT MISSION

  At seven o’clock in the morning, Fin knocked lightly on Elliott’s front door. “Hi, take off your shoes,” Elliott whispered as he opened the door to his apartment. “My mom likes to sleep late on Saturday.”