by Sally J. Pla
“Darn straight they should, the lazy apes,” says Gramps, hunched over in his chair, already munching on a slice. “I told ’em. I told these boys, get to work.” Actually he hasn’t told us anything. He’s been in his recliner watching The History of Hydraulics all afternoon.
“Yo, coyote scat is disgusting. It’s, like, full of nuts and rocks and stuff,” Calvin says with a disgusting wad of olives and pepperoni hanging half out of his mouth.
“The motion-sensor lights aren’t scaring them off?” I ask.
Mom shakes her head.
Cal says in his deep, know-it-all voice, “You know, I could solve the whole problem. Just a few warning shots over their heads! I’m talking warning shots!”
“That might do it,” Gramps says, nodding.
Mom bangs her hand down hard on the table, and all conversation stops.
After dinner I hang out in my room and try not to think about Joon. Every time I do, a little whirlwind of anger and sadness spins around in my chest. The feelings are so mixed up, I don’t know the mad from the sad. All I know is that I’ve got to prove that I’m cool. And capable. And don’t need anyone. That I can handle the Trivia Quest, and beat Joon. I want to win those passes so I can throw them in Joon’s face.
I’ve printed the entry form. I just need Mom to sign it.
I think about John Lockdown. About what he said. About finding your superpowers when you least expect it. He found his in a utility room. I need to find mine—somehow. Somewhere. I need to believe it’s possible to change.
So when Mom heads up into her room, I figure it’s now or never. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask her to sign my form.
I take some deep breaths—aqua, ochre, aqua, ochre—and I’m about to knock on her door when I overhear her angry voice.
“That’s unbelievable. How could you make that commitment?” Her voice is low, but loud enough so that I can hear it through the door. I stand there, frozen. “What do I tell the boys?” she says. “YOU tell the boys.”
She’s talking to Dad on the phone.
Now her voice is muffled—she’s probably moved toward her bathroom. I strain to listen but I can’t make anything else out.
I back away slowly and tiptoe down the hall, down the stairs, and through the kitchen, still clutching my Trivia Quest application form. I head outside to breathe some fresh air.
What did Mom mean? What the heck does Dad have to tell us?
I realize what I’m doing. My feet are trying to head over to Joon’s house, to tell him about it. I catch myself just before I turn down the sidewalk—and then I feel even worse about everything.
I pace up and down our driveway instead. The air is cooling off by the minute, now the sun’s down, and a dry wind starts me sneezing. I bend over, prepping for the usual marathon—my record’s sixty-seven sneezes, back in fourth grade. Joon counted them for me.
“Hey.” A voice comes from Liberty’s kitchen window. “Pretty impressive snot expulsion.”
She comes down her back steps and stands there staring with her bulgy eyes. Her T-shirt says The Sports Team from My Geographical Region Is Superior to the Sports Team from Your Geographical Region. She frowns at me, then digs in her pocket to offer me a suspiciously rumpled Kleenex.
“Nah. I’m fine. My mom just said something weird, that’s all. I’m over it.”
Her face softens a little. “Moms. Gotta love ’em.”
I straighten up and wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “So . . . why do you live with your uncle?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Well, I usually live with my mom. But Uncle Dan’s always been kind of my second parent.” She digs the toe of her flip-flop in the grass. “When I was little, my mom used to get these itches to do stuff like backpack through India, or take care of elephants in Thailand. Then she’d send me to Uncle Dan’s for a few months.” She looks up at the pine tree, frowning. “But she’s not like that anymore, like she used to be. Now, it’s me who wants to wander off from her.”
“Yeah? Why did it change?”
Liberty shrugs. She places her hand on the tree trunk. “Let’s just say, my mom’s gone from free spirit to total control freak, where I’m concerned.” She picks off a piece of pine bark. “So I asked to come here. I had to get out of her clutches.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess,” I say. “Your uncle seems, uh, cool.”
I watch her flick pieces of bark off the tree. Finally, she shrugs. “He’s fine.” Then she sighs, turns, and points to my shirt. “What’s that?”
I perk up at the change of subject. “It’s an old vintage comic detective dude named Dick Tracy,” I tell her. “This picture? It was drawn in 1941. See his old-fashioned hat and trench coat? But now, look at his wristwatch. It’s not far off from today’s smartwatch, right? This was totally impossible sci-fi in the 1940s. Like wildest dreams. Like fiction. Now it’s the norm.”
“You don’t say, Norm.” She chucks me on the shoulder. “I wonder what kind of stuff will be the norm in the future.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Comics are a kick. They’ve predicted all kinds of stuff.” The image of John Lockdown suddenly flashes through my head.
“So,” she says, pointing at my shirt again. “I take it you’re into them. Comics, I mean.”
And just like that, I start telling her. About how great comics are. How Joon and I always were into them together—it was our thing. But we fought over Trivia Quest, and now we’re not friends.
I tell her about how much I hate Peavey—except for the Ready Room, the Sketchpad of Mystery, and the ongoing adventures of John Lockdown. How I keep thinking about him, all the story lines he could have. I have a ton of ideas to share with the mystery artist. Stories about all the ways John Lockdown could save us.
How I have this weird feeling he’s here, in some strange way, to help save me.
Liberty’s quiet as I talk. Finally, she smiles at me, pats my shoulder, and says, “Who knows? Maybe your John Lockdown is real. My mom, you know, she believes in spirits and stuff. She says we have to watch what we think because our spirits can turn our wishes into real things, and put them out into the world. Maybe your superhero’s out there somewhere already.”
“That would be weird but cool,” I say.
“Yup. Weird but cool,” she says, looking off into the distance. “Just like my mom.”
And just like her, I think.
But I don’t say it. I mean, come on. I’m not a moron.
17
THE NEXT AFTERNOON I’m at the kitchen table doing homework when Albert Einstein starts barking into the bottom of his dog dish. Apparently it’s because Liberty’s at the kitchen door, holding a paper shopping bag.
I let her in, and she stands there by the counter, shifting from one giant foot to another, clumsily patting Albert Einstein’s head.
“Here,” she says, handing me the bag. “This was in one of Uncle Dan’s moving boxes. He said it’s okay to lend them to you. I read a few. Pretty entertainingly . . . old.”
I open the bag and it’s filled with old comics. Archie and Jughead from the 1970s. A Spider-Man from 1991, and one mega-super-old intriguing-looking comic called the Clock, with a guy in a wide-shouldered suit and a black mask, holding a flashlight. They reek of basement mildew, but: wow!
“They’re probably not valuable or anything,” she says, “but I was thinking about that Trivia Quest thing you talked about. Maybe they’ll help.”
I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “I’ll be careful with them.” I thumb through the pages. “I’ve definitely heard of some of these but I’ve never actually seen them before. Way cool.”
I look up to thank her, but she’s already slipped back out the door.
Next morning, when I head down for breakfast, a weird sight greets me: Mom. Still at home. Sitting at the table drinking coffee with Gramps.
“Did you get fired or something?” I say, wondering if this is the right time to ask her to sign my Trivia Quest form.
“I’m going in late. And I’ll drive you boys to school today,” she says, glancing at her wristwatch as Cal stomps down the steps behind me.
Gramps is shaking his head disapprovingly.
“I want you and your brother to sit down and have a little chat with your dad this morning,” Mom says. “He has some news for you.”
Cal, his nose already in the fridge, calls out, “I emailed Dad about the rifle. Bet he’s gonna say to let me have it.”
“I’ll let you have it,” mutters Gramps.
Mom holds up her hand. “I want you to give your dad some respect for what he has to say.” She angles the laptop so that both Cal and I can see the screen.
I think about what I overheard in Mom’s room. I don’t have a good feeling about this.
“Hey, guys!” Dad’s crackly voice emerges from the laptop, and his face peers out at us. He’s really tan, and he’s wearing a hat, so it’s hard to make out his expression. Also, he’s growing a beard. He barely looks like Dad.
“Wow, Dad. It’s been so . . . long,” I say.
He nods, tilts his head, clears his throat, smiles a little. “It has, and I’m really sorry about that. You know how much I miss you, don’t you? But you know how important this work is. It’s life or death, quite frankly.”
Something Principal Coffin would say.
“Anyhow” —Dad stops to clear his throat—“I wanted to tell you that it’s looking like I need to stay on a bit longer than planned. Quite a bit longer.”
Something drops in the pit of my stomach.
“What? Nooo!” Cal roars. He’s suddenly bright red. “But you’ve been gone for months!”
Gramps shakes his head and mutters to the newspaper.
Dad takes off his hat and scratches at his head. Whoa—his hair’s so long, he’s got a ponytail now. A ponytail.
I let out my breath. And suddenly, I’m as mad as Cal. So mad, I feel like throwing my chair across the room.
Who is this person, and what did he do with my dad?
“It’s been a very, very tough decision to have to make, boys,” he says. “But the foundation pulled funding at the last minute from two big projects, and we’re scrambling. I need to stay on. I need to keep my word to these people. We’ve almost finished the project! The only ethical thing to do is to try to find more funding. People are counting on me—”
—And who does he think we are? What does he think we’ve been doing? We’ve been counting on him!
“I feel terrible. I do. I know this is really hard for you guys to understand. I promise I will make it up to you.”
Dad goes on. “Just know that we’re helping five new clinics get built! Think of all the good that’s going to put in the world! It’s a crime how long these people have been waiting for decent health care and educational facilities. We’re providing that!”
Finally, he has nothing left to say, and it’s clear Cal and I are upset. So Mom says good-bye for all of us and hangs up. Then she turns to us and pastes on a smile. “I know you boys are disappointed. I know you miss him. But let’s try to remember the bigger picture. Your dad’s saving lives! He’s a superhero!”
A superhero.
I bet John Lockdown wouldn’t leave his own kids, even if it meant saving a whole village. Or would he?
I don’t know what else to do, so I go wait in the car for Mom to drive us to school. I sit in back and pretend to rummage through my backpack for the whole entire ride—so they won’t see me trying to hide my stupid tears.
18
THAT AFTERNOON, I’m doing math homework in my room when something totally strange and unusual happens. My phone . . . actually . . . buzzes.
It’s not Mom. And it’s not Joon. It’s a text. From Liberty Silverberg.
Lib: So? How were Uncle Dan’s comics?
Stan: Good! Thanks again. Really cool stuff.
Lib: Come on, that Archie one wasn’t cool.
Stan: Archie’s cool!
I laugh and go back to math. Graphs. Slopes. Points to plot. If x, then y. I wish everything were as straightforward as math. If this specific x happens, then this specific y will exactly follow. That’s so reassuring.
But life is not like math. Life is more like: If x, then . . . WHY?
About one hour and three pieces of graph paper later, Mom knocks. Her smile seems dangerously wide.
“Hey, kiddo. I was just talking to Dr. Silverberg.”
“Um, okay?”
“Liberty told him you two are getting to be friends, and that you liked those old vintage comics of his. Then she told him about this Trivia Quest contest of yours. And so then he thought—and I thought—we all thought: Well, my goodness! Wouldn’t it be fun for you two to enter together?”
I stare at her, frozen. My stomach lurches. I don’t know what to think. Would this be better than entering alone? Or worse?
Mom’s smile falters slightly. “Well, we all know how you love comics trivia, Stannie. And Liberty could be there with you, working as a team, you know? Her uncle says she’s itching to get out more, and explore . . . Perfect, right?” She moves closer to me and lowers her voice. “Her mother is very picky about what she’s allowed to do these days, but Dr. Dan thinks she’s completely capable. And that this’ll be fun!”
My mouth can’t quite form any words. The entry form I was going to ask Mom to sign—the solo entry form—is still sitting right here on my desk.
Mom continues. “You love comic trivia; she wants a chance to get out more and explore. Perfect! Right?” She tilts her head and smiles. “Her mother is very protective, but Dr. Dan thinks he can talk her into it.”
Heat rises to my face; my chest goes squirmy.
“She’s been through a lot, that girl. Her uncle wants her to have a nice new start.”
I frown and shut my math book. “Well . . . I guess. Maybe.” I quickly glance at the application form, then back up at Mom. “Maybe we could try it. I don’t know. But there’s one thing, though: What’s this thing that Liberty’s been through? What’s the big secret about it all? I don’t get it.”
Mom’s smile kind of twists, and she shrugs. “I’m sure she’ll tell you eventually. When she’s ready. And Stanley?”
“Huh?”
“I’m proud of you for saying yes. For being brave. I have a good feeling about this!”
Well, that makes one of us.
19
“LISTEN. I KNOW they forced us,” says Liberty Silverberg, glancing at me while fidgeting in my desk chair. “But still. It could be an okay time.” She swivels the chair back and forth and back and forth, trying to make it squeak. “I’m good with hanging out downtown for a day, and, hey, you can geek out about comics. What’s not to love. Right?”
“There’s a lot more to winning this serious and important contest than hanging out and geeking out, Liberty,” I say.
“I know. Didn’t mean to minimize all your amazing trivia knowledge.” She rolls her eyes.
“Okay, then,” I say.
“My mom’s not too happy about me doing this—which is an added bonus! She’s so overprotective, I want to scream!” Liberty scrunches up her face and wags her finger. “‘Liberty,’” she mimics. “‘How are you feeling? Liberty, please check in!’ She makes me text her three times a day!” She spins in the chair, around and around.
“So . . . why’s she so overprotective, Liberty?”
Liberty lets the chair come to a stop. She sticks her long thin legs straight out in front of her, and considers her dirty purple sneakers. “I was kind of sick a while back. That’s all.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Hey. There are better reasons to do the Trivia Quest than ticking off my mom. I mean, this is your chance to shine, Stanley.” Liberty grins. “Comics trivia is your superpower! And I bring complementary skills. I can find my way around, look people in the eye, and actually talk to them! I’ll help you out, little dude. We’ll be a team.”
Little dude? Really? U
gh. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I decide to ignore it and open a map. We go over some of the downtown landmarks, figure out where the convention center is, and Balboa Park. Biggest park in the nation, home to a ton of museums and the San Diego Zoo.
“And here’s the ballpark. And the civic theater. Here’s the harbor,” I tell her. “Cruise ships, Maritime Museum, boats. And here? This is Waterfront Park. Fountains, grass, food trucks.”
“Yeah, food trucks, yum,” she says. “Uncle Dan and I were down there last week. The sushi one. Sub Diego. Phil’s BBQ . . . Hey, can we break for lunch?”
Great. The Trivia Quest is next Saturday, and Liberty’s commitment to studying is as bad as Joon’s.
We head downstairs and Liberty says, “You know, not to scare you or anything, but I did happen to notice there’s a ton of people entering this thing. So, just prepare yourself.”
I stop in my tracks. “How big?”
“Oh, hundreds of contestants.”
I grip the banister tightly. All my muscles tense. “I don’t do well in crowds.”
“I know. Not to worry,” she says. “I’ll be with you.” She punches my shoulder, joking, and I notice again how bony and flimsy her wrist is. The skin almost see-through, with faint blue veins like branches of some dead tree.
A worry-tree.
All week long, I’m doing the single-digit countdown to Saturday and the Trivia Quest with an ice storm of dread in my gut. It’s looming like a gallows at the end of a dark tunnel. Like a nameless nightmare of fear.
The only good thing about this week is at least Principal Coffin hasn’t inflicted any safety drills on us.
At lunch on Friday, Joon and Dylan are telling everyone how cool it’s going to be at the Quest tomorrow. How they’re soooo going to win it.
I don’t say a word. I’m sitting down at the end, not saying anything at all, as usual. Nobody knows I’ve entered. Not even Joon.
“So the clues are all over downtown?” Keefner asks Dylan, munching that same disgusting bologna, ketchup, and pickle sandwich he brings every day.