Owen Foote, Super Spy

by Stephanie Greene

  "It doesn't hurt," Owen lied. He pulled it away and rubbed it against his pants.

  Mr. Mahoney patted his wife on the shoulder. "He's fine, Patsy. I can take it from here."

  He sounded the way he did in school when there was a problem. It meant he was in charge, and everyone should leave. It always worked. People melted away fast. No one wanted to be around when the trouble started.

  "All right, dear." Mrs. Mahoney gave Owen a quick smile. "If you want a Band-Aid for that, you let me know."

  She left.

  Mi. Mahoney looked up at the top of the ridge. "It appears your troops have deserted you," he said.

  Owen looked up, too. Mr. Mahoney must have heard them running away. Now he was waiting for Owen to give him an explanation. Owen looked down at the ground.

  He couldn't think of a thing to say. He was as empty as the ridge.

  Then he heard a cough.

  Owen looked up and saw Joseph walking carefully toward the edge of the ridge. His face was bright red. The camouflage flap on his hat was dangling over one shoulder by a thread.

  To Owen, he had never looked more wonderful.

  "I thought you might not be far away, Joseph," said Mr. Mahoney. "Be careful coming down."

  Joseph partly slid, partly stumbled his way down the hill. When he got to the bottom, Mr. Mahoney grabbed him by the arm to keep him from falling.

  Joseph darted a nervous glance at Owen.

  "So," said Mr. Mahoney. He stood there smiling at them, waiting. He didn't say another word.

  He didn't have to. A whole silent conversation was going on among the three of them. Owen and Joseph knew that Mr. Mahoney knew that they had been spying. And Mr. Mahoney knew that they knew he knew.

  Now he was waiting to see what they would say.

  Owen's brain was careening around like a car on an obstacle course. He couldn't tell the truth—it was too embarrassing. But he couldn't lie, either. Mr. Mahoney was an expert in kids lying. He told them the same thing every year at the School Spirit assembly.

  Owen had heard it three times now.

  "You should always tell the truth because you know it's the right thing to do," he'd say. "But in case you ever get confused about what's the truth and what's not, I have my own lie detector right up here."

  Then he'd tap his forehead slowly—three times—while he looked around the crowded bleachers. "It can spot a lie a mile away."

  Every kid in the gym felt like Mr. Mahoney's eyes were boring right into their brain. Their brain, stuffed with possible lies and mean thoughts. They'd all stare back at him in awe.

  The way Owen and Joseph were doing right now.

  It was Joseph who finally spoke. "What are you going to do?" he said.

  "Do?" Mr. Mahoney rubbed his stubbly chin. "That's a good question, Joseph. I guess what I do will depend on what you tell me you were doing."

  It was going from bad to worse.

  "I'll tell you what," said Mr. Mahoney suddenly. "Let's not talk about this right now. Let's all think about it for a week. You two come back next Saturday and we'll talk about it then. Okay?"

  No, not okay, Owen wanted to say. Punish us now and get it over with.

  Please.

  But Mr. Mahoney was already leading them across the yard toward the road. He was saying something friendly about his garden. As if Owen and Joseph had stopped by to buy tomatoes or something.

  Owen and Joseph stumbled along beside him like sleepwalkers in the middle of a nightmare.

  Mr. Mahoney stopped when they got to the corner of the garage. "You might want to put something on that hand when you get home," he said to Owen. "I've got to get back to work, boys. I'll see you in school."

  "Okay." Owen raised his hand in the air, then let it drop back to his side. "Bye."

  "Yeah," said Joseph. "Bye."

  They had almost made it to the road when Mr. Mahoney called out to them. "Oh, and Owen," he said in a loud voice.

  Owen and Joseph both turned around.

  "If any of the other troops want to come with you, they're welcome."

  "Oh. Thanks," said Owen. He started to walk again. All he wanted to do was get away. To get off this road and away from this house as fast as possible.

  He didn't say a word to Joseph. He didn't even look at him. He wouldn't blame Joseph if he hated him for the rest of his life.

  Then Joseph said, "Sorry I ran away, Owen."

  Owen looked at him. "You're sorry?" he said. "What do you mean? I got us into this mess."

  Joseph shrugged. "Yeah, but before it was a mess, it was exciting."

  "I thought I was going to throw up when I saw Mr. Mahoney's face," Owen said.

  "I did, too," said Joseph, "when I knocked you down the hill."

  "You didn't knock me. Ben and Anthony did."

  "They couldn't help it. There was no room."

  They started to walk again. Joseph was right. Owen couldn't blame anyone. They had made a plan, and it had failed.

  What mattered now was next Saturday.

  "Where did Anthony and Ben go?" he said.

  "I don't know." Joseph shrugged. "Home, probably."

  More silence. "You know, that's the first time I've ever been to Mr. Mahoney's office," Joseph said finally. "Well, not his office. You know what I mean."

  "It's not as scary when you're at school. He expects you to be bad there."

  "Yeah. I don't think he was expecting you to roll down the hill like that."

  "Probably not," said Owen. "What did he look like?"

  "A little surprised."

  "I bet." Owen kicked halfheartedly at a stone in the road. “I wish it was Sunday," he said finally. "I mean, next Sunday."

  "Me, too," Joseph said.

  And then they didn't say any more. Because there was nothing more to say.

  Ben and Anthony were waiting for them at the comer of Chesterfield Road. "What did he do? What did he say?" Anthony was hopping up and down, waiting to hear the worst. "Was he mad? I bet he was furious."

  Owen looked at Ben. Ben's hands were hanging down at his sides. His face had a look on it Owen couldn't read.

  "What's your punishment?" Anthony said eagerly. "What's he going to do—give you a thousand weeks of detention?"

  He said it like it was funny. Like the whole thing had been a spy movie, and not real life. And that Owen and Joseph were just actors who had gotten caught.

  Not friends Anthony had deserted.

  "Where'd you guys go?" Owen said. He was suddenly very angry. "Why'd you run away like that? You should have come back, like Joseph."

  "Are you crazy?" said Anthony. "No way I was going to hang around and get in trouble. We were out of there. Right, Ben?"

  "I ran." Ben's voice was flat. "I didn't even think about it. I just ran."

  Owen was suddenly sick of the whole thing. "Yeah, well, thanks a lot, you guys," he said disgustedly. "Let's go, Joseph."

  He and Joseph started to walk again.

  "Come on, Owen, tell us what he said," said Anthony.

  "He said we have to go back there next Saturday," Owen said over his shoulder. "He said the rest of our troops should come with us."

  That wasn't entirely true, he knew. Mr. Mahoney had said they could come back, not should. Owen didn't think Mr. Mahoney even knew who the other kids were. But why should he tell them that?

  Let them stew.

  Anthony ran to catch up to them. "You didn't tell him who was with you, did you?" He looked from Owen to Joseph and back to Owen again. "Did you?"

  "That's for us to know and you to find out. Right, Joseph?"

  "Right."

  "No fair. Come on, you guys," Anthony wheedled. "You didn't, did you?" He stopped, but Owen and Joseph kept walking.

  "Did you?" he yelled.

  "Maybe. Maybe not," shouted Owen. He threw his arm over Joseph's shoulder.

  "We'll let them sweat it out," he said.

  "Yeah," said Joseph. "Like we're going to."

  It w
asn't a huge consolation, but it was better than nothing.

  6. Taking It Like a Man

  "It's going to be a long week," said Mr. Foote.

  "A very long week," said Lydia. "With a terrible ending."

  Mrs. Foote rested her hand on Lydia's arm. "I don't think Owen needs to hear that, Lydia."

  Owen moved a piece of lettuce over to cover up his potato salad. The last thing he wanted right now was food. Now that he was home, now that he'd watched his parents' reaction, the heady feeling of being a comrade-in-arms with Joseph had disappeared.

  He had told them what had happened, but not how he had felt. How he had felt was not something he wanted to say out loud.

  The humiliation of lying there on the ground with Mr. Mahoney looking down at him. The shame of standing there with his mouth hanging open, with nothing to say. Of not having the guts to tell the truth. Those kinds of things were impossible to talk about.

  When he got to the part about Joseph, Lydia thumped the table with her fist. "Good old Joseph!" she said.

  "That was a brave thing for him to do," said Mr. Foote.

  "I know," said Owen. "Mr. Mahoney knew there were others. He could hear them running away. But I didn't tell him who. He said they could come back with Joseph and me next Saturday."

  "Will they?" said his mom.

  "Anthony said he wouldn't."

  "What about Ben?"

  "I don't know." Owen shrugged. "Probably not."

  "Mr. Mahoney, of all people," said Lydia. She shook her head in amazement. "That's a wacky idea, even for you, Owen."

  "It certainly has gotten very complicated," said their dad. "But Owen can handle it."

  "You don't think we could call?" His mom looked hopefully at his dad.

  "No." Owen and his dad said it at the same time.

  "Dad's right," Owen said. "Joseph and me can handle it."

  Owen's mom didn't bother to correct his grammar.

  "What do you think he'll do?" said Lydia.

  "Mr. Mahoney is a very fair man," Mrs. Foote said firmly. "I'm sure it will be something reasonable."

  Owen and Lydia looked at each other.

  Maybe Mom's right, said Owen's face.

  Not a chance, answered Lydia's.

  Owen was almost glad when he woke up on Saturday morning. Between Anthony bugging him and his trying to avoid Mr. Mahoney in the halls, it had been the longest week of his life.

  He didn't think he'd slept a wink all week. Every time he closed his eyes, visions of Saturday morning ran through his brain like a video.

  He and Joseph would walk up to Mr. Mahoney's house. They'd knock on Mr. Mahoney's door. Mr. Mahoney would open it and say ... Owen's eyes popped open every time.

  He couldn't begin to imagine what Mr. Mahoney was going to say. Or do.

  Standing at the front door with his mom, Owen felt like a prisoner taking his last lonely stroll.

  "If you're not home in two days, we'll send out the police," Lydia called cheerfully from the study.

  "Lydia, that's mean." Mrs. Foote looked at Owen with a worried face. "You look tired, sweetie. Are you sure you feel all right?"

  "For Heaven's sake!" Lydia shouted. "He's practically going to jail! How do you expect him to look?"

  Owen's mom came outside, closed the door behind them, and put her arm around his shoulders. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you?"

  "No, thanks." Owen put on his helmet and walked over to his bike. "Joseph's riding his bike, too. We want to be able to make a fast getaway."

  "I'm sure everything will be fine," said his mom. "I'll have a nice lunch waiting when you get home."

  "Okay," Owen said. "Bye." He kicked up his kickstand and pushed off without looking back. He knew his mom was standing there, watching him.

  When he turned onto Chesterfield Road, Joseph was riding toward him from the other direction.

  They met halfway.

  "Hi," Joseph said.

  "Hi." They looked at each other for a minute. Then Owen shrugged. "I guess we'd better get going."

  "Yeah. We don't want to add tardiness on top of everything else."

  They rode in silence until they neared Mr. Mahoney's road. Someone was sitting on the grass on the corner.

  It was Ben. He stood up when he saw them coming.

  "What are you doing here?" said Owen, amazed.

  "I'm coming with you," said Ben. He picked his bike up off the grass.

  "Why?" said Joseph.

  "I was there, wasn't I?"

  "Yeah, but he doesn't know."

  "We let you think he did, to punish you," said Owen. "Well, not you so much. Anthony. Mr. Mahoney doesn't know anything."

  "Well, I do." Ben jutted out his jaw. "What kind of chicken do you think I am?"

  There was a heavy silence between them. Then Owen said, "Fried?"

  Ben only snorted, but Owen could see he thought it was a good answer. They hopped on their bikes and started to ride.

  Owen almost felt good as he pedaled. It was the three of them, side by side, in the middle of the road. The cavalry, riding to face the enemy.

  His bubble burst when Mrs. Mahoney answered the door. "Mr. Mahoney's down in the basement, boys." She smiled at them encouragingly. "Go right down."

  They filed past her with Owen in the lead. The basement? he thought. Why was he waiting in the basement? Why couldn't they do this outside, so the whole world could see?

  He put his hand on the basement door. "This one?" he said doubtfully. He hoped Mrs. Mahoney would hear the worry in his voice. Maybe she'd come with them.

  But all she did was nod. "That's right."

  Owen opened the door. Mr. Mahoney was standing at the bottom of the stairs. "Come on down, boys," he said in a hearty voice.

  They walked down slowly, like zombies in a chain gang.

  "Nice to see you, Ben," said Mr. Mahoney.

  At least it wasn't a padded cell, the way Lydia had almost convinced Owen it was going to be. It was a normal playroom. There was a striped rug on the floor and a huge couch with a coffee table in front of it. There were a few beanbag chairs, too, and a TV in one corner.

  A Ping-Pong table was pushed against one wall. Another wall was filled with bookshelves.

  "Make yourselves at home," said Mr. Mahoney. He waved them toward the couch. "Go on, take a seat."

  Owen perched on the edge of the cushion with Ben on one side and Joseph on the other. He had to force himself not to clutch Joseph's hand.

  "Well," said Mr. Mahoney. He paced slowly back and forth in front of them. Taking his time. "How was your week?" he said finally.

  None of them said anything for a minute. Then Owen said, "Long."

  "Excuse me, Owen?" Mr. Mahoney leaned toward him. "I didn't hear you."

  Owen looked up. "Long," he said again.

  Mr. Mahoney nodded. "And how did you feel?"

  Owen stared up at him. He couldn't tell what Mr. Mahoney was after. But he was tired of the suspense.

  "Terrible," he said with feeling. "I tossed and turned every night."

  "Ahhhh." Mr. Mahoney nodded again, as if it was what he had expected Owen to say. "Joseph?"

  Joseph looked up. "My stomach didn't feel so good."

  Mr. Mahoney nodded again and took a step sideways to stand in front of Ben. "And you, Ben?"

  Ben was staring down at his hands clenched in his lap. For a minute, Owen thought he wasn't going to answer.

  But then he did.

  "I was worried," he said. His voice was muffled.

  "Worried about what?" said Mr. Mahoney.

  There was a pause. Then, "That I was a chicken."

  "A chicken?"

  "Yeah." Ben finally looked up at him. "For running."

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  "Well, I think you can put your mind to rest on that score, Ben," said Mr. Mahoney. "You're definitely not a chicken. Coming back here with Owen and Joseph today wasn't an easy thing to do, was it?"

  Be
n shook his head.

  "Brave things usually aren't," said Mr. Mahoney. He looked at Owen. "And you, Owen."

  Owen sat up straight. He made himself meet Mr. Mahoney's eyes.

  "You could have told me who the other boys were, but you didn't. I respect that. And you didn't try to make any excuses for yourself. I respect that, too."

  Owen's heart was beating against his chest so hard he was sure they could all hear it.

  Joseph was last.

  "As for you, Joseph, you came back to support a friend," said Mr. Mahoney. "That was a very brave thing to do. I bet Owen will never forget it."

  "I won't," said Owen.

  They were all quiet. It felt good, having Mr. Mahoney say nice things about them. And not yelling. But there was still one thing on their minds.

  Their punishment.

  "I guess there's only one thing left to do," said Mr. Mahoney. He went over to the Ping-Pong table and picked up three paddles.

  He came back and held them out to the boys.

  "Pick your paddle," he said.

  7. Trapped Again

  "He hit you?" said Lydia.

  "Are you joking?" Owen tossed his bike helmet into the basket by the kitchen door. "We played Ping-Pong."

  "Ping-Pong?" This shocked her even more. "That's what he did to punish you? He made you play Ping-Pong?"

  "And he gave us soda and chips ... Owen plunked down on a chair. "It was fun."

  "You spy on the guy and he throws you a party?" Now Lydia was outraged. "That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of!"

  "I think what Mr. Mahoney did to punish them, Lydia, was to make them wait for a week," said Mr. Foote. He looked up from the cutting board where he was chopping onions for stir-fry. "I think Owen would tell you that was quite a bit of punishment."

  "Big deal," Lydia said rudely. "Didn't he say anything about spying on him?" she asked Owen.

  "Not in words."

  "What do you mean, not in words? How else could he do it?"

  "I must say, I have gained even more respect for Marty Mahoney," said their mom. She came out of the pantry and put the wok on the stove. When Mr. Foote did the chopping, she did the cooking. "I think the way he handled this was wonderful."

  "I don't get it." Lydia was looking from one parent to the other in disbelief. "Owen does a really dumb thing, and when he gets caught, he gets to play Ping-Pong and drink soda. And you two think it's wonderful?"