Owen Foote, Super Spy

by Stephanie Greene

  "Do you mind if I go upstairs?" Owen said.

  "Go ahead," said his mom. "I bet you're tired."

  "I'm exhausted."

  "What are you going to do the next time he does something dumb?" Lydia said as he left the room. "Take him to Bermuda?"

  Owen dragged himself up the stairs and into his room. He fell across his bed and closed his eyes.

  He couldn't even begin to explain to Lydia about how much he'd learned from Mr. Mahoney's brand of punishment. He had gone to the Mahoneys' feeling so terrified. And he had left there feeling so great.

  Mr. Mahoney hadn't said a word about the spying, because this whole thing hadn't really been about spying, Owen realized. It had been about facing up to things.

  Either you did or you didn't.

  If you did, then whatever it was you had done was over. You could move on.

  If you didn't, it would never be over. It would always be there, nagging at you.

  It wasn't the kind of thing Owen could put into words. Especially not to Lydia. He knew it would come out sounding dumb.

  But it wasn't dumb. It was right.

  Owen got up and looked at his face in the mirror. Did he look a little more mature, or was that dirt?

  He rubbed at the space between his eyes.

  Okay, so he looked the same. But he felt more mature.

  And all of a sudden, he wasn't the least bit tired. Maybe he'd make his salamanders a new environment this afternoon, he thought, bending down to peer into his aquarium. Go into the woods and find some fresh moss.

  Maybe get a bigger stick for them to climb on.

  Owen opened his drawer and rummaged around for his Swiss Army knife. He'd ask his mom if Joseph and Ben could come over tomorrow. Maybe they could start a new club. The "Men of Steel" club. Instead of spying, they could make up a new secret code and send important messages back and forth.

  They wouldn't need walkie-talkies for that. Ben said his dad had taken them away from him, anyway.

  Owen shoved his knife in his back pocket and put on his fishing vest. It was funny, the way things had changed because of this. He had started off trusting Anthony and not trusting Ben.

  Now it was the other way around.

  One last chocolate chip cookie. Owen lifted up the lid of the cookie jar as noiselessly as he could and put it on the counter.

  So what if he had already brushed his teeth and was supposed to be in bed? Which was worse: sleeping with chocolate-covered teeth or going to bed without one final cookie?

  He had his hand on a big fat one when he heard them coming. Owen didn't even think. He dropped the cookie, ducked into the broom closet, and shut the door. He barely caught the mop before it hit the floor.

  He heard his mom and dad come into the kitchen.

  "Decaf coffee or tea?" said his mom.

  Someone turned on the water.

  "Tea would be great."

  Owen heard the click of the gas stove being turned on. Then a pot being put on the burner. He slid down into a crouched position against the wall.

  He couldn't believe it. Here he was, Mr. Maturity, trapped again. It served him right that his parents were talking about some really boring stuff. Like what some student of his dad's had said at college. And when the last time was they had the septic tank cleaned.

  Then he heard his mom say his name.

  "I think Owen learned a lot from this whole experience, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes. I'm sure he'll never spy on anyone again."

  "Oh, I know you're right."

  Their voices sounded stiff and loud. As though they were actors reading their lines for the first time.

  "Maybe we should buy him a present as a reward," said his mom.

  Owen's ears perked up.

  "I think you're right," said his dad. "I was thinking along the lines of a dirt bike."

  A dirt bike!

  Owen shot up so fast his head crashed into the bottom shelf. He covered it with his hands as his mom's gardening boots, a plastic bucket, a basket of rags, and about twenty empty coffee cans fell around him.

  There was a deafening silence in the kitchen.

  Owen sat there, astounded. And then he rallied. Nope. There was no way he was going to sit here once again, waiting to be discovered. He was going to meet this head-on, with dignity.

  He scrambled to his feet and flung open the broom closet door. He saw the chocolate chip cookie in pieces on the floor and the lid of the cookie jar on the counter.

  "Hi!" he said, smiling brightly. "I couldn't help but overhear. Did someone say something about a dirt bike?"