“You’re missing the whole point, Steven! He’s tortured by his isolation. He’s lonesome. They’re all lonesome!”
“That doesn’t mean they have a dark side. That just means—”
My mom cut him off. “You’re telling me Batman doesn’t have a dark side? You’re telling me—”
“Oh, Eve, for cryin’ out loud. They’re characters. Somebody made them up! Whoever this Shredderman character is, he’s real.” He was scrolling through my Jokes page when suddenly he sat back and read, ‘”What do you call a bully fire?’”
My mom leaned forward and read the answer. ‘”A Bubba-que?”
She looked at Dad.
Dad looked at her.
They both busted up.
Dad turned to me and said, “This has got to be about Alvin Bixby, don’t you think? How many Bubbas can there be?”
I mumbled, “Looks like,” and tried to breathe.
Mom looked at me. “Have you visited this site before?”
I shrugged. “I’ve heard about it.”
“Well, with all the trouble Alvin’s caused you—
“Ha ha!” I laughed, pointing to a joke on the screen like I’d never seen it before. ‘”Why run from a bully? He’s got the Bub-onic plague!’” I laughed again. “That’s funny!”
Dad laughed, too, but Mom said, “But, Nolan, this site must belong to someone at your school—don’t you think?”
I shrugged again. “I’ve heard some kids say they think it’s one of the teachers.”
Dad was clicking on the What’s big and fat and smells all over? link.
I closed my eyes.
I held my breath.
He busted up. “Bubba’s Big Butt? I don’t think a teacher would have the nerve to put this on his Web site, do you?”
“No,” Mom said. “It’s got to be a student. A pretty funny one, too.” She turned to me. “Do you know any sixth graders who are really good at computers?”
I tried to look innocent. “A lot of kids have their own Web site.”
Dad snapped his fingers. “Hey! I’ll bet Sarge can find out who this site is registered to.”
“Good idea,” Mom said.
Uh-triple-oh!
I escaped to my room and just sat on my bed, trying to catch my breath.
How long would it be before Mom and Dad found out who shredderman.com was registered to?
And what would happen to me when they found out it was registered to them?
CHAPTER 13
Dirty Disguise
Shredderman.com wasn’t actually registered to my mom and dad. It was registered to Shredderman. But Shredderman had used Eve Byrd’s credit card number. And even though I’d taken all the privacy options, I didn’t know how much information a reporter like my dad—or a police friend like Sarge—could dig up.
If Shredderman was going to catch the Tagger, I had to act fast. The first part of my plan had backfired, and now that a lot of people thought Shredderman was the Tagger, I didn’t have much to lose.
But to pull off the rest of my plan, I was going to need bionic hearing and X-ray vision and an invisibility cloak.
Or I was going to have to ditch school.
Ditch school?
I’d never even thought such a thought!
But boy oh boy, I was thinking it now.
It was the only way.
I had a lot to do before morning, though. A lot!
First step—write an e-mail. One that I’d send to only one address.
[email protected].
I couldn’t send it to everyone—that would blow everything! And since I didn’t know the Tagger’s e-mail address, the next best thing was Bubba’s. He would tell the Tagger. He had to!
I got to work on my message. It had to be just right!
So I wrote it.
And rewrote it.
And rewrote it again!
And when I was all done, I sat back and read it.
The Tagger’s not cool. He’s not sly. He’s not funny. He’s not smart.
What he is, is a coward. Totally chicken. If he wasn’t chicken, he’d do something real. Something dangerous. Anyone can tag the side of a building. Big deal. Anyone can spray the inside of a kiddie slide. Whoop-de-do! But here’s something the Tagger would never spray:
Ivana Voss’s car. Why? Because that would take guts. Brawk-
brawk-brawk,TaggerYou’re lame!
Would the Tagger take the bait? If it was Ryan, would he really spray-paint his own mother’s car? He’d know it was a trap, but with Bubba and his friends teasing him about the challenge, he’d be pressured into it.
At least that’s what I was counting on!
I saved the e-mail to my draft folder—I couldn’t send it yet! Timing was everything! Then I did my homework and went to bed. And even though it was late, I wasn’t sleepy. Not one bit! I just lay there in bed, running my plan through my head over and over again.
When I was sure Mom and Dad were finally asleep, I got up.
I pulled dark sweats over my pajamas.
I put my safety scissors in a sweatshirt pocket and wiggled into my shoes.
Then I did something I’d never done before—I opened my window, pulled out the screen, climbed through, and jumped.
The ground was only about a four-foot drop, but for a second there it felt like I was flying. I landed like a real superhero, too—feet steady, hands out.
Oh, yeah!
I skulked across the street, looking all around. I was smooth. I was quick. The streetlights were bright, but I don’t think anyone saw me.
I was in sneak mode!
Instead of using the sidewalk, I went down to the soccer field. Then I crept up to the teachers’ parking lot through the bushes. Not a car anywhere, but aha! The yard-waste bags were still piled up by the office.
I swooped down on them without a sound. Lots were heavy with grass clippings, but I found one full of big dry leaves that was light.
Voom! I threw it over my shoulder.
Tip-tip-tip-tip-tip-tip-tip! I tiptoed across the parking lot. The bag was full, but carrying it was easy!
I felt like some sort of Super-Santa!
I moved it into the bushes. I untied the bag’s drawstrings. I emptied half of the leaves.
I had to make room for me!
A totally empty sack would have been easier, and for sure more comfortable. But I wasn’t doing this for ease or comfort.
I was doing this to catch a villain!
Plus, a boy in a sack does not look like yard waste. It looks like a boy in a sack.
When I was done dumping leaves, I started cutting flaps. Flaps that hinged on top. Two on the bottom for the legs, two on the sides for the arms, one in front for the face, and inside the face flap, another little three-inch flap for my right eye.
My camera eye.
Then I hauled my trash sack disguise back up the hill. I lost a few leaves out of the flaps along the way, but not too bad! I hid my sack behind the other yard-waste sacks and looked all around. Had anybody seen me?
No. The whole block looked deserted. I crouched by the sacks for a minute just to be sure. It felt weird being at school alone. In the dark. I felt like I’d been beamed up to a distant planet in the galaxy.
Only there was my house, right across the street.
When I left the sack and ran for home, it felt like I was running under negative G’s. I was weightless! Across the parking lot. Across the street! I was flying!
Gravity started working again when I tried to get back in the window. Boy! It took me forever!
When I finally got inside, I put my screen back in, set my alarm, and hit the hay.
My brain was zooming with doubts. Timing was everything, but how long should I wait? I couldn’t send the e-mail too soon— Ryan would have the chance to tag his mother’s car in their own driveway!
But what if Bubba didn’t check his computer before school? What if he didn’t call Ryan in time? I’d be ditching school
for nothing!
But the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that my plan would work. I’d gotten same-day action with my TAGGER ALERT! e-mail… and they were probably now on red alert.
Plus, Ryan would be more of a big shot to his friends if he tagged his mother’s car at school. And it would be easier to cover his tracks. There’d be hundreds of kids to question! Lots of suspects.
But was I really going to ditch school? Was I really going to hide in a trash sack? Was I really going to …
When my alarm buzzed in the morning, I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink. But there was no time to snooze!
I jumped out of bed.
I booted up my computer.
I read the e-mail over one last time.
Then I clicked on Send and crossed my fingers that my plan wouldn’t backfire again.
CHAPTER 14
Trash Sack Hero
The minute the message was gone, my heart started pumping. There was no going back now! I was either going to be a hero or in some hot water. I’m talking 100 degrees Celsius.
212 Fahrenheit!
Boiling hot!
I dove back into bed. Too late to worry about that now. I had work to do!
Next step: act sick so Mom would believe me later when I told her I came home sick from school.
I started coughing. Cough-cough-cough. Not too hard. Not too soft. Cough-cough-cough.
I waited a minute. Nobody came.
I tried a little louder—cough-cough-cough—and moaned a little for good measure.
Nobody came.
So, cough-cough-cough I went again. Louder.
This time there was a tap-tap-tap on my door. “Honey?” my mom said, sticking her head inside. “Are you okay?”
I sat up and nodded, then held my head like it hurt.
“Are you sure?” She sat next to me and felt my forehead.
I nodded again but moved my eyes from one side to the other like Dad always does when he’s checking to see if he’s got the flu. Then I coughed some more—cough-cough-cough.
Mom hurried out of the room and was back a minute later with the ear-scope thermometer. She pulled up the top of my ear and jabbed the thermometer down the canal.
A perfect 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, 37 degrees Celsius.
She jabbed it down my other ear.
Same thing.
“I’m fine, Mom.” Cough-cough-cough.
“If you’re not, I can arrange to work from home today.…”
Uh’oh. I was laying it on too thick. “I’m okay. Really.”
I burned the toast at breakfast just to prove it. And after I’d cleared the dishes, I went down to my room, put on my army pants, and stashed my digital camera and my safety scissors in one of the cargo pockets. Then I headed back to the kitchen to load up my other pockets.
Juice boxes—check!
Granola bars—check!
Big straws—check!
Pack of gum—check!
Rubber bands—check!
Dad had left for work early, so I called, “Bye, Mom!” and headed for the door.
She blocked my way, saying, “All right, this is proof something’s wrong.”
“Huh?”
She crossed her arms and looked me up and down. “What is going on with you, Nolan?”
“Huh?” I said again, and tried hard not to look down at my cargo pockets. Were they bulging way out? Were they leaking!
She squinted at me. “You hate that shirt.”
I looked from one arm to the other. I did hate it. It was long-sleeved and muddy green and it had a pointy collar and an itchy tag. But it was perfect for what I had to do.
She squinted harder. “And it really does not go with those pants—which you know I hate.”
“Mom, I love these pants! They’re… they’re cool.”
Her face crinkled. “Cool? Nolan, have you looked at yourself?”
“Mo-om! First you complain that I won’t wear this shirt; now you’re complaining that I am! Can I please just go to school?”
She shook her head, but finally she sighed and said, “Go.” But then she noticed the clock. “Wait! What am I saying? It’s way too early for you to go to school!”
“I know, but I promised Mr. Green I’d help him with a project before school.”
She waved her hand through the air. “Okay, okay! Go!”
I started trucking for the door, but before I could reach it, she cried, “Wait!” again.
I whipped around. “What, Mom!” Wow. I sounded mean. But I was running out of time!
She raised an eyebrow. “Your backpack?” she said, watching me carefully. “Don’t you want your backpack?”
“Oh. Oh, right.” I strapped it on while she felt my forehead and muttered something about my “erratic behavior.”
When I finally got away from her, I ditched my backpack in some bushes near the garage and zoomed across the street.
There were already cars in the parking lot, including a fancy silver one with spoked wheels.
Dr. Voss’s!
I hid in the bushes in my muddy green itchy-tagged shirt and army pants. When the coast was clear, I zoomed across the parking lot. I ducked behind the stack of yard-waste sacks. And I was just starting to open my disguise sack when a yellow Volkswagen drove into the parking lot.
I waited.
Mrs. Bernhart got out.
Then a black SUV drove into the lot.
Drat!
I waited.
Miss Simms climbed out.
“Hi, Peggy!” “Good morning, Liza!” they called to each other. Then they just stood there yakking away.
Double drat! How long were they going to stand around talking? I couldn’t wait forever! I stayed low and untied my yard-waste sack. I stuck my right foot inside and through a bottom flap. I pushed my left foot in. My heart was racing like crazy! My eyes were boinging from the sack to the yakky teachers. I wiggled my body through the leaves and pulled the sack up around me.
No going back now!
Then the Green Machine turned into the parking lot, its motor making a real cool boop-boop-boop-boop-boop sound. Dumb-Baby was still all over the dolphins and it looked worse than ever.
Stupid Tagger.
The van backfired a little when Mr. Green turned off the motor, and I noticed Mrs. Bernhart and Miss Simms pull faces at it before they hurried away.
Just like popular kids do when they see me coming.
Wow, I thought. They’re acting like they don’t like Mr. Green! How could anyone not like Mr. Green? He was nice, and smart, and funny. Mr. Green was cool!
I wanted to say, “Pssssst!” and wave him over, but I didn’t. Another car was coming into the parking lot, and besides, I didn’t have time to talk to my sidekick. I had to hide!
I stayed on my knees and got all the way inside the sack. I stuck my arms out. I pulled the drawstrings tight over my head and tied them! I pulled my arms back in and held real still.
Nobody came and said, Hey! Whatcha doing? so after a minute, I started to feel safe.
I’d done it!
I was completely disguised!
And boy! Was my disguise dark. And stuffy!
I pulled in the face flap and took a few deep breaths while I looked around. More cars were coming in. I had to get going!
I dug up the pack of gum and put two pieces in my mouth, chewing like crazy. When the gum was soft, I pinched off part of it and used it to hold open the eye flap. Then I cut the straws in half, looped them together with a rubber band, and stuck one end in my mouth and the other out the flap. I breathed in. Ah! Fresh air! My very own trash sack snorkel!
Okay. I could see, I could breathe— It was time to get my camera ready!
There was enough light coming in through the eye flap for me to see what I was doing. And once I had the camera ready, I stood halfway up and tiptoed around the other yard-waste sacks. Hee hee hee! I felt like I was in a Bugs Bunny cartoon!
I got as close to
Dr. Voss’s car as I could, then squatted so my feet didn’t show and waited.
More cars came in. The buses drove up and dropped kids off in front of the school. Pretty soon there were people everywhere, walking all around me. One kid even jumped over me! I could see everyone, but no one noticed me.
It was the perfect disguise!
Then the tardy bell rang and after a few minutes it was quiet. Completely quiet.
I stayed as still as I could for as long as I could. But my legs were stiff from squatting, and I finally had to shift around and sit down.
Then I waited some more. The tag on my shirt was itchy, but the leaves poking me everywhere were even itchier. And it was getting hard to keep my lips tight around my snorkel. And what was that smell? The warmer it got, the stronger it got. Was there… was there dog poop somewhere in these leaves?
I tried to forget about it. But thinking I was stuck in a sack with dog poop was grossing me out!
Then the sun started beating down on my sack and pretty soon I felt like I was cooking inside it. I was sweating, I was itchy, and the smell was getting worse and worse.
I pulled in my snorkel and drank a juice. What kind of stupid idea was this? What kind of superhero hides in a poopy trash sack sucking down juice boxes? I needed air. Lots of air!
I was about to break down and tack the whole face flap open with a piece of gum when I heard a sound.
Was it footsteps?
Yes! Quick footsteps! Sneaky footsteps! Coming from behind me!
I held my breath.
The footsteps got closer.
And closer.
And closer.
Then they stopped, right behind me!
Something bumped me, hard. And for a minute I thought I was busted. But then there he was, crawling around me, heading straight for Dr. Voss’s car!
The Tagger!
I put my camera up and zoomed in on him.
He checked over both shoulders. He sneaked open the back door. He pulled out a spray can! And then he did it—Ryan Voss sprayed a dumb-baby face on his own mother’s car.
CHAPTER
15 Up, Up, and Away!
Attack of the Tagger Page 5