Attack of the Tagger (10 page)

Pretty soon the place was swarming with adults. They were everywhere! I was going from flap to flap, trying to figure out what to do! I needed more air! I needed to get
out
of there! I needed… uh-oh… the
gardener was backing his truck right over the curb. Right up to the sacks!

The driver got out.

His partner got out.

They dropped the tailgate, hiked up their pants, and started flinging sacks into the truck.

Uh-quintuple-oh!

I peeked out the front flap. Dr. Voss was still stomping around! I looked out the side flap. Those gardeners would be at me in no time! I was 76 pounds! 34.5 kilograms! They’d break their backs!

They didn’t break their backs. They just hurled me on top and went back for more.

I didn’t break mine, either, getting tossed in, but boy! when two other sacks landed on me, I was squished! I was dying for air!

I was afraid to shove my arms out yet, but believe me, I pried open the face hole so I could breathe! And that’s when I saw the police cars pulling up to the school.

The gardeners got in the truck quick and bumped off the curb and onto the street. I watched the school get smaller. And smaller. And then the truck zoomed around the corner and the school disappeared.

I didn’t know where we were going, but we were sure going there fast!

I had to get off the truck!

I tried untying the sack. I couldn’t see what I was doing! I couldn’t get it open!

I tried ripping the plastic. It was really strong!

So I got my scissors and
cut
myself out. Just rip, snip, snip, like I was coming out of some stinky, sweaty cocoon.

I stayed low, hiding under other sacks so the gardeners wouldn’t see me in the rearview mirror. And I was planning to climb out at the first red light, only we kept hitting
green
lights. And forget stop signs! They treated them like
slow
signs.

Pretty soon I wouldn’t know where I was!

I had to do something.

So I pushed off the sack I was hiding under. I flipped around. I stuck my thumbs in my ears, pressed my face up to the cab window, and shouted, “Wroooagggh!”

The driver smashed on the brakes—which pushed my face into the window even harder—
but when we stopped, I charged for the tailgate, swung myself over, and
ran.

I was never so happy to get home in my whole life. It took me at least an hour. Maybe two! What kept me going was the movie clip. I watched it about twenty times. I couldn’t
wait
to get it on the Internet!

After I got my backpack out of the bushes, I snuck through the garage door, dug the house key out of the nail can, and let myself in. Then I went to the laundry room, emptied all my pockets, and stripped down to my underwear.

Maybe most superheroes know how to do their own laundry, but this one didn’t. But I couldn’t exactly
leave my clothes in the laundry basket—they were suspiciously dusty and dirty. And if clothes can breathe, well, mine had bionic breath. Pee-yew!

So I read the knobs on the washer, measured out some soap, and got the machine running.

Hey… piece of cake!

I raced down to the bathroom, took the speediest shower ever, zoomed to my room, and booted up my computer. It was payback time!

I loaded the movie clip.

Beau-ti-ful!

I made a
Jogger in Action
link that took you straight to it.

Wa-hoo-hoo!

I linked the other images I’d gotten at Old Town Square—which I could finally use—and made a
Tagger’s Dumb-Baby Friends
link on my home page. Who
else knew who the Tagger was?
it said above it.
Click here to see!
And under the images I’d gotten at Old Town, I lined up the yearbook mugshots I had scanned in and typed in their names below them:
Alvin “Bubba" Bixby, Ryan “Tagger" Voss, Carl Blanco, Manny Davis,
and
A.J. Penne.

I ran to the laundry room. The washer was done! I threw my clothes in the dryer.

Cranked the knob to High.

Pushed the On button.

Around they went,
rrruhr-rrruhr-rrruhr!

Laundry’s easy!

I raced back down to my room. There was still one more thing I wanted to do, but I was having an intergalactic war in my head over it.

It was a little bit mean.

But then, this person had been a little bit mean to my sidekick. Actually, really mean. And buster, I don’t care who you are, you don’t mess with my sidekick!

So I scanned in an image of Dr. Voss from my yearbook. Then I made an
I’m the Tagger’s Mother!
link that took you to her picture and said:
I’m Doctor Ivana Voss, the principal at Cedar Valley Elementary. My phone number is 714-555-9853. Isn’t my son wonderful? Please call and let me know what you think.

I was having a blast!

The phone rang. And even though it was down
the hall by my mom’s desk, it shot me out of my seat.

After four rings, the recorder picked up. “You’ve reached Eve ‘n’ Steven’s. Please leave a message at the beep.”
Beeeeeep.
Then came my mother’s voice, “Nolan? Honey, if you can hear this, pick up the phone!”

“Hello… ?” I said, like my nose was stuffed with snot.

“Nolan!”

“Hi, Mom.”

‘”Hi, Mom’? I can’t believe this! What are you doing home?”

“I came home sick, Mom,” I said through my nose.

“Why didn’t the school know that?”

“Because I… I just left.”

“You didn’t check out?”

“Nuh-uh. I didn’t want you to have to come home.”

“Nolan!”

“Mom, I told you—I can take care of myself.”

“But—”

“Everything’s fine, Mom. I haven’t burned down the house or anything. Now I’m going to go back to bed, okay?”

“Nolan—”

“Please, Mom? I really want to lie down.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“No! I mean, I’m okay. Really!”

“I’m coming home,” she said, and hung up.

I yanked my clothes out of the dryer. They were hot! I raced down to my room, updated my site, sent an Extra, Extra, See All About It! Tagger Snagged! e-mail to everyone in the Shredderman address book, then shut down my computer and hopped into bed.

A few minutes later, my mom was home.

Then—uh-oh—my dad came slamming through the door.

And I could tell from the look on their faces that I’d jumped out of the poop sack and into deep doo-doo.

My mom stood by my bed with her arms crossed. My dad sat in my desk chair, studying me. He started to say something, but my mom put out a hand and said, “Let me, Steven.”

Dad nodded.

I coughed.
Cough-cough-cough.

“Do you know
why
I called here?” Before I could answer, she said, “I called here because Mrs. Holler phoned me at work. She wanted to know why you were absent today.”

Mrs. Holler did that when you were absent? I had no idea! I said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I guess I should have called you. But I didn’t want you to
have to come home. I’m not throwing up or anything.”
Cough-cough-cough.

“She said you hadn’t been at school all day.”

I shrugged.

Dad leaned in a little and said, “So you came home during morning recess?”

I looked from my mom to my dad and back again. Then I said through my nose like I had a monster cold, “I’m sorry, okay? I should have told you!

My dad said, “Nolan, look at me.”

I looked at him, but it was hard.

“My question to you, son, is why didn’t I see you when I came home at around eleven o’clock?”

Uh-oh.

“Where
were
you at eleven o’clock?”

My mouth opened and closed like a stupid fish.

“No … I don’t believe it!” my mom cried. “Please tell me it isn’t you…!”

“Who isn’t me?” I choked out.

“The Tagger!”

I sat straight up. “The Tagger? You think
I’m
the Tagger?”

My mom was pacing all over my room, throwing her hands up in the air, crying. “The school called the parents of
all
children who were absent today, trying to figure out who spray-painted Dr. Voss’s car.”

“It wasn’t me, Mom! I swear it wasn’t me!”

The phone rang.

“Then why can’t you tell us where you were at eleven o’clock? Your father stopped by the house, got a soda and a snack, used the bathroom— He says your door was wide open. Did he just not
see
you? I don’t think so! Nolan, you’ve been acting so
strangely
lately. Is this… is this why?”

“No! No, it’s not!” I shouted.

I guess I forgot to talk through my nose, because all of a sudden her face squeezed together. “You’re
not sick at all, are you?” She pulled away from me and wailed, “Oh, Nolan!”

I couldn’t
believe
she thought I was the Tagger. And maybe superheroes aren’t supposed to cry, but this one did. And once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. My breathing got all mixed up, and pretty soon I had the stupid hiccups.

We could hear the answering machine pick up. “You’ve reached Eve ‘n’ Steven’s. Please leave a message at the beep.”
Beeeeeep.
Dad perked an ear as a voice said, “Steven, this is Sarge—”