Attack of the Tagger (8 page)

All of a sudden, music blared from the speakers! Shredderman streaked across the top of the screen in his purple mask and cape! The SHREDDERMAN banner fluttered behind him!

Then the Bouncer boinged into view. He flexed his tattooed muscles. One biceps popped up with TRUTH, the other popped up with JUSTICE.

My dad spotted the
Attention: Tagger!
link. He
clicked! And a few seconds later, he said, “Look at this, Eve! Shredderman’s not the Tagger!”

My mom nodded. “But he’s sure egging him on, don’t you think? Calling him chicken and all?”

“Hmmm,” my dad said. “But it does look like he meant well.”

“Unless he’s got a dark side.” She glanced at my dad. “You know, like an alter ego?”

My dad laughed, “A schizophrenic superhero?”

“Steven, don’t laugh! They’re all a little that way when you think about it. Spider-Man, Superman, Batman… they’re all tortured inside, don’t you think?”

“Superman?” my dad asked. He was clicking on the
Jokes
link now. “How’s Superman tortured? He’s got superstrength, he’s got X-ray vision, he can
fly.
Give me that kind of torture any day!”

“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
?

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.

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.

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.