The Society of Super Secret Heroes (2 page)

“Come back here!” Elliott crawled into the dark, crammed space and poked under the junk that was jumbled on the floor. Suddenly there was a scrabbling noise. Rosie ran out.

“Fin?” Elliott's voice sounded muffled. “You know that report on dolphins you lost last year? I think I found it. Hey, I didn't know you still had this!”

Finch quit hunting around in his desk and looked up. El was crawling out of the closet with his old superhero cape—a jewel-green beach towel decorated with yellow lightning bolts and green satin strings that tied around the neck.

For a moment Finch imagined he'd heard the cape complaining. Ugg. The day-before-school jitters were really driving him crazy.

He snatched the cape out of Elliott's hand and flung it back into the closet. “I don't wear that thing anymore. I didn't even know it was in there. Besides, you still have Ruff on your bed.” Ruff was the stuffed dog Elliott had gotten as a baby. His mother had brought it along with her on the day she'd adopted him.

Elliott's eyes bugged out. “So?”

“So I still have Urp on mine,” Raj said, reminding them of the cheerful sock monkey his grandmother had made for him. “And Kev has Blue Bunny. Calm down. Let's get back to the comic.”

Finch extracted the latest edition of their series,
Super Ferrets
, from the mess on his desk. This one—
Super Ferrets' Swim Olympics
—was the first they'd done since last spring. The guys wrote the stories together, but Kev drew all the pictures.

“We're up to the part where Rosie climbs the shower curtain to get ready for her dive.” Kev reached for a black marker.

Elliott peered over Kev's shoulder. “That reminds me of a new joke I made up. Who is the wizard who lives in the bathroom?”

Kev shrugged. “I give up.”

All four guys cracked up. The ferrets loved it. They got up on their hind legs and began doing the weasel war dance, bobbing their heads and crying
dook
,
dook
,
dook
,
dook
. Then they jumped on each other.

“Wait, I've got another one,” Elliott said before they'd stopped laughing. “What is the name of Harry Potty's school?”

“What?” Raj asked.

This time, the boys dooked like Rosie and Cubby.

“Shh, I think I just heard someone knock,” Kev said.

“Finch? Boys?”

Finch's mom, Elaine Mundy, opened the door. She was tall and slim with long, straight brown hair like Mimi. Fin was more skinny than slim. He mostly looked like his dad. They both had dark, curly hair and ears that stuck out. Mr. Mundy could actually wiggle his.

“I'm going to fire up the grill for a barbecue,” Mrs. Mundy said. “Who wants hamburgers? Who wants tofu burgers?”

“Are the tofu burgers for Mimi?” Elliott asked innocently as he pushed his long hair out of his eyes. “ 'Cause I think I heard her say she wanted pepperoni pizza.”

After the barbecue, the guys climbed up to the lookout platform Fin and his father had built in the biggest tree in the yard. They lay on their backs and watched as the sun sank lower in the sky.

Raj checked his watch. “This is the last hour of our last day of freedom together,” he said in a voice of doom. “And the last day of being superheroes. Tomorrow we'll just be students.”

“We can still be superheroes at lunch. We don't have to listen to Mimi,” Elliott protested.

Kev sat up. “Forget it. No one at school is going to catch me pretending anymore.”

“Kev's right,” Raj agreed. “I don't want to be the class joke.”

The guys were silent for a while. Then Finch said, “What if we weren't pretending?” His words seemed to hang in the air like the last note of a bird's song.

Raj rolled onto his side to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Superheroes help people who need it and keep bad stuff from happening. They fight for truth and justice. We could try to do that together. We could be like the X-Men or the Fantastic Four.”

“Yeah, but superheroes have superpowers,” Kev pointed out. “Where are we going to get ours—the mall?”

Elliott giggled. “Yeah, maybe there's a shop called Powers ‘R' Us.”

Finch felt the tips of his ears turning red. “I guess it's a dumb idea.”

Raj sighed. “Not dumb, just impossible. I guess we'll have to be ourselves.”

“I don't think that's so bad,” El said.

That night, Finch tossed and turned until he was wrapped up in his sheets like a mummy. What if Mimi was telling the truth? What if all you did in fourth grade was work, work, work? He didn't think he was ready for so much maturity. Last year, Mrs. Rooney had given the class a little free time on Fridays. If Fin's desk wasn't overflowing with junk, she let him use the school photocopier to run off
Super Ferrets
for kids who wanted to read it.

Suddenly he felt it again—the pulling sensation. It was as if a giant magnet were in his closet, drawing him to it. “No!” he murmured as he grabbed the sides of the mattress.

Now it was talking. This was ridiculous. Finch put a pillow over his head. But his legs were practically sliding off the bed on their own. For a moment he listened to make sure no one was up. Then he reached into his closet and snatched the cape up off the floor.

When he was five, he'd found it at a garage sale his mother had insisted on stopping at on their way to her lawyer's office. It was the year his parents got separated. They'd told him it would just be for a bit. Finch had worn the cape to kindergarten every day while he waited for his father to move back in. That never happened, but at least he'd met the guys. They'd played superheroes on the playground each afternoon. A lot of other kids joined in too, but at the end of the term, Finch, Raj, Kev, and El were one another's best friends.

What he'd said today about not wearing the cape anymore wasn't exactly true. He'd stopped wearing it in first grade when some older kids started calling him Towelman. Instead he'd started sleeping with it like an extra blanket. Finally, when it didn't cover his feet anymore, he'd stowed it in the closet. But sometimes, after the lights were off, he still took it out. He knew he was too old for it—and he was going to stop. He just needed it one more night.

He folded the cape into a square and set it on top of his pillow. When he laid his head down, he imagined he felt a cool breeze against his cheek.

Five lines were written on the chalkboard when the students arrived.

Mr. Burns didn't look old enough to be a teacher. He had unruly, orangey-red hair and wide cheeks with freckles. He was so skinny, his head nodded on his neck like a bobblehead doll. “Sit anywhere you want,” he said as the students looked around the room. He'd already set up the desks in little clusters of twos, threes, and fours.

Right away kids began dashing around, climbing over desks and other kids to be near their friends.
Bam!
Pierre tossed a chair to Alex, but Alex didn't catch it. Tyler and Mike were having a tug-of-war with a desk, although there were plenty of empty ones still around. Someone tripped Kayla Keyes, who got a bloody nose and had to go to the nurse's office.

Finch, Raj, Kev, and Elliott dove for a group of four desks near the back wall. It was a great spot—far enough away from the teacher so they could whisper jokes and stuff. Then two boys crash-landed into the set of desks on their left.

“Ugg,” Finch groaned. He turned away, but not quickly enough.

“What are you looking at, ferret face?” one of the boys asked. He had blond, spiky hair and eyes that looked like slivers of gray ice.

“Heh-heh, heh-heh,” the other boy snickered. Everyone called him Bud, but his real name was Norman Rosebud. Fin and his friends thought that was hilarious. For a rosebud, the guy was a real stinker.

Suddenly a strange sound blared out above the voices and the scuffling. It sounded like this:
Flaaah!
It was so loud it made several kids jump. Everyone stared at Mr. Burns. He was holding a bugle.

“Awesome,” the teacher said. “You've already learned that when I blow this bugle, it means be quiet.”

There was a burst of giggling and murmuring.

Instantly, the room was as silent as if it were empty.

“Good. Now let's try this again. Quickly and quietly, find a desk.” Mr. Burns chose to sit on top of his desk. He folded his legs in the lotus position, which Finch recognized from his mother's yoga videotape. The teacher's hands were resting on his knees, and his eyes were closed.

The students shot one another looks, but no one dared to laugh as they chose their places.

“That's much better,” Mr. Burns said when he'd opened his eyes. “I'll pass around a seating chart now. When it gets to you, print your name beneath the desk you've selected. You can take a look at the learning centers I've set up while you're waiting.”

Finch peered around at the Science Lab, the Banking Center, the Art Studio, and the Just for Fun table. But his eyes stopped when he spotted the Critter Corner. He loved animals—any kind. He'd always wanted a dog, but his mom was allergic, so they'd gotten ferrets instead.

“Now that you're in fourth grade, you're probably ready for more freedom and responsibility,” Mr. Burns said when he had the seating chart back.

Oh boy, here it comes, Fin thought.

“During lesson time, we'll all work together. But during free time, you may go to any center you choose. There will be extra-credit activity sheets in each area. I think you'll find they're fun to do—and they're a great way to boost your grades.”

Finch sat up straighter. So far, things didn't sound too bad.

“You'll also have jobs,” Mr. Burns continued. “For example, some of you will be responsible for keeping each learning center neat, and even adding little improvements.”

Keeping things neat? Ugg. Finch slumped in his chair. That sounded like one of his mother's ideas. Personally, he didn't enjoy being neat or organized.

Mr. Burns slapped his palms against his knees. “All right, any questions?”

One arm waved. It belonged to the boy who had called Finch “ferret face.”

No, Mr. Burns, no!
Fin tried signaling his teacher with brain waves.
Don't call on him! Pretend you don't notice him!

Mr. Burns was not a mind reader. He consulted the seating plan. “Irwin, right?”

The students shifted in their seats. No one called Irwin Thornton by his real name. Not even his teachers.

“Everyone calls me Thorn,” he said.

“All right, Thorn.”

“I was wondering if this was your first time teaching?”

“It is.”

Thorn nodded smartly, as if he knew he'd been right. “Well, I was thinking you could use someone to be your personal assistant. A person who would collect the homework, make sure everyone was back on time from recess, and who could help you keep order around here. 'Cause I'd be good at that.” Thorn crossed his arms over his chest.

“You mean like a policeman?” Chloe exclaimed.

“I'd rather say ‘law enforcement officer,' ” Thorn answered. “But don't call out.”