Freddie Ramos Springs into Action (3 page)

“Get the vacuum cleaner!” Mom ordered, scooping up my guinea pig.

I rushed down the hall, forgetting all about the smoke that comes out of my purple zapatos every time I run.

“Thanks!” Mom said, handing me Claude the Second so she could take the vacuum. “You were so fast you were smoking!”

Luckily, Mom cared more about cleaning up Claude the Second's poop than why I could run so fast. She didn't know about my Zapato Power. Mom already worried enough. Knowing I had super speed and was trying to be a superhero wouldn't make her feel any better. I needed to be more careful. My purple zapatos were just fine when I walked. But the second I picked up some speed, I zoomed off like a rocket! It wasn't just a problem in front of my mom, it was a problem on the playground.

“How come you turn into a puff of smoke when you run?” my friend Maria asked the next day at recess.

Super speed is not an easy thing to hide during a basketball game.

“Come on, Freddie!” Hamza said. “Don't be a hog. Let somebody else get some points for a change.”

“How do you know it's Freddie?” Maria asked. “All I can see is a magic wind stealing the ball.”

I tried to slow down, but my super zapatos wouldn't let me. And my hands were just as itchy as my feet. With super speed, I was always next to the ball. It was natural to grab it and go for the hoop. That's what a basketball player does.

“I quit!” Geraldo shouted, when I got my thirtieth point. “The rest of us don't have a chance!”

P.E. wasn't any better than recess that day. Mr. Gooley, our gym teacher, took us outside to practice the fifty-yard dash.

“Freddie!” Mr. Gooley hollered. “You can't run across the field before I blow the whistle. It's not fair.”

Zapato Power was the best thing on earth when I was alone. But when I was with my friends, it felt a little like cheating.

“What's wrong, Freddie?” Mr. Vaslov asked me after school on Monday. “You've lost your superhero smile.”

We sat down on the steps of his toolshed. Mr. Vaslov listened carefully as I explained the problem.

“Your shoes need an on-off switch.” Mr. Vaslov patted my shoulder.

“That's a great idea!”

Mr. Vaslov stroked his chin, thinking. “Now's the time to add improvements, while I'm still developing and testing the shoes.”

“And trying to make a second pair,” I added.

“Right again, Freddie.” Mr. Vaslov chuckled. “I still haven't figured out how to make my invention work for anybody but you.”

“But what about controls? Do you think you can make them?” I asked.

Mr. Vaslov leaned down and touched the silver wings on the sides of my shoes. His face looked like my mom's when she's trying to decide if she can buy new clothes for me.

“Give me a few days to come up with something, Freddie. I'll do the best I can.”

4. Inventions Take Time

I'm not the most patient guy. Every afternoon, I knocked on Mr. Vaslov's toolshed. He opened the door halfway to talk to me.

“Are you finished?”

“Not yet,” Mr. Vaslov answered. “But I have a great idea.”

“What?” I asked.

“A wristband with a button you can press.”

“Sounds great! When will it be ready?”

“Inventions take time, Freddie.” Mr. Vaslov gently closed the door.

The days went by slowly. I got tired of watching my friends play basketball at recess while I pretended to have a sore ankle. And Mr. Gooley got tired of my excuses about why I couldn't run during P.E.

“What hurts today, Freddie?” Mr. Gooley asked, when I came up to him, holding my hand over my left ear.

Mr. Gooley let me sit on the bench again, but I could tell he was getting suspicious. I didn't have any body parts left to complain about. Keeping my super speed a secret was taking a lot of brainwork. It's not easy to come up with good excuses.

“Mr. Vaslov!” I knocked on the toolshed door a week later. “Is my on-off switch working yet?”

For the first time, no one answered. I knocked again, louder and harder. The door pushed open. I saw a bunch of wires and a purple wristband on the table. Was that the wristband Mr. Vaslov was making for me?

I stood outside the toolshed for a few minutes, debating if I should go inside when Mr. Vaslov wasn't there. Then, I heard crying.

“WAAAAAGH!”

Who was in trouble? From the moment I got my purple zapatos, I'd been watching out for chances to be a hero. Once, I saved Gio's puppy from a speeding car. I saved his basketball, too, after Mrs. Tran threw it out the window. But being a superhero meant helping people all the time.

“WAAAAAGH!”
The sound was behind me, way up near my apartment, 29G.

I couldn't resist. I turned around.

In half a blink, I was standing in front of Gio. His crying was a lot louder and slobbery in person than it was from far away.

“My ball,” he wailed, “the one Mr. Vaslov gave me. It's gone!”

This wasn't exactly a superhero rescue. But Gio was my friend and my neighbor. I zipped around the building in my purple zapatos, to see if I could find his ball. No luck.

“Where did you see it last?” I asked.

“When I was playing with it,” he answered.

Talking to Gio made me feel like a detective. I had to ask a lot of questions to get any information. “Where were you playing with it?”

He pointed to the grass behind Building G. “Mr. Vaslov told me to throw the ball up in the air, not at the windows or the wall.”

“Good advice,” I said.

I ran around the building a couple more times, but I still couldn't find Gio's ball. He went inside to get Puppy and I decided to try to find Mr. Vaslov again. Maybe he knew what had happened to Gio's ball. Nobody knew what was going on at Starwood Park like Mr. Vaslov.

When I got back to the toolshed, the door was still open. Mr. Vaslov wasn't anywhere around. I saw the purple wristband on the table again. Was it ready yet?

I stepped inside the toolshed for a closer look.

5. The Purple Wristband