Project Jackalope (3 page)

That must’ve been the longest night of my life. I don’t think I slept at all. Even if the idea of a jackalope in my room hadn’t kept me awake, the snoring would’ve. That mutant bunny practically stripped the paint off my walls, he was so loud.

I fished the shredded remains of Twitchett’s note out of the hamper while the little monster slept, but the pieces that had survived didn’t give me much to go on. My favorite shred, the biggest one, said handsomely reward you for your troub, which sounded fine to me. I could deal with a reward. The smaller shreds didn’t sound as promising, though. I tried to put the note back together, but some
key parts had definitely been ingested. All that was left in the end was logize, but no choi, room is the only place they don’t kno, grave danger from, and not what they seem. Hardly a bedtime story, especially when you don’t have any idea what isn’t what it seems or what the danger is.

I did my best to think of any alternative to talking to Agatha, but I came up dry every time. I don’t want to say hanging out with her is social suicide, but with her big mouth, she can clear a lunch table faster than anybody I know. (So yeah, it’s social suicide.) But she knows Twitchett, she knows about science crap, and she wouldn’t give me half the grief that Clint Warburton would if he found out I was freaked by a tiny mutant bunny. So it had to be Agatha. I just hoped Twitchett would get over it and give me the reward anyway.

So, no sleep? That was the downside. The upside was that I was dressed and ready to go by the time Mom and Dad were up for breakfast. And as tired as I was, I was definitely looking perkier than Mom.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

Mom’s eyes were red and watery, and she had a pile of used tissues in the trash can next to her. She shrugged. “Allergies, I guess,” she said.

“Your mom came into contact with something that really set her off,” Dad said, padding over to the table with a glass of juice for her.

“That’s too bad,” I said, a frozen smile on my face. Because I knew exactly what must’ve set Mom off.

I told you about Killer, my rat with the pink eyes? Well, what I didn’t tell you is that Killer was my rat for a grand total of maybe three days. That’s how long it took for us to figure out that Mom was massively allergic and to find him a new home. He lives with Keisha Albright now, and answers to Sweetums. She brought in a picture of him last year. He was wearing a pink bow around his neck and posing in a Barbie Dream House. I don’t like to talk about it.

If Mom can’t handle a puny white rat like Killer, she definitely wouldn’t be able to handle a freaking jackalope. I cussed at Professor Twitchett in my head and grabbed my jacket.

“I figured I’d better go in early. Do some research for my project.”

Mom nodded, bleary-eyed, and waved me away as she staggered off into their bedroom, Dad following behind her with the box of tissues.

“Okay then. Bye!” I swung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for the door. I’d flushed Twitchett’s note down the can, shut the jackalope up in my hamper again, and chucked the empty whiskey bottle into the Dumpster under my window—perfect shot, too. (The jackalope seemed to have eaten the Dixie cup.) The plan was to track Agatha down before school, ask her where Twitchett was, and get rid of that thing.

But, of course, plans change. Mine changed the minute I opened my door and came face to face with Mr. Jones.

I think I handled the situation well. I immediately slammed the door in his face and locked it. It was an impulse and I went with it. So sue me.

I leaned against the door and tried to figure out what to do. I knew I only had a minute or two, tops, before he
wormed his way inside the apartment. And once he was inside again, it wasn’t going to be easy to get rid of him. And I wasn’t going to let him find that jackalope. Forget about the whole mythological creature thing—Mom would kill me if she thought I had a secret pet.

There was only one thing I could do. I rushed back into my bedroom and emptied my backpack onto the floor of the closet. Then I marched over to the hamper. I didn’t even think about what I was about to do—I just did it. Which was good, because if I’d thought about actually touching that crazy antlered killer, I think I would’ve puked in my gym shoes.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the hamper, reached in, and had that puny jackalope around the middle before he’d even realized what I was doing. He squeaked and waggled his legs angrily, but thankfully he simmered down pretty quickly. Which was lucky for me, because it’s not easy to act cool when your hand’s a bloody stump.

I set the jackalope down carefully inside my backpack and slowly zipped it up, ready to jump back and out of the way if he went after me. But he didn’t—he just eyed
me angrily, probably plotting the best angle for jumping up and lopping off the top of my skull. Those antlers were a huge problem, too—they made a couple of nasty-looking holes in the backpack when I tugged on it a bit to get it shut. Not a good sign. I had just finished zipping it up (except for the new “breathing” holes in the top) when I heard Dad talking to Mr. Jones at the door.

I pressed myself up against the wall next to my door and peeked out, listening so hard my ears practically bled.

“I’m sorry, he’s left for school already, but come inside, please.” Dad ushered Mr. Jones into the living room. I ducked back so they wouldn’t spot me. I don’t know why I bothered, though, because Mr. Jones knew I was still here, and he was going to bust me any second now. I had one chance.

As soon as Mr. Jones was in the living room, I made my move, slipping out as quietly as I could. I eased the door shut behind me and stood motionless for a second, but no one came after me, so I don’t think they’d noticed my stealthy moves.

I took off down the stairs, taking three at a time. I had to talk to Agatha. Everything would be fine once I talked to Agatha. Twitchett wouldn’t like it, and her mom wouldn’t be happy with me banging on the door so early, but that was just too bad.

But when I got to the bottom of the stairs, I stopped so fast I almost tripped over my feet. The other Upstairs Mr. Suit, aka Suit # 2, was standing in front of Agatha’s door.

I have to admit, I just kind of stood there for a second (doing an unintentional Dewey impression) until that fruitcake Mrs. Simmons opened her door and beckoned to me. Mr. Suit #2 was watching me carefully, and that sure didn’t seem like a good thing, so I gave her a friendly wave and hustled over. Which, if Mr. Suit #2 knew anything about me at all, was like waving a huge banner that said, “I’m up to something.” Good thing he didn’t know me.

Mrs. Simmons clutched at my shoulder and pulled me inside as she shut the door. She smelled like menthol and mothballs. Not a good combo.

“So many fine young men, Jerome! So many!” Mrs. Simmons smoothed her housedress and winked at me. “Are they here to see me?”

I just barely kept myself from rolling my eyes. Mrs. Simmons is such a fruit loop. I didn’t even bother to correct her on my name. At least she got the first letter right this time. “I think they’re looking for Professor Twitchett, Mrs. Simmons. The scientist? Upstairs?” My mind was going so fast it was hard to keep straight what she was saying. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Mr. Jones and his Suit sidekick didn’t seem like cops, and they didn’t really have a gangster vibe either. I felt my stomach lurch. They were probably a bigger deal, maybe Feds. FBI. Something like that.

“The scientist Twitchell? Where did he go?” Mrs. Simmons tugged on my arm so hard I thought my shirt would come off. I sighed and tried not to lose my cool, which is not easy when you’re dealing with Mrs. Simmons. I think she did one of those sell-the-house-because-stairs-are-too-hard things old people are always doing, so I shouldn’t blame her for being a total space case. But
sheesh, there aren’t that many people in the building. You’d think she could keep us straight.

Mrs. Simmons nodded. “What do they want? Who do they work for? Why do they want him? Do you think they’ll come in for tea? I don’t have any shortbread cookies.” She wrung her hands nervously and looked at the door to the hallway.

I seriously doubted either Mr. Suit would be stopping in to chat with Mrs. Simmons, but I didn’t want to be rude. I put on a thoughtful look and held my backpack farther away to keep it away from her clutchy hands. The last thing I needed was for her grabbiness to start a jackalope bloodbath.

“They probably won’t have time, Mrs. Simmons. They say the Professor’s inherited some money. They’re from the bank, I guess.” I rolled my shoulder. Mrs. Simmons may be old, but she’s wiry, and I was pretty sure I was going to have a bruise where she’d been clutching me.

Mrs. Simmons shook her head. “Money. You don’t believe that.” She was watching me like a hawk. If she
figured out that I thought they were Feds, she’d never let me leave. Either that or she’d pass out from excitement. I so didn’t need this.

I shrugged. “You’re right—it’s probably something about an experiment. I’ve got to go now, okay?”

Mrs. Simmons nodded. “After you tell me about the experiment.”

I sighed. “No, I can’t, Mrs. Simmons. I have to go to school.”

Mrs. Simmons wrung her hands so hard I could hear the bones popping. “You’ll come back? You’ll tell me what’s happening? Agatha hasn’t come home. I’ve been waiting and watching all night.” She clutched at my shoulder again. Dang, that was definitely going to leave a mark. I pulled free.

“Yeah, sure. Agatha’s not back yet?” My heart sank. She’d been gone all weekend, but I was counting on her being back by now.

“No, no Agatha,” said Mrs. Simmons. “You’ll come back? Tell me what they want?”

“Sure.” I put the backpack back on gingerly and
peeked out of the door. The man was still there, but I put on my cool and casual attitude and sauntered past. “See you, Mrs. S!” I called over my shoulder, just to show how relaxed and unconcerned I was. Then I booked it as soon as I hit the pavement.

I found Agatha pretty much two seconds after I walked into school.

Just to warn you about Agatha—first off, we’re not what you would call friends. We go to the same school and live in the same building, but that’s the extent of it. Second, she’s loud. And not exactly discreet. Which was going to pose a problem to a person with a top secret imaginary animal in his backpack. (That would be me.)

I followed the sound of Agatha’s voice to her locker, where she was in the middle of a pissing match with Carter Oliver. (Not literally.) Those two have been numbers one and two in the science fair every year since third grade. Agatha’s still got a huge chip on her shoulder about last year, because she thought she was going to win big with her working model of the
Titanic
(complete
with real iceberg, sinking, and Celine Dion soundtrack). She didn’t count on Carter’s laser-operated garbage incinerator, though, and she’s been bitter ever since. That, plus he incinerated her
Titanic
captain, making it impossible for him to go down with the ship.

So dealing with Agatha and Carter before I’d even eaten breakfast? This was really my lucky day.

Carter Oliver is this super smart, super good-looking, super athletic, all-around perfect person. Everybody loves him—teachers, kids, parents, chipmunks, you name it. If you met him, you’d think he was the best kid ever. Just being around him makes my hair get greasier, my face turn pimply, and my muscles all turn to flab instantly. Add that to the fact that I was publicly seeking out Agatha of all people, and socially, I was going to be a troll by the end of the day.

“Uh, Agatha?” I tugged on her sleeve. I wanted to make this quick.

Agatha jerked her arm away and, naturally, totally ignored me. “Fine, Carter. But if you think your stupid invisibility project is going to win, you’re delusional.
My project is going to Blow. The. Judges. Away,” she said, punctuating each word with a finger poke to Carter’s chest.

Carter smiled a thousand-megawatt smile. Did I mention he’d done some modeling as a baby? “Hey, I just want a fair competition, Agatha. And since you aren’t even willing to share what your project is…” He shrugged, like she was the lamest loser on the planet. (Which, normally, I wouldn’t argue with, but it was Carter saying it, so I was torn.) Then he turned and sauntered off down the hall.

Agatha’s face went another shade pinker, and I thought smoke was going to start coming out from under her collar. Fun to watch, but I didn’t have time for it. “Uh, Agatha?”

“
What
?” She turned on me, shrieking. “What do
you
want?”

“You weren’t at home this morning, and…”

“What do
you
care?” Agatha glared at me. “I stayed with my dad this weekend and he dropped me here. So what? Goldfish invisibility shield.
Ha.
Like that’ll work.”

I adjusted my backpack. I felt like I was carrying a bomb in there. Not a good feeling. “It’s Professor Twitchett, okay? He’s missing, and there are these men, and…”

Agatha snorted. “What, like I care what Twitchett does? He
banned
me, remember? I’m not allowed near his apartment or his precious lab.”

She sure wasn’t making this easy. I gave up trying to soft-pedal it. Besides, people were starting to stare. “Okay, I have to show you something. It’s Twitchett’s, okay?”

Agatha didn’t seem the least bit interested. “I’m not interested,” she said. See? That’s how I could tell.

“No, you’ll want to see this. Please? I need some advice here.”

Another snort. “Forget it.”

I played my ace. “Twitchett specifically told me not to tell you.”

She rolled her eyes and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Okay, fine. What is it?”

I glanced around the hallway. It was early, sure, but not that early. I didn’t want to be waving a mythological beast around willy-nilly. “Come on. Outside.”

Agatha folded her arms. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious, okay?” I grabbed Agatha and half-dragged her down the hallway, ducking my head down so nobody would recognize me. It’s not like I wanted my name linked with hers for the rest of the year, okay?