Secret Identity (2 page)

My solar system looked like it really had gone through the Big Bang.

Give me ten pages of triple-digit multiplication. Twenty! But don't ask me to build pyramids
or create the universe. Pm still working on tying my shoes so they don't come undone in P.E.

So when Mr. Green strummed his guitar and announced, “Listen up, gang. Time to tune in to this month's project,” I groaned and flopped my head on my desk.

Mr. Green looked at me with a smile. “You're gonna dig this one, Nolan. I promise.”

My head stayed put. If it was a project, I was going to hate it.

“This month you get to design your own newspaper page,” he said. “Your mission is to go around Cedar Valley and bring back our friends Who, What, When, Where, and Why. You can choose any topic you want. All I'm asking is that you follow these guidelines!” He wagged a stack of lime green papers and said, “Don't lose this sheet! It lists everything you need for an A.” He started passing them out to the different tables, which are just four desks pushed together. “If you can check off everything on this list, you'll get an A, guaranteed! And please note the last item.” He pointed and read,
“Turn this sheet in with your project.”
He went back to passing them out. “I will not—hear me now, gang—I will
not
give you replacements if you lose yours.”

He counted out four sheets at our table and handed them to Randy Ricardo, next to me.
Randy handed one to me, one to Trinity, and one to Freddy, across from him.

Then Mr. Green said, “And yes, you read that right. You
may
use your computer on this one.”

I sat up a little. What was that? He always made us do everything by hand.

“If you have software at home that's designed for page layout and you know how to use it, use it!”

I sat straight up.

My jaw dropped.

Was I dreaming?

“Or you can use your word-processing skills, then print and paste. Book some time with Miss Surkit in the computer lab. She's expecting you!
Or
if you want to do the whole thing by hand, that's cool with me.” He shook the last table's papers in the air and said, “However you decide to do it, follow this sheet!”

He went back to his director's chair, saying, “And yes, you
may
use clip art. You
may
scan in
photos. You
may
use a digital camera, if you've got one. Or if you're not a fan of computers, you may draw your illustrations.”

I blinked like crazy.

I shook out one ear.

I could use my digital camera?

For
homework
⁷
.

He looked my way and grinned. “Some of you are thinkin’, Outtasight! Some of you are thinkin’, Aw, maaaaan—but all of you will grow from the experience, so remember…” He picked up his guitar again, strummed through some familiar chords, and right on cue we all sang out, “Attitude is everything!”

He swung the guitar back onto its stand. “Right on! Now let's dig into the details. We've got until the bell rings to hammer this thing out.”

The more he went over the green sheet, the more excited I got.

No glue!

No crackers or plaster or feathers!

No poster board or craft paper or scissors!

I'd be able to work at the computer for
hours
every day without Mom and Dad telling me to shut down. I'd get to use the scanner and the camera and the Internet… this was going to be great!

When Mr. Green was done going over the project sheet, he asked us to put our heads down. “Close your eyes. Meditate. What do
you
want to report on? You could do your project on someone in Cedar Valley,” he said. “It could be a historical piece about Old Town. You could write about the animal shelter. Report on the new hospital they're building across the river. Profile a local sports hero.

“The most important thing is, pick a subject that interests you. It will be much easier for you to write about something you like.

“Or…hate. Consider that! Is there something that you feel very angry about? An injustice you
see in the world? That would be fine, too.
Anything
will be fine so long as you follow the green sheet.”

I was too excited to close my eyes. So while the kids around me were dreaming up their stories— or just falling asleep—my eyes were cranked wide open. I didn't care
what
I wrote about. I cared about the gear!

I'd use everything!

Then at Table 6, I noticed something. Bubba's hand was reaching over to Miriam Wipple's desk. He was peeking through slits in his eyes.

What was he doing?

I jammed my lids shut. Then I cracked them open, just enough to watch.

Bubba was smooth.

Real smooth.

And before anyone
noticed, he had Miriam's green sheet in his hand.

In his lap.

In his folder.

Two things stopped me from telling on him: One, school was over in seventeen seconds. Bubba'd be out the door before I could get to Mr. Green. And two, I was tingling from ear to toe. I had an idea that would make Bubba Bixby sorry he'd ever called us names.

Or swiped our stuff.

Or breathed his trashy breath down our throats.

I'd do my report on an injustice, all right.

I'd do my report on Bubba Bixby!

I raced home and almost ripped the screen door getting inside. “Mom! You'll never guess what!”

“Well, hi, honey,” she said from her desk. “What?”

“I get to use my computer! I don't have to write anything longhand! Or cut or glue or
break
anything!”

She laughed. “For…?”

“This month's project! I can use my scanner and my digital camera! I can use anything!”

“Really?”

I threw my backpack down and yanked out the green sheet. “See?”

She skimmed the paper.

“So don't kick me off my computer, okay? It's homework!”

“Hmmm,” she said, handing it back. “No tears over this one, huh? Plus, you're lucky because your father will probably love helping you out.”

Uh-oh. She was right. My dad's a reporter for the
Cedar Valley Gazette
, so this project was right up his alley. But I didn't want him to know what I was planning! There was no way he'd let me do my project on Bubba Bixby!

“So how'd the rest of your day go?” Mom asked. “Alvin give you trouble?”

“Huh?” I was still thinking about how to
not
tell my dad about the project. “Oh. Just the usual.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Nah. Everything's fine.” I tried to sound casual. Tried to sound cool. And after my snack, I hurried to my room and closed the door tight. It was my turn to give Bubba Bixby a little trouble!

First step—digital camera. I was going to catch him in the act!

Second step—jacket. I needed someplace to hide the camera so no one would see I was taking pictures.

I tore through my closet.

I pulled out two jackets.

I tried every pocket.

None of them would work.

What about my backpack?

I emptied it.

I tried all the compartments.

The little one was a good size, but using my backpack would put the camera
behind
me. How could I take pictures like that?

Wait! The camera had a remote control! It was small, too. I could hide it in my hand, easy!

I dug through my desk until I found it. I put the camera in remote mode and tried it out.

It worked great!

I put the camera behind me, like it would be in my backpack. I tried the remote from all kinds of angles until I got my moves down. All I had to do was reach around a little. Or put my fist on my hip. Or cross my arms like I was mad. The remote worked great!

I checked out my backpack. I needed to make some kind of opening for the camera lens and remote sensor. Some kind of window to take pictures through.

But I couldn't just cut a hole. Everyone would see the camera! I needed some kind of flap in front of the lens that I could open and close.

And when the flap was open, there needed to be some kind of screen that would camouflage the lens without blocking it. Something that would let the camera see
out
without letting people see
in.

How was I going to do
that?

Then I had an idea.

But it was going to mean using scissors.

And worse, a needle and thread.

Did I really want to do this? Did I really want to jab myself a hundred times with a needle? Did I really want to cut up my backpack? This was a
great
backpack.

My mind flashed on a picture of Bubba breathing down my throat like he had so many times.

Of him calling me Nerd.

Of him stealing stuff.

Oh, yeah. It was worth it.

I charged down the hall and tore through my mother's sewing kit.

Needle—check!

Thread—check!

Velcro—yes! She had Velcro!

Then I dug through her scraps box and…yes! There was an old black nylon that would work great as a screen!

“Nolan?” my mom called down the hall. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, Mom!”

I crammed the nylon in my pocket.

I shoved her sewing kit back in the closet.

I tried to hide the spool of thread and Velcro in my fists but jabbed myself with the needle.

Blood squirted from my palm.

I clamped my mouth over it.

“Nothing?” Mom asked, coming at me.

Closer.

And closer!

“Nuh-uh,” I said, lapping up blood. “Well, I, uh, I have to sew something.”

“Sew
something?”

“Uh-huh.” I edged around her. Past her.

“Sew what? You want me to do it for you?”

“No!”

She was giving me her suspicious look.

“It's personal, okay?” I charged back to my room, closed the door tight, and waited for her to knock.

Knock-knock-knock.

I cracked the door open. “I need some privacy, okay?”

“Privacy?” She seemed hurt.

“Please, Mom…?”

“Hmmm. Well, Mr. Privacy, I just came down to tell you that
The Gecko and Sticky
is on.”