Secret Identity (9 page)

Freddy looked at Randy, then at me.

Trinity looked around, too, then smiled at me.

I smiled back. And I kept on smiling, too. First at Freddy, then at Randy.

Then a miracle happened at Table 4.

Both of them smiled back at me.

It was lunchtime. Everyone was charging the door, me included. I hate getting to the lunch line late. You waste too much lunch recess waiting. I wanted to play four-square. Maybe I'd make server!

But Mr. Green stopped me. “Nolan!” he called. “Come here a sec.”

I went to his desk, where he was stacking the science papers we'd just turned in. “Yes, Mr. Green?”

“How's your project coming along?”

“Uh…fine.”

“Having any problems with it?”

I shook my head.

The classroom was empty now, except for him and me. “What are you doing it on?” he asked.

Uh-oh.

“Nolan?”

“Yes, sir?”

“What's the subject?”

“Uh, well, actually, I keep starting over.”

His eyebrows went up.

He sat down.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” I started talking really fast. “My dad wanted me to do it on the mayor, but I didn't want to. So he said to do it on his
boss
, but his boss makes him work too much and he's kind of
mean
to him. So then he said I should do it on Sarge—”

“Sarge?”

“He's a friend of my dad's. He's on the police force.”

“Ah.”

“So I've been um… I've been working on…” I didn't want to lie to him! What was I going to say?

“Yes … ?”

“I've been working on switching to him.”

He studied me. “Okaaaaay. And what's this police sergeant's name?”

“Urn…Sergeant Klubb.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling, “I know Billy! He's one cool cop. Do you want me to put in a word for you?”

“No! I mean, no thank you. My dad… my dad's got it covered.”

Mr. Green nodded, but his smile fell away. He shifted in his chair. His mouth went from left to right and back again.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, “Did you know that all the teachers were asked to turn in names of students who were out of class before snack recess yesterday?”

I was still standing, but my knees had turned to jelly.

“Nolan?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you worried?”

“Worried?” I was sweating cannonballs!

“That I turned in your name.”

I shook my head.

“Really.” He cocked his head. “I thought you might be.”

I shrugged. “Why?”

He leaned back, his hands folded behind his head. A foot kicked onto the science papers. The other came up and crossed it. Finally he said, “You're being very cool about this, Shredderman.”

Uh-quadruple-oh! “Me?” I said.

“Have a seat, Nolan.”

I sat.

“It's okay, Nolan. I didn't turn your name in.”

“You didn't? I mean, you could have….“

He put up a hand. “I have an apology to make, so please hear me out.”

I nodded.

“Earlier in the year you tried to tell me things about Alvin. It's clear that I didn't take them seriously enough. But I want you to know that from now on, if you have a problem with some’ one, I'll listen better. There's a lot going on in class, but that's no reason for things to have come to this point. I should have paid more attention, and I'm sorry.”

I started to tell him that it wasn't
his
fault Bubba was born big and mean, full of teeth and ready to bite, but he put up his hand again and said, “The situation with Alvin is pretty complex, but again, that's no excuse. And off the record? Your solution is brilliant. Very well executed, I might add.” He shook his head and chuckled. “All this time I thought you were shy, but you're a real comedian, you know that? I laughed my head off.”

I hadn't admitted anything yet. And even
though I wanted to tell him he was right—that I
had
built the site—it felt like it would be the end of Shredderman if I did. “But, Mr. Green, I'm not Shredder man.”

His feet swung off the desk.

He leaned forward.

Then he whispered, “I'm not going to breathe a word of this to anyone, Nolan. You cover your tracks by turning in a real project, and I'll make sure no one suspects it's you.”

I just stood there, staring at him.

“Look. I love Shredderman! I think what you've done is going to change the tone of this campus. Let me help you! Your site could be so much more than All Bubba, All the Time. Think about what you can do with it! You could post kids doing
nice
things to each other! Have mystery guests. Or riddles about kids no one knows very well. There's a ton you can do with your site. Good stuff!”

“But—”

“Come on,” he laughed. “Superman had Jimmy Olsen! Batman had Robin! Shoot, even The Gecko's got Sticky, right? Shredderman needs an ally.” He leaned in a little closer. “Nolan, let me be your sidekick.”

A teacher as a sidekick?

I laughed out loud. And I was about to say, Really? but he stopped me. “You don't have to say a word,” he whispered, then put out his hand.

I looked at him a minute, then shook it.

After lunch, it was like my conversation with Mr. Green had never happened. He taught, he sang, he read a story. He was just Mr. Green.

He sure wasn't
acting
like a sidekick!

And after school, he stood at the door and said bye to us like he usually does. “Don't forget your lunchbox, Sarah…. Good luck at your game this afternoon, Andrew…. Hey, Danielle, your back pack's wide open…. See ya, Myles…. Keep smiling, Trinity…. “ When I came past, he said, “Stay cool, dude,” and gave me a wink.

I didn't go straight home. I sat on a bench at the edge of the playground, thinking. What was I going to do with my Web site now?

And what was happening to Bubba, anyway? Were they going to make him be nicer?

Could they do that?

Were they going to kick him out of school?

And if they did, why have a Web site?

Why be Shredderman?

Mr. Green seemed to think there was lots more I could do with the site, but right then I was thinking that maybe I should just tear it down.

Then I spotted Bubba. He was out in the parking lot, standing between his mother and father.

I jumped off the bench and moved closer.

I hid behind a tree and watched.

Bubba's dad was unlocking their car and yelling at Mrs. Bixby.

Mrs. Bixby started yelling back, but he grabbed her by the arm and kind of shoved her into the car.

Then Mr. Bixby started yelling at Bubba, and when Bubba said something back, Mr. Bixby
popped him across his head and shouted, “I said, get inside!”

Where was my camera? Boy! That Mr. Bixby was big and mean. A real bully!

All of a sudden I was Shredderman again, only this time I wanted to
defend
Bubba. How could his father be so mean?

There was nothing I could do, though. Not now anyway. They were already driving away.

And as I watched their car peel out of the parking lot, I thought that maybe Bubba Bixby
wasn't
born big and mean, full of teeth and ready to bite.

Maybe Bubba had learned it from his dad.

I wandered home, thinking about Bubba's dad. About my dad. What a difference!

And it made me think about how lucky I was— my dad had never treated me like that.

Ever.

By the time I got home, I had a new plan. A
cool plan! One I couldn't wait to get started on!

“Mom!” I shouted when I burst through the door.

“In here!” she called from the kitchen.

“Hey! Can you take me over to the
Gazette!”

“The
Gazette!
Why?”

“I want to see Dad. Right away.”

She stopped smearing peanut butter in a celery stick. “Is everything all right?”

I took the celery stick. “Everything's great!” I chomped through peanut butter and said, “I want to talk to him about my project!”

“You do?”

“Uh-huh! Can we go?”

She dropped everything, grabbed her purse, and off we went. And when we got to Dad's cubicle at the
Gazette
, Mom leaned around the corner and said, “Surprise!”

“Eve!” Dad said, standing up. Then he noticed me. “Nolan!”

“Hi, Dad!”

“Hey! I'm glad you caught me. I actually just got in from an assignment. Mr. Zilch had me chasing down some—”

“Steven,” my mom laughed, “don't you want to know why we're here?”

“Of course!” He looked at me. “You look like you have big news.”

I shrugged. “Well, no. I just changed my mind.”

“About your… ?” I could tell he was hoping it was about my project but didn't want to risk guessing.

I nodded. “About my project.”

“Well!” he said, a smile stretching across his face. He glanced at my mom, but she shook her head and said, “I had nothing to do with this, Steven, I promise. He came home from school wanting to see you.”

“So!” my dad said, smiling at me. “Am I calling the mayor? Mr. Zilch? Sarge?”

I shook my head. “I want to do my project on someone better than them.”

“Shhh!” Dad whispered, looking around for Mr. Zilch. “Uh, who do you have in mind?”

“Someone better than the mayor, or any sports hero, or the president, or even Bill Gates!”

“Someone better than… ?” His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath. “Nolan, when I said I could get you in touch with people, I meant in this community. I didn't mean the president. Or Bill Gates!”

“Da-ad!” I said, grinning. “Someone
better
than them!”

His eyes shifted from me to my mom and back again.

I laughed. “I want to do my project on you!”

He stared at me.

He stared some more.

Then his chin started quivering.

“On…me…?”

I nodded.

He gave me a hug. Even picked me off the floor a little!

“Da-ad!” I said, but it felt good.

Super good.

When Bubba came back to school, he was meaner than ever.