Attack of the Tagger (4 page)

I ducked behind a bush and could see the office lady, Mrs. Holler, through the window. She was on the phone, leaning on an elbow, looking out at the flowers in the courtyard.

The minute she turned her back, I zoomed across the courtyard and dove behind the hedge that runs next to the office building.

I crawled on my hands and knees past the office and under Dr. Voss’s window. I crawled, crawled, crawled, clear to the back of the building.

There was a barricade of about twenty big green plastic sacks full of yard waste, but on the other side—oh, yeah! The parking lot!

The teachers’ parking lot is like a V with cars
along both edges. One side is by the office, the other is by a cliff of bushes that drops down to the soccer fields. I had to get from where I was to the other side. To the cliff side.

I looked left. Nobody around.

I looked right. The coast was clear!

I crawled along a couple of car bumpers, then scooted between a pickup truck and a fancy silver car with spoked wheels.

And I was getting ready to jet across to the other side of the parking lot when
vroom!
The silver car right next to me started up!

I crawled around the pickup truck and watched the fancy car back out. My heart was pounding like crazy. Had they seen me?

No! I told myself. They wouldn’t back away if they knew I was practically under the wheel! They’d get out and ask me why I was sneaking around the parking lot. They’d… And then I saw who was driving away in that fancy silver car.

Dr. Voss!

I’d almost been run over by the principal!

I watched her drive off, then made myself calm down a little. I didn’t have time to waste being scared! I had a picture to take, and I had to do it fast!

So I hurried across the parking lot and captured Dumb-Baby digitally, then I snuck back the way I’d come.

And now I couldn’t
wait
for school to let out so I could get to work on the next step of my plan!

“Wow, honey,” Mom said as I blasted through the front door. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, peeling off my backpack.

“You’re so dirty!” She started picking stuff off the back of my shirt and out of my hair. “You’ve got leaves, and prickers, and…Nolan, your jeans are filthy!”

I shook her off but noticed she was right—the knees of my jeans were caked with dirt.

“Alvin Bixby didn’t push you down again, did he? Because if he did—”

“No, Mom! I had a great day!”

“You…you did?”

“Ulvhuh.”

“Looks like you got some… exercise today. No computer lab at recess?”

I got myself a juice box from the fridge. “Nope.”

She smiled. “Great! So…who’d you play with?”

I shrugged. “Just played.” I vacuumed up juice fast. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“Now I want to go ride my bike.”

She blinked at me. “Really?”

I grabbed another juice box. “Uh-huh. You’re right. I
should
get more exercise.”

She was blinking like crazy. “Well, okay…! You remember the rules of the road?”

“Of course!”

“Wear your helmet, ride on the right side, look both ways before you—”

“Mo-om!”

“Okay, okay! Sorry, honey.”

I slurped out the bottom of the juice box, tossed it in the trash, and headed for the garage.

“Why are you taking your backpack, Nolan?”

“Uh… in case I find something cool on my ride.”

“But… aren’t all those books heavy?”

I dumped the books and said, “I feel like going for a loooooong ride, so don’t worry, okay, Mom?”

“But—”

“Mo-om! I’ll be fine!”

She scrambled around, then handed me her cell phone. “Here. Take this. In case you get a flat or something.”

I rolled my eyes. A superhero calling his mom to the rescue. Sheez.

I’d been to Old Town Square a bunch of times before, but never on my bike, and never alone. It was about ten minutes away in the car, I knew that, so I figured it would take me about fifteen on my bike. I may not be great at basketball or soccer, but I can
fly
on my bike. I blasted down the street. My digital speedometer said 10, 15, 20, 24.5 miles per hour! I was passing people!

Dogs!

Cars!

By the time I got to Old Town Square, I swear there was a superhero cape flapping in the wind behind me.

You can’t drive through Old Town Square. You have to park outside and walk. And that goes for bikes and skateboards and scooters, too. There’s a nice green park in the middle, with benches and trees and squirrels and statues. And all the stores are connected in a great big U around three sides of the park.

The stores all look the same. They’re built out of wood and have a nonstop porch going from
one to the next to the next. The boards always creak when you walk, which I hate the sound of, but Mom says it’s part of the Old Town charm.

But before I even got inside the square, I saw what I was looking for.

Red paint.

And right away I could tell that it
had
been done by the same person who’d sprayed Mr. Green’s van. On the side of the building, right where everyone could see it when they walked into the square, was a giant dumb-baby.

Eyes rolling up.

Buckteeth going left and right.

And a talkie balloon that said,
Du-uh!

I locked my bike, took out my digital camera, and moved in.

There were people all over the place, so I just tried to act like I was one of them as I found a place to get a good picture. And after walking back and forth about ten times I figured it didn’t really matter if someone saw me taking pictures. Who knew me around here, anyway?

So I just went up, clicked a few shots, and hurried back to my bike. But while I was unlocking my bike, a whole bunch of
other
kids came skidding up to the bike rack next to mine. They were wearing backpacks, too, and helmets. And normally it wouldn’t have made me nervous or anything, but the way they were laughing made me feel a little self-conscious.

Usually when I hear people laughing kind of mean like that, they’re laughing at me.

So I looked down and retied my shoe, hoping they’d go away and leave me alone.

Then one of them said, “Du-uh!”

Du-uh?

I peeked at them through the spokes of my front wheel. They weren’t even looking at me! They were looking at the graffiti.

One by one, all five of them peeled off their helmets.

These were boys from school!

I ducked lower, trying to hide behind my bike. Two of them I knew were sixth graders, but I didn’t know their names. The two other sixth graders I did know—Carl Blanco and Ryan Voss. And the last boy was big enough to be a sixth grader but was only in fifth grade.

Bubba Bixby.

They started walking. And I started trailing them! I hid behind a trash can. A bench. A tree. I scooted from one to the next to the next,
following the five of them toward the red dumb-baby. When they finally stood still, I aimed my camera between the slats of a bench and
bzzzzz, click! Bzzzzz, click! Bzzzzz, click!
I got pictures of them laughing. Of them giving each other high-fives and low-fives. I got lots of pictures! And the minute they took off to walk through Old Town, I took off for home.

Shredderman had work to do!

I rode home even faster than I’d ridden there.
Pump, pump, pump,
I was cranking those pedals! Maximizing those gear ratios! I even hopped a curb for the first time in my life.

Wa-hoo!

When I came in through the garage, Mom acted like I’d just come home from war. “Where have you been? What took you so long? I kept looking out the window but didn’t see you go by once!”

“Mo-om!”

“Don’t Mo’Om me!” She followed me to the fridge. “Honey, what’s gotten
into
you?”

I slurped another juice box dry. Didn’t even close the fridge.

“Honey?” She took off my helmet. “You’re sweating!”

Hmmm. Did superheroes sweat? Not that I’d ever seen

I swatted her off. “Mo-om! I just went riding, okay? Quit making such a big deal out of it.” I jabbed a straw through the next juice box and headed down to my room. “Gotta do my homework,” I told her. “And there’s a ton of it!”