Cloneward Bound (13 page)

“I understand,” she said, tossing her shimmering hair over one shoulder. “Look … this might sound kind of
weird, but do you think I could ask a favor?”

“Of course!” Fisher blurted instinctively. “Anything.”

“Do you think maybe … you could introduce me to Kevin Keels?”

Fisher’s brief moment of happiness was overwhelmed like a candle being hit by a tsunami.

“I don’t really know him that well.…” he began. But then, seeing Veronica’s smile falter, he quickly mumbled, “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks so much, Fisher!” she said, leaning in and giving him a warm hug. Under any other circumstance, this gesture would have sent Fisher spiraling onto cloud nine. But she might as well have been wearing a jellyfish-tentacle sweater.

The wombat in Fisher’s stomach had turned into a bowling ball. How could someone like Veronica like someone like Kevin so much? Unless … unless he was mistaken about Veronica. Maybe she wasn’t really as dazzling and incredible as he thought she was.

And why on earth had he said he would try to introduce them?

And what had Veronica meant about his “new video”?

Things were spiraling out of control. Two’s notoriety was growing by the hour.

A thought hit him like an icicle between the eyes: if Two was so much better known, so beloved and so
multitalented … and he still had all of Fisher’s smarts and ingenuity … what purpose did Fisher serve?

What claim did he have to being the definitive Fisher? Why shouldn’t
he
be Fisher-2? Did he have anything that made him stand out, that made him unique or even interesting, when compared to his increasingly more popular clone?

CHAPTER 12

Fisher had never thought it possible, but he was actually starting to get tired of the constant diet of star-shaped fries and special sauce. He found himself actually missing his mom’s Massive Zucchini Blast Salad.

“How are we going to slip away tonight, then?” Amanda whispered to Fisher as the class was lining up to head into the restaurant. “She won’t fall for the same trick twice. Did you see how she was glaring at Dr. Devilish all day?”

“I think I have an idea,” Fisher said. “Play along.” With that, he unwrapped FP from his blanket. He then put on a pair of lab gloves—he always had a pair handy—and grabbed a special cloth from his pocket. It contained a substance that reacted with the pigment in the top layer of skin and could alter it instantly. On Fisher, the invention made the uneven red patches on his skin—a result
of frequent humiliated blushing and the sun’s harshness to his skin—even out, but he correctly guessed it would have a different effect on FP’s skin chemistry.

Fisher rubbed FP from head to tail, and the pig started to change from uniform pink to a blotchy green.

“Follow my lead,” he muttered to her as he walked up to Ms. Snapper. Amanda followed behind, staring at FP’s transformation.

“Ms.… Ms. Snapper?” Fisher said.

“Yes, Fisher?” Ms. Snapper replied.

“I’m afraid FP has had an allergic reaction,” he said with a pitying look in his eyes. “Amanda fed him something from her lunch that he wasn’t supposed to eat.” Ms. Snapper’s eyes widened as FP turned greener on the spot. “It’s not serious, but I need to give him some medicine and keep an eye on him for a while.” Fisher nudged Amanda’s foot with his toe.

“I feel really bad about it,” Amanda said, stepping right into stride with Fisher’s con. “If it’s okay, I’d like to go along with Fisher and help him take care of the poor little guy.”

“Oh dear … well, all right,” Ms. Snapper said. “He certainly looks like he could use your attention. If you want, you can go and help Fisher with him.”

Fisher and Amanda sped up to the seventh floor, then split up and headed for their respective rooms.

Once inside his hotel room, Fisher made straight for his suitcase, reaching underneath his everyday clothing and removing his Spy Suit. The sleek, black, full-body suit had seen him through his mission to rescue Two from TechX. Its pockets and pouches were outfitted with specialized tools and gadgets Fisher had invented. It would work well as a costume and might come in handy if they got into any trouble. And when it came to Two, trouble was one thing Fisher could count on.

Besides, after the suit had seen him safely through the disaster at TechX, Fisher imagined that maybe the suit was a kind of good-luck charm—and it was obvious he needed one now more than ever.

“Okay, boy,” Fisher said to FP, who was curled in front of the air conditioner as the pigment change began to wear off. “I’m going to be back in a little while, okay? Try not to mess with any of my stuff. Or any of Warren’s,” he said, pointing to the large suitcase sitting next to the room’s other bed.

He cracked his door open very slowly and peeked out into the hallway. It was empty. A moment later, he saw Amanda’s door inch open. They stayed in place for a few seconds, checking that the hallway remained clear.

Fisher took a deep breath and slipped out of his room. Amanda followed suit. She was wearing her wrestling unitard, in Wompalog’s navy blue and pumpkin-orange
school colors. Fisher subtly raised an eyebrow, but Amanda’s icy expression kept his mouth shut. They met at the stairwell.

“Ready?” she asked, cracking her knuckles.

“Ready,” Fisher answered, adjusting the fit of his suit. It felt a little tighter than it had last time he’d worn it. Maybe all the spicy fries were having their inevitable consequences.

The stairs were empty, and they made it to the ground floor with ease. They slipped through a side door that led on to the parking lot.

“All right, I’ve gotten us away from Ms. Snapper,” Fisher said. “How are we going to get to the Hollywood Bowl?”

“Follow me,” Amanda said.

They ducked low and tried to conceal themselves behind a line of shrubs as they made their way past the hotel. Cars whizzed in and out of the parking lot, and people filed past, but nobody took a second look at Fisher and Amanda, even with their unusual attire.

Through a large gap in the shrubbery, Fisher got a sudden unobstructed view of the restaurant’s windows. Ms. Snapper was scanning the parking lot—looking almost exactly in their direction.

“Amanda!” he whispered frantically. Just as the teacher’s gaze was about to reach them, a taxi pulled up to
the curb, and Fisher wrenched Amanda behind it. They crouched down and watched as the passengers filed out the other side.

Fisher was breathing so hard, he couldn’t speak for a moment. The engine vibrated against his back.

Two young men walked up to the driver.

“Hey, man,” one of them said. “Do you think you could give us a lift to the Hollywood Bowl?”

Fisher couldn’t believe his luck. He felt a surge of adrenaline. Amanda looked at him, eyes wide, and then gestured to the trunk.

“Can you—?” Amanda began.

“I can,” Fisher said, reaching into one of his Spy Suit’s back pouches and pulling a small canister out. It was his latest spy item, Key in a Can, and this would be its first field test. He pressed the nozzle and sprayed a fine mist into the trunk keyhole. Instantly, the substance began to solidify, filling up the lock in the exact shape of its key. In moments, a gray plastic key-like object had formed, and Fisher turned it. The trunk popped open instantly, and Fisher and Amanda slipped in.

It was stuffy and hot and smelled like a dozen hockey pucks in a toaster oven. Amanda followed him in, curling up against one side so that she would be mostly concealed from view if the trunk opened again. Fisher sighed and pushed himself up against the other side, feeling the sweat begin to roll down his neck and arms. He reached up and eased the trunk closed. It was nearly pitch-black now, and the heat became even more stifling. Then the engine gunned, filling their ears with a washed-out roar, and Fisher lurched as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

Fisher bounced up and down as the cab picked up speed, until he felt like a popcorn kernel just ready to pop. Each time he hit his head against the trunk, he
felt another burst of worry. He still had no idea what he was going to do even if they succeeded in bringing Two back to Palo Alto. Would they keep on switching places, pretending to be the same person for the rest of their lives? Would Two take on another persona, somehow disguise himself and create a new life as someone else entirely?

Or, Fisher wondered, would Two simply take his place? With Two’s newfound popularity and ever-growing confidence, he might be daring enough to really do it.

Fisher was feeling like a popcorn kernel about to
explode
by the time the taxi came to a stop. Working quickly, he pulled a small set of pliers out of a side pocket of his Spy Suit and went to work unlatching the trunk. Amanda caught the door as it began to spring open, and they rolled out behind the car, Amanda softly closing the trunk behind them.

The sun was setting, but it was still light enough outside to blind Fisher for a few seconds. He shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness from his vision.

The Hollywood Bowl was a huge outdoor amphitheater. Tiers of seats, carved out of the side of a hill, sloped downward to a small stage area. Thankfully, there were so many people crowding around them that nobody seemed to have noticed the fact that they had arrived via the trunk of a taxi.

A huge banner stretched above them: it read
CLOAKED JUSTICE
—wrap party
. Fisher had heard of the superhero TV show, though he’d never seen it. Everyone streaming into the party was wearing a costume, most of them superhero spandex, which meant that he and Amanda actually blended in well.

The big stage at the bottom of the bowl seemed to be the center of the party: waiters circulated with trays of food, a DJ was playing dance music, and bartenders were serving up drinks. Other people milled around among the seats. There must have been a thousand guests.

Fisher sucked in a deep breath. “He’s going to be at the center of everything,” he said, pointing to the stage. “He’s allergic to staying low profile.”

“Lead the way,” Amanda said. For once, she sounded nervous.

Fisher and Amanda reached the upper tier of seats and saw their first obstacle: a security barrier set up in front of them. There were four entrance points, each guarded by three massive bodyguards. The arriving guests either had badges to prove that they worked on the show, carried special guest tickets, or were famous enough that the guards recognized them on sight.

“What now?” Amanda asked.

“I’m thinking.” Fisher frowned, scanning the crowd.
“There.” He pointed to a man dressed as one of the talking trees from
The Wizard of Oz
. It was a huge, elaborate costume with branches and leaves sticking out on all sides. He had to walk very slowly to make sure he didn’t swipe anyone with a dangling limb.

“Tree-man?” Amanda wrinkled her nose. “What about him?”