The Secret Talent (5 page)

One down, four to go.

CHAPTER

H
ere's another thing about me. I want to be rich someday. Like . . . own-a-professional-sports-team rich. And not a team that's on a losing streak, sponsored by athlete's foot cream and prunes. I want three-time national champs sporting Under Armour and chugging Gatorade.

But you don't get rich doing someone else's chores for free.

Needless to say, I wasn't in the best mood Saturday morning when Mom dropped me off in front of Ryan's house.

“What's with the face?” she asked when she pulled to the curb.

I shrugged. “You and Dad gave it to me.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “That was rude. Want to try again?”

“Sorry,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt. “I just don't want to do this group project.”

It was the lie I'd come up with to explain why I was up so early on a weekend, spending time with someone my parents barely knew.

Mom cradled my cheek in one hand and kissed my forehead. “Don't worry. You'll only have to work with other people another”—she tilted her hand from side to side—“fifty years or so.”

I smiled. “No way. In a couple years everything will be controlled by machines.”

She patted my leg. “Dad and I really need to show you those Terminator movies. Have fun and call me when you're ready to go.”

I waved to her and slung my completely
empty backpack over one shoulder as I stepped onto Ryan's snowy lawn. I immediately sank into powder all the way to the shins of my boots. Glancing at the houses on either side, both of which had only a few inches of snow, I had to wonder if Ryan had stockpiled the stuff just for me.

When I was halfway to his front door Ryan opened it, clad in a T-shirt, board shorts, and flip-flops.

“Right on time. I like that in an employee,” he said.

“First of all, it's thirty-four degrees out.” I pointed to the steam my breath was making. “You look like an idiot. Second, I'm not your employee. They get paid.” I rubbed my thumb against my fingertips.

He blinked at me. “So the shovel is right there.” He pointed to one that was leaning against the porch railing next to a bucket of salt. “I find it's
best to do the walkway first before you get too tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, tossing my backpack onto the porch.

I picked up the shovel and cleaned off the steps as I went down each one. Ryan followed right behind with a lawn chair under one arm and a thermos in the other.

“Again, it's thirty—” I stopped myself, and gestured to him. “You know what? Freeze to death. That would be great for me.”

Ryan unscrewed the lid of his thermos and poured himself some hot chocolate. “Nah. I want to enjoy this,” he said, but I could see goose bumps on every visible inch of skin.

“Shouldn't you be sipping some slushy drink out of a coconut?” I asked as he settled back into his lawn chair.

He snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. It's thirty-four degrees out.”

I shook my head, popped in my earbuds, and put on some music. I managed to shovel about two feet of the walkway before something cold and hard smacked into the side of my face.

“Ah!” I dropped the shovel and wiped at my cheek. Little pieces of snow trickled down. I spun and glared at Ryan. “What was that for?”

“I asked you a question and you didn't hear me,” he said, wiping a hand on his board shorts. “And now my fingers are numb.”

“Serves you right!” I said. “What do you want?”

“What are you listening to?” he asked.

I stared at him. “Are you seriously trying to make small talk while you're blackmailing me?”

Ryan shrugged. “I'm bored.”

“So go inside and watch TV,” I said, picking up the shovel. “I'm not here to chitchat. I'm here to cross items off your stupid list.”

Ryan opened his mouth to respond but then
paused, tilting his head to one side, as if listening for something. His eyes widened, and he threw the contents of his cup on the snow. Then he recapped the thermos and scrambled out of his chair.

“Hand me the shovel,” he said.

“What?” He didn't even wait for me to comply before yanking it out of my hand. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Just shut up and sit in the lawn chair!” he said with such force that I was momentarily startled into sitting.

Snow started flying left and right from Ryan's shovel as he cleared the walkway. A moment later, a car appeared around the corner and pulled up the drive.

I watched in fascination as a stout woman in a waitress's uniform stepped out and scowled at Ryan.

“Hey, Aunt Sue!” Ryan said with a nervous
smile. “I thought you'd be at work all day.”

“What on Earth are you doing in those clothes? You'll catch pneumonia!” She charged up the driveway toward him, and for a second, Ryan looked as if he might use the shovel as a shield.

But the woman paused when she saw me in the lawn chair. “Oh! You have company.”

“Uh . . . yeah.” I got to my feet and extended my hand. “Tim Antonides. Your nephew and I are working on a science project, actually.”

I shouldn't have covered for Ryan; I should've let him squirm and suffer. Something told me, though, that Ryan and his aunt already had a pretty rocky relationship. I wasn't going to be the guy to make it worse.

“Antonides, did you say?” she asked, shaking my hand. “You can call me Sue.” She looked from the lawn chair to her shivering nephew clutching the shovel. “What kind of science project is this?”

“Uh . . . ,” I began.

“Thermodynamics,” supplied Ryan.

I was surprised he even knew that word, and more important, that it was an excuse that made sense. Of course, I was also surprised he'd managed to create a humiliating video of me, so . . .

Sue nodded as if thermodynamics were the only thing it
could
be. “Well, have you done enough research? You're turning blue, and it's not a good color on you,” she told Ryan.

He ducked his head and then mumbled, “Yes, Aunt Sue.”

“In the house, then, both of you.” She gripped one of his shoulders and turned him toward the door. “And hurry it up. I only came home to grab my badge. Can't waste time.”

I hesitated for a moment before I followed, sighing deeply. Cleaning Ryan's room was on my list of chores, anyway.

“Did you offer your guest any snacks?” Sue
asked Ryan as we approached the kitchen. She grabbed a badge off the counter and clipped it to her shirt.

He shook his head. “I was going to, though,” he said.

After he was done pelting me with snowballs. Sure.

Sue held an open cookie jar out to me. “I'm known for my prizewinning snickerdoodles.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking one.

Sue tossed one to Ryan and put the jar back. “All right, I'm leaving. Stay out of trouble.” She pointed at Ryan and then walked back outside. Ryan's entire body relaxed, and he hurried to the peephole in the front door to watch her go.

I followed him and cleared my throat, holding up my blackmail list and a pencil. “So can we call that chore done or . . . ?”

He spun around, all serious and strong again. “It's done. Time for chore number two: clean my
bedroom.” He led the way back to the kitchen and opened a cabinet under the sink. “You'll need these,” he said, pulling out a supply caddy.

I pocketed my list, on which I'd just scratched out my latest task, and studied the contents of the basket he handed to me. “Um . . . are these mousetraps?”

“Yeah, something's been eating the toast I keep on my nightstand.”

“Why—” I shook my head. “Never mind. Any other wildlife I should be aware of? Should I set a bear trap or two?”

“Nope. Oh, but if you come across any spiders, add them to my spider jar.” Ryan wandered into his living room and flopped down onto the couch.

I followed. “Spider jar?” I repeated, the hairs on my neck standing on end.

He nodded. “Yeah, jar. If they're in a box, they can get out easier.”

“Uh . . .” I opened my mouth and then closed it, trudging upstairs. Below me I could hear him turn on the TV. “Even if I was getting paid, no amount of money would be worth this,” I mumbled to myself.

And then I opened the door to his room.

“Whoa! No amount!” I cringed and backed away.

From the living room, I could hear Ryan chuckling.

Forget the supply caddy. The best way to clean this place would be to just burn it down and start over. I'd worn my boots to handle the snow, but I was grateful to have them on now as I stepped on fast-food wrappers and kicked a T-shirt aside. There was no telling what could've crawled up my pants leg.

“Do you have a laundry bag?” I called out the bedroom door. In a softer voice I added, “Or a blowtorch?”

I pulled on a pair of rubber gloves I'd found in the cleaning caddy and started gathering clothes into a pile, picking them up from the floor or lifting them off various items. The only thing he
hadn't
used as a clothes rack was his computer.

I dropped the shoe I was holding.

Ryan's computer.

When he'd filmed me with his phone, he'd no doubt transferred the video there so he could blur my face. That meant the copy showing my identity was on the hard drive! If I could access his computer, I could erase it and, if I was lucky, even remove it from his data cloud.

One step closer to regaining my freedom.

I tiptoed to his bedroom door and closed it, kicking a shirt underneath to jam it. Then I dropped the cleaning caddy and hurried to the computer, booting it up. The motor whirred and the login screen appeared.

“Shoot,” I whispered.

His password could be almost anything, and I knew nothing about him. But there was also no way a kid who had an aunt like Sue could get away with total privacy.

I opened Ryan's desk drawer and rifled through the papers and pencils and random Skittles inside. Nothing.

I bent to pick up a paper that had fallen when I saw something taped to the side of his computer.

“Bingo,” I said, straightening up. I typed in what I'd seen, and the computer finished its booting process. For just a second I paused to listen for any outside noises before searching through his recent files. “Aha!”

I completely cleared the file off his computer
and
data cloud (thank you, auto login!). Then, for good measure, I also changed the password on his computer before powering it down. All I had left to do was get his phone from him.

I waded back across the room, opened the
door, and called out, “Hey, Ryan? All your spiders got loose.”

“What?” In less than a minute he was standing in the doorway. “What'd you do?”

His phone wasn't with him. Good sign.

I shrugged. “Sorry. I'll grab a second jar and some spider food. I think I saw a dead fly on the living room windowsill.”

I strolled casually out the door, but as soon as I was around the corner, I raced down to the living room. Ryan's phone had been tossed aside on the couch.

“Please no password, please no password,” I mumbled, picking it up.

As soon as I turned it on, I was in.

With a relieved sigh and a jackhammering heart, I clicked on his photo album.

There was the original video.

A fanfare played in my head as I deleted the video, followed by the roar of an imaginary
crowd. I stood a little taller and threw back my shoulders.

Nobody messed with Tim Antonides and got away with it.

“Hey, Ryan? I've got some news for you!” I marched back to his room and found him sitting at his computer with a full jar of spiders.

“Geez!” I recoiled when he held them up.

“The spiders are all here,” he said. “But my desk is a mess.”

“That's because it's part of your room,” I said.

Ryan placed the jar of spiders on the desk and swiveled in his chair to face me. “You must think I'm pretty stupid.”

“That depends,” I said. “What's the scale we're working with?”

He crossed his arms. “I sent the original video to my computer using email.”

His email. It turned out I was the one who was pretty stupid.

I groaned and rubbed my forehead. “I didn't even think of that.”

Ryan leaned forward. “And the password is only available up here.” He tapped his skull. “You can't get rid of the video, and I can pull it up whenever I want.”

I stepped toward him. “Look, Ryan . . .”

“I'm giving you a warning.” He pointed at me. “But only because you kept me out of trouble with my aunt. If you ever mess with my stuff again, I'll make sure the original video goes not just to the school but to the entire world.” Ryan got up and gestured to the desk chair. “Now reset my password and finish cleaning this room.”

Without another word, he picked up his jar of spiders and left.

And I was right back where I'd started.

I worked straight through the morning and half the afternoon to get the room looking decent. Ryan saw it and grunted, but I took that
to mean he was satisfied, so I crossed it off my list. Three down, two to go.

When I called Mom to pick me up, I asked her to bring a foot-long sub and a bottle of hand sanitizer. She didn't even ask why. I guess having a son who plays sports will do that to you.

While I waited I retrieved my backpack, and Ryan weighed it down with his homework.

“I'm really good at Spanish, so don't mess up,” he said, passing me the bag.

“But I don't know any Spanish,” I said, shrugging it onto my shoulders.

“You've got until Monday to learn,” said Ryan. He turned me around and pushed me toward the door. “See ya!”

I stumbled forward and then glared back at him.

“Two more tasks,” I muttered to myself, walking outside.