Totally Toxic (10 page)

Super studying was thirsty work! I decided to take a quick
break and go downstairs to see if Mom had any punch left over from the meeting.

Halfway down the steps, I stopped. Mom and Dad were in the living room, talking. And it sounded serious.

“I'm sorry, Maria. I just don't like it.”

“Brian, it's not as though I've never done this before. And besides…”

Mom's voice trailed off as she walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. I heard Dad's footsteps going after her. He was saying something I couldn't make out.

I found myself wishing that invisibility were one of my powers. Then I'd be able to follow them and hear every word. Then again, even if I could turn invisible at will, I wouldn't have been able to do it just then, not when I was
on probation.

So I had to rely on the one power every kid has: the power of sneakiness!

Hopping from the midpoint step to the landing, then from the landing to the floor, I dashed across the living room area rug and flung myself behind the sofa just as Mom and Dad were coming out of the kitchen. I peeked around the edge of the couch and listened.

“Remember the last time you held a rally?” Dad was saying.

“Of course I do,” Mom replied cheerfully. “We were demonstrating at the high school to protest the new school superintendent's book-banning policy.”

“And do you remember how it ended up?”

“Hmmm.” Mom flopped down on the love seat and pretended to search her memory.”If I recall, it ended with the mayor, the high school principal, and me chained to the school library's circulation desk singing America the Beautiful' in three-part harmony.”

Dad gave her a mock scowl and sat down next to her.

“Oh …” Mom smiled sweetly and snapped her fingers as though she'd just remembered something.
“And
the superintendent resigned that very afternoon and all of the so-called offensive reading material—
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
, for heaven's sake—was returned to the high school library.” She beamed proudly.

“Maria, you're not dealing with a high school superintendent here. George Mitchell is a very wealthy man, and in business, that means power. He's not going to sit back and let people cast doubt on the way he runs his factory.”

I switched my gaze to Mom, waiting to see what she would say next. She didn't disappoint me.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, her face serious now, “but the fact that George Mitchell is rich and well connected doesn't give him license to destroy the environment. I have a duty to this town to publicize what's going on at that factory.”

Way to go, Mom
/When she talked like this, it was easy to imagine how she'd been a great student activist.

Dad thought for a long moment. Mom and I held our breath.

“I'll tell you what,” he said at last. “Since this means so much to you, and since the environmental angle is a significant one, I'll call the chief and volunteer to be at the rally on Saturday. That way, I can keep an eye on you
and
George Mitchell.”

Mom squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

Relief washed over me. We were still going to make our protest!

Dad got up and went to his den to make the call. I waited behind the sofa until Mom picked up a home decor magazine from the coffee table and became engrossed in it. As quietly and quickly as I could (without violating my probation), I scooted out from behind the sofa and back to the landing, then took the stairs on tiptoe.

I felt a little nervous. Grandpa and I had suspected that Mitchell was big trouble, and now Dad's remarks confirmed it. There were going to be a lot of concerned citizens at that rally on Saturday. If Mitchell got mad enough, who knew how he'd… what was that word Dad had used…

A shiver went down my spine. I didn't like that word. I didn't like it at all.

the moment I woke up on Monday morning, I couldn't stop thinking about my lunch date with Josh. I managed to wrap myself in Emily's baby blue sweater and spent extra time on my hair. As soon as I got to school, I checked the lunch menu and heaved a sigh of relief. The cafeteria was serving French bread pizza for lunch—
way
sophisticated. Everything was going to be perfect.

The first four class periods crept by like sleepwalking snails, but finally I found myself heading out to the lunch tables, tray in hand, and hoping no one had snagged the romantic table farthest away from the basketball hoops.

No one had, but it looked like a couple of seventh graders were eyeing it; it was all I could do to keep from busting into superspeed to beat them to it. Luckily, the seventh graders decided to eat their lunch under a tree near the soccer field, so I made my way over to the table and took a seat.

I'd just opened my milk carton when I spotted Josh coming out of the lunchroom with his tray.

Shoot! What should I do? Wave? Jump up and shout,
“Josh, over here! “1
Then everyone would know Josh and I were going to have lunch together—which, come to think of it, wasn't the worst that could happen. Or should I just be cool and wait for him to find me? Or…

“Hey, Zoe.”

I looked up to see Howie Hunt sliding onto the bench across the table.

“Howie! What are you doing?”

“I'm having lunch. What do you think I'm doing?”

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that I don't know a heck of a lot about romance, but I was pretty sure that having Howie Hunt as a third wheel was pretty much the definition of mood kill.

“Are you sure you want to sit here?” I asked a bit desperately. “I mean, wouldn't you rather sit somewhere less … romantic?”

He looked at me like I'd grown another head.

By then, Josh had spotted me—correction:
us
—and was on his way over. I wished the superhero manual had included a chapter on how to get rid of extreme Howies, but
no
—all the Superhero Federation seemed to care about was ridding the world of fire-spitting villains. Not that their advice would have made a difference, since I was on probation and all.

Josh arrived and took a moment to size up the situation, looking from me to Howie and back to me again. I felt a little ripple of joy around my heart to see that clearly Josh was as bummed as I was about having Howie in the picture.

He sat down across from me, next to Howie, and I allowed myself to imagine that it was so he could gaze dreamily into my
eyes throughout the entire lunch period—and not because the bench I was on tended to wobble when more than one person sat on it.

“So,” said Josh, “about this rally …” He crunched into his French bread pizza and chewed.

I wished I could take a bite of my own pizza, but I was afraid I'd wind up with a long, drippy string of cheese hanging off my lip. I knew it was kind of a goofy, girly-girl thing to think, but I couldn't help it. This was my first date, after all.

“My dad says the rally is going to require a police presence,” I offered. “That's a little scary, isn't it?”

“Scary,” Josh agreed, swallowing his mouthful,”but cool. If this Mitchell guy really is polluting our river, I wouldn't mind seeing him handcuffed and hauled away to the hoosegow.”

“Hoosegow?”

“It's another word for jail,” Howie piped up. “You know, like
'the pokey'
or
'the big house.'
”

“Thanks, Howie,” I grumbled, shooting him a look that he missed entirely.

Howie opened his backpack and withdrew his lunch bag, which, as always, contained a baloney sandwich, a juice box, and a tangerine. Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out a digital camera. Josh's eyes lit up.

“Like it?” Howie asked, a proud grin on his freckled face. “It's last year's best state-of-the-art model. My uncle got a new one, so he gave this one to me.”

“Awesome,” said Josh. “I'm into high-tech stuff.”

I wondered what Josh would think of my superbackpack. Whatever; it was becoming pretty obvious that I'd done my hair and borrowed Emily's T-shirt for nothing.

“Have a look,” said Howie, handing the camera to Josh. “Just be real, real careful.”

“This a zoom lens?”

“Yup.”

“High-definition?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Bet it's got big-time memory capacity.”

“Big-time.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and took a huge bite of my pizza.

“Hey,” Josh said, looking up from the camera and giving me a big smile. “I've got a totally amazing idea.”

Since I wasn't about to talk with my mouth full, I just sat there chewing with what I hoped was a “Please tell me because I'm very interested” expression on my face.

“We can go over to the factory grounds,” Josh said excitedly, “search for incriminating stuff, and then take pictures of the evidence. That way, when we show up at the rally on Saturday, we'll have visual proof of what the dirtbag factory owner is doing.”

Well, that was an amazing idea all right—amazingly risky!

“That is…,” said Josh, “if Howie will lend us his camera.”

“Oh, no!” Howie slapped both palms on the table. “No way. Absolutely not.” He shook his head so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose.

Josh looked disappointed, but I was relieved. What if Josh got caught taking pictures on Mitchell's property?

I gulped down the mouthful of pizza. “Well, so much for that,” I said with a shrug. “I mean, without Howie's camera, what's the point in going?”

“Howie can come, too, then.”

Both Howie and I stared at Josh.

“What?”
I shook my head hard, not even caring if it messed up the hairstyle I'd worked on so diligently that morning.

“It's perfect,” Josh continued. “We can go tonight.” He looked at me and his eyes seemed to sparkle. “You'll come along, won't you, Zoe?”

Once again, I was distracted by his gaze. Superman had kryp-tonite; Zoe Richards had Josh Devlin's gorgeous green eyes.

“Well?”

It was obvious from the look on Josh's face that he really wanted to do this. It was also obvious that Howie wasn't going to let his camera out of his sight, so if Josh went, Howie would be going, too.