The Secret Talent by Jo Whittemore

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.
    â€œHey, Aunt Sue!” Ryan said with a nervoussmile. “I thought you’d be at work all day.”
    â€œWhat 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.”
    â€œUh . . . 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.
    â€œAntonides, 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?”
    â€œUh . . . ,” I began.
    â€œThermodynamics,” 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.”
    â€œIn 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.
    â€œDid you offer your guest any snacks?” Sueasked 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.”
    â€œThanks,” 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 mybedroom.” 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?”
    â€œYeah, something’s been eating the toast I keep on my nightstand.”
    â€œWhy—” I shook my head. “Never mind. Any other wildlife I should be aware of? Should I set a bear trap or two?”
    â€œNope. 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.”
    â€œUh . . .” I opened my mouth and then closed it, trudging upstairs. Below me I could