The Secret Talent by Jo Whittemore Page A

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.
    â€œWhoa! 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.
    â€œDo 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.
    â€œShoot,” 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.
    â€œBingo,” 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 thedoor, and called out, “Hey, Ryan? All your spiders got loose.”
    â€œWhat?” 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.
    â€œPlease 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 imaginarycrowd. I stood a little taller and threw back my shoulders.
    Nobody messed with Tim Antonides and got away with it.
    â€œHey, 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.
    â€œGeez!” I recoiled when he held them up.
    â€œThe spiders are all here,” he said. “But my desk is a mess.”
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œThat depends,” I said. “What’s the scale