The Secret Talent by Jo Whittemore Page B

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 . . .”
    â€œI’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 thatto 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.
    â€œI’m really good at Spanish, so don’t mess up,” he said, passing me the bag.
    â€œBut I don’t know any Spanish,” I said, shrugging it onto my shoulders.
    â€œYou’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.
    â€œTwo more tasks,” I muttered to myself, walking outside.
    Mom pulled up a few minutes later and drovein silence while I scarfed down half the sub before taking a break.
    â€œHow was the group project?” she asked, stopping at a light.
    â€œGroup project? More like group blahject,” I said with a mouth full of food.
    She stared at me. “Really?”
    I covered my mouth. “Sorry.”
    â€œGroup blahject?” she mused. “That’s the best you can do?”
    â€œGroup . . . poor- ject?” I tried again.
    She shook her head. “Your father would be so disappointed.”
    I grinned. “All right, you do better.”
    â€œGroup project? More like group project . . . ile vomit,” she shot back.
    I almost choked on my food. “Gross! You’ve been working on that all afternoon, haven’t you?”
    â€œI’ve been batting some ideas around.” Mom glanced down at my bag. “That looks a lot heavierthan it did this morning. Like there’s actually stuff in it this time.”
    I blushed and concentrated on my food. “It’s just some books he’s letting me borrow.”
    Mom patted my leg. “It’s not a crime to hang out with one of the unpopular kids. You don’t have to pretend.”
    I snorted. “Thanks. But . . . I don’t think he and I will be hanging out again anytime soon.”
    â€œWhy, he heard your group blahject pun?” she asked, making a face.
    â€œStop it!” I laughed and pushed her.
    â€œHey, I’m driving!” she said with a grin.
    I settled back in my seat. “Mom?”
    â€œWhat, sweetie?”
    I looked up at her and smiled. “Nothing.”
    She smiled back. “I love you, too.”
    As soon as we made it home, I rushed upstairs and took a shower. Then I closed my bedroom room and settled down with Ryan’s Spanishhomework. I had just figured out that the Spanish word for mosquito was mosquito when there was a knock on my door, followed by the appearance of Gabby.
    I covered Ryan’s book with some of my own. “Hey, what’s up?”
    â€œUncle