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 myeyes 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
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 myeyes 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
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