Totally Toxic (3 page)

“I have a big test coming up, and I want to get in extra studying,” I told her, which was the truth… mostly.

“Well, have a nice day, swee—” Mom caught herself and cleared her throat. “I mean, catch ya later, girlfriend.”

Well, at least she was trying. I picked up my school stuff and gave her a grin. “Right back atcha,” I said. “And if you need help at the meeting on Sunday, I can pitch in. Maybe we can make some charts or something to show people what information you've found.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You're super.”

I'm working on it
, I thought.

I reached Main Street at the height of the morning rush. The sidewalk was busy with people heading to work, carrying huge cardboard cups of expensive coffee.

I marched up to Grandpa just as he was unlocking the front door of Speedy Cleaners.

I got right to the point: “Okay, I don't really get the difference between dodging a proton-charged death ray and deflecting a semiseismic brain melt.”

Unfortunately, a woman in a business suit overheard me; she stopped in her tracks, nearly spilling her cappuccino, and stared at me with wide eyes.

I gave her a bright smile. “Science test,” I explained.

The woman continued to gape in disbelief.

“She's in the
advanced
class,” Grandpa added calmly.

The woman hurried off.

“Nice save,” I told Grandpa.

“You wouldn't have needed saving,” Grandpa said sternly, “if you'd been a little more careful.”

“Sorry.”

Grandpa's expression softened into a smile as he held the door open for me.

“I seem to recall that when I was studying for my first superhero test, I had a little trouble understanding the distinction between brain melts and death rays myself.” He chuckled. “You see, it all has to do with the proton projection— and of course, what the bad guy ate for breakfast is always a factor….”

The door to Speedy Cleaners closed behind us, and for all the pedestrians outside knew, it was just another ordinary shop on Main Street.

Grandpa walked toward the back room. I followed him, resisting the urge to hurdle the tall counter.

“First things first,” said Grandpa. He flashed a grin at me. “Will you lift the pressing machine for me and move it over there?”

“Sure,” I said, easily hoisting the huge metal piece of equipment and carrying it across the room.

I lowered the presser carefully. “Here?”

“Perfect,” said Grandpa. He ruffled my hair. “Thank you, Zoe.”

He motioned for me to sit as he plugged in the presser and turned on the steam. “Now,” he said, “about those death rays…”

Fourth period. History.

Ms. Krangle was lecturing about Patrick Henry and some speech he made back around the time of the Revolutionary War.

“Psst.”

I turned to my best friend, Emily Huang, who sat in the desk next to me. She was looking straight ahead, but her hand was dangling down beside her chair. She clutched a folded piece of loose-leaf paper between her fingers.

Keeping a casual expression, I gave my pencil a nudge, which sent it rolling across the desktop and over the edge to the floor.

I leaned down to retrieve the pencil, snatched the note from Emily's grasp, and was upright again in a split second (not a superhero skill, just a sixth-grade-note-passing skill). I unfolded the note.

It sounded like fun. But I'd just promised my mother I'd help her with her meeting on Sunday. I wrote back to Emily:

I refolded the note and placed it on the corner of my desk. When Ms. Krangle wasn't looking, I slipped it to Emily under our desks. She glanced at me and gave a little smile as she grabbed the note in a lightning-fast motion. Six years of note passing sure had taught us a thing or two—we were champs.

I watched out of the corner of my eye while Emily unfolded the note. Her grin faded as soon as she read the first word. She picked
up her pen and wrote something under my reply, but she didn't bother to pass it to me. Instead, she tilted the paper up so I could read the message, which she'd written in large, bold letters:

YOU'RE BUSY—AGAIN?

I guess I couldn't blame her for being disappointed. I'd been making lots of excuses since the superhero thing began. I wrote back quickly:

Emily read the note, then giggled quietly. She turned to me with a smile and mouthed the words

Okay, so maybe the universe wasn't exactly in danger. But still…

At the front of the room, Ms. Krangle had plunked a tricorner hat on her head and was standing on a chair, wildly swinging one fist above her head (trust me—if you knew Ms. Krangle, this would not surprise you one bit). She was bellowing dramatically, “Give me liberty, or… give… me…”

Her eyes scanned the room from beneath the brim of her patriotic headwear. When her gaze fell on Howie, she fixed him with a questioning look.

“Um …” Howie gulped. “Lunch?”

Ms. Krangle folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “Give me liberty or give me
lunch?.”

“No, ma'am.” Howie pointed to the clock above the chalkboard. “I meant it's time for lunch.”

Ms. Krangle shoved the hat back from her forehead and eyed the clock. “Ah. So it is.” She climbed down from the chair, removed the hat, and smiled at us. “Class dismissed.”

gathered up my books and followed Emily out of the classroom.

“Hey, I'm sorry if I sounded snippy back there,” Emily said. “You know… that second part of the note.”

I shrugged. “It's okay.”

We reached my locker. As I worked the combination, Emily leaned against the locker next to mine.”It's just that it seems like we never hang out anymore, ya know?” She gave me a nervous look. “Are you mad at me?”

“No!” I answered quickly. “Of course not.” I tugged open the metal door of my locker. “I mean, I miss doing stuff with you. But now that I'm twelve …”

… my super powers are kicking in and it's up to me to continue my family's heroic legacy as Zachary “Zip” Richards's granddaughter….

“… my parents expect me to take on more responsibility at home.”

Again, mostly true.

Emily sighed. “I know exactly what you mean. My twelfth birthday isn't for two months and my dad already expects me to empty the dishwasher.”