Attack of the Tagger Read online

  “That we’ll… look into it,” Dr. Voss said.

  “How will we be looking into it?” Mr. Green asked her.

  She frowned at him. “Let me give that some thought, will you?”

  Mr. Green said, “How about we start by calling the police. Then let’s ask Dusty to look through the trash bins for the spray can.”

  She put her fists on her hips. “Our custodian was not hired to dig through trash.”

  Mr. Green shook his head. “Fine. Then I’ll do it.”

  “You have a class to run.”

  “Okay… I’ll get my class to help me, then.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  She nodded. “That shouldn’t anger any parents. But make them wash up afterward. And don’t take too much time away from class!”

  “Wait!” he called after her. “Can you ask the teachers to look through backpacks?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Her frown was back. “It could’ve been anyone. They could’ve just walked through the field here, up the hill. They could’ve—”

  “Could you please just ask the other teachers to check? My mural is ruined! It has a lot of sentimental value to me.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Dr. Voss said with a smirk, then turned her back and headed for the office. “We’ll do the best we can!” she called over her shoulder. “In the meantime, I can see your class lined up outside your room!”

  When she was gone, I popped up from behind the bumper and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Green. Whoever did it, we’ll catch ‘em!”

  “Nolan! Where’d you come from?”

  “Back there,” I said, pointing to where I’d been.

  “Did you hear… everything?”

  “Uh-huh. And if Dr. Voss won’t help you, I will.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Toilet Bowl Spy

  I don’t think Mr. Green believed I could help him. He wouldn’t even talk about it. He just wanted to scour the school. He wanted to call the police. He wanted to do things his way.

  His way?

  Sheez. Some sidekick.

  So I ran one way around campus to get into line with the rest of my class while Mr. Green walked a different way.

  You can’t be too careful when your secret identities are at stake!

  Mr. Green didn’t say a word to any of us when he unlocked the classroom. He just propped open the door and inspected backpacks and hands as we went inside.

  Since I was the last in line, I kept an eagle eye on everyone in front of me. Especially Bubba Bixby and his sidekicks, Kevin and Max. They whispered and laughed a lot, but Mr. Green couldn’t find a thing on them. He looked hard, too.

  That didn’t mean they hadn’t done the dumb-baby face, but it did mean they thought they wouldn’t get caught.

  Villains are sly at covering their tracks.

  When we were all seated, Mr. Green didn’t pick up his guitar and strum through “Good Day Sunshine" or any of his other good-morning songs. He just stood in front of the class with his arms crossed, frowning.

  Finally he said, “You know why we had that little inspection this morning, right?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Does anyone want to volunteer any information about what happened to my van?”

  No one said a word.

  Mr. Green sighed. “Well, if you change your mind, you can always leave an anonymous note on my desk.” Then he said, “Does anyone want to help me dig through trash cans for evidence?”

  “Sure!” a lot of us said.

  “Raise your hand if you’re willing to look around campus for a can of red spray paint.”

  Everyone’s hand went up.

  Even Bubba’s.

  “Okay, then.” He looked at his watch. “Here are the rules: No noise. No going into other classrooms. And don’t even think about stepping a toe off campus.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “If you find the spray can, do not touch it! Get me, and I’ll pick it up with a rag. We don’t want to mess up fingerprints.” He yanked open his desk and pulled out a whistle. “When you hear this blow, you’ve got thirty seconds to get back to class. We all clear on the rules?”

  Everyone agreed.

  “Anyone not want to do this? Raise your hand now; this is strictly voluntary.”

  All hands stayed down.

  He told different tables what part of school he wanted them to scour, then said, “Let’s go.”

  I slipped my digital camera out of its secret compartment in my backpack and put it in my sweatshirt pocket.

  Just in case.

  Then I filed out with the rest of the kids, only I didn’t start looking in the area I was supposed to look. Instead, I zoomed around behind our classroom, behind the computer lab, over to the boys’ bathroom where Bubba holds his meetings.

  His bully-club meetings.

  I checked over both shoulders, then ducked inside the bathroom and looked around.

  Nobody home.

  So I zoomed down to the last stall, closed the door, and stood on the toilet seat.

  No shoes showing!

  I clamped down tight on my camera.

  Didn’t want it to fall in!

  And I was barely in position when, sure enough, Bubba, Max, and Kevin came busting into the bathroom.

  I couldn’t see them, but believe me—I’d recognize their voices anywhere. Max’s is kind of whiny, Kevin always sounds like he has a cold, and Bubba, well, if you’ve ever been face to face with Bubba-breath, it’s something you’ll never forget.

  Max was busting up, “Hee hee hee!”

  Kevin was going, “Ha ha ha,” through his nose.

  Then Bubba said, “Is the Happy Hippie bent or what? Dude! His beak is totally tweaked!”

  “He totally thinks it’s you, dude,” Max said. “Did you see the way he was checking you over for red paint?”

  “I hope he accuses me, man. I’ll sue!”

  Max said, “So now are you gonna tell us? Huh huh huh?”

  “Shut up, stupid,” Bubba said. “You sound like a dumb-baby.”

  “Like that dumb-baby on the Green Machine, duuuu-uh!” Kevin said.

  “So do you, stupid!” Bubba told Kevin. “Which is why I’m not breathin’ a word to either of you.”

  “Come on, dude,” Max whined. “It’s us.”

  “Yeah, we’re not gonna squeal!” Kevin said.

  My ear pushed out even harder. So it wasn’t Bubba after all? Then I heard Bubba say, “I’ll tell you this much—you know him.”

  “Who, man, who?” Kevin asked.

  Max said, “Do you think they’ll nail him?”

  “I ain’t squealin’,” Bubba said. “But believe me—they’ll never nail him. The dude is, like, invincible.”

  All of a sudden, sunlight came streaming into the bathroom and I heard Mr. Green’s voice say, “Gentlemen, this is not a potty party.”

  “’Course not, Mr. Green!” Bubba said. “We’re just checking out all the trash cans in here. Someone could’ve stuck it way down under all these paper towels or something.”

  I could hear Mr. Green shuffling around for a minute. Then he said, “Get out there, boys. And make yourselves useful or line up in front of the classroom.”

  “Yes, sir!” they said.

  When they were all gone and I was sure the coast was clear, I hopped off the toilet and snuck out of the bathroom.

  So they thought the guy who tagged Mr. Green’s van was invincible, huh?

  We’d see about that.

  I’d find out who he was!

  I’d teach him to mess with my sidekick!

  This was a job for Shredderman!

  CHAPTER 5

  The Can Turns Up

  At Cedar Valley Elementary, the kindergartners hang their backpacks on a big wooden rack outside their classroom. It’s in a little alcove, and when I was in kindergarten, I never worried about anyone stealing my stuff.

  That was before Bubba
Bixby came to town.

  I also never worried about anyone putting criminal evidence in my backpack, but that’s exactly what happened to Trinity’s little sister. When the A.M. kindergartners were packing up to go home, she found the red spray can. It was stashed in her backpack.

  Trinity sits across from me in Mr. Green’s class. Trinity, Freddy, Randy, and I are all assigned to Table 4. Freddy and Randy are just regular guys. Not bullies, just medium mean. Trinity, though, is pretty nice. She’s not very good at math, but she can draw like crazy. Especially horses. She’s great at drawing horses.

  By the time we got in from lunch, everyone had heard about the spray can turning up. The police had been there taking pictures, talking to Mr. Green and Dr. Voss, walking around with the spray can in a big plastic bag.

  Trinity was pretty worked up about it, too, because the can was found in her sister’s backpack. “Who could have put it there?” she whispered across the table to me.

  “She put it there, Pony-girl,” Randy said.

  “Did not!”

  “Sure she did. She drew a picture of herself on Mr. Green’s van!” He rolled his eyes up and pulled a dumb-baby face. “Du-uh.”

  Trinity said, “Shut up, Randy. I wasn’t asking you.

  He shrugged and gave Freddy an evil grin. Then he looked back at her and said, “Sorry. I just didn’t hear your boyfriend answering you.”

  Boyfriend? My eyes got big. My cheeks turned red. Was he talking about me?

  “Shut up, stupid,” Trinity told him. “He’s not my boyfriend.” She looked at me. “He’s just my friend.” She whipped around to face Freddy and Randy. “Which is more than I can say about you guys.”

  Then the three of them pulled faces and stuck tongues out at each other and said, “Shut up,” “No, you shut up,” about twenty times back and forth.

  I just sat there feeling embarrassed.

  Now, all day I’d been trying to figure out how I could get back to Mr. Green’s van without someone seeing me. But before lunch Mr. Green was in such a bad mood that I didn’t want to ask him anything. Then at recess and lunch there were too many people around. Including police!

  It would have been easy to get back to his van if I didn’t have to do it without being seen. But being invisible was key. The power of Shredderman was in people not knowing who he was. In people thinking Shredderman could be anyone.

  After lunch Mr. Green wasn’t quite so mad. So when our class was on the way over to computer lab, I asked him, “Can I go do something? I’ll be right back.”

  He started to ask me what I was going to do, but I could see him change his mind. Instead, he gave me a quick nod and said, “Hurry back.”

  To get to the teachers’ parking lot, you’ve either got to go through the playground or past the office. If you go through the playground, you’re wide open. Anyone in the portable classrooms might spot you.

  But if you go past the office, well, that’s where Dr. Voss is. And getting spotted by her would be worse than getting spotted by all the other teachers combined! But still. There was one principal and about twenty-five teachers. Going by the office might be more dangerous, but the odds were definitely better.

  So I broke off from my class on the way to the computer lab and ran behind the portables, behind the library, behind the multi-purpose room, all the way to the office.

  I ducked behind a bush and could see the office lady, Mrs. Holler, through the window. She was on the phone, leaning on an elbow, looking out at the flowers in the courtyard.

  The minute she turned her back, I zoomed across the courtyard and dove behind the hedge that runs next to the office building.

  I crawled on my hands and knees past the office and under Dr. Voss’s window. I crawled, crawled, crawled, clear to the back of the building.

  There was a barricade of about twenty big green plastic sacks full of yard waste, but on the other side—oh, yeah! The parking lot!

  The teachers’ parking lot is like a V with cars along both edges. One side is by the office, the other is by a cliff of bushes that drops down to the soccer fields. I had to get from where I was to the other side. To the cliff side.

  I looked left. Nobody around.

  I looked right. The coast was clear!

  I crawled along a couple of car bumpers, then scooted between a pickup truck and a fancy silver car with spoked wheels.

  And I was getting ready to jet across to the other side of the parking lot when vroom! The silver car right next to me started up!

  I crawled around the pickup truck and watched the fancy car back out. My heart was pounding like crazy. Had they seen me?

  No! I told myself. They wouldn’t back away if they knew I was practically under the wheel! They’d get out and ask me why I was sneaking around the parking lot. They’d… And then I saw who was driving away in that fancy silver car.

  Dr. Voss!

  I’d almost been run over by the principal!

  I watched her drive off, then made myself calm down a little. I didn’t have time to waste being scared! I had a picture to take, and I had to do it fast!

  So I hurried across the parking lot and captured Dumb-Baby digitally, then I snuck back the way I’d come.

  And now I couldn’t wait for school to let out so I could get to work on the next step of my plan!

  CHAPTER 6

  Old Town

  “Wow, honey,” Mom said as I blasted through the front door. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, peeling off my backpack.

  “You’re so dirty!” She started picking stuff off the back of my shirt and out of my hair. “You’ve got leaves, and prickers, and…Nolan, your jeans are filthy!”

  I shook her off but noticed she was right—the knees of my jeans were caked with dirt.

  “Alvin Bixby didn’t push you down again, did he? Because if he did—”

  “No, Mom! I had a great day!”

  “You…you did?”

  “Ulvhuh.”

  “Looks like you got some… exercise today. No computer lab at recess?”

  I got myself a juice box from the fridge. “Nope.”

  She smiled. “Great! So…who’d you play with?”

  I shrugged. “Just played.” I vacuumed up juice fast. “And you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Now I want to go ride my bike.”

  She blinked at me. “Really?”

  I grabbed another juice box. “Uh-huh. You’re right. I should get more exercise.”

  She was blinking like crazy. “Well, okay…! You remember the rules of the road?”

  “Of course!”

  “Wear your helmet, ride on the right side, look both ways before you—”

  “Mo-om!”

  “Okay, okay! Sorry, honey.”

  I slurped out the bottom of the juice box, tossed it in the trash, and headed for the garage.

  “Why are you taking your backpack, Nolan?”

  “Uh… in case I find something cool on my ride.”

  “But… aren’t all those books heavy?”

  I dumped the books and said, “I feel like going for a loooooong ride, so don’t worry, okay, Mom?”

  “But—”

  “Mo-om! I’ll be fine!”

  She scrambled around, then handed me her cell phone. “Here. Take this. In case you get a flat or something.”

  I rolled my eyes. A superhero calling his mom to the rescue. Sheez.

  I’d been to Old Town Square a bunch of times before, but never on my bike, and never alone. It was about ten minutes away in the car, I knew that, so I figured it would take me about fifteen on my bike. I may not be great at basketball or soccer, but I can fly on my bike. I blasted down the street. My digital speedometer said 10, 15, 20, 24.5 miles per hour! I was passing people!

  Dogs!

  Cars!

  By the time I got to Old Town Square, I swear there was a superhero cape flapping in the wind behind me.

  You can’t
drive through Old Town Square. You have to park outside and walk. And that goes for bikes and skateboards and scooters, too. There’s a nice green park in the middle, with benches and trees and squirrels and statues. And all the stores are connected in a great big U around three sides of the park.

  The stores all look the same. They’re built out of wood and have a nonstop porch going from one to the next to the next. The boards always creak when you walk, which I hate the sound of, but Mom says it’s part of the Old Town charm.

  But before I even got inside the square, I saw what I was looking for.

  Red paint.

  And right away I could tell that it had been done by the same person who’d sprayed Mr. Green’s van. On the side of the building, right where everyone could see it when they walked into the square, was a giant dumb-baby.

  Eyes rolling up.

  Buckteeth going left and right.

  And a talkie balloon that said, Du-uh!

  I locked my bike, took out my digital camera, and moved in.

  There were people all over the place, so I just tried to act like I was one of them as I found a place to get a good picture. And after walking back and forth about ten times I figured it didn’t really matter if someone saw me taking pictures. Who knew me around here, anyway?

  So I just went up, clicked a few shots, and hurried back to my bike. But while I was unlocking my bike, a whole bunch of other kids came skidding up to the bike rack next to mine. They were wearing backpacks, too, and helmets. And normally it wouldn’t have made me nervous or anything, but the way they were laughing made me feel a little self-conscious.

  Usually when I hear people laughing kind of mean like that, they’re laughing at me.

  So I looked down and retied my shoe, hoping they’d go away and leave me alone.

  Then one of them said, “Du-uh!”

  Du-uh?

  I peeked at them through the spokes of my front wheel. They weren’t even looking at me! They were looking at the graffiti.

  One by one, all five of them peeled off their helmets.

  These were boys from school!

  I ducked lower, trying to hide behind my bike. Two of them I knew were sixth graders, but I didn’t know their names. The two other sixth graders I did know—Carl Blanco and Ryan Voss. And the last boy was big enough to be a sixth grader but was only in fifth grade.