Authors: Natale Ghent
“Go faster!” Itchy yelled.
Squeak hit the throttle. But no matter how fast the
StarSweeper
went, it could not shake the spy’s plane. Squeak tried dodging and looping and outmanoeuvring,
but the spy was stuck to him like glue. He glanced over his shoulder again and was sure he could hear laughter as the spy stood, finger hovering over the controls of his plane. There was a moment’s pause, then the spy pressed a button. A small hatch retracted at the top of his jet and a mechanical arm appeared from the opening, a mini-gun attached to the end.
“Noooooo!” Squeak howled as the gun hammered, tearing the
StarSweeper
into a thousand pieces that rained down from the sky in a shower of flames. Squeak gaped in disbelief, the control box slipping from his hands onto the gravel as the spy’s jet looped around the halfway pole and returned to the cliff, lapping the other planes and landing with awe-inspiring precision.
“We have a winner!” the announcer shouted.
Boney’s jaw dropped. “Who
is
this guy?!”
The spy raised his fists in victory. The crowd cheered and clapped. Squeak hid his face in his hands.
“It can’t be legal to blow someone’s plane out of the sky,” Itchy protested.
“Well, it was certainly creative,” Boney said. “I guess that makes it fair.”
Squeak shook his head, muttering vacantly to himself. “Annihilation … total, complete, absolute annihilation …”
Edward Wormer poked Squeak on the arm, his own plane resting safely on the ground once again. “Looks like it’s back to the drawing board for you.”
“What are you talking about, Wormer?” Itchy jumped to Squeak’s defence. “You didn’t win either!”
Wormer’s braces flashed. “Yeah, but at least my plane didn’t get blown out of the sky in front of everybody. How embarrassing.”
“Almost as embarrassing as getting caught stealing someone’s pie,” Biddle added, his head thrown back in laughter as he walked away.
“Not as embarrassing as that stupid wooden sphere at the bottom of the cliff!” Itchy yelled after them.
But Biddle and Wormer just laughed all the louder.
The loudspeaker crackled as the announcer took the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen … please join me in the winner’s circle to present the award. What a show of fiendish creativity by the winning competitor!”
“Come on, guys,” Itchy grumbled. “We don’t need to stand here and watch this.”
Squeak sighed in defeat. “No … it’s okay. I’d like to meet the person who kicked our butts. Maybe I’ll learn something.” He shuffled toward the stage, shoulders hunched, Boney and Itchy trailing behind him.
The crowd thundered as the announcer placed a gold medal around the spy’s neck. Another man handed
the spy a big gold trophy and the giant-sized winner’s cheque for one thousand dollars.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer drawled. “Please put your hands together for Sam Moss, the winner of this year’s Flying Fiends Amateur Aircraft Competition!”
The crowd exploded.
Itchy made a face. “Sam Moss? What kind of name is that? I bet he’s all weird and warty and covered in green fuzz.”
“That’s probably why he hides behind that visor,” Boney grumbled. “To cover his fuzzy green face.”
Just as Boney said this, the spy removed his helmet. The entire crowd gasped, but none louder than the Odds.
“It’s a girl!”
“I
told you he was weird!” Itchy said.
Boney and Squeak stared, thunderstruck, at the girl on the stage. She shook her shining brown mane of hair and flashed a brilliant smile.
Edward Wormer pointed at the Odds. “Ha ha! How does it feel to be obliterated by a girl?”
“Shut up, Wormer!” Itchy snapped. “She beat you, too.”
“Boo hoo,” Simon Biddle taunted. “Maybe you can get your kittens to fly your plane next time.”
The announcer’s voice boomed over the sound system. “Tell us, Sam, what’s your winning secret?”
The girl took the microphone and flashed another perfect smile. “My own special brand of organic, sustainable rocket fuel!” She squealed and jumped up and down with excitement.
The crowd cheered.
“Thank you so much,” the girl gushed, her hazel eyes sparkling. “My name is Samantha Moss and it was a pleasure to beat you today.” She held her trophy in the air as the cameras popped.
Boney and Squeak continued to gape at the stage.
Itchy scratched at his hair. “She owes us a new plane. And she can afford it now, too, seeing as she won the one-thousand-dollar prize.” He turned to his friends for support, but they just kept staring at the girl. Itchy elbowed Boney. “Hey, did you hear what I said?”
Boney fluttered out of his trance. “Oh yeah, right.”
Itchy nudged Squeak. “What do you think, Squeak? Should we ask Miss Mossy Teeth to pay for the damages?”
“Uhhh … damages … yeah …” Squeak’s voice trailed off.
Itchy snapped his fingers in front of Squeak’s face. “Earth to Squeak, come in, Squeak.”
Squeak stood in a daze. “Oh … what? Sorry …”
“Come on,” Itchy said, putting his arm around his friend. “There’s no sense standing here feeling sorry for ourselves. Besides, I’m hungry.”
Boney handed Itchy the bag of egg salad sandwiches. “Just finish them. I’ve lost my appetite.”
Itchy opened the bag and happily extracted a sandwich. “The day wasn’t a total loss,” he said, trying to console his friends. “At least the kittens got adopted.”
He munched on the last of the sandwiches as Squeak and Boney took turns pulling the wagon home, lost in their own thoughts. Once again drivers slowed down to gawk at the boys and speed away.
“What’s gotten into everybody?” Itchy asked.
“Maybe they saw your picture in the paper,” Boney said.
“It’s not my picture,” Itchy garbled through egg salad. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Sure, of course.”
Itchy gestured with a half-eaten sandwich. “Maybe they saw Squeak crash and burn at the flying competition …”
Boney stopped in his tracks. “Now that’s just mean.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Squeak intervened. “I wouldn’t blame anyone for gaping at us after that dismal performance today. Let’s just try not to kill each other, okay?”
Itchy shrugged. “Sure, I don’t care.”
Boney gave him a look and continued to pull the wagon.
When they approached Green Bottle Street, the boys couldn’t help but notice a big moving van parked on the corner at 24 Walker Avenue.
“Looks like someone’s moving in,” Boney said.
Squeak pushed on the bridge of his goggles. “I didn’t even know that house was for sale.”
Itchy craned his neck to get a better look. “It’s been empty for years. I wonder who bought it?”
A red station wagon pulled up behind the truck and Samantha Moss jumped out, Flying Fiends trophy in hand. She waved cheerfully at the Odds.
“Oh no …” Itchy groaned. “It’s her!”
A tall skinny man in a lab coat stepped out from the driver’s seat, wearing a pair of goggles as thick as Squeak’s, his short white hair sticking out in every direction. He looked distractedly at the boys, pulled a box filled with pipettes and beakers from the back of the car, then scuttled into the house, and slammed the door.
Squeak blinked. “Who the heck was that?”
“Who cares?” Itchy said. “Let’s get out of here before old Mossy Teeth tries to talk to us.” He grabbed the wagon by the handle and began to run, the wagon clattering down the sidewalk, drawing the neighbours to their windows with the commotion. In his rush, Itchy nearly flattened Mrs. Pulmoni’s cat, sending it screeching into the street, which cued Mrs. Sheider’s schnauzers to start savagely barking. Then Snuff joined the fray, chasing the cat across the road and up Mr. Peterson’s tree just as he was gliding into his driveway on his bike. Ringing his bell like a fire alarm, Mr. Peterson swerved to avoid the cat, crashed his cruiser over the curb, and landed in a cursing heap at the side of the road.
“Hey, wait up!” Boney called, ignoring Mr. Peterson’s misfortune.
“Of all the neighbourhoods, she had to pick ours,” Itchy complained.
Squeak trotted behind him, stealing a glimpse as Mr. Peterson righted himself and limped his bike toward his garage. “Maybe she’s just visiting.”
“Not with our luck,” Itchy muttered.
“Well, at least she’s not moving onto our street, right?” Boney said.
Itchy waved the empty sandwich bag. “She’s right on the corner. It doesn’t get much worse than that.”
“Do you think she’ll go to our school this fall?” Squeak asked.
“Don’t say school!” Itchy freaked. “It’s still summer vacation. I don’t want to think about school!” He picked up the pace, smashing the wagon up Boney’s drive and over the lawn to the giant oak tree that supported the Odds’ clubhouse. Dropping the handle, he shimmied like a monkey, carrying the empty kitten basket up the rope ladder and into the clubhouse.
Boney and Squeak stared at each other at the base of the tree.
“What an odd day,” Squeak said.
“Very,” Boney agreed.
Itchy’s red mop popped out of Escape Hatch #1. “Hey! Are you guys coming up or what?”
Boney and Squeak climbed the ladder. Itchy was already at the table, stacking peanut butter and honey crackers in a neat pile. Henry was scratching at some cornmeal that Itchy had scattered on the floor. Itchy rubbed his hands greedily together. He grabbed a cracker stack and was just about to deposit it in his mouth when a girl’s voice called out from below.
“Hello!”
The Odds froze, staring at each other in terror.
Itchy gagged. “It’s her!”
“Hello!” the voice called again. And then there was the distinct sound of someone clambering up the ladder. “Hide!” Itchy hissed.
“Where exactly?” Boney asked. But then he zipped to his easy chair, throwing one leg over the arm, all casual-like.
Itchy gobbled his stack of crackers, pushing them furtively into his mouth, crumbs flying everywhere. Squeak stood, feet glued to the floor. They waited, holding their breath until a girl’s head appeared through the escape hatch. It was Samantha Moss.
“Hi!” she said, giving another cheerful wave. She pointed at Henry. “Oh— a rooster! He’s a leghorn, right?”
Boney and Squeak exchanged surprised looks.
“Actually, yes,” Squeak answered.
“Don’t talk to her,” Itchy barked, cracker crumbs spraying from his mouth. He turned to Samantha. “You can’t come in here. This is a boys-only club. No girls allowed! Get it? Even our mascot’s a boy.” He gestured wildly at Henry.
Squeak cleared his throat. “We believed he was a hen when I first introduced him …”
“Who cares?” Itchy snarled. “He’s a boy now. Anyone with two eyes in their head can see that!”
“Oh … I’m sorry,” Samantha apologized. “I didn’t realize. I was interested in adopting a kitten, but I see that I’m … interrupting something. I’ll just … leave then.”
“Good!” Itchy shouted, as Samantha lowered her head and began climbing back down the ladder. He wiped his hands together, swallowing the last of his crackers with a big gulp.
Squeak stared at his friend in bewilderment. “Uh … that was kind of rude … don’t you think?”
“Rude?” Itchy bobbled his red mop. “Have you gone soft in the head? If we start letting girls into our club, there’s no telling what will happen.”
“Like what?” Boney asked.
Itchy flapped his hands around. “I don’t know. Bad things!”
“You could have been nicer about it,” Squeak said.
“Nicer?!” Itchy’s jaw dropped. “She kicked our butts in the flying competition just moments ago, in case you don’t remember.”
Squeak stared back at him.
“She
spied
on us! She tried to steal your invention!” Squeak raised an eyebrow. “We can’t say that for certain.”
Itchy turned to Boney in disbelief. “Are you hearing this? Help me out here.”
“She was interested in adopting a kitten,” Boney said. “You should have thought about that before kicking her out.”
Itchy tore at his bramble-bush hair. “Am I the only one who isn’t crazy around here? Let me spell it out for you: she’s a G-I-R-L —
GIRL!”
Boney and Squeak didn’t answer.
“Fine!” Itchy growled, grabbing the box of crackers and the jars of peanut butter and honey. “Suit yourselves! But don’t come crying to me when things go all weird!”
He marched to Escape Hatch #2 and attempted to grab the fire pole, fumbling the cracker box and dropping the jar of peanut butter down the hole. He snarled with frustration and eventually threw the crackers down the hole, then scowled and slid down the pole, hitting
the ground with a yelp, the box of crackers exploding in a shower of crumbs.
Boney and Squeak peered down the escape hatch as Itchy grappled with the food and hobbled off. In a second he was back, climbing the rope ladder like an angry red-headed ape. “I forgot the kitten basket.”
Squeak handed the basket to Itchy.
Itchy snatched the basket, wrapped his skinny legs around the fire pole, sniffed with disdain, and slid out of sight.
“What’s he so angry about?” Squeak said. “I’m the one who got my invention destroyed.”
Boney shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he’s upset about the newspaper article.” He took the opportunity to remove the pink kitten T-shirt and place it on a hook by the reference library. “Do you want to hang out after supper?”
Squeak removed his pink shirt as well and placed it on the hook. “I don’t know if I can. My dad has some kind of surprise for me.”
“Oh, okay. What do you think it is?”
“I have no idea.”
Boney picked up the deck of cards from the table. “Want to play a few hands?”
“Sure.”
The boys sat in the clubhouse, playing cards for the rest of the afternoon, Squeak keeping score with his
pencil and notebook. He peered at Boney with his best poker face. “Got any kings?”
Boney groaned, tossing his kings at Squeak. “You win. Again.” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m getting kind of hungry. What time is it?”
“It’s almost supper.” Squeak pushed a button on his watch. The face lit up and small black-on-white analogue numbers flipped in succession, counting down to zero. “Your aunt should be calling you in three … two … one …”
“Boneeey!” his aunt hollered from the kitchen window. “Supper!”
Boney saluted. “Gotta go.”