The Caped 6th Grader (2 page)

And of course, there was always Speedy Cleaners, where, with Grandpa Zack's help, I'd be able to do my part to save the world.

I was pretty certain Mr. Diaz had never imagined
that
being part of the work-study project. Would he give me extra credit for it?

Probably … if only I could tell him about it.

AFTER
school I stopped by the dry-cleaning store to visit my grandfather.

“Hi, Grandpa.”

He looked up from the cash register, where he was counting dollar bills. “Zoe, I'm glad you stopped by. There are some things we need to discuss.”

Grandpa closed the register drawer and gave me a serious look. “I hope you've made some progress on your report for the Superhero Federation.”

The fact of the matter was that I hadn't even started yet, but I didn't feel like talking about it, so I tried to change the subject.

“Don't worry, Grandpa, it's all under control. Hey, guess what? There's this cool project starting at school next week. It's a work-study thing. Every kid in the sixth grade is going to choose a job and then team up with a mentor.”

Grandpa's eyes twinkled. “Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah.” I leaned my elbows on the counter and rested my chin in my hands. “I tried to think of a job I could do that wouldn't interfere with my superhero responsibilities. But if I have to take off every time there's an avalanche or a bank robbery I think my boss is going to get pretty suspicious, ya know?”

“True,” said Grandpa. “That's why most superheroes are self-employed.”

“I know my Super stuff comes first. Still, I wouldn't mind trying out a really cool apprenticeship—regular, non-Super, but still cool. Like maybe a deep-sea diver, or a performance artist.”

“Sweetbriar isn't near the sea,” Grandpa reminded me.

“I know. And I'm not particularly artistic, either. So, got any ideas? But remember, it has to be something that won't keep me from Super training and heroic missions. Something with flexible hours.”

“Uh, Zoe …”

I looked up at Grandpa. “Yeah?”

He sighed. “I'm going to be away. There's a weeklong superhero training seminar for Fifth Grade graduates. I've been asked to give a lecture on honing the power of superspeed. Gran's coming along. Those of us who are presenting are able to bring our spouses. She's looking forward to it. She hasn't seen Smokescreen's wife, Matilda, in ages. And she can't wait to see the photos of Laser Boy's new grandbaby.”

“Smokescreen?” I echoed. “Laser Boy?”

Grandpa laughed. “He's almost sixty. I guess it's probably time for him to drop the
Boy
, huh? Anyway, his wife, Lucy, promised Gran she'd bring a whole album of baby pictures. And after the seminar, Smoke, LB, and I are taking the girls on an island cruise.”

A prickle of worry began in my stomach. “How long is this trip, exactly?” I asked.

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”
What was I going to do? Would I be able to handle my Super responsibilities without Grandpa Zack here to guide me?

“Yep. Two weeks.” Grandpa clapped his hands together and hurried on. “Now, about that heroic ancestry assignment …”

“Wait a minute!” I said. “You're telling me I'm going to be on my own for two weeks? But what if … I mean, what happens when …”

Before I could manage a complete sentence, the door opened and in came Howie. His grandpa Gil, who owned the florist shop next door, was right behind him.

“Guess what, Zoe, Mr. Richards!” Howie's eyes were shining with excitement. “I'm going to be working for the SPD.”

“Hear that, Zack?” Gil demanded smugly. “My grandkid's signed on with the Sweetbriar Police Department. He's going to be a real, honest-to-goodness crime fighter!”

“You sure found out quickly,” I said.

“We Hunts have connections,” boasted Gil.

“Actually,” said Howie, “it was just a lucky coincidence. Mr. Diaz's wife plays tennis with Police Chief McCue's wife, so they know one another pretty well. Mr. Diaz called him on the spot.”

“Congratulations, lad,” said Grandpa Zack, reaching out to shake Howie's hand.

“Thank you,” said Howie. “I asked Chief McCue if Detective Richards could be my mentor.”

“The kid's going to be a natural crime fighter,” Mr. Hunt said, glaring at me. “He can't wait to get out there and pound those
bad guys into the dust!”

I seriously doubted that my father (or any good police officer) would intentionally allow Howie (or any kid) to get within miles of a bad guy. I hoped Mr. Hunt wouldn't be too disappointed when he found out that Howie would probably be doing things like answering nonemergency phone calls and pulling rap sheets.

“Guess what else,” said Howie, who looked as if all his grandfather's bragging was beginning to embarrass him. “Grandpa is going to be a mentor, too.”

“You, Gil?” Grandpa looked as if he was trying not to crack up. “A mentor?”

Gil shot Grandpa a scowl. “If you're thinking of the incident several years back when I was attempting to teach you-know-who how to operate that you-know-what … well, this is completely different. That you-know-what had double-intensified, turbo power-boosters, not to mention some very finicky state-of-the-art capabilities.…”

Grandpa cleared his throat loudly and Gil stopped talking fast.

“Caitlin Abbott is going to be his apprentice,” Howie informed us. “Her application said she wanted to do something that ‘celebrated the natural beauty of the earth,’ and Mr. Diaz decided my grandpa's florist shop was a perfect fit.”

“I'll be a fine mentor,” Mr. Hunt grumbled. “What harm can come from teaching a kid to arrange fresh-cut flowers?”

I was pretty sure no harm could come from Caitlin's working in the flower shop, but c'mon … since when was she interested in the natural beauty of the earth? I knew her aunt Nina was all into health food and yoga, but Caitlin just seemed to tolerate that stuff. It seemed weird to me, but I certainly couldn't
say anything about it now.

“And what kind of internship will you be doing?” Mr. Hunt asked me.

“Actually,” I said, shrugging, “nothing has really jumped out at me yet.”

Mr. Hunt gave me a look that I couldn't really read. It was part pity and part satisfaction. “Well, I suppose you could always work here with your grandpop. You do spend a lot of time here. And after all, the world needs people who can get ketchup stains out of polyester blends.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Grandpa Zack scowl. I bet Mr. Hunt wouldn't say things like that if he knew Grandpa and I had the power to toss him up to Jupiter if we felt like it.

“As a matter of fact, I'd love to work here,” I said, trying hard to keep the anger from my tone. “But Grandpa's going to be away, so I can't.”

A moment of tense silence passed. Howie fidgeted uncomfortably, then broke the grim mood by announcing,” Grandpa Gil was just about to take me for ice cream to celebrate my job at the SPD. Wanna come?”

“Absolutely,” said Grandpa Zack.

He turned the sign on the door to the side that said
BE BACK SOON
and we left—two humble, mild-mannered dry-cleaning professionals following Gil Hunt, florist extraordinaire, and his fearless crime-fighting grandson, Howie, down the street to the ice cream shop.

I was pleasantly surprised to find Emily arriving at the ice
cream place just as we were. Allison Newkirk and Betsy Davis were with her.

“We wanted to invite you to join us, Zoe,” said Betsy. “But we couldn't find you. It was like you vanished as soon as the dismissal bell rang. Poof!”

“Yeah.” Allison giggled. “Are you, like, the speediest girl in the universe or something?”

“Maybe,” I agreed, and Betsy laughed.

Howie and I introduced Allison and Betsy to our grandfathers and we all went inside.

Howie ordered first—mint chocolate chip on a sugar cone. The high school kid behind the counter reached into the glass case and dipped into the hard-packed tub of ice cream. He was wearing a T-shirt that said
SCOOPER HERO
. I got a real kick out of that.

Grandpa Zack ordered a root beer float, and I, of course, opted for my usual: a hot fudge sundae, heavy on the hot fudge.

Then it was Emily's turn. “I'd like a vanilla soft-serve, please.”

Scooper Hero gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry. The soft-serve machine is on the blink today.”

Allison and Betsy both looked disappointed.

“I was going to order soft-serve, too,” said Betsy, pouting “It's my favorite.”

“Can you just try?” asked Allison sweetly.

The Scooper Hero shrugged and went over to the big stainless-steel soft-serve machine and gave it two hard thumps with his fist. Then he held a cardboard cup under the vanilla spigot and pressed on the plastic lever. The machine let out a pitiful mechanical growl, then made a sputtering sound. A pathetic dribble of vanilla ooze drooled out of the spigot and into the cup.

“Sorry, girls,” the scooper said.

I took my sundae and a handful of napkins and joined Howie and his grandfather at a nearby table. The girls unenthusiastically scanned the freezer case for second choices.

The bell on the shop's door jangled, signaling the arrival of a new customer.
Hope whoever it is doesn't have his heart set on soft-serve
, I thought, turning toward the door.

The new customer happened to be the world's greatest comic-book author and illustrator: Electra Allbright! I was so excited I forgot all about the soft-serve.

“Hi, Ms. Allbright,” I called to her.

“Hello, Zoe.” Electra scanned the room. “Why, look at all these sad faces!” she exclaimed, glancing from Emily to Allison to Betsy. “What's wrong? Don't tell me they've made sardine swirl the flavor of the day again.”

“Sardine swirl was never a very big seller,” the scooper informed her. “We've discontinued it.”

“So why does everyone look so glum?” Electra asked, raising her neatly penciled eyebrows.

“The soft-serve machine isn't working,” I offered.

“No soft-serve?” Electra sounded as if this were the worst news she'd ever heard.

“Sorry, ma'am,” the scooper said.

Suddenly, Howie's grandfather was at Electra's side. “There's a frozen yogurt place over at Templeton Heights Mall. I'd be happy to drive you there.”

“Oh, thank you, Gil,” said Electra, bestowing on Mr. Hunt a glowing smile. “But I prefer ice cream to yogurt any day of the week.” She turned away from Mr. Hunt and stared at the uncooperative soft-serve machine.

Emily was pointing to a container through the glass. “I guess
I'll have a mocha-toffee crunch,” she said.

“Coconut for me, please,” said Betsy. “On a waffle cone.”

Allison was about to announce her consolation flavor when suddenly, the shop lights flickered and there was a loud zapping noise. I was so startled that the giant glop of hot-fudge-covered ice cream I'd just spooned up landed on the tabletop with a splat. I turned just in time to see a shower of sparks shoot out from the back of the soft-serve machine. After a moment of silence, the machine sputtered, then began to whir contentedly.

“Whoa,” said the scooper. “That's never happened before.” He picked up a cone and cautiously held it under the center spigot, then pressed the lever. To everyone's surprise, a smooth, cool, creamy swirl of chocolate and vanilla ice cream appeared on the cone.

“Hey!” said the guy behind the counter. “It's working!”

Electra smiled at him. “Make that a large,” she said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Oh, and don't forget the sprinkles.”