Remi squinted at the bush beside the library, stretching on his tip-toes to see behind it. I cuffed the back of his head.
“Ow. What did you do that for?”
Slowly and loudly, like I was talking to my hard-of-hearing grandmother, I said, “Remi, the sign says Bouvier Public Library.”
“Why are you talking like that? Are we playing robots again?”
Out the side of my mouth I whispered, “Don’t let them know we see them. Act natural.”
Remi smacked the back of my head.
“Ow. What was that for?”
“That’s what I’d normally do. Newton’s Law,” he said.
Remi based his code of justice on a science book I once showed him. A scientist named Isaac Newton came up with a law: for every action there had to be an equal and opposite reaction. If you kicked a ball, it would roll away from you with as much force as you kicked it with. A light tap didn’t send the ball very far, while a hard kick would knock it across the soccer field. Remi thought Newton was talking about justice and dishing out punishment, because he had specifically used the word “law.” If someone hit him, Remi reasoned, he’d have to punch back with just as much force.
“I told you before, it’s not that kind of law,” I said.
“Then why did he call it a law?”
“Never mind. Just keep walking.”
Remi followed as I walked past the library.
“Who do you think is spying on us?” he whispered.
“I think Graffiti Ghoul knows we’re on to him.”
Remi glanced back at the bush. “Let’s tackle him.”
I spoke loudly and slowly so that our bush spy could hear. “No Remi. We have to go over our super secret plan in lots of detail.”
“What plan?”
“The super secret plan.” I cracked my neck to the left and then the right and yawned, covering my mouth with both hands. I hoped he’d pick up the signal.
Remi copied my ultra-slow way of talking: “Oh yeah. The super secret Ghoul plan.”
I nodded toward the passageway between the library and the DVD rental shop next door.
“Let’s go to my place and go over the plan,” I shouted.
“That is a good idea,” he yelled back. “Let’s go now.”
The bushes rustled. Our spy had taken the bait.
I yelled, “Now!”
I sprinted between the buildings. Remi ran right beside me, but the alley was only wide enough for one person. We became wedged against each other and the stucco walls.
“Move,” I yelled.
“I’m stuck. You move.”
“I can’t.”
“Turn to the side, Marty. Go thin.”
I flattened my face against the library wall, squeezing myself thin so Remi could squirm forward until he popped free. He sprinted down the alley. I followed, brushing the stucco off my jacket as I ran. By the time I reached the back of the library, Remi had rounded the other corner and skidded to a stop. He waved me back.
“The spy’s gone,” Remi said. “I think he’s run down the street. Cut him off.”
I sprinted through the alley and zipped back to the front of the library. On my side of the street an old farmer climbed out of his pick-up truck, straightened his John Deere hat and walked into the hardware store. Across the street a mother pushed a baby stroller. Neither of them looked like the graffiti type, and there was no one else around. Our spy had vanished.
Remi joined me. “Did you see him?”
“No. He disappeared,” I said.
“He must be really fast.”
“Or he went inside.” I nodded toward the library.
“You could be right, Marty.”
“Let’s get him,” I said. We were close to catching the criminal — I was sure of it.
Remi bolted up the cement steps and opened the glass door for me. I sprinted into the library, but our town librarian, Mrs. Gibson, stopped me with a raised talon-like finger to her beak. On a stool behind a counter she perched like a vulture waiting to swoop on noisy prey. Remi rammed into my back.
“Get in there,” Remi urged. “What’s the holdup?”
Mrs. Gibson squawked, “Shhh.”
Remi looked down at his feet, quiet as a mouse. We crept past the counter under Mrs. Gibson’s beady-eyed gaze. At a table, three young girls huddled around a picture book with a unicorn on the cover. They didn’t look like they could be spies. Brats, yes; spies, no.
“We should split up in case Graffiti Ghoul tries to get away,” I whispered.
“Good idea,” Remi replied. “What’s the signal for when we find him?”
“Two whistles, five barks, and a — ”
“Ahem.” Mrs. Gibson shook her head, her brown hair standing up like ruffled feathers.
“Sorry, Mrs. Gibson,” I whispered, then glanced at Remi and flapped my arms, miming a chicken.
He nodded and tiptoed toward the magazine area at the back of the library, while I stepped between two nearby bookcases. We weren’t leaving until we caught our spy. I peeked through the shelves. In the next aisle, someone crouched at the far end of the bookshelf. Were they looking for books on the lower shelves, or were they hiding? Did they have a dust allergy and had to breathe hard, or were they panting from running? This could be our spy, I thought as I snuck forward. I got ready to tackle the spy, but the faint scent of strawberry bubble gum stopped me. I peeked around the corner and saw a girl with a blonde ponytail. This was no spy; this was Trina Brewster.
I had to get away before she saw me. Backing up, I bumped my elbow into the bookshelf. “Ow.”
Trina swivelled around, holding a book in her lap. Her brow furrowed when she saw me.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“Uh . . . I’m looking for a book,” I stammered. I fumbled for a book on the shelf beside me, grabbed one and showed it to Trina.
She read the title, “The Horsewoman’s Passion. What’s it about?”
“Well, it’s about a horse . . . woman. And her passion.”
“Which is?”
“Horses?” I said.
“Are you following me?” Trina’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Wait till everyone at school hears about this.”
She stood up, arming herself with a pointy insult, but Remi unknowingly stepped in front of her jab.
“Marty, I didn’t find anyone,” Remi said.
I said nothing, nodding my head toward Trina until Remi turned around and saw her.
“Are you guys here together?” Trina asked.
“No,” Remi and I blurted.
Mrs. Gibson’s hiss cut us off. We froze, expecting the librarian to swoop down and carry us off in her talons.
I lowered my voice. “Remi and I happened to be in the library at the same time.”
Trina squinted at Remi. “Do you read?”
“Uh huh,” he grunted.
“He had trouble looking for a book, so I told him I’d help,” I explained.
Trina asked, “Remi, were you looking for the book that Marty has?”
“Uh . . . yeah,” Remi said. “Thanks, Marty.”
“So you read romance novels?” Trina asked.
“Romance what?” Remi said.
“Romance novels,” I whispered.
Trina had fresh arrows for her gossip quiver. “So you’re a lover, not a fighter.”
I stumbled for an explanation. “He was getting it for his sister.”
“Yeah. It’s not for me,” Remi said.
If Trina’s smile grew any wider, it’d fly off her face. “Let me get this straight. You pick up mushy gooey romance novels for your sister?”
I tried to change the subject. “What book do you have?” I hoped Trina had something just as embarrassing.
She held up a book about Isaac Newton. “I’m doing a research project.”
Remi whispered, “Hey, that’s the same book Marty took out last month. You two like the same books.”
“No we don’t!” I protested.
“Figures you had this book. I thought I saw boogers on the Table of Contents page,” Trina said.
Mrs. Gibson swooped down on the three of us. “How hard is it to keep quiet?”
“Sorry,” we all said, but our apologies didn’t quiet the ruffled librarian.
“This is a place where people come to read, not to socialize,” Mrs. Gibson squawked. “You can chit-chat outside, but when you are in my library, you sit and you read and you zip your lips. You don’t shout. You don’t talk. You don’t even whisper unless it’s absolutely — ”
“Shhhh,” the three unicorn girls hissed from their reading table. “We’re trying to read.”
Mrs. Gibson shut her beak. She pointed at Remi and me, then motioned to the door.
“Why are you kicking us out?” Remi asked. “She was talking too.”
Mrs. Gibson shushed him and pointed again. I nudged Remi out of the library.
Outside, Remi yelled, “You couldn’t find a better book?!”
“Sorry.”
“Now everyone’s going to think I’m a sissy.”
“Not after we catch Graffiti Ghoul,” I promised.
“Well, he wasn’t in there. I searched the library while you were having fun with Trina.”
“It wasn’t fun.”
“Oh come on. You were acting like a monkey butt in love,” he said.
The image of kissing Trina popped into my head. “Gross,” I told Remi.
“You like Trina,” Remi said.
“I do not!”
“You two can go read about Newton’s laws together under that apple tree of his.”
“I don’t like her,” I said.
“Relax. I’m just teasing,” my friend said, chuckling.
“It’s not funny.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t think Graffiti Ghoul went into the library,” I said.
Remi nodded. “We’ll have to catch him in the act.”
“He’ll probably be painting at night, when no one’s watching,” I said.
“How are we going to catch him then?” Remi asked.
“We have to go on a stakeout. Well, more like a wander out.”
“My parents won’t let me out at night,” Remi grumbled.
“They will,” I said, “on Halloween night.”