Chapter 10
January 24
On Monday at school, I withhold the information for exactly three hours and thirty-eight minutes before telling Jonah what happened. What can I say? He’s very persuasive.
Jonah may lack self-control, but he is über-trustworthy, and if I ask him not to tell anyone, then he’ll take the secret to his grave. It’s a military thing. He prides himself on it.
“What?” he yells, choking on his peanut butter sandwich. We’re at lunch in the cafeteria at a corner table, tucked away from the crowds so we can talk in private. Even with Jonah’s outburst, no one glances in our direction. They’re all used to Jonah and his noise levels.
“That is totally, ÜBER-AWESOME!” he says. “That’s Alamo and Waterloo and Red Baron wrapped into one! Wow!”
I can tell that he’s a little bit jealous because this police stuff is right up his alley, but he’s cool about it and immediately starts to plan out how he’s going to help me with assignments.
I don’t tell him about the name Eddie Red. I want to figure out for myself why Bovano chose it, and I know Jonah will crack the code in about a millisecond.
Detective Bovano is clearly messing with my head. He doesn’t like me, he thinks the entire thing is a waste of time, so he’s chosen an undercover name that makes fun of me, I’m sure of it. If only I knew what it meant.
Eddie I get. I told him to call me Edmund, so clearly he’s flexing his cop muscles and letting me know that he’ll call me whatever he wants.
But Red? What is that all about? Why not call me something awesome, like Eddie X because my middle name is Xavier?
“Let’s go,” Jonah says, crumpling up his brown paper bag and tossing it into the trash. “I have to get my Spanish book.”
We return to our lockers in the hall by the science rooms only to find Jonah’s in a complete mess, the orderly stacks of books and papers now in a scattered heap on the floor. His picture of the Red Baron is ripped, and his jacket is missing. We find it later in the art classroom with some paint on it.
Robin Christopher strikes again.
The school doesn’t let us put actual locks on our lockers. We operate on an honor code to respect one another’s belongings. Someone forgot to mention that to Captain Meathead.
Jonah refuses to tell the teachers about the bullying. I guess he’s planning some sort of tactical revenge, but if you ask me, he’s just scared. I am too, but we need to do something about it. It’s getting worse.
Spanish class. Time to zone out. I wonder if the police could help me with the Robin situation. Maybe Bovano could arrest him for bullying, throw him in jail for the night and scare him into good behavior. Who am I kidding? They’d probably join evil forces and take over the school.
Back to Red . . . Is it because I was wearing a red hat when I first went into the station, that day of the ill-fated ice cream cone? That would be totally lame.
Is it because Jonah’s hair is red and they know who my friends are? Too creepy.
Sadie’s cat collar is red. That would be an ironic twist.
Is it mocking the superheroes somehow? Does Detective Bovano think that since I’m a kid, I enjoy wearing red capes and pretending to fly? I don’t.
The name has to be making fun of me somehow. The man does not like me. Maybe I’m overthinking it.
“Edmund! Question seven,” Jonah hisses. He kicks my chair from the seat behind me.
“Uh,” I say, searching my Spanish workbook while my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “The answer is ocho?”
“Muy bien, Edmundo,” the teacher replies, writing my answer on the board and moving on to torture someone else. Two aisles over, Jenny Miller catches my eye and smiles. I almost pass out.
I have always thought Jenny Miller is nice, but lately when I look at her there’s a weird tightening in my chest. What is that? Love? When you can’t breathe and may throw up everywhere? Doesn’t sound very romantic to me. Just really messy and life-threatening.
Jenny has pretty blue eyes and strawberry blond hair, and she never speaks, but sometimes she smiles at me, which wigs me out completely. She floats instead of walks, and seems to be completely unaware of her beauty. She’s not like the rest of the girls in my class, who were all abducted by aliens last year and came back wearing weird eye makeup and speaking only in giggles.
Jenny Miller is almost perfect, but there’s one big problem: she has Happy Kat Cat everything. Backpack, shoes, pencils, and a lunch box with matching thermos, to name a few. And I just don’t fully trust someone who celebrates cats to that extreme level.
Eddie Red . . . Eddie Red.
I think of the initials: ER. Emergency room? Is that where I’ll be going if I mess this up? A subtle threat from the thug cop?
Nothing fits. I can’t figure it out.
So much for gifted.
After dinner I can’t take it anymore. Time to call in some parental assistance. My dad is, after all, a walking encyclopedia.
“Dad, where does our last name come from?” I figure I’ll start with the basics and move on from there.
“It’s German. You know that. Back from the slave days. A German family owned our ancestors in Virginia.” He’s distracted, snuggling with my mom on the couch. This is usually when I exit, but I need answers.
“But what does it mean?”
“I have no idea. You should Google it. And when you do, check out pictures of Nefertiti. The most beautiful Egyptian queen to ever rule. Mom looks just like her. Just look at that brow! That regal nose!”
My mom giggles and leans over to kiss him, whispering something about her strong Nigerian king.
Yuck.
I will admit that my mom is quite pretty. Beautiful, even. She has big brown eyes and sculpted high cheekbones, lips that are heart-shaped and full, and skin as smooth as caramel. Our art teacher is so smitten that he is forever trying to convince her to model for his adult studio classes. I think he has some sketchy posing in mind even though he hasn’t come out and said it. Over my dead, scrawny body. Creeper.
I’m hoping that some of those beauty genes kick in during puberty for me, because so far my dad has given me nothing to work with.
Only recently did I figure out how a bookworm like my dad landed a babe like Mom: girls dig muscles. If you’re an über-nerd but you’re big, somehow it cancels out. I don’t care what my pediatrician says. Size matters.
I wander out of the living room and down the hall, obsessing over the name Lonnrot, picking it apart in my brain. Lonn . . . rot. Lonn . . . rot. I stop next to the three steps that lead to my room. I live “upstairs” in our two-bedroom apartment.
My foot hangs suspended midstep. German lessons from two years ago crash over me, along with the pleasant memory of Emmentaler cheese.
“Eureka!” I yell, running up the three steps and jumping back down. “Rot means ‘red’ in German! Rot means ‘red’ in German!”
I fly up and down the steps a few more times. Sadie hisses from somewhere in the apartment.
Eddie Red. Now one of the coolest names they could have given me. A foreign spy name. A German, über-sophisticated undercover agent name that would make even James Bond jealous.
I prepare to crawl into bed and sleep soundly, relieved at finally cracking the code. A good night’s sleep is coming my way.
But a thought plagues me.
Maybe Detective Bovano isn’t such a dumb guy after all. Obviously he’s taken German classes. What else has he studied?
Maybe he knows ten languages and could work at the CIA if he wanted to. Maybe he does work at the CIA. Maybe he’s a foreign spy himself, posing as a cop in the city, waiting to take over the world.
Maybe (and the thought makes me shiver under my heavy blankets)—maybe he is über-smart. Brilliant, even.
For some reason, it’s unsettling.